The Spinning World

Cigarette smoke wafted thinly through the air, disappearing too soon into the din of King's Cross.

"Give me one of those," Draco said.

"Don't you wish," Sirius replied, and thought: Merlin, if only this was a joint.

They had seventeen minutes before the Hogwarts Express pulled out of Platform 9 3/4, and none of them had managed to step foot inside the station yet. They had claimed the table outside of the baguette takeaway near the gates of King's Cross - Sirius sat on the left, Draco in the center, Harry close on his other side - directly upon arrival and had put up a good show in pretending that they wouldn't have to go in.

The last two weeks had been a nightmare. After the Aurors had finished with the Farmhouse, Harry and Draco had been hustled into a dusty office in the Ministry of Magic until something could be done with them. Sirius had been taken into custody and then forgotten about as the great machinery of bureaucracy began its spasming reaction to the indisputable proof that Voldemort was alive and now possessed a greater power than he'd ever had before. Dumbledore had swooped to their rescue, gathering Harry and Draco up and clearing Sirius' name almost in passing. They had made a rushed dash for freedom after the close of Sirius' trial - which was over in an even shorter amount of time than it had taken to convict and imprison him, fourteen years ago, despite the protestations of a rather toad-like woman in the Wizengamot - and the press had leapt gleefully upon the scandalous presence of The Boy Who Lived and the battered figure of Lucius' Malfoy's son accompanying the handsome and newly innocent Sirius Black, as dogs on carrion. They had left the Ministry through a staircase that ended in a skip in an alleyway, and hadn't been back to the magical world since.

Dumbledore had installed them in a safe house in a Muggle neighborhood, and had cautioned them not to stray too far. Ultimately, he needn't have cautioned them at all; Harry was the only one to leave, and only then to fetch the newspaper from the newsagents on the corner. Everything was brought to them. Snape brought school things for Draco, and Mrs. Weasley arrived the next day with Harry's. A house elf was loaned to them from Hogwarts, and it came each morning to pick up after them and drop off food. Draco puzzled over the Muggle objects in the house and seemed astonishingly well-adjusted to having lost Remus, had part of his soul sucked out by an evil wizard and then killed his own father in a single day, until the day before they were to return to Hogwarts, when he emerged from his morning shower with all of his hair hacked off and no clear explanation for it.

The fine, short hairs there were left gleamed brilliantly in the morning sun. Harry, sitting beside him, reached over to touch the nape of Draco's neck. He hadn't ever expended much thought on Draco's hair, excluding the time when he and Ron had talked about how girly it looked during their second year, but he rather liked the texture of it against his palm now. Sirius had considered it an unfortunate decision; it made visible the scarring on his skull and neck, but Harry - he knew it was bizarre and would rather die than admitting it to Draco - rather liked the way that it looked. Harry did not possess the poetic instinct to be able to describe why he liked it. The best he had been able to think of was that Draco's scars reminded him of an elegant and outrageously expensive porcelain doll that had been very carefully smashed to pieces. He had seen Dudley do something similar when he was small, and after his cousin had grown bored and moved on, Harry had gone over and gravely examined the remains of the toy. He could remember sifting through the pieces of what had been a very nice toy robot, and somehow the sick expectation of what Dudley would do if he came back and discovered Harry playing with one of his toys - even a broken one - somehow, somehow it felt something like the flutter in his stomach as he stroked Draco's neck in the place where short bristles gave way to pale skin.

Draco's eyes shifted towards him, lazily slitted. His blond lashes above his grey eyes made him look ... blind, Harry thought lamely. Or translucent or something. "I am Buddha," he said. "Rub me for good luck."

"You rub Buddha's belly, not his head," Sirius said.

"You can do that too, Harry," Draco said sweetly.

Harry rolled his eyes. "How much time do we have left?"

Draco shrugged eloquently, his eyes averted from the entrance to the station. "About ten minutes," Sirius said, looking at his watch. "We should probably go inside now."

"But I want a sandwich," Draco said plaintively. His tone was nearly identical to that of a five year old child's, and Harry winced.

Sirius, however, was unmoved. "You should have thought of that sooner. You won't die of hunger before you get on the train." He stood, brushing ash off of his clothing and grabbing hold of their luggage cart. Draco and Harry followed suit, Harry close on Sirius' heels. Draco hesitated, looking out into the bustle of Pancras Street as if contemplating a daring escape. After a moment, though, he followed them into the train station.

No sooner than they stepped foot into the train station were they assaulted by the familiar. Draco lifted his head and, with uncanny instincts, sniffed out a foe. "How jolly," he exclaimed. "Look Potter, we've found your missing beaver."

Hermione, flanked on both sides by her parents, was making her way through the crowd towards them. She had a very odd expression on her face, as though she was trying to grin in welcome and not scowl at Draco. He parents wore matching mild expressions, visibly bracing themselves for a conversation with the long haired authority figure standing behind them and whatever eccentric questions might come from him. They glanced over at Draco with little more than friendly curiosity, and Harry guessed that after an outing in Diagon Alley with Mr. Weasley, they were prepared to accept any oddities as being commonplace in the wizarding world.

Hermione flung her arms around Harry and hugged him tight. "Hello Harry!" she said breathlessly. "Did you just arrive?"

He hugged her back. She smelled of flowery shampoo and girl and it was just the way she always smelled. For just a moment, it almost hurt how much he was looking forward to being back in Gryffindor tower, warm and familiar Gryffindor tower where he could play Exploding Snap with Ron and put off doing their homework together and forget about -

He broke his line of thought off abruptly, confused by it. He stepped back, obscurely embarrassed. "No, we got here a while ago," he replied. "We were sitting outside."

"Oh, we came in the other way, by the car lot on York Road. It's on the other side of the station."

"Oh," Harry said. Hermione's parents engaged in polite conversation with Sirius, looking gratified that he was chatting quite intelligently about an old Muggle music group that was reuniting and not asking about rubber ducks and spark plugs.

Draco sidled up beside Harry, smirking. "No sweet embraces for me, Granger? I'm hurt."

Hermione glared at him with undisguised loathing, but the corner of her mouth twitched. Her eyes slid over his scarred face, his shorn head and down to his right hand, but she merely pursed her lips and said nothing. Draco followed docilely enough through the Platform 9 3/4 barrier, walking quietly beside Sirius. Hermione kept up a steady chatter of what she had done over the summer, their list of schoolbooks for the year, and how excited she was to be taking her OWLS.

Harry found his walk slowing, the closer that they got to the train. Glancing back to Sirius and Draco, he saw that they were dawdling, trailing behind the Grangers and looking around apprehensively. He stopped to let them catch up. Hermione looked at him, frowning slightly, but paused as well and crossed her arms over her chest.

Draco drew up close to her, and she drew back haughtily, revulsion stamped clearly across her expression. A few feet away from them, there was a small crash as Dean Thomas, whose focus seemed to have disappeared at the sight of Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, Harry Potter and Sirius Black standing peacefully in a group, tripped over his own luggage cart. He grinned in an embarrassed sort of manner at Harry and made a clumsy escape, his eyes darting to Draco, and Harry suddenly remembered how uncomfortably observant Dean could be.

"Hermione," Draco said pleasantly. Harry glanced back to him, startled. "Do be a dear and go mind your own fucking business, would you?"

Hermione glared at him. "What did you say?" she said acidly.

"Don't talk to Hermione like that," Harry said, and was ignored.

"Please. Make a noise like a hoop and roll away - "

"What right do you have to speak to me like that, I am here as Harry's friend, certainly not yours - "

"It's just that you're disturbing the quality - "

It was Sirius who defused the situation. Turning to Hermione, he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Your parents are waiting for you," he said. She hesitated. Draco beamed beatifically at her as she walked to her parents.

Sirius faced them seriously, his expression unhurried despite the noise and commotion all around them. He looked tired and somehow dirty, even though he had showered that morning before they left. His long hair hung limply around his face, and his smile slipped quickly off his face. "Did you talk with Snape?" he asked Draco, his voice hoarse.

Draco nodded. "He said to come and see him after the feast, and we could try out some wands for me, that were left in the castle. He says that there are a couple that might be an alright fit ... enough that I can do my homework, at least."

Harry's stomach was churning miserably. He hated to say goodbye to Sirius, and he hated even more leaving Sirius alone, who showed no signs of wanting to return to Remus' home and no inclination to stay at the safe house. He had spent his days withdrawn, as introverted as Draco was determinedly extroverted.

The train whistle blew, and Draco flinched. Harry had noticed him do that a lot during the past two weeks. His eyes flicked from side to side, confirming that Hermione was a safe distance away, saying goodbye to her parents.

"Well - " he said awkwardly.

Sirius smiled and pulled them both into a hug. "Thank you, boys," he said softly. "For all of it." He released them and stepped back. "Keep in touch, will you?"

And then he was gone, a shadow misplaced in the bright and noise.

They stood, awkwardly still, for a long moment. Draco stared at the ground and didn't speak. Hermione returned to Harry's side, and he quirked a smile at her. "So. I guess we should find a compartment, then."

Hermione looked uncomfortable. "You ... haven't talked to Ron then," she said.

"No, we haven't talked to anyone lately," Harry replied, frowning.

"No owls," Draco said solemnly. "We had a wretched slave - oh, excuse me, house elf, though."

Hermione's face turned pink, but she doggedly ignored Draco. "Ron and I - well - Ron and I were made prefects this year. Prefects have to go into a separate carriage ... although our letters only said we get instructions from the Head Boy and Girl and then patrol the corridors," she added hastily. "We don't have to stay there the entire time."

Harry didn't reply. His stomach felt as though someone had dropped a stone into it. Unfortunately, Draco more than made up for his silence. "Prefects?" he said indignantly. "You and Weasley are prefects? Where's my badge? Did it get lost in the post? Why didn't Professor Snape say anything?"

Hermione only gazed at him cooly. "I'm sure they found someone far more suitable."

***********

They pushed their way onto the train, Draco in the lead. He was still grumbling about the injustice of the prefect badges, and Harry walked with his head down, embarrassed. His immediate reaction had been hot jealousy - why did Ron deserve to be a prefect more than Harry? He had done lots more than Ron - but when Draco voiced identical thoughts, they sounded petulant and selfish instead of reasonable.

They couldn't find an empty compartment soon enough. People were actually getting up in their seats and pressing their faces against the windows to watch them pass before leaning over to whisper with their neighbors. Harry wanted to duck his head and run, but Draco only grinned, waving to four girls in one compartment, two Slytherins and two Ravenclaws. He pulled open the door to an empty compartment with a flourish that Harry found rather misplaced.

Draco sat down and stared at Harry, as solemnly as though he hadn't just been strutting his way past their schoolmates. He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and said nothing.

"Alright, Draco?" Harry asked. Draco nodded, slowly.

"Just tell me," he said, and hesitated. "That - well, you know. Tell me that everything will be alright."

Harry reached for Draco's hand. They had sat down facing each other, the gap between them only a little smaller than it had been at Remus' home. He opened his mouth to find words of reassurance - and was interrupted by the crash of the door opening.

Ginny Weasley's eyes darted over them. Draco released Harry's hand abruptly, scowling. Neville Longbottom's round face peered timidly over Ginny's shoulder.

"Hi, Harry," she said slowly. Her hand had strayed toward her wand at the sight of Draco. "Can we sit here? Everywhere else is full."

Harry nodded. "Er - of course."

They filed in hesitantly. Neville's face was a mask of mild terror. Draco sneered at him, leaning back and stretching his arms out so as to take up as much space as possible on his seat. Harry slid over next to him and elbowed him in the side. Neville shot Harry a grateful look and he and Ginny took the empty seat.

Draco reached over with his left hand and pinched Harry's forearm lightly. Harry glanced over to see Draco's face actually twitching with some sort of repressed glee, his eyes gleaming. "Moo," he said, his voice shaking with laughter. His eyes were trained on Ginny. She stared back, her chin lifted. "Moo," Draco crooned.

"How was your summer, Harry?" Neville asked. They all looked towards him.

"Er," Harry said. "Good."

"Oh," Neville said awkwardly. "That's nice."

Draco rolled his eyes. "This is stupid." He stood and paced to the compartment door. "Discuss me in my absence and get it over with. I believe I have some admirers to greet." He shut the door behind him and leered at them through it before vanishing. Harry sucked in a breath, and turned to face his fellow Gryffindors.

"Harry, would you like to tell us what the hell is going on?" Ginny asked cooly. Harry flushed, a little stung.

"Ron didn't tell you about it, then?"

"I haven't heard anything," Neville said.

"Ron told me that he was living with you," - and here Neville made a sort of strangled noise - "But he didn't say anything about scars or hand holding!"

Harry could feel his face grow hotter. "Neville," he said, turning to the other boy, "What happened is that, er, at the start of summer ..." He floundered. Remus' voice, muted by the morning fog, flashed through his mind. They were all masked. His own angry disbelief that Draco Malfoy would ever put another person above his own well-being. "The Death Eaters killed Pansy Parkinson and tried to kill Draco for some sort of Dark spell. So Dumbledore sent me and him to live at Re - Lupin's house with, er, with him and Sirius Black. And that's where we spent the summer. And then a few weeks ago -" He hesitated again, wincing as the sound of Sirius' body tumbling carelessly against the wall echoed across his memory, that irrevocable knowledge dawning slowly across Draco's face. Words spilled from his mouth, glancing away from memory, bled nearly lifeless in bland tones told in the safety of the Hogwarts Express. As when he had related Voldemort's return to Dumbledore and Sirius so many months ago, he saw everything again pass behind his eyes. He didn't feel release, as he had then; rather he felt squeamish, embarrassed, as if he was telling a secret that wasn't his to reveal.

There was silence when he finished. Ginny stared out the window, her brow furrowed Neville looked down into his lap at Trevor, who was squirming between his hands. And Harry, feeling almost helpless against it, choked down on the final secret: that Draco Malfoy had performed the Killing Curse on his own father. That no one except for that handful of Order of the Phoenix members who had seen the body knew that Malfoy was even dead. Even the new Minister of Magic had been told that he had escaped with Voldemort, and thus Draco was headed to Hogwarts instead of Azkaban.

An unpleasant thought occurred to him. There was still another secret, that he hadn't even thought to tell: that he and Draco were ... well, whatever they were. He really needed to talk to Draco about that.

They all jumped when the compartment door slid open suddenly, revealing that familiar smirk. Harry could almost have believed that Draco had stood out of sight the entire time, waiting for them to finish, but for the lollipop that was stuck jauntily in his mouth. It had reddened his lips to a vampiric red, and Harry saw that when he flopped back down onto the seat beside Harry and grinned at him, it had stained his teeth red as well. "All better?" he asked snidely. "Don't worry Weasley, I don't want to be your friend. You don't have to play nice. Be free to chew cud or scavenge for Knuts, or whatever it is your family does in its spare time."

Ginny's face turned pink. Trevor finally escaped from Neville's hands and slipped nimbly under the seats. Harry dropped his face into his hands. It was going to be a horrible train ride.

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

An almost comfortable silence had settled over the compartment. The day was damp and overcast, but it was warm inside the carriage where Draco, Harry, Ginny and Neville sat. There had been dismal efforts at conversation which had faltered, after a while, mostly due to Draco's complete inability to keep his mouth shut. It had been beneficial in one instance, however: when Neville made a move to show Harry the defensive mechanism of a very ugly plant he was given during the summer break, Draco had been quick to intervene.

"Keep your wand off that thing, Longbottom," he had snarled. "That plant is too hideous to do anything good, and I don't trust you not to foul up whatever you're trying to do."

Ginny had leapt to Neville's defence, and the situation had threatened to escalate until Neville, when given a moment's thought, proved Draco right by remembering that the defensive mechanism of the Mimbulus mimbletonia was to shoot a foul, slimy liquid everywhere when bothered. After that, they had settled into a rather shocked silence.

The Hogwarts Express traced a ponderous path north, through marshy valleys and lonely fields. A fog hung around the train, unruffled by its passage, but even that was left behind as it wound up and over mountainsides. Draco stretched out over two seats and laid his head on Harry's lap, and only Ginny looked surprised. He sucked intently on his lollipop, staring up at the ceiling with his right hand tucked behind his head. Harry looked out the window, looked at Draco, and every once in a while traded glances with Neville, whose expression was unreadable but probably, Harry thought, not angry.

Harry had fallen asleep by the time a visitor arrived at their compartment. Two weeks of uncertainty and exhaustion had been taking their toll on him during unexpected moments: breakfast, the bath. His head had begun to loll soon after Draco made himself comfortable on Harry's lap, and it didn't take him long to drift completely away.

There was always something about traveling by train that erases one's memory. To be balanced perfectly, against all laws, inside a wooden box that ricochets and shudders between narrow tracks that have only been placed there in utter defiance of nature. Mountains have been shouted down for man's approval.

The noise of the compartment door opening failed to wake Harry. Draco had also shut his eyes, but remained alert. The littlest Weasel and Longbottom had fallen into a whispered conversation, and if Draco really felt like it, he could have listened in. With his eyes closed, however, their mutterings became meaningless, and rose and fell as the train pulsed down the tracks. For all it mattered, it could have been his mother and father whispering softly to each other so as not to wake him, while he slumbered warm and secure beside them. He had been very young the last time he allowed himself to sleep through a journey, and not sit up with his father and discuss grown-up things, but as his body swayed to the breathless rhythm of the train he felt small and loved and safe.

The slide of metal and wood brought him out of his thoughts, and he opened his eyes to see a very pretty girl with long, shiny black hair standing in the doorway. "Chang," he greeted, without lifting his head. Her mouth formed a perfect 'O' of surprise.

"M-Malfoy?" she asked.

"Have a nice summer?" he asked, his tone conversational.

"Um," she said, her face pink. "Yes, thanks. I just ... um ... came to say hi to Harry. I, um ... I'll see you later, then."

She beat a swift retreat and marched off down the corridor with her head down and hands fisted at her sides. Draco watched her go, thoughtful. "Spit it out, Weasley," he said casually, without looking at her.

"Harry asked her to the Yule Ball," she said, with the tone of one imparting a very great secret. "He's liked her for a long time."

Draco considered this carefully. He eased himself carefully out of Harry's lap, uncertainly giving his weight to his dead arm. He waited until he was looking Weasley square in the face before replying. "I've no idea why you told me that," he said flatly. "But I hope it made you feel better about yourself."

He didn't look back when he left the compartment.

He headed the opposite direction he had gone, when he had left the Gryffindors to chatter amongst themselves. He hadn't seen Crabbe and Goyle when they boarded the train, so he went right, an angry flush on his cheeks.

He was more annoyed, than anything else. Ginny Weasley had always bothered him on principle. He'd never been able to lay a finger on why, of course; it stemmed mostly from half-remembered comments that his father had made, about Arthur Weasley's little favourite. Their proliferation irritated him: so few true wizarding families nowadays, and so few children. Despite the oft-voiced opinions of his father, Draco had seen no inclination in his parents to give him siblings. But the Weasleys .... the Weasleys, who claimed to love Muggles but only looked on them like animals in a zoo, grew fruitful and multiplied. There had been times at Hogwarts when it seemed like there was a Weasley at every turn.

He spared a moment of fervent hope that Harry didn't make a habit of hanging around that ... that Dingwall Ginny.

He had never felt so tired and awake at the same time. He moved with confident grace through the swaying corridor, peering through the window of each compartment without really heeding the stares and open mouths he got in return. Once upon a time (well, less than six months ago) he would have felt proud that he was famous, as famous as Harry Potter, that all heads turned as he passed. Now, he felt curiously empty. He couldn't even find the energy to be irritated by the attention, the way Harry was. Instead, he felt simply tired and maybe a little uncomfortable, like he was wearing robes that weren't quite tailored right.

Vincent Crabbe, Greg Goyle and Blaise Zabini were sitting in one of the last compartments. Their eyes widened as he pulled open the door and sat down without waiting for an invitation.

"What the hell happened to you?" Blaise managed. He reached an elegant hand out to touch what remained of Draco's hair.

"Can I tell you later?" Draco asked quietly. He flopped back in his seat and closed his eyes. A hand closed on his shoulder - he could tell it was Vincent's, by the sheer girth of it - and squeezed reassuringly.

"Are you alright?" Greg asked. Draco pondered the question and said nothing. I've had the most awful, bizarre summer of my life didn't really seem to cover it, and I killed my own father would only necessitate explanations. He settled for a sort of vague mumble.

"We're playing Exploding Snap," Vincent offered. "Wanna play?"

A smile flickered over Draco's face. "You'll kick my ass," he murmured. He could hear the grin in Vincent's voice when he replied.

"I'll play with a handicap."

Dark fell as hand after hand was dealt. Their conversations flowed easy and light, Vincent and Greg striding through Marvin the Mad Muggle and jokes they'd heard over the summer. Blaise was a quiet, watchful presence, not contributing to the conversation but undeniably a part of it. And for a while, Draco was able to forget.

He didn't smile when the compartment door slid open to reveal Harry. He paused, hand extended to deal, and met Harry's eyes. Vincent and Greg leapt to their feet, scattering cards to every corner of the small space. Draco didn't move. He felt frozen, sick, as though he'd been caught doing something wrong. Shame coloured his vision, and he pushed it angrily aside. "Yes?" he said.

Harry blinked. "We're getting close to Hogwarts. I came to get you so you could put your school robes on."

Obscurely disappointed that Harry hadn't come to tell him what a stupid bint Weasley was, Draco nodded and stood. On the threshold, he paused and looked back. "This is one of the things I'll explain later." Vincent and Gregory, still standing, only gaped at him. Blaise's expression was dark.

"See you at the Feast, then," was all he said.

Draco followed Harry down the corridor back to their compartment. He didn't even feel the eyes that followed. "Why did you leave?" Harry asked. The effort of keeping his voice casual was apparent. Draco had been aware since they left the Farmhouse that everyone seemed to suspect that he was going round the twist. He was sympathetic, and wondered if he did have some sort of breakdown, he'd be able to tell. Cutting all his hair off, and not allowing the mediwitch to heal his scars had felt perfectly reasonable at the time.

"I hate your friends," he replied.

Harry actually stumbled at that, and twisted his head around. "You haven't exactly given them any reason to like you."

"They've given me so many reasons to hate them, though," Draco said. Harry snorted and paused, forcing Draco to catch up with him.

"Are you alright?" he asked. His eyes were serious and Draco couldn't help but find them a little funny looking, shiny and large behind his glasses. His hand wrapped around Draco's wrist, maybe unconsciously.

"Yeah," Draco said, and winced at how false it sounded. "Anyway, what can I do about it if I'm not? It's not like I can turn the train around and run h - back to Sirius."

Harry studied him closely, and for a moment Draco was almost sure that Harry was going to lean in and kiss him, regardless of the audience on all sides. But Harry only turned away, giving his wrist one last squeeze.

They pulled on their robes in silence. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, although Draco kept swallowing words that he meant to say, and Weasley kept a close, suspicious eye on him, as though he was about to clout Harry over the head and run away with something valuable. As the train ground to a halt, voices up and down the train rose as students began the scramble off the train and to the carriages. Ginny bent over her trunk, cramming in the scroll and quill that she had taken out during the journey, and Neville got down on his hands and knees to coax Trevor out from under the seats. Draco stood loftily over them, arms crossed, but Harry showed no sign of wanting to leave without them.

Once Trevor was finally captured they left the compartment, Draco in the lead. He walked quickly, pushing his way between smaller students, who shrank back from him and Harry as if scalded. Neville and Ginny trailed in the pockets of silence that they left behind.

The night air was cold on their faces, and Draco took a deep breath and held it. He could not clearly remember the activation of the Curse that had lain dormant inside of him for months, but in the days that followed the air in his lungs had felt hot and thin. Snape had looked him over and pronounced that there hadn't been any internal damage - the Curse being carried in his veins rather than his organs - but privately Draco was convinced that something inside of him had changed.

"Where's Hagrid?" he heard Harry say behind him. He looked out over the sea of students and failed to spot the hulking giant that was, illogically, Harry's friend. Instead, Professor Grubbly-Plank was shepherding the first years towards the boats that awaited to take them to the castle. Draco couldn't keep the grin off of his face.

"He's gone," he said happily. Harry, who had moved quickly in front of him as if it was Draco who was keeping him from seeing Hagrid, glared at him.

"He's not gone," he said crossly. "He's just ... sick or something."

"He's been eaten by the giants," Draco said smugly, letting the crowd push them down the dirt path towards where the horseless carriages waited. "He's been eaten by giants and he's gone forever and we'll never have to take care of slimy and pointless things again. We'll learn about creatures that normal people would actually want to - "

His feet stopped moving on their own, and Ginny Weasley ran straight into him, staggering them both. She moved away hastily, ending up far too close to Harry. It rankled, even as he stared with rising disgust at the creatures that stood between the carriage shafts. They were horrible, as dark as the night sky above them, with every line of bone standing out in awful clarity on their patchy hides. Even as he stood frozen, one of them turned its massive head and seemed to look directly at him, the rasp of its breath audible even over the shrieks of their schoolmates.

"What are - are those horses?" Harry asked. Draco sucked in a breath, looking over at him. Harry's expression was one of revulsion. Look past the blight of red hair in his vision, who was staring blankly at Harry, Draco noticed that Longbottom's eyes were also fixed upon the creatures.

"What?" Ginny demanded. "What horses?"

Draco didn't even look at her. "I know that inbreeding left you stupid, but are you blind, too?" he demanded. "They're right there, in front of the carriages! What the hell are they doing there, the carriages have always pulled themselves!"

Neville coughed. He swayed as students pushed themselves past him, unmindful of the ghastly spectres that stood placidly before the carriages, stretching their rotted wings. "They've always pulled the carriages," he said softly. "You can see them flying in the Forbidden Forest sometimes too."

Draco could feel his heart thudding painfully in his chest. An image surfaced in his mind, of the last time an animal had stared at him with empty eyes. His skin itched, and he fisted his hands at his side to keep from clawing at himself. The realisation of what those beasts were that stood waiting patiently to take them to Hogwarts hit him hard, as if someone had grabbed his guts and twisted them around cruel fingers.

"Oh," he said tonelessly. "Thestrals, then."

"What are thestrals?" Harry asked, but Draco only brushed past him. He pushed easily past a group of timid looking second years, and claimed the carriage that they had been about to board. He leaned back into the seat and closed his eyes, breathing in the scents of the musty interior, and above that, faintly, the smell of horses. The carriage leaned to one side as the Gryffindors piled in with him, Weasley complaining about his treatment of the smaller students. Draco held his breath and waited for judgement.

Instead, he felt fingers slip underneath his own, curling around his palm. Weasley fell silent. Harry said nothing, and his hand was warm under Draco's own.

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

They mounted the stone steps in the silence that comes to a crowd of hundreds, the hush of fabric sliding against legs and the jingle of owl cages. The torchlight flickered over their faces, and Draco was pale and his skin gleamed with a faint sheen of sweat, despite the chill of the night. Harry watched him out of the corner of his eye as they crossed to the massive wooden doors that led into the Great Hall.

Neville had explained to him, briefly, the nature of thestrals in the short ride to the castle. Draco had remained unmoving and silent, his eyes closed, until they had ground to a halt. He had jumped lightly from the carriage without pausing to speak to Harry, and his sharp features were set in a hard line. Ginny had slipped into the crowd and was gone, but Neville stayed close to Harry. Harry craned his head to try and spot Hermione and Ron, but the head of the mass of students had already moved into the Great Hall, and he supposed that as Prefects, that was where they belonged.

Harry could feel tension radiating from Draco. His movements were jerky and graceless and his eyes were hard. Harry was still groggy from his nap on the train; he had woken up only a few minutes before he had gone to retrieve Draco. Ginny had refused to tell him why Draco had left, saying only that Cho Chang had come by to say hello, as if that was relevant. He hadn't noticed Neville biting his lip while Ginny spoke, and so had been rather baffled by Draco's erratic behaviour

The press of students pushed them close together, and Harry reached out and brushed a covert touch over Draco's hip. The smile that he got in return was brittle but relieved. The grey eyes above it looked on the edge of panic.

"Here," Harry said, taking hold of Draco's arm and steering him sideways, out of the swell of the crowd. "Let's get out of here."

"I'm fine," Draco said, frowning. He cleared his throat and said it again. "I'm fine, Harry." It didn't sound any more convincing the second time, and he let Harry guide him up the marble staircase towards the Gryffindor common room. People whispered and stared as they passed, but no one attempted to stop them. They dodged through the secret passageway behind the tapestry of Calhoun the Cacophonist and found themselves in a small stone room that overlooked the Whomping Willow, which should have been below the opposite wall of the castle. Draco followed Harry into the room and nearly collapsed against the wall. He passed a hand before his eyes, his fingers trembling.

When he spoke, his voice was almost level. "It's been a while since we've been around that many people," he said softly.

Harry put an arm around Draco's shoulders. It still felt odd to touch him, to casually lean against him or fall asleep next to him, or kiss him; but the knowledge that he could was intoxicating. "Alright, Draco?" he asked, pressing his other hand to Draco's chest.

"Yeah," Draco whispered. He leaned forward, resting his head lightly on Harry's collarbone. "My fingers are all tingly. I couldn't breathe down there. That was - observant, Potter. For once."

Harry smiled. "Is that supposed to be a thank you?"

"Call it what you like."

They were still for what felt like hours. Under their feet, they could hear the roar of the students, applauding Dumbledore's speech and then falling into conversation. Under Harry's hands, Draco's shivering slowed and then stopped. He relaxed into Harry, wrapping both arms around his neck. They moved closer slowly, uncertainly, until they were pressed fully against each other. It was almost the closest they had been in two weeks, since they had stolen precious minutes to be clean and Draco had told Harry the anticlimactic gillyweed story that Remus had been so keen on not telling them. It had almost seemed that when they left Remus' Farmhouse, some kind of spell had been broken between them, and they walked as though on glass. The family that they had built during those short months had vanished, like Remus' body. Draco's hair tickled against Harry's cheek and his hands roamed cautiously over Harry's back.

"Hey," Harry said suddenly. "Are we - er - dating?"

Draco went still. "Do you want to be?" he said slowly.

Harry blinked, and hesitated. The moon washed softly through the branches of the Whomping Willow and threw ever shifting darkness over the room. "Er. Do you?"

Draco's shoulders rolled beneath his hands as he shrugged. "I don't think we should tell everyone," Harry continued. "About ... you know. You and me. Everyone is being really stupid anyway."

Draco snorted. His voice was bitter when he replied. "Longbottom and that Weasley bint - "

"Stop calling her that - "

" - Well, they already know. Holding my hand was a little obvious."

"I was trying to make you feel better," Harry ground out, beating down the welt of anger that rose in his throat. "But they're ok. Neville wouldn't tell people. And Ginny is Ron's little sister ... if I ask her to, she won't tell."

Draco laughed, pulling a bit away from Harry. "She'd do anything you asked her to, I imagine. No - forget it. Never mind." He moved back into Harry's embrace, resting his forehead against Harry's. "I can't do this," he said softly, his voice raw. "I just can't. It was stupid to come back. It hurts so much I - I feel like this will break me." Darkness washed over his face and away again as the Whomping Willow heaved its body against the ground.

Harry was silent. He slid one hand down Draco's back, rubbing just above the swell of his bottom. "I'll be here for you," he said, and kissed Draco on the mouth.

They had kissed since leaving the Farmhouse, and each time they got a little better at it. Draco's mouth was warm against his own, and Harry could feel the pressure of his teeth behind slightly chapped lips. He brought his hands up to cup Draco's face, tracing the path of the scar that divided the junction of neck and the soft skin behind Draco's ear with his thumb. Draco kissed with desperation, his tongue moving with near deftness with Harry's own. He shoved Harry back against the wall without breaking the kiss, pushing his hands under Harry's robes and up his shirt to find hot skin beneath. Harry gasped, his hips jerking forward seemingly of their own volition, and his fingers found the clasp to Draco's robes and unhooked it. The material puddled softly at Draco's feet, and Harry pulled him close. Without his robes, Draco's body felt on fire, far hotter than it should have been, and his fingers were snarled in Harry's hair and Harry was flicking open the buttons of Draco's shirt and he could barely breathe.

The voices of hundreds of students beneath their feet carried them away on the moonlight. They were silent but for the rush of near-panicked air between them, panting into each other's mouths. The noise, the reminder that close by were their classmates, their friends, only isolated them. There are few lonelier feelings than standing on the outside, while near enough to touch there is life and noise and laughter.

Slowly, Harry turned Draco against the wall. Draco let out a surprised gust of laughter as his back hit the stone, and his eyes were darkened with unnameable emotions. Harry stared into those eyes, his gaze flickering over the jagged lines of Draco's scars. Draco met his stare with equal intensity, his lips slightly parted.

"You know what?" Harry said. "Everything's going to be alright, understand?"

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

Draco leaned against the stone wall that hid the Slytherin common room, and tried to catch his breath. His cheeks felt hot, his hands thick and awkward. An emotion somewhere between shame and elation coursed through him, and his stomach seemed to be doing circles in his belly. He had no idea how to feel. He straightened his collar again, for the hundredth time, smoothing down the front of his robes.

He heard Daphne Greengrass' voice before she came into view, leading a small army of tiny first years, who looked frankly terrified when he turned his scarred face towards them. Daphne stopped a few feet from him, and the other Slytherins crowded around her. Immediately, Draco felt panic rise within him, and he quickly tried to push it away. "I don't have the password," he said to Daphne. Vincent and Gregory loomed behind her, moving through the knot of first years like ships in the ocean. They settled on either side of Daphne and met his gaze, concern knotting their brows in nearly identical expressions.

"You missed it," Daphne hissed at him. Her face was blotched and puffy, as though she had been crying. She probably had, Draco thought. Out of all of Pansy's gang of girlfriends, Daphne had looked up to her the most. "During the feast there was a - a - a moment of silence. For Pansy. Where were you?"

Draco looked away, his face hot. "I can explain. But can we do it inside? Please?"

She looked over her shoulder at the first years that had crowded around her. Some distance behind, Draco saw Theo Nott, staring hard at him. The gold prefect's badge gleamed on the front of his robes. "Yeah," he said. "Come on, Daphne. We don't need to have a scene in front of the firsties. Especially not about this."

For a moment, Daphne looked rebellious, as if she fully intended to have it out with Draco in front of their entire House. Then she threw her arms around him and hugged him tight. He could feel her tears on the side of his neck. "I'm glad you're ok," she whispered, and released him. "Deore deor," she said commandingly, and the stone door to the Slytherin common room slid open. The first years filed past them through the open passage, and the hallway emptied of all but a handful of Slytherins: Vincent and Gregory, Theo, Daphne, Millicent, Blaise and Tracey. Draco's friends and Pansy's friends, who had not often been the same thing. Millicent and Blaise had never been a part of their cliques, preferring to remain solitary or in the company of students from other Houses, and Theo always seemed to stand above it all. Half of Pansy's gang was missing, most likely sitting in their Ravenclaw dorms, but Draco would only have to trust that Daphne and Tracey would pass on what he had to say.

They followed him through the common room silently, Vincent and Gregory reassuring presences on either side of him. In the fifth year boy's dorms, they took up the same positions, sitting on the bed next to him. The torchlight in the room burned bright and clear, and Draco nudged the trunk at the end of his bed with his toe. It was light, mostly empty. All of the things inside it were new, brought by Snape ... with the exception of a few things that he wasn't planning on showing anyone. Hidden underneath his potions scales and spare sets of robes were two shirts, a jumper and a plaid hat, all of astonishing age and softness. Wrapped safely inside the hat was a tightly coiled sea shell the size of Draco's fist and a piece of driftwood that had been bleached white by the sun. He hadn't dared to take any of the treasures that littered Remus' den or sitting room, but the sea shell and driftwood had been hidden in the closet where he had taken the shirts, as if somehow Remus meant for him to take them. His fingers itched to hold the driftwood, which still seemed to carry the warmth of the sun inside of it, or to be back in that small stone room with Harry, wrapped around each other. But he raised his head and looked into the eyes of each person that stood around him, waiting for him to speak.

The words rushed into his throat and choked him. It was too big, too much to explain, to speak of. Each separate thread of rape and friendship and blood and Pansy and Harry and Remus and his father, oh, his dad was too big - and woven together they were impossibly large, impossible to even consider opening his mouth and letting all of it spill out.

Beside him, Vincent cleared his throat. "Draco," he said. They all looked towards him, and he flushed slightly, twisting to retrieve a small package from his pocket. He handed it to Draco, a wry smile on his face. "It's your birthday present ... I tried to send it to you, but the owl came back with it."

Draco held it in both hands, staring. "I ..." he said. "I was in hospital on my birthday. I think there were wards, so that no one could find me ..." The package was small and oval, and flat on the bottom. It was about the height and width of his hand, and wrapped clumsily in a sheet of The Quibbler. There was a tiny green bow on the top of it, flat from being in Vincent's pocket. He tore into it with his good hand hesitantly, inexplicably anxious. He found it impossible to look at Vincent when he saw what was in it, his chest tightening as though the simplicity of Vincent's birthday present had scratched an actual wound in his heart.

Floating in the center of the clear glass was a tiny, perfect jellyfish that drifted lazily along invisible currents. Its tentacles were translucent, and along its smooth body were red stripes. Draco forced himself to exhale, transfixed by its silent perfection. He tried to shape the words that he knew Vincent was expecting, a sharp tease that Vincent, Gregory and Pansy had always taken the way that it was secretly meant, as a thank you too difficult to speak aloud. But instead of Make me look like a big soppy girl, why don't you, the words that he had been struggling to find rose with ease in his throat.

His voice was quiet and even as he spoke, and he left nothing out. Theo's eyes widened when Draco told them of his father telling him they were going to the Notts' for a dinner party. Millicent made a noise of disgust when he was sent to live with Harry Potter and Professor Lupin. They hadn't been told any of it. They had had three months to know that Pansy Parkinson had been murdered, but details had been sketchy or nonexistant. Draco watched their eyes as they absorbed what he was saying, watched something indefinable spark within as he described waking up in the Forbidden Forest, alone but for Pansy's unrecognisable body and his clothing torn to rags. His voice stretched over the months inbetween, the months where he had been safe and Remus and Sirius had been his friends and Harry Potter had become something more. He told his friends of escaping to the forests outside of Remus' home, unable to scream or speak or articulate the anger and shame that rolled through him, and of Remus finding him and holding him until the world became familiar once more. Of kissing Harry Potter. Of Remus Lupin's death. Of Voldemort. And finally, of his father. That bloody hole that had been his mouth, what Draco had done to him. He faltered and was silent. His words abandoned him, and he struggled against the weight that had been suffocating him since they left the Farmhouse, struggled to find his voice once more.

"I killed my dad. I killed him."

Draco fell silent when that final secret left his lips, his hands loose between his knees. He had bowed forward while he spoke, his elbows braced on his thighs. He waited.

Next to Millicent, Daphne let out a choked sob. None of the boys looked at one another. Silence was thick and awkward among them, a new and unwelcome guest in the fifth year Slytherin dorms. If Pansy was here, Draco thought, and then strangled the rest of the thought. He could feel Theo's gaze, hot on the back of his neck. He shifted uncomfortably, brought his dead arm up to rub that spot that felt so naked under his friend's stare.

"Do we - " Gregory began, hesitantly. Draco looked over at him, his head cocked. Gregory was blushing slightly. "Does this mean we have to be friends with Potter?"

Millicent glared at him. "Is that the only thing you care about?" she demanded hotly. "That whole story, all of it, and the first thing you think of is stupid Potter? Don't we waste enough time talking about him as it is?"

Draco smiled vaguely at her. It didn't cross his mind to be afraid of his friends, to fear that they would report him to the Ministry. He had seen and loved it when the Gryffindor house had turned on Harry year after year, when they had suspected him of opening the Chamber of Secrets, when dozens of Gryffindors had happily pinned a "POTTER STINKS" badge to their robes. It wasn't faith that made him secure that the Slytherin house would never do anything like that to him; it went deeper than that, the knowledge that Slytherin closed ranks and took care of Their Own. Nearly every witch and wizard that entered Slytherin was half-blood or more, and this, their shared heritage that everyone, no matter where they had come from, could share brought them closer together through bonds that knit tighter than friendship: they were Slytherin, against all others.

They promised not to tell about Harry without Draco having to ask, and the girls drifted off to their dormitory soon enough. Daphne and Tracey had their arms around one another, mourning, and Millicent's head was lifted high. Draco sat silently on his bed and watched them move about, in preparation of sleep. Blaise vanished for the baths, a towel over his arm.

Vincent and Greg didn't ask to come with Draco when he stood up and left the Slytherin dormitory. They knew him far too well for that. They watched him go with complacent eyes, knowing that he'd come back to them.

The common room was empty, the other students presumably unpacking their trunks, visiting with their dorm mates or getting ready for bed. But a warm fire still flickered welcomingly on the vast hearth, and the torches were still lit with familiar green light. Draco took the best chair, the one closest to the fireplace and covered with a luxurious green silk, which was usually occupied by a seventh year. The jellyfish was still in his hand, and he lifted it up to peer through it. The firelight shone through it and transformed it into sculptural beauty. Its body seemed to pulse to the rhythm of his breathing.

He could have sat there for hours, watching the jellyfish drift in its modest ocean. The fire was warm on his feet, and seemed to absorb his subconscious, the memories that had been dredged up by speaking of them aloud. He sat quietly, without moving, sifting through those memories and feelings. They seemed duller in the sanctuary of the Slytherin common room, much as they had for Harry, earlier on the train. He was surrounded by comfort and home, and could almost pretend that these were his own clothes he was wearing, that Pansy was about to pad up from the girls dorms, rubbing her eyes and telling him to quit his sulking, she'd help him think of a way to really get Potter.

He looked up when the owl landed on the arm of his chair. His mother had never liked the eagle owls that his dad kept; she said they were too ostentatious, too large, too likely to peck Draco's eyes out as a child. She kept the same sort of owls that her mother had, Brown Wood Owls. They were rare, trapped in Thailand but never so showy that they would attract notice in England. The owl stared at him solemnly, her sleepy eyes magnified by the mask of black feathers around them. She held out her leg, waiting patiently for him to take the thick scroll that was wrapped around its long leg. He untied the string with trembling fingers. Part of him wanted to shout at the owl, drive it away so that he'd never have to unroll the parchment, never have to see his mother's handwriting. It seemed like ice had settled in his stomach, painful and quivering. As he grasped the parchment, the reason for its thickness became clear: something long and thin fell from its confines and clattered to the stone floor. It rolled to a stop beside his foot.

Hawthorne. Dragon heartstring core, ten and a half inches. Springy. It fit perfectly in his hand. He stared at his wand, his face rigid; he had never expected to see it ever again. His eyes burned. He set the jellyfish down beside him carefully, balancing it on the open palm of his dead hand. His left hand was clenched on his wand. It almost seemed to vibrate in his hand, pent up energy working up his arm and to his chest and spreading all over his body. He shook it, gently, and sparks shot out of the tip. He stuffed his other hand into his mouth to muffle the noise that rose unbidden from his stomach - a sob, or shocked laughter, something in between - and shut his eyes tight.

The owl hooted softly, clacking her beak in concern. He reached out with his dead hand and stroked her golden chest feathers absently. There were teeth marks in the knuckle of his first finger, but he hadn't felt a thing. He set his wand on his lap and picked up the letter that had fallen to the stone floor. His entire body had turned cold, despite the fire. His mother's neat handwriting swam gracefully across the page.

He read the letter twice, three times. His mother's owl sat patiently at his side, watching him with mournful eyes. He had started to cry halfway through the second reading, and when he turned the parchment over to see its closing for the third time, his eyes were too clouded to start again. He curled his legs up to his chest and let the tears come, flowing out of some hot place in his chest and washing clean those wounds that not even Remus' love had managed to reach. They came until the fire burned low in the hearth and the dormitory fell silent and the pad of footsteps from the girls dorms and the voice telling him to stop being melodramatic never came, and would never come again.