White Horses

HARRY WAS RUNNING AWAY. HE ran as if his life depended on it. He could hear the manticores gaining on him, close enough now to hear the beasts' panting breaths. He shot a Reductor curse wildly behind him and heard a strangled whimper as at least one of his pursuers went down. He was horridly reminded of his mad dash from the cemetery full of Death Eaters back when he was fourteen, only this time there was no portkey waiting to deliver him to safety. Thanks to remembering that horrific night, Harry suddenly had to fight off a panic attack in addition to the cramping his side and his general lack of oxygen.

He dashed through the Dark Forest, Lupin's spell preventing him from remembering that this exercise was just a part of their test and that the manticores weren't even real. The rest of the class watched from where they were arrayed by Hagrid's cabin. Half were thinking back to their own fearful runs, the other half were petrified with an ever increasing dread. Professor Lupin watched the illusion of Harry's travails closely, not only for grading purposes but so that he could pull him out of danger if the need arose. Only Lavender had needed that assistance so far today.

Classes had to go on as usual, despite the tragedies that had befallen the students and the rest of the world. The point of keeping the school open hadn't merely been as a refuge, but so that life could continue on as normally as possible. One of the few changes, though, had been the students' timetables. Many of the classes had been combined, as the students' ranks no longer justifying so many sections. The first and second years had been so devastated - both by the lowered enrolment that year and the large number that had tried to escape on the Hogwarts Express - that all four houses were now being taught in a single class. Harry's Care of Magical Creatures class had been all houses since the beginning of the year, but now N.E.W.T. Charms and N.E.W.T. Potions were as well - which both had only been Doubles until this week. N.E.W.T. Defence against the Dark Arts was one of the few classes with a high enough enrolment to still warrant multiple classes, though even they had been made into Double classes, with two houses sharing each meeting.

With the increased free hours that this recombination afforded to the professors, they had more time to work on Hogwarts' defences and to assist the Order of the Phoenix, as Harry had learned from Professor Lupin. There was also debate between the teachers about whether they should try to provide safe transportation for the students to go home for the winter holidays in three months, or if it should be made mandatory to stay at Hogwarts this year. Perhaps it could be arranged for the parents to come to Hogsmeade and to enter Hogwarts' wards on foot, some had suggested. But what about those parents who were known or suspected Death Eaters? They couldn't very well refuse them entry without any sort of proof.

Harry had been pleased when Lupin discussed such questions with him, treating him much more like an adult than any of the other teachers did even now. Harry wasn't sure if it was because seeing him made the professor think of his father, James, or if Lupin saw Harry for himself. But whatever the reason, Harry was glad to have a reasonable adult to talk with, who wouldn't simply coddle him or treat him as a naive child.

Deciding to take cues from both Lupin and McGonagall - and remembering vaguely that manticores had a high defence against magic and spells - Harry snatched up a handful of twigs from the forest floor as he ran. It was hard to work transfiguration while in motion, but Harry was getting used to working in stressful conditions. He transfigured the twigs into sharp bolts one by one, stuffing each into his back pocket as he went. He knew that a knife would be easier to transfigure, but he didn't really fancy going hand-to-hand with the slavering beasts. Trying to throw the knife would have about the same chance of succeeding as the chance of Hagrid teaching puffskeins for their next lesson. Not impossible, but Harry definately wouldn't want to bet his life on it, in other words.

Harry glanced behind himself again. The manticores were still twenty feet behind him. He picked up a larger dead branch from the ground, then paused momentarily to perform a complex bit of transfiguration. It was with a brightly new (and hopefully fully functional) automatic action crossbow in hand that he took off even faster than before.

When he had put about ten yards between him and his enemies, he turned neatly; he pulled a bolt from his pocket, fit it into the crossbow and let it fly. It embedded itself into the skull of the foremost animal, who fell and tripped up an additional two of the four predators behind him. He continued to quickly load bolts into his crossbow and empty them into the beasts until he ran out of ammunition. Throwing the now useless weapon aside, he pulled his wand again and threw out a series of Stunning spells at the already fallen creatures.

A pregnant silence fell. Harry remained nervously alert to the multitudes of other dangers in the Dark Forest and was still watching the downed manticores when his memory came rushing back to him, the knowledge striking him with the force of a physical blow. He knew now that this whole setup had been part of his D.A.D.A. exam and even as he readjusted to the idea, the four inert manticores in front of him melted into nothing. His transfigured bolts fell to the ground and he released the spell from both them and the crossbow, leaving a pile of once again normal twigs as he fumbled in his front left pocket for the portkey he knew was there.

Harry still hated this particular form of travel, but didn't really feel like traipsing around the forest to try and find his way back out, which would more than likely result in him running into some Dark creature that was not merely an illusion of Lupin's. He let the low-grade portkey bring him back to the clearing where the rest of Lupin's Gryffindor/Hufflepuff D.A.D.A. class was waiting. He was greeted with silence, as everyone stared at him in dumbfounded awe - particularly those who hadn't had class with Harry prior to this week.

Then in a rush he was being surrounded, slapped on the back and jostled teasingly as every one of the guys wanted to know how he had learned to do that transfiguration or to shoot like that. There were many refrains of, "Brilliant, Harry," and "Good on you, Potter!"

He looked sheepishly at Professor Lupin and tried to beg off on his explanations, saying, "The transfiguration was just like the one we did in class. Remember, when we had to make a mousetrap from a piece of old cheese?" That was how McGonagall had explained it to him when she had taught him to transfigure basic firearms. "I just tweaked it a bit, that's all. And Hell if I know how to shoot anything; you just aim the pointy end away from you and pull the trigger, eh?"

It was specifically because of this relatively skill-less criteria for projectile weapons that they had been one of the arms that Harry had practiced with the former Marauder now standing behind him. Harry wouldn't normally have displayed such skills to his fellow students, but Lupin's spell had not allowed him to remember the relatively danger-free reality, and so he had used every skill and trick available to him. If you could only say one thing about Harry, he definitely had a strong survival instinct.

His new relationship with Lupin had been a bit of a revelation, though. Certainly Harry had been privately tutored by the werewolf back in third year, but their relationship then had been an uncomfortable imbalance. A dizzy bit of hero worship on Harry's part, out of the joy of finally having a decent teacher, and a certain wary fondness by Lupin, who had been slightly unnerved by this boy who physically looked so very like his childhood best friend - but was dissimilar in almost every other conceivable way. Then after Harry had found out the truth about the Marauders, he had seen Lupin as a fond avuncular figure, but it was Sirius who had occupied Harry's love and attention. Lupin had not played heavily in Harry's mind for years.

Now, however, they began to relate almost as equals. This newfound mutual respect certainly wasn't hurt by the fact that Harry was beating Lupin at their magical duels just as often as he was being beaten himself. Of course, it was still rare for him to get one up on the Defence teacher when it came to their physical duels, but Harry was improving nonetheless. Both his practice of hand-to-hand and his burgeoning weapons training had been aided greatly by Lupin teaching him a charm which would improve his eyesight for a short time, making his infamous glasses at least temporarily superfluous. It only lasted an hour if you didn't recast the spell, but Lupin hadn't been willing to teach him anything more permanent, due to such spells' propensity toward lasting damage. Besides, as the professor had reminded him, they would be starting human transfiguration now in Sixth form. If Harry wanted to maim and disfigure himself, he could do it on McGonagall's watch, or so seemed to be the message.

The class was luckily distracted as Neville started his run, and both Ron and Hermione took the opportunity to sidle up to Harry. He stiffened slightly as Ron patted him on the shoulder and Hermione slipped her hand into the crook of his arm, squeezing reassuringly as though afraid he'd bolt if they didn't trammel him in. Hermione spoke in that soft, careful voice that she had adopted lately, as if everything would break into pieces around her if she spoke up too loud. She said, "Harry, aren't you going to join us tonight? All of Gryffindor house is getting together and we're all going to spend the night sharing photos, memories and stories about those who are... gone." He felt the hand she had on his arm squeeze reflexively. "Won't you come with your house?"

Harry caught a glint of silvery hair across the field. Malfoy was striding away from the greenhouses with his cronies trailing behind him; his colourless hair appeared to be brilliant white in the early afternoon sun. Harry's eyes followed Malfoy as the other boy stormed off, apparently ditching his class, and he was wondering to himself why Malfoy still even took Herbology, as he replied distractedly, "Sorry, Hermione. But you know that I don't really go in for that sort of thing. I'm just... uncomfortable - talking about my feelings or whatnot." Hermione had followed the path that his eyes had taken, and as she listened to his words, her grip on him seemed to tighten even further - if that were possible.

Hermione's eyes seemed to be pinning him for interrogation, as she tugged on his arm to recapture his attention. Ron had stayed silent through the whole exchange and his only purpose in this intervention seemed to be to hold Harry trapped as he towered over his diminutive friend, his large hand clamped down on Harry's shoulder. "And what about Malfoy? You know, you didn't answer anyone's questions about him at the D.A., and you haven't told us anything either, though we know you've met with him a couple times now."

The truth was that Harry had no idea what to tell the others about Malfoy, or his meetings with the Slytherin. He had been frankly surprised at the last D.A. meeting to realize that it had only been a week since Malfoy had disrupted their lives. So much had happened, with both the ever more horrific attacks on the Wizarding world and the bizarre rapport he seemed to be forming with Malfoy. Whatever their unspoken truce was, though, Harry was not any closer to finding out who had told Malfoy about the D.A. and why he had even come.

He had told Harry that he just wanted to learn all the various advanced defensive and duelling spells and the like, but to what end? Harry didn't know and thus hadn't been able to tell the D.A. anything. (He surely wasn't going to tell them that he and Malfoy had beaten the crap out of each other and then laid about talking reasonably about Voldemort's war.)

"There's nothing really to tell. I still don't know just what his goals are, and until I can be sure of them and be sure that they aren't harmful to us, I won't let him come to the D.A. meetings. And our meetings are nothing, really. We've been working on the Patronus, though Malfoy's not having any luck at it." But Draco was doing everything perfectly. His incantations and wand movements were without fault, and so Harry had been getting the uncomfortable feeling that for all his teasing and sharp smiles when they were together, Malfoy might not have anything happy enough in him to summon a Patronus.

"But you hadn't even told us that, Harry! We could help you: we could do research into the Patronus or just be there so that you aren't stuck alone with Malfoy. You shouldn't be stuck with Malfoy by yourself," Hermione spoke guiltily, before turning the blame back on Harry. "But you never tell us anything anymore! Not about Malfoy, not about your feelings, or the war, not anything! If you don't talk about these things, you'll only make it worse for yourself. Bottling things up will only hurt you more!"

Harry was still toying over the problems with Malfoy and he said unthinkingly, "We've already looked into all the books on Patronus, Hermione. And just because I don't talk to you about it, doesn't mean I don't talk to anyone about what's going on."

Hermione looked again over at Malfoy and shook her head to herself, looking as if she were trying very hard to deny something. Ron simply looked ill that Harry could refer to himself and Malfoy as a 'we.' Hermione still wouldn't look at Harry as she said in a strangled voice, "Ah, well, I see. You're talking to the Headmaster or Professor Lupin about it, then. And you'll go talk to one of them instead of coming with us tonight. Of course." Her hand fell from his arm as they saw everyone getting their packs together while a trembling but triumphant Neville was being congratulated for his success. Hermione turned away. "Well, let's go then - don't want to be late for Potions."

HARRY LET HIMSELF INTO THE dungeon room to find the familiar sight of Malfoy perched carefully on the window seat and reading some arcane tome or another. In the last two weeks there had hardly been a time that Harry had found the room unoccupied. He didn't come all that often, but every couple days he would find himself trying to get away from his housemates or simply to get some work done without interruptions. They had fallen into an easy habit of working quietly together. Apparently both needed a bit of time to escape from their public personas.

Malfoy held up a hand in silent greeting without glancing at Harry or even looking up from his book. The Gryffindor slung his bag to the ground and dropped to his knees next to it, with a sharp crack as the bone struck stone. He winced and rummaged through his pack for a couple minutes in a rather aimless, despondent manner before giving up and just sitting there on the cold floor.

Draco finished the paragraph that he was on, then slipped a sheet of notes in the book to mark his page before setting it down. He saw Harry's mullish expression and said blandly, "I hope you're not looking for another fight, because I've got to tell you: I've just had these robes pressed."

Harry looked at him balefully and said, "You're such a pouf, Malfoy. I can't believe you'd give up a perfectly good opportunity to thrash me - as keep you claiming you can - just for your precious robes getting wrinkled."

Draco stared back at him inscrutably, then said, "Fine." In one smooth motion he stood and shrugged out of his robes to reveal a pair of well-worn Muggle jeans and a plain black t-shirt. Harry stared at him, never having imagined Malfoy in normal Muggle clothes like this. It seemed too surreal: Draco Malfoy, heir to one of the oldest and most prestigious wizarding families in existence, standing in front of a magically created window in a thousand year old castle, and somehow looking like he had just walked out of the pages of that Muggle magazine GQ.

Malfoy had neatly folded his robes in a deft move that took Harry by surprise. Of course, everything about the boy was normally neat, but who would have expected a Malfoy to be so accustomed to folding his own robes? Wouldn't he have house-elves and servants for all that? The blonde strode toward him and Harry quickly fell back onto his bum as he tried to scramble away. He protested hastily, "Uh, no, I don't want to fight, Malfoy. I mean, if you don't feel like doing your reading, we could have a go at the Patronus again."

He was holding up a hand as if to ward the Slytherin off, but Malfoy reached down and used the proffered limb to pull him sharply to his feet, "All right, let's get to it then."

Malfoy walked back to the window and for some reason Harry was disappointed to see him slip his robes back on. He had seemed more approachable then ever in regular Muggle clothing, though Harry had fallen on his arse trying to get away from him. Harry shook his head and reminded himself that it was too cold for anyone to be running around in just a t-shirt anyhow.

Malfoy threw over his shoulder, "Besides, you have one of your meetings tonight, right? We don't have much time for an unscheduled practice." Harry shook his head again, and then nodded in agreement. Draco had already noticed the fact that Harry 'had to be somewhere' every night by eight, from the few times they'd still been in the dungeons by that time. He didn't ask where Harry was going or what he did.

Harry brushed off the dust he'd collected from the floor and replied that yes, he did have a meeting tonight. They took up their regular positions and Harry said, as he had so many times in the past week, "Okay, think of the happiest memory you can and focussing on that feeling: Expecto patronum."

Looking serious, Malfoy repeated dutifully, "Expecto patronum," as he waved his wand. Nothing happened. Absolutely, positively nothing. Harry hadn't really expected anything, seeing as that they'd failed in their endeavours every other time they'd tried.

He thought back to his musings of that morning and sighed, "Malfoy, you're doing everything right; the incantation, the wand movement, all the technicalities are spot on. In all our research, we didn't find anything that said certain people simply can't summon a Patronus. I think..." he watched Malfoy's face carefully, waiting apprehensively for the blonde to go all cold and distant, "I think it's whatever moment or feeling that you're focussing on that's the problem."

Malfoy didn't show any reaction though, at least, not until Harry asked if he wouldn't perhaps share his memory, so they could try to figure out what was blocking him. Then the other boy looked almost uncomfortable as he glared at Harry, "Did you ever think it might be a problem with your teaching methods?"

Harry knew, of course, that he wasn't an experienced teacher. But he also knew just what to say to goad Malfoy, and so he did: "Well, this is the way that I learned the Patronus back in Third year. I should think it would be simple enough for you to follow now in Sixth."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes hatefully at the Gryffindor but then looked away. He still had that oddly uncomfortable air about him as he spat, "Believe you me, Potter. You don't want to hear it."

Harry made a gesture of impatience and said shortly, "Look, I don't care about your inner thoughts or whatever the hell, Malfoy. I just don't want to be wasting my time working on this charm when we aren't getting anywhere. So, spill."

Malfoy snapped back at Harry, "Fine! If you don't want to be wasting your time. You want to know what my happy memory was, Potter? It was when I first learned that Voldemort was back." Seeing Harry's disbelieving face, he continued on, "I hated you and knew you would be out of the picture soon enough, with the Dark Lord back. And it was what my father always wanted, so by default, what I had always wanted. I thought that he'd be pleased, and that with me by his side in Voldemort's new order, he would be pleased with me."

It was the first time Harry had heard Malfoy speak about his father since the previous year, but it didn't help him to justify what the boy was saying. Harry looked faintly ill as he asked, "What the hell, Malfoy? That's just disgusting. Your happiest memory is that the enemy of everything on this world came back to life to wreak destruction again?"

Malfoy shrugged, back in his element as he spoke sarcastically, "He isn't the enemy of everything on this world. He's just fine with Purebloods and puppy-dogs. Besides, I never said it was a good thing. It was just the only thing that made me happy."

Harry was still disturbed and he quizzed the other boy, "What about getting a good grade? A quidditch win? What about going home... or leaving home?"

The Slytherin just shrugged again, managing to make the gesture elegant and telling, "Nothing that you didn't ruin for me, Potter. If I passed my classes at the top of my house, it didn't matter because you had saved the whole school again. Any quidditch wins didn't matter, because I still always lost to you. Going home meant getting lectured about failing to befriend you when we were children, and failing to beat you in the present. Coming back to school meant being stuck face to face with you again."

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to be blithe as he said, "No wonder you hated me, huh?"

He realized immediately afterward that he had described Malfoy's hatred in the past tense. He waited uncomfortably, sure that Draco would say something, but the blonde just waved it away and said, "Oh, don't go and justify it, Potter. I was a right little rotter. Still am, in fact." He threw Harry one of his sharp smiles then turned introspective. Harry was left trying to juggle the fact that he might be the cause of Draco's utter lack of happy memories into his world view.

The blonde seemed to finish his mental inventory and said to Harry, "Okay, I've got something." Without any more hesitation than that, he brought up his wand and said confidently, "Expecto patronum!" A small silvery shape shot out of his wand and darted around their heads. When Harry's eyes became accustomed to the diamond brilliance, he realized he was focusing on a tiny, rather whispy dragon. He turned to the other boy with an eyebrow raised sardonically and was about to make a snarky comment when he saw the Slytherin's face.

Malfoy looked shell-shocked. Harry didn't think he'd ever seen him show so much emotion. Instead of teasing Draco for his rather stereotypical Patronus, he asked worriedly, "What is it? What memory could possibly be worse than Voldemort returning?" But Malfoy refused to tell him anything. After all, how could he tell Harry that the only memories that were strong enough to summon his Patronus all involved the Gryffindor himself?

NOW THAT HE HAD GOT past his block, Draco was progressing quickly. He was actually a very powerful wizard himself and didn't become sweaty and drained as Harry had when he'd first been mastering the Patronus. Then again, Harry wasn't sure if Malfoy ever sweated - it seemed too dirty and undisciplined for the boy. Harry was musing aloud to himself about how he could get Malfoy something real to practice against, like a boggart, when he heard Ron and Hermione's voices coming down the hall.

"Hermione, I really don't think this is a good idea. We have no idea where we are or where these dungeons even lead to. Hell, I didn't even know these dungeons existed. The map--"

Hermione cut Ron off in his speech and said, "The map is irrelevant, except that it shows that Harry is down here somewhere and that Malfoy is with him. And don't swear, Ron." He could now see his friends through the charmed wall and Hermione was peering around herself carefully and glanced down at the Marauder's Map in her hand.

Harry looked at Draco, who had gone a bit pale when he'd first seen the Gryffindors but had now approached the wall and was trying to see the piece of parchment in Hermione's hands. "Potter, what does she mean that map 'shows' us being here?" There was a greedy glint in Malfoy's eye and Harry remembered the boy's kleptomanic tendencies.

Ron had continued on though, freeing Harry up from having to reply. The redhead said exasperatedly, "The map ended like a mile ago! We don't know where we're going. As disturbing as it might be that he chose to suffer through Malfoy rather than join the house meeting or go to his session with Dumbledore, it's Harry's choice. Let's just go back."

Hermione was now running her hands over the wall and Malfoy was watching in fascination as her hands passed right in front of him, her none the wiser. "Look, the map still identifies Harry, even if there isn't any actual drawing for this part of the castle. And it shows Harry to be somewhere immediately to my right." She slipped up the tapestry and found the door behind it. With a satisfied little, "Ha!" she pulled her wand and intoned smugly, "Alohamora!" Nothing happened and thinking that she might have been a bit pre-emptive in assuming the door to be magically locked, she grabbed the handle and jiggled it a bit.

Malfoy scrambled back and ducked behind Harry, hissing, "What do your crazy minions want, Potter?"

Harry nudged him with a shoulder and said reproachfully, "They aren't my minions, they're my friends. You're the only one with minions around here, Malfoy."

Hermione had tried another spell and was beginning to get angry, in that determined, I-will-solve-this-even-if-I-have-to-bring-down-the-whole-castle kind of way that only Hermione could pull off. She started banging on the door and yelling at Harry, while Draco looked quite frightened and exclaimed, "What the fuck is wrong with your friends, Potter?!"

Harry blanched and said weakly, "Um, I think they want to talk to me."

He walked over to the door and pulled it open while Hermione was taking a breather. "Er, hi guys," he said, smiling sheepishly at his friends. They stared at him a moment, before Hermione rushed forward toward Harry, only to find herself pushed back by a hugely powerful force that attempted to flatten her, crushing all the air out of her body.

She fell back into Ron and he held her up as she gasped for breath, looking bewildered, "Harry! What did you do?"

Harry looked even more embarrassed than before and explained, "Sorry, Hermione. I really would recommend you don't try to enter this room. I put up a sort of ward to keep people out." Ron held out a hand unsurely and pushed into the air that made up the doorway. It felt as if his hand was being squeezed in one of Hagrid's overly-enthusiastic handshakes, and when he tried to push farther into the room, it felt as if his very bones were being ground together.

He pulled his hand back and stared at his best friend in wonder, which caused him to see Malfoy posed insouciantly against a window in that strange room. His mind took a few moments to try and catch up to the fact that there were windows here were it should be far underground, before he shrugged it away as one of the castle's peculiarities. Malfoy, meanwhile, had more than regained his confidence once he'd realized that as long as he was in the room, Potter's mad little cronies couldn't touch him.

Hermione was looking angrier than ever now that she had recovered herself. She immediately launched into a McGonagallesque lecture about frivolous and reckless uses of magic, flouting his meeting with the undoubtedly busy headmaster and being alone with Malfoy instead of staying with the Gryffindors. She shot a glare at Malfoy, but it didn't seem quite as loathing-filled as usual, but more like a warning look - as if she knew something that Harry didn't about the blonde.

The small black-haired boy tried to push his two raging friends forward and away from the door, placating them all the way. He swung back and picked up his pack from the floor, rolling his eyes at Malfoy in exasperation. As Harry slung his bag over his shoulder and walked out the door, Draco called out, "I'll kick your arse next time, scarface." He was rewarded to see Ron lunging toward the door, as though his hatred was stronger than any pain - which was pretty damn likely. Draco laughed to himself as he watched Harry drag his protesting friends back up to the castle main, then went to the window to pick up his book again.

AS HARRY PULLED HIS FRIENDS along, he was getting a bit annoyed himself. He was quite offended that they had gone through his things and taken the Marauder's Map without even asking. Not that they could have asked, since he hadn't been around, but all the better reason not to go nosing around in his business when he obviously wanted to get away for a while.

Before he could say anything to them, they were all three brought up short by Dumbledore, who was waiting back in the entrance way. "Ah, Harry, my boy. There you are; safe and sound, I see?"

Harry nodded shortly and said in a recalcitrant tone, "Sorry that I missed our meeting, headmaster. It must have slipped my mind." He knew that he sounded unbelievable, but couldn't really be bothered. Dumbledore seemed ready to accept his excuses though and turned to Hermione.

"Miss Granger, thank you for your concern. I'm glad that Harry has such loyal friends and that we have such a resourceful witch helping the Order of the Phoenix. Please come talk to me again any time." He switched his attention over to Ron then, saying, "And Mr Weasley, you are also welcome anytime you wish to speak to someone." Both his friends seemed hugely flattered and were too tongue-tied to even respond to the headmaster. Harry nodded goodbye to the old man, then continued to lead his friends on toward the Gryffindor Tower.

His admonishments had died before reaching his lips and he stayed silent, feeling a bit unsettled by Dumbledore's attitude toward Hermione. It wasn't that the headmaster shouldn't be friendly with other students, but something about the way he had suggested that Hermione come talk with him again made Harry a bit wary. What had she been talking to the headmaster about in the first place? Hermione had seemed a bit off lately, even guilty; had she been talking to Dumbledore about Harry? About what she saw as his failings and his running away from the glaring present? Or maybe it was something so innocent as talking about the D.A.'s assignment to find new locales for enclaves. I know I've been hanging out with that Slytherin too much when I even start suspecting my best friends.

IT WASN'T FOR MANY DAYS that Harry saw his pet Slytherin again - this time completely by chance. Not that he was consciously seeking Malfoy out when he so constantly found himself in the dungeon room. Of course not. But he surely couldn't have been expecting the whole Slytherin quidditch team to come out for practice in the -3 degree weather. Not at the precise time that he had also run to the pitch to get away from Gryffindor Tower and his house-mates ongoing wish to grieve together and 'share their pain.' Honestly.

Harry continued to fly around aimlessly as he watched the green-clad figures trail onto the field. They obviously saw him as well and he watched their monstrous shadows stretch in the winter sun as they mounted their Nimbus 2001's. The team flew up to meet him and Malfoy predictably came head to head with Harry. The rest of the quidditch team circled around him and even the captain seemed to assume that it was Malfoy who would confront Harry Potter. Who else owned such rights to the boy?

"Get out of here, Potter. We booked the pitch for practice, though I know that you obviously need it more." Malfoy sneered at Harry and waved him away. He thought about pushing back at the Slytherin, but both Crabbe and Goyle had their Beater's clubs out and handy, so he decided such an action probably wouldn't be the most conducive to his health just then. Malfoy continued to glare coldly at Harry as the Gryffindor shrugged.

The rest of the team scattered and started to take their positions as directed by their captain and Harry meandered toward the ground. He suddenly heard the familiar sound of a Bludger speeding at him and ducked out of habit. The ball went careening off into the approaching dusk as Harry stared back in shock at Draco, who had stolen Crabbe's bat. He was grinning madly since no one else could see him, as turned away from his team to face Harry. His voice was eerily discordant from his bright smile, when he spoke nastily, "You're going to have be better than that, Potter, if you expect to beat Slytherin this year."

Harry flicked him the one-fingered salute, but suspected that the Slytherin might not be that wrong. The team had already been in a crisis since Fred and George Weasley had dropped out before graduation last year, and then Angelina and Katie had both graduated as well. Alicia had been the most senior member of the team and had been defaulted to the position of captain. But Alicia had been on the train back to the Muggle world, and now Harry was the most senior member of the team left. Ron, Ginny and the two beaters that Gryffindor had picked up last year each had only a year or less of experience - and Ginny was just reserve Seeker, so that didn't even help them much. The three new chasers had never even played before, let alone in a highly-trained formation like Angelina, Katie and Alicia had been. Harry had nearly five years experience, despite his frequent hiatuses and injuries, but he thought Ron would be a much better captain if it came down to it. Catching the snitch for 150 points was more than enough responsibility for him.

He had wended his way behind the seats of the quidditch pitch and tossed his broom to the side. He tried to Banish it back to his dorm with a wave of his hand but wasn't surprised when it didn't work. Sighing, he pulled out his wand and performed the charm the conventional way. He threw himself down on the grass and wrapped his cloak more firmly around him, pulling up his gold and red Gryffindor scarf to protect his face from the cold. When that didn't do much against the biting wind, he cast a warming charm on his cloak and found himself encased in a toasty cocoon of comfort.

Watching the sky slowly pick up a golden hue and tinge the few clouds on the horizon with a rosy blush, he wondered what to say to his friends. He knew that his constant absence from the dorms was utterly conspicuous and he felt bad about it. But not bad enough to actually spend time there. He just felt so awkward; as if he couldn't work on his homework, or read Quidditch Through the Ages, or play Exploding Snap, not when everyone else was so into their grieving. He vaguely felt the loss of his friends, but supposed the truth of it hadn't really sunk in. After all, we part all the time in boarding school. Why should it seem different this time? Why should it seem that they aren't coming back, that they aren't there to come back?

Everyone who he had loved and lost; his parents, Sirius and now his old friends from school; all of them had simply disappeared out of his life. They just suddenly weren't there - not their bodies or anything. How could he really know they were gone? He tried to think of his friend Dean Thomas, or of the Creevey brothers or Alicia Spinnet - but how could his friends and housemates who had been so lively and vibrant and real just a week ago, now be cold empty shells waiting to be put in the ground?

He rolled over on his side, pulling his charmed cloak more tightly around him. The sun was actually setting now, the last glaring flare prying into his slitted eyes. He squinted and then pulled off his glasses, cradling them loosely in his hand as he sunk into the heat-induced stupor that his charm had brought on. His eyes slipped shut and somewhere in his daze, he thought he heard a distinct whisper: "Potter." His mind scrabbled after that soft utterance, but he was too far gone already and fell into the welcoming blackness of his sleep.

When he woke up in the dark, Harry wasn't sure if only hours or whole minutes had passed. The stars were beginning to appear over head and someone was kicking his foot softly but repeatedly. "Malfoy?" he asked, wincing at how his voice croaked.

The blonde head popped into Harry's line of sight and though he couldn't see all that well, he thought the boy looked surprised. "How did you know it was me?" the Slytherin asked, sounding genuinely curious as he plucked Harry's glasses out of the dazed boy's grasp.

Draco brought the glasses up to his own face and winced at the strength of Harry's prescription, before pocketing the glasses for himself. Harry was looking at him reproachfully and sounded rather petulant when he protested, "Not my glasses, Malfoy. I really can't see well without them." Draco was fascinated, though, to see the black-haired boy without his usual defensive wall. With the heavy black frames gone, his green eyes suddenly seemed so much brighter and wide, sooty black lashes framing eyes that Draco had never really noticed much before. There was something in that naked face that seemed so trusting, that it left Draco feeling ill to his core.

He heard Harry answer his earlier question, as he looked away and swallowed convulsively. The other boy was saying, "I knew it was you because no one else could be quite so annoying, Malfoy." Draco flopped back onto the ground near the Gryffindor and could feel those weighty green eyes on him, like insidious vines of Devil's snare that were wrapping themselves around him and choking the life out of all his self-control. Potter looked over at him and said jokingly, "No way. Draco Malfoy rolling around in the dirt and grass? This has got to be a first."

Draco could hear the questioning note in Harry's teasing and tried to be as disdainfully scornful as usual when he replied, "And Harry Potter sleeping with Draco Malfoy on the quidditch pitch?" That shut the prat up.

"Besides, my dear Harry, these are quidditch robes (and I have been practising quidditch for the last two hours), so they are already quite filthy. Moreover, these are Slytherin quidditch robes, so they are filthy and green - so your paltry threats of dirty grass can't frighten me." A few minutes later, he finally looked over at Harry again, to see that the Gryffindor boy had fallen back into his dark silence. He looked away again almost immediately and suggested, "Come on, Potter, let's fly."

He jumped up and quickly summoned another Nimbus 2001 from the Slytherin stock, holding it tantalizingly above Harry's head. "Up, up, Potter. This time I'll beat you good and fair..." He paused then amended that statement, "Well, no, not fair. But I'll beat you good, now that you are without your precious Firebolt. Come on, Potter: up. No one likes a whiny little loser who won't play just because he's about to get thoroughly trounced."

He smiled tauntingly and Harry stared at him. It seemed the more troubled Harry became, the more Malfoy tried to drag him out of it. This certainly wasn't the first time. Was Malfoy aware of it? Could he consciously be trying to cheer Harry up? Harry didn't think he could imagine Draco Malfoy trying purposefully to make anyone feel better, even his so-called friends like Goyle or Pansy. Yet there he was, holding out a broom and offering to let Harry leave all his troubles behind and fly freely through the sky, where he belonged.

Harry lunged upward and grabbed the chance that was being offered to him. "You're on, Malfoy." He pulled out his wand and quickly performed the charm to perfect his eyesight and Malfoy was surprised to see those open green eyes focus on him properly. Harry smirked, "Surely you didn't think I was going to give you a handicap by letting you steal my glasses?" Harry jumped astride the broom and spiralled quickly high into the freezing night air.

He was surprised to feel the sheer number of spells on the Nimbus 2001 and yelled his sentiments suspiciously at Malfoy. The other boy openly laughed and was flitting about Harry in a playful mockery of the close tagging he would often adopt in their matches, bumping knees and elbows with Harry. He called back, "We're Slytherins, what do you expect? But I will have you know that there is not one illegal spell on these brooms." He grinned again. "There are many."

Harry shook his head indulgently and they flew in silence as the stars rose, both performing little tricks to out-do one another but without any insults or baiting, just fierce smiles and genuine enjoyment. Eventually Malfoy pulled out a practice snitch, one that was charmed not to fly outside the boundaries of the pitch or above four hundred feet in the air. He released it and Harry, feeling cocky, caught it before it had gone fifteen feet.

Draco frowned disapprovingly and took the snitch again, slapping Harry's hand as he did so. This time he released it and let the little golden ball get a hundred foot lead by holding Harry's hand back to keep the Gryffindor from whizzing after it. Harry was still waiting patiently, good little Gryffindor that he was, when Draco released his wrist suddenly and took off, calling behind him, "Now!"

Screaming profanities as he laughed, Harry shot after the silver blur that was Draco in the moonlight. They rocketed after the little ball in the cold air currents as it capriciously darted about, knocking shoulders and scraping each other's legs as each tried to pull ahead; but they were almost a perfect match for each other. That time Draco caught the snitch, the first time he had ever caught it when playing against Harry, but he wasn't thinking about that. They continued playing for hours and ended up with Draco in the lead at three to two. (Though Draco insisted that Harry's first catch had been blatant cheating and shouldn't be counted, while Harry insisted that he hadn't played in almost an entire year, so was out of practice, on an unfamiliar broom and still had beat Malfoy twice.)

The myopic Gryffindor Seeker had renewed the spell on his eyes twice already. It was nearing ten p.m. and the school's curfew. Of course, they weren't supposed to have been out on the grounds once the sun had set, but neither boy was the model for following school rules. They were once again drifting slowly along in the night.

Harry watched enviously as Malfoy confidently lay sprawled on his broom, his arms and legs hanging over the sides like some indolent cat. The git somehow managed to make it look not only secure, but comfortable, too. Harry was leaning far forward on his borrowed broom as well, his chin resting on his folded hands and his legs wrapped around the broom's sleek black tail. He was musing to himself about the Slytherin Seeker, flying around with his greatest rival (namely Harry, the Gryffindor Seeker) and letting said Gryffindor even use a Slytherin broom. It was unheard of, and had better stay that way if the both of them wanted to keep their skins.

Harry glanced at Malfoy, who looked like some ethereal spectre in the weak moonlight, and wondered what this was. Enemies didn't do things like this. Harry would never fly around with Voldemort, or cry in front of Pettigrew, or even willingly ask Snape about his opinions on the war (though Snape wasn't technically his enemy any longer). Yet, it didn't feel anything like the way he hung out with his friends, or even the D.A. members, which would seem the most comparable, since he was supposed to just be teaching Malfoy the same things that he'd taught the D.A.. What was it then?

Malfoy sounded characteristically uninterested as he asked, "So, why don't you want to go back to the castle, Potter?"

Enemies definitely didn't ask after your mental welfare either. Unless it was to taunt. Harry looked sharply at the other Seeker. Nope, no taunting.

"It's too oppressive."

Draco snorted and didn't sound too impressed when he retorted, "A couple hundred tonnes of stone can do that to you."

Okay, so a bit of taunting.

The blonde turned his head to Harry, his thin silky hair being buffeted by the wind, "You know they've probably sent a search party out for you?"

Harry could see his own rather shaggy black hair blowing in his eyes and obscuring his view of the pale Slytherin. He snorted, "Not very effective then, are they?"

Draco glared and reached over to shove Harry, nearly upsetting himself in the process. Harry's heart stopped for a few seconds and he grabbed the blonde firmly as he was wavering precariously off his broomstick. Harry hissed at the other boy, "You're such an arse, Malfoy. I can't believe you'd kill yourself just to get to me." He could feel Malfoy's heart beating overly fast as well, from where he had one arm wrapped around the slender boy's chest. Good thing that Draco was almost as slight as Harry himself was, since he would have been hard pressed to pull up someone as large as Ron from falling.

The Slytherin boy pushed himself back firmly onto his own broom, feeling the cold as Harry's warm arm slipped away. He quickly got himself back under control and said lightly, though his heart was still racing unevenly, "Oh, you know I'm just dying to get my hands on you, Potter. Now, you ought to run back to the castle before your friends come to lynch me like last time." But Harry was still watching him carefully as they landed and he handed Malfoy back the Slytherin broom.

Harry looked at anything but Draco and asked, "You're all right?" Draco pulled a face and pushed the boy away, chastising him for 'mothering' him. Glancing back over his shoulder repeatedly, Harry walked back up to the castle, thinking, But you're the one who's mothering me: making me go back and play nice with my house, and be the hero everyone expects. Why you? What is this?