White Horses

HARRY HAD TO WAKE THE Fat Lady to get back into Gryffindor Tower that night. Luckily he didn't encounter any of the upper years who might stop him to talk in the common room, and most of the younger students were too awed to even speak to him, let alone ask where he'd been after curfew. But when he let himself into his dorm, he pulled back the curtains on his bed to find Ron waiting there for him. His usually kind-faced friend looked rather severe as he pulled Harry into the canopied bed, and then cast a low-level Silencing spell to keep their conversation from waking the other two boys in the dorm.

Harry was horribly conscious of how wind-blown and -burnt he looked as he sat down opposite his friend, and tried to flatten his hair with his palms. He knew there was nothing he could do about the bright red spots burning in his white face, thanks to the sub-zero weather. He could even smell a whiff of the pitch on himself, a smell of cold night air and crushed grass. His hand reached up to subconsciously adjust his glasses and he was forcibly reminded that Malfoy still had his glasses. His aborted motion seemed to alert Ron to this fact as well. Damn the little kleptomaniac.

"Harry, where have you been all night? You're half-frozen and dirty and where the bloody hell are your glasses?"

Harry had leaned over to unlace his shoes and his voice came out muffled as he said simply, "I was out flying. I'm really out of practice since last year."

Ron watched his frustrating friend and mentally reviewed his encyclopaedic knowledge of all things quidditch, "But Slytherin had the pitch booked for tonight. And your Firebolt was here when we came up!"

Harry set his shoes on the floor, pointing them outward, always ready to run. He sat back up and said, "Yeah, I was out there earlier and the Slytherin team came out. So I sent my broom back here to the dorm and stayed out on the field behind the pitch for a while, until the team left."

Ron peered at him and his voice was unsure as he asked, "You were out there with... the Slytherins?" Then he groaned and looked askance at his friend. "Not Malfoy. Please tell me you weren't out there with Malfoy."

Harry had shrugged out of his cloak and robes and was spending far too much attention on the garments as he painstakingly folded each. He didn't look at Ron as he said, "Malfoy was out there, too, but I wouldn't say that I was out there with him."

The ginger boy looked away painfully and said to his best mate, "I don't know what you're up to these days, Harry. I know that you don't like to deal with all this death, and that you have a lot of pressure on you, but I don't think mucking about with a dirty Slytherin is going to help anything." Harry couldn't say anything in response and so Ron continued. "Harry, we really need you around here. All the younger years are frightened and don't understand what's going on. Even us uppers are petrified. Neville is defying his family by staying here. Dean is gone. Seamus - did you even know? Seamus lost his little sister in the elementary school attack."

Harry's head jerked up to stare at his miserable friend in disbelief as the prefect admitted to him, "I'm trying to keep them together and at the same time hold Hermione up. There's only one seventh year girl left, so Hermione is the one struggling to keep all the girls together. But I'm not meant for this, mate. I'm no good at keeping everyone together and giving them hope." He saw Harry open his mouth to protest, but prevented him from speaking by rushing on, "I know, I know, you resent the hell out of it and you don't think you're anything special, but if you could only see the way people look up to you! If you say we can beat this, then everyone will believe it. We need you, Harry. I need you; I need you to help me."

The green-eyed boy looked as miserable as his friend now. Harry really didn't believe he could do much, and he really didn't want to be put in the position where he'd be forced to, but for Ron to speak so frankly with him meant that things truly were that bad - and it was largely Harry's fault, for ignoring them all. He sounded defeated when he assured his friend, "I'm sorry, Ron. I didn't know about Seamus' sister. Or half of what's been going on around here. I guess I've been avoiding it all. I promise I'll be here more often. I'll do anything I can - and the least I can do is to be here with you all."

Ron beamed at Harry in a way he hadn't for some while and briefly jostled Harry's arm. He pushed himself up from the bed and said sincerely, "Thanks, Harry. It'll be really great to have you back with us."

The curtains dropped back into place after Ron's departure and left Harry feeling more alone than he had even out on the field with no one else in sight. He quickly stripped off the rest of his clothes and scrambled into his bed, trying to fight off the threatening cold. He couldn't believe only thirty minutes ago he had been out flying happily and was now so firmly chained to the ground again. But this was all he could do. Voldemort wasn't around for him to fight off, so rallying the rest of the school was all the vaunted Boy Who Lived could do.

THE NEXT DAY HARRY MADE a point to be present in all the house activities. At meals, he actually stuck around for the entire period, being an active member of the conversations and engaging the younger students as well. They even began interacting with the Ravenclaw table next to them. Gryffindor was on its way to regaining its title as the most rambunctious and lively table in the hall. That evening the Gryffindors were some of the last to leave the Great Hall after dinner and they all travelled together in a great pack, with Harry Potter at the head.

Draco watched curiously from where he sat with his own ruling party, fingering the pair of glasses that were still in his pocket. He wasn't sure how Potter had explained away their absence, but Draco wasn't going to give them back unless Harry took them back. He couldn't say just why he had taken them, or why he always took things. It had started when he was young, the need to take. It wasn't just that he was taking what he wanted - most of the time, he couldn't even use the things that he took. So, it wasn't just a spoilt child's greed. It was more about having something that wasn't given to him or bought with his father's money. Whenever he had asked for something as a child, he'd received it. And as a result, it meant that all of those things that he'd thought he'd wanted ended up meaning nothing. The only things which meant anything were the things that he could take for himself.

He saw Blaise watching him in a predatory manner and quickly knocked up his haughtiness by a couple notches. He sneered thin-lipped at the grabby upstart and got up, signalling for his house to leave as well. Crabbe, Goyle and Pansy didn't hesitate. A few of the older students followed almost immediately and most of the younger kids started shuffling up after looking around uncertainly for a couple moments. He was still in control, though he knew his days as the leader of Slytherin were numbered.

BACK UP IN THE TOWER, Harry was feeling slightly stifled in the close room, thanks to the cheery fires that burnt constantly in Gryffindor. He thought longingly of brisk starlit breezes and flying free in the grass-scented night, but everyone else seemed happier than they had in the last week, now that the heart of the house had returned. The whole of Gryffindor house - all of its surviving members, now totalling up to just over forty students - were basking in the reassurance of Harry's presence, as if he alone would make up for all those who were missing.

The Gryffindors were doing homework, studying for exams and generally gossiping about teacher and students alike, as per usual. It was almost normal and should have been comforting to Harry, but somehow the atmosphere that would have been so welcoming just two or three years ago was now grating on him with the overwhelming closeness and dependence of the group.

After living locked in a cupboard for most of his life, it had at first been a marvel to Harry to be surrounded by people who actually wanted him around as well. But after the initial wonder had worn off, it had become overwhelming to never be alone or quiet; to constantly be surrounded by the never-ending chattering of all these happy moods. It was something like the hum of white noise which you don't notice at first, but once you do begin to listen to it, you can't ignore it again. But he had promised Ron to stick around more, and so he would just have to endure it - and try to forget quiet nights spent on a cool quidditch field.

IT WAS POTIONS CLASS ON Wednesday and Harry had been getting accustomed to being a full-fledged Gryffindor again. His transformation seemed completed by Malfoy's coldness toward him in class. Harry felt as if the last few weeks might have been a dream - here he was back in the bosom of Gryffindor House and once again being insulted and ignored in turns by Malfoy. If it hadn't been for Harry's missing glasses, he might have thought it truly some bizarre imagining from his over-stressed mind. But his glasses were gone, prompting Harry to have to constantly recast the spell to give him proper vision, and to have to endure the teasing of his classmates, who all thought he'd finally ditched the glasses out of (not entirely misplaced) vanity.

He glanced over at Malfoy again. After they had sieved the Veritaserum potion through a net painstakingly woken from thestral mane and demiguise hair to remove any of the diamond chips and silver dragon scales that might be left after the two weeks of soaking, they had left the milky potion to be chilled for the additional two weeks it took for the moon to cycle from new to full again. Once they had revealed the sparkling clear potions last week, the partner work had been concluded and the Gryffindors had gone back to their regular places, making room for the influx of Ravenclaws and the few Hufflepuffs that had been combined with their class.

That last partnered class had been just before his and Malfoy's little midnight excursion. Now the boy seemed to be ignoring him in a concentrated manner. But Harry was sure he was the only one to notice and recognize the black arm, from a pair of cheap round glasses, which was poking out of Draco's font shirt pocket. He wasn't sure what that meant. If he were acting like they had been recently, Malfoy would have winked at Harry or made some deliberately provoking comment, but he was just wearing those glasses on him as a silent badge of their encounter. Harry shook his head in frustration.

SEVERUS SNAPE WAS STARTING MERCILESSLY at the student in front of him, his dark eyes so demanding that Harry might have sworn that the professor was using Legilimency. They were working on a sophisticated sleeping potion, one that could not be broken without a specific antidote made by the same brewer as the original potion. Snape, never one to beat around the bush, said brusquely, "Why does Mr Malfoy have your glasses, Potter?"

Okay, so maybe Harry hadn't been the only one to notice the glasses. His mind scrambled against the smooth glassy wall that Snape's eyes constructed before him. Should he deny it? Say that Malfoy stole his glasses as a cruel prank? Admit that he'd actually been spending time with the Slytherin boy by choice?

Snape continued to bore into him and told Harry, "I know that you have been consorting with Malfoy recently." He paused and then reminded the student, "You're devil's snare sap is boiling over, Potter. Do try to pay attention." Harry had completely blanked on his potion and hurriedly cast a cooling charm on his cauldron.

He wiped up the hot sticky mess with a towel and said, "I thought, sir, that you disliked Malfoy."

The Potion Master's attitude toward the Malfoy heir had gotten worse, if anything, as the term progressed and Snape responded concordantly, "That is true enough, understatement though it may be."

Harry wrung the towel in his hands and tried to be appropriately facetious when he said, "Well, you certainly dislike me. So, there should be no problem: you can be rid of the two of us at once, because we will surely kill one another."

The professor glowered at Harry and spoke in a withering voice, still never moving even in the face of Harry's nervous twittering about. "Be that as it may, Potter; your mutual homicide is not at all the point, except in that Dumbledore would be less than pleased were one of my students to kill his poster boy - and Dumbledore's displeasure would greatly inconvenience me." He looked at the boy seriously, almost entirely dropping his usual biting sarcasm, "There is much at risk in this war and it is not wise to be bandying about with untrustworthy people."

Harry didn't even try to joke, since he was unsure of where the professor stood. He asked seriously, with no intent to offend (or, at least, not too much), "So, I should stay away from the Slytherins, Professor?"

The Potions Master seemed to lose a bit of his tension when it looked as if Harry wouldn't argue with his decree. "No, you shouldn't write anyone off simply because the shortcomings of their house," he looked pointedly at the Gryffindor crest on Harry's robes before latching back on those startling green eyes, the exact shade of the killing curse, and added, "but you cannot trust Malfoy."

HARRY RECEIVED MUCH THE SAME message the next night when he had his weekly lesson with the headmaster. They were now fully underway with Harry's training in Legilimency. He was not yet as practised and controlled as Dumbledore or Snape, either of whom would leave you with a disconcerting feeling that he could read your mind, but with a force so subtle that he could pass for just canny. Yet Harry had shown a precocious ability for Legilimency (though it didn't really surprise anyone; what with his years of experience with Voldemort). He could even break through Dumbledore's defences from time to time, as he was doing now.

It was a lesson in subtlety, which was a critical characteristic in both the men who had taught him Occlumency. If he tried to hammer Dumbledore with a brutish onslaught of power - as Snape had often done to him the previous year - then he would find himself exhausting his strength needlessly against a wall as solid as the very castle's. But when he slowly extended tiny tendrils of power, like the infantile vines of a leech root plant, he could create little chinks in the insurmountable wall and break through into the chaotic rush that was Dumbledore's well of memories and inner thoughts.

Tonight he was strained and sweating with effort before he felt that wall give - but considering that Dumbledore was probably one of the world's leaders in Occlumency, that was no mean accomplishment. When Dumbledore's last defence fell, Harry found himself unprepared for the barrage of memories featuring a boy who looked eerily like him, despite his Slytherin robes. Dumbledore's voice seemed to echo from a number of different occasions, "I must ask you if there's anything you'd like to tell me, anything at all?"

The young Mr Riddle looked solemn and said, "No, there isn't anything." The memories flickered, skipping like a scratched DVD might on Dudley's big-screen TV and Harry was surprised to see the image of Tom flashing in and out with that of a modern Draco Malfoy, repeating the same words. There were a dizzying series of images from what seemed to be an interview that Dumbledore had held with Malfoy, but Harry couldn't tell if it was running forward or backward, the jerky movements of Draco's seeming so bizarre for the usually graceful boy.

There was Tom leading a faithful pack of Slytherins and even some other houses' students and the image smeared into Malfoy with his own court, striding out of the Great Hall just shortly after a figure Harry had recognized as himself had left. He saw Tom leaving the school for the last time after he graduated and felt the shock of Dumbledore's impotent rage, burning with hatred for the boy who he had failed to bring back to the Light.

Harry was struck again by the dizzying montage of Draco and Riddle both denying the headmaster, the face and voice flickering between the dark boy and the light. Then a startlingly clear and steady image of his thirteen year old self, saying defiantly, "No, there isn't anything, Professor..." followed by an image he didn't understand: it looked like him, about the age he was now, saying the same thing yet again. The images of him slowed to a sluggish

fade

to

white...

Harry felt himself physically rocked as he was expelled from the headmaster's thoughts. Both the garbled and confused imagery and his violent expulsion were due to Dumbledore's hugely powerful defences, which had reinstated themselves and forced Harry out. The old man was smiling benignly and somehow Harry was the one left feeling violated and exposed.

Dumbledore commended him on his progress, assuring Harry that if the boy could break through even his defences, anyone else would be no challenge. "Not that I'm trying to be over-confident, Harry, it's just that very few people have ever managed to get to me at all. Voldemort never has, and neither has Professor Snape."

The Gryffindor swallowed hard when he heard this and said quickly, "What was all that with Draco Malfoy, sir?"

Dumbledore took off his half-moon spectacles and polished them thoughtfully. "Yes, Mr Malfoy. He is creating quite a conundrum." He slipped the glasses back on, fixing his piercing blue eyes on Harry, and said, "Mr Malfoy could be unspeakably powerful against us. Or he could be one of the greatest weapons for our side. For both these reasons, we must try to save Mr Malfoy, if even from himself."

Harry stilled, very interested to know how Dumbledore would reply, when he asked, "Would you trust Malfoy, sir?"

Dumbledore smiled a bit sadly and said, "Someone as powerful as the young Malfoy can never be completely trusted. It would be too much of a liability."

Harry felt an uncomfortable prickling that Dumbledore's description was accurate for himself, as well. For the first time, instead of getting angry about his being manipulated by Dumbledore, he was slightly frightened. The headmaster spoke again and, though his voice was sad, Harry did not think that note of sorrow was for Malfoy's sake. It seemed rather to be Dumbledore's disappointment that another student had escaped his loving clutches, "Alas, I think that Mr Malfoy may be too far gone for us. Decisions will have to be made on his behalf." He smiled at Harry and the boy felt chilled, "You, my boy, should just focus on your own training. You're still a great asset to our side."

He couldn't help wondering, And if you decide that I'm not...?

HARRY WAS STILL UNSETTLED WHEN he went with Ron and Hermione to visit Hagrid on Saturday morning. Their friendship with Hogwart's resident half-giant had suffered last year, both because of his long absence and because of his constant evasiveness due to his half-brother Grawp being secreted away in the Dark Forest. This was the first time they had gone to see him outside class since school had started. It was nearly November, and the cold snap that had started little over a week ago had lessened slightly, but the temperature was still at or below freezing - putting an extra briskness in their hurried walk across the grounds.

Hagrid was expecting them, since Harry had sent Hedwig with a note for his old friend. When the groundskeeper pulled open the door to his cosy little hut, the familiar smell of his rock cakes wafted out to greet them. Harry smiled, the smell bringing back to him the comfort he'd always found with his unassuming first friend. Hagrid pulled the trio inside jovially, pushing them into the overlarge chair where they squeezed in half on top of each other, no longer as small as they'd once been. The large man dropped himself down on his own oversized bed.

After their polite refusal of Hagrid's cooking ("Oh, we couldn't possibly - just ate breakfast, you know."), the group of old friends fell into familiar conversations. Hagrid asked after Ron's family and mentioned the latest update from Charlie on little Norbert, the Norwegian Ridgeback that Hagrid had illegally acquired in their first year. They talked briefly about the loss of Hogwarts students, but didn't bring up the war otherwise. Hagrid filled them in on this year's attempts to civilize his fully-giant half-brother, Grawp.

The morning and afternoon passed pleasantly and Harry was almost disappointed when it was time to go. As the Gryffindor trio were making obvious motions to leave though, Harry's large friend pulled him aside and asked him to stay for a couple more minutes, to discuss a 'private matter.' Only slightly wary, Harry agreed and waved his friends on ahead of him.

He turned back to see the half-giant shifting nervously, his eyes darting around without really fixing on Harry. Hagrid stumbled over his speech, saying, "Er, well, yeh see 'ere, Harry - what I mean ter say is..." Harry smiled helplessly at the familiarity of his friend's uncomfortable rambling and the man continued, "The thing of it 'tis, I saw yeh and Malfoy the other night." Harry's smile died a quick, painful death. Hagrid was wringing his hands worriedly and he tried to assure Harry (and himself), "Now, Harry, I don't want yeh ter think tha' I'm tellin' yeh how ter live yer own life. I mean, I don't like young Malfoy meself, but, what I mean is..."

The dark-haired boy looked curiously at his old friend. He was almost hopeful as he listened to Hagrid's bumbling, although not quite sure what he should be hopeful for. Maybe just for someone who wouldn't rake him over the coals for spending time with the Slytherin when the occasion arose.

Hagrid struggled on, "What I mean is, Harry, that yeh've got ter do wha's right for yeh. I can't pretend tha' I understand why yeh'd want ter hang out with Malfoy, more'n Hermione or Ron - but... well, yeh were happy ou' on tha' field, Harry. I could see it, and it's bin a while since I could. So, yeh need ter just do what's right for yeh, Harry - and no one else can tell yeh what's right for yeh but yerself."

The Gryffindor impulsively threw his arms around Hagrid and, as much as he had grown since he'd first met the man as an underfed little eleven year old, he still came barely up to Hagrid's chest and there was no way his arms could reach all the way around his friend. But Hagrid picked up the slack and squeezed Harry until his spine popped, leaking large tears all over the boy's head and shoulders. Harry wondered to himself and realized that the last time (and probably the only time) he had hugged his friend like this had been three and a half years ago, when the half-giant had been released from his tenure at Azkaban. He held onto Hagrid even more tightly, glad to have at least one friend who would accept him and his decisions.

HARRY FELT MUCH MORE BALANCED as he hopped down the stairs from Gryffindor Tower. He had been serious when he'd promised to do better with his housemates, and so he'd gone to tell his friends that he'd be absent the rest of the evening, at least until after his meeting with Flitwick. He wouldn't let his new Gryffindor resolve keep him from seeing Malfoy when he wanted to, though he was still unspeakably uncomfortable about admitting to himself even that he wanted to see Malfoy. So, his official excuse was going to retrieve his glasses.

He arrived down in their stretch of dungeons and slowed down to a measured, smooth walk - in case Draco might be watching through the charmed walls. Then he tripped anyway and ended up nearly ripping down the tapestry that hid the door, in his flailing attempt to stop his falling. Flushing red with embarrassment, he was glad to find that Malfoy was not present and had missed his less than graceful entrance. Harry was slightly disappointed that the boy wasn't around, though, as he had so often been lately. For a moment, he remembered Malfoy's cold attitude toward him in class and wondered if the Slytherin might not come to the room at all. But then he spotted his own glasses, sitting on the window sill where Malfoy was normally perched.

Harry smiled to himself, since no one was around to see him, and went to sit in that window seat. He could feel the cold seeping into him from the icy stones pressed against his back and quickly transfigured his outer cloak into a hugely thick and heavy fleece blanket. It was of course garishly red and gold. He burrowed into his new blanket and was determined to wait for Malfoy as long as he could, until he had to go to his meeting. He began growing warm again and his blinks seemed to be stretching into whole minutes, by the time Malfoy came in. The blonde seemed a bit surprised to see Harry there, but it didn't stop him for long.

Draco strode across the floor and dropped his bag on the floor. He rudely shoved Harry to the side and crawled up on the window bench beside the boy, pulling the blanket over himself with a happy little sigh of, "Warmth!"

Harry yelped when he felt Malfoy's cold hands between their bodies and tried to wrestle the blanket back over to his side as he said, "Jesus, Malfoy, you're hands are cold!"

The Slytherin was flexing his fingers slowly, trying to get some circulation back and rejoined with, "No shit, Sherlock. Good job pointing out the obvious there, scarhead."

Once Malfoy was feeling slightly thawed, he smirked and Harry felt the fingers that were pressed against his leg twitch, a fraction of a second before the blanket changed into an emerald green motif, with silver threads picking out baroque swirls. Harry snorted and said, "Oh no, you don't." Concentrating on what he wanted to see, Harry took his cue from Draco and made a similar motion - like plucking a string. The blanket was now a riotous clash of green and red.

The Slytherin pulled a disgusted face and said, "Ugh, Potter. Red and green should never mix. That's just hideous."

Harry wondered if Draco meant more than just their blanket, but didn't say anything as Malfoy changed the theme again to green and silver. He only subtly twisted his fingers to make all the silver needlework turn into a burnished gold thread. Draco examined the metallic curlicues and vines for a few moments, and then said thoughtfully, "Hmm, it might even look better with the gold." Harry felt bizarrely as if he had won some sort of argument and they fell into silence.

Draco spotted the glasses still sitting on the sill behind them. He tsked at Harry and said, "You really shouldn't go around without your glasses, Potter. Not such an effective symbol if people can't recognize you by your trademark lack of style."

Harry snorted and lifted a hand out of the warm blanket to push aside his fringe and reveal the famous scar. He said, "Glasses or no, Malfoy, I can't really escape it." He was shocked when Malfoy pulled out one of his own slender hands to run his fingers over the scar - partly because the icy coldness of those tapered fingers and largely because he couldn't really remember anyone else ever daring to touch it.

Harry sounded a bit breathless when he exclaimed, "Why are your hands so cold, Malfoy?"

The blonde replied with a single meaningless word, "Raynaud's."

"What?"

Draco smiled faintly, "Raynaud's syndrome. Poor circulation, you ignorant cretin. Which was notably unhelpful when a certain git and his minions tried to murder me with Stunning curses." His fingers were running over the scar, tracing the slight ridges in Harry's otherwise smooth skin.

Draco could feel Harry's eyelashes brush against his skin as the boy nervously blinked and said, "I don't think anyone's ever touched my scar before." His hand stilled momentarily and he could feel Harry watching him curiously, though he kept his own eyes trained on the faintly red lightening bolt scar, safely above the boy's green eyes.

He brushed a bit more of Harry's shockingly black hair away from the scar and seemed to be examining it closely. "Really? I guess I assumed the Gryffindors would all rub your scar for good luck before matches or some other idiotically Gryffindor thing." Harry could feel faint puffs of Malfoy's breath on his face as the blonde spoke and noticed how close the other boy was.

Harry wasn't touched very often. He wasn't sure if it was some sort of need for distance that he projected, after a childhood of being locked alone in the dark without human contact or if it was perhaps due to his larger-than-life Boy Who Lived persona, but few people dared touch him. Out of all his housemates, and most the people at the school, only Ron and Hermione seemed to reserve that right. And even they only touched him rarely and cursorily these days, normally as some kind of restrain to keep him from running away from what they had to say.

Malfoy, however, imposed himself on Harry all the time. He beat on Harry physically, he flew close enough to him to constantly knock shoulders and legs. He shoved him and pushed him around to no end; messing up his hair or crawling under his blanket whenever it suited the blonde's fancy. And now, to touch as no one else had ever dared, to run his fingers along that infamous scar that made Harry who he was.

Draco reached past Harry's shoulder and picked up the neglected pair of glasses. He carefully slipped them back onto Harry, who winced at the unfamiliar sensation, protecting his eyes from any accidental (or, seeing as it was Malfoy, purposeful) pointy objects. His bright eyes popped back open when he felt the glasses slide back into place, the familiar slight weight on the bridge of his nose. He cancelled the charm that was now overcorrecting his vision with a stray thought and sat unnaturally still as Draco continued in his ministrations.

The blonde carefully brushed Harry's heavy, silky hair back into place - arranging it probably better than the boy ever had - and carefully hid the scar, as Harry was wont to. He smiled in his usual smirking way, but somehow it didn't seem like a very happy smile to Harry, and declared, "There's Potter again."

The Gryffindor swallowed hard. He'd spent nearly the whole week listening to everyone try to convince him that Malfoy was not trustworthy and that Harry should stay away from the Slytherin, but then he heard Hagrid's voice again, saying, "I can't blame yeh, Harry. Some people would say tha' I've got a fondness for dang'rous beasts meself. I guess they don' come more dang'rous than a Malfoy. Yeh can't really help who and what yeh love, Harry. Don't I know it."

Harry didn't love Malfoy by any means - certainly not as he loved Hermione and Ron - but he enjoyed their constant teasing and scuffles, and wanted to be able to spend time with the Slytherin. The boy was incredibly likely to betray him, but Harry couldn't help himself from asking, "Can't I be just Harry?"

Draco looked at Harry from the close distance between them and repeated, "'Just Harry'?" He swallowed his uneasy feeling and let his hand fall from the other boy's hair, saying, "The world needs the Boy Who Lived. But in this room, Harry - I guess you can."