White Horses

DRACO WAS UP AND DRESSED by the time Harry arrived the next morning. Upon hearing a quick knock, he looked suspiciously at the heavy wood door until he heard Harry's lilting voice muttering something that sounded rather like, "Open the door, you great ponce."

He pulled the door open after only a couple moments of wrestling with the stubborn deadbolts and found Harry, carrying the same silvery cloak as the night before. Aside from the strange garment in his hands, Harry was wearing his school issue charcoal grey slacks and crisp white button-up. His hair was still damp from his shower and was curling wetly against his forehead.

Draco waved him in quickly and Harry stood awkwardly in the centre of the room, grasping his cloak tightly. He tried to smile at Malfoy, but didn't seem able to pull it off. He was acting more strangely than even Draco had come to expect as he said, "I managed to get a message to Dobby last night. He should meet us down in the dungeons so I can modify the wards to allow him in, too."

He was twisting his cloak in his hands, which drew Draco's eyes again to the silvery cloth. It looked somehow familiar, although the Slytherin couldn't think why. "Potter, is that..." he trailed off, caught on the edge of recognition. He took a step closer and Harry looked up at him uncertainly through thick black lashes, that awkwardness in him sharply increasing.

The Gryffindor asked suddenly, "Malfoy, what are we?"

Draco tried not to look taken aback - after all, he had been expecting something like this from the forthright boy at some point - and said lightly, "We're many things, Potter; and none of them easy to explain."

Harry's mouth twitched, almost showing a smile, but he persisted, "Seriously. I know that we've been seeing quite a bit of each other lately. And you seem to trust me; at least, enough to help you with this." He paused and then asked boldly, "Are we friends, Draco?"

Draco knew what he was really asking: Can I trust you? Shaken by Harry's unusual use of his name and the sudden nausea he felt well up inside him at the thought that he would betray this foolishly trusting boy, Draco spoke more harshly than was strictly necessary. "No, we are not friends, Potter."

Harry flinched and Draco felt his self-loathing increase, both for hurting the innocent and for caring that he was hurting him. He ran both his hands through his hair, pulling at the silvery strands roughly then reaching across the foot that separated them to grasp Harry by the shoulders. He could feel the boy's collarbones under his tight grip and loosened up a bit when Harry looked frightened by this reaction.

He shook the black-haired boy slightly, feeling the dampness of Harry's shirt from his still wet hair. "I told you, Harry. We are many things, and none of them are easy to explain. We aren't friends, but we aren't enemies. We are rivals, but love the thrill of it. We will never be something like your little triad, Harry. And I wouldn't want to be. I don't want to be nice to your friends. I don't want to petition for Mudbloods. I don't give a damn about Light and Dark magic."

Harry continued to stare up at him with those damning green eyes, as he spouted half-truths and lies with no thought except a desperate realization that he couldn't loose Harry now - not without ruining all his plans - and that he hated the confused pain and weakness in the Gryffindor's eyes as he spat out, "And I don't much care about Voldemort. But he's going to kill you and for some damn reason, I like having you around." But, oh, how I want to hate you for doing this to me.

Harry reached up and grasped Malfoy's frail wrists in his own small hands. He could feel the pulse galloping through that paper-thin skin. He spoke soothingly, as if calming one of the beasts in Care of Magical Creatures, "Hey! It's okay. Calm down, Draco."

The Slytherin forced himself to be restrained and loosened his grip on Harry until his hands were just resting on the boy's thin shoulders. He said resentfully, "Do not address me so informally. And I am calm."

Harry smiled faintly as he watched Draco slowly exhale, and said in a wry tone of voice, "Sure you are, Malfoy." He gently pulled the blonde's hands from his shoulders and let them fall back down to waist level. He kept his loose hold on those slender wrists for a few more minutes.

Abruptly he switched back to his brisk business manner of the night before and jiggled the hands he held lightly, saying, "Let's get to it then. We don't have much time till you have class."

Draco nodded shortly, taken aback and embarrassed by his outburst. He still didn't understand what had just happened, but it seemed as if his plan was safe, so he followed Harry's lead as they started to reduce all the furniture in the room, including a large king-size bed (what else for a Malfoy?), resplendent with green satin coverlet and dark, velvet hangings, the vaguely disturbing wardrobe and a table with two chairs made of matching ebony. Once they had Draco's new furniture carefully stowed in their pockets, the boys made ready to leave.

Harry picked up that strange cloak of his again and looked at Draco thoughtfully. Without saying a word, he held out the Invisibility cloak to Draco, who finally realized what it was once he felt the strange, liquid cloth in his hands.

"Potter!" he gasped, "You have an Invisibility cloak? You spoilt little bastard." He held the diaphanous material up to the light appreciatively and breathed in an awed voice, "This explains so much. God, Harry, if I were still in control of Slytherin house, I'd make you an honorary member."

Harry smiled wryly at that, imagining that Draco must have meant it as a compliment. He said warningly, "But don't take me for a fool, Draco. I put any number of tracking spells on that cloak. If you give me reason to be suspicious or you just piss me off, I can summon it back from you at any time."

Draco stared at him blankly and then said, "You mean, you're giving this to me? To use? You're lending a nearly priceless Invisibility cloak to Draco Malfoy? I knew that Gryffindors were stupid, but this just proves it beyond a doubt."

Harry looked amused and pleased at Draco's shock and reiterated, "Like I've said, Malfoy. There's any number of spells and jinxes on there. Don't think you can run away with it." Malfoy continued to stare at him disbelievingly, his clear grey eyes wide. He wanted to hate Harry even more for making it so easy to betray him.

The Gryffindor shrugged, "Well, I thought it could come in handy, since you're going to be sneaking around so much - living in hiding, as it were." Draco now understood what had prompted all Harry's earlier questions about what their 'relationship' was. True, he had told Harry that they weren't friends, though they were undeniably something. But even if they had been friends, lending out his cloak wasn't something that Harry could do without expecting some sort of compensation.

Draco asked neutrally, "So, what do you want?"

Harry's happy expression faded a bit and he repeated Draco's question to himself. Draco spoke as if to a child, "You don't just do someone a huge favour like this and not expect something in return. So, what do you want, Potter?"

The Gryffindor smiled craftily, although Draco thought he had seen an incomprehensible flash of disappointment in those green eyes - but what should he be disappointed about?

"Come on, Dobby's waiting for us. I'll think up something appropriate for payback." And with that, the boys left the Room of Requirement, tightly clutching their stolen furniture in their pockets. Draco wore the Invisibility cloak, since no one would suspect Harry Potter for wandering around in old corridors at a god-awful hour of the morning. They trooped down the numerous staircases, hidden paths and secret corridors that Harry frequented. Many of the portraits seemed quite familiar with the Boy Who Lived and would call out greetings and news as the two passed. Draco had resigned himself to no longer be surprised by the unplumbed depths of Potter's secrets and accepted it all without comment. Well, maybe just one snarky comment. Or seven.

They made it to the hidden room and sighed in relief that the borrowed bedroom set still seemed to be fully material and real. Dobby was pacing around in front of the tapestry, absently beating the dust out of it and using his special magic to repair some of the more moth-eaten bits. He jumped guiltily when he saw the boys but couldn't seem to resist from giving the ancient hanging one last straightening tug.

Harry smiled at him and had both of his companions stand back for a moment as he moved to rework the wards he had put in place last month, so that Dobby might be allowed in as well. He closed his eyes as he concentrated and pulled his wand from his pocket with a familiar ease.

He could feel the old magic pressing in on him as he opened himself to it. This was an unpredictable ancient spell - older than any language that survived today. It was completely dissimilar to the frozen rigidity of modern magic, which had been tightened and trimmed so much that it left today's casters completely unprepared for this more wild magic, which had long gone out of practice. The first time Harry had tried a spell like this, he had almost been overwhelmed by the feeling of no control. It had been as if Harry himself were just a conduit for something larger than his comprehension. Now, more familiar with the sensation, he probed through the layers of spellwork and felt them warm up in recognition of his magical signature.

Suddenly he had an idea - which, like most sudden ideas, probably wasn't the most wise move for the given situation. But he was confident because of his exponential improvement in his lessons with Flitwick and his reckless trust in Draco, and so he pocketed his wand. He splayed his hands before him and distantly heard Draco ask him sharply just what he thought he was doing, but Harry was too deep in the magic to pay note. His fingers swirled in what felt to him like magic-laden air.

Draco looked around apprehensively as he felt the atmosphere grow heavy and remembered the violent force of the original spell. He watched as Harry, completely absorbed in his spell, wove his hands as if pulling apart some invisible and intricate knot.

The Gryffindor grinned as he found himself reaching into the heart of the spell again and stretched it to extend around Dobby as well. Feeling confident, he released the great ravellings of the spell that were looped around the whole corridor. He realized too late that each layer he had undone must now snap tautly back into its proper place.

The vacuum left by the spell's restoration made Harry feel as if part of himself had been wrenched out in the process. Huge reserves of his power were drawn forcibly from him to return the spell to its active state and Harry fell to his knees, pale and gasping. Draco rushed back to the boy's side and held him up as they knelt on the stones.

"Potter, what the hell are you trying to pull?" his voice was shaking and the Slytherin refused to admit that he was frightened. Frightened both by the display of Harry's uniquely powerful magic, and by how affected the dark-haired boy seemed to be. He dragged the Gryffindor into the room and they were followed by a confused and fretting Dobby.

Draco pulled the shrunken pieces from his pocket, finding a dollhouse sized wardrobe and table. He made a brief sound of frustration - a sound which no self-respecting Malfoy would ever make, regardless of the situation - and pulled Harry upright, who was offering no resistance in his nearly comatose state. Draco was disturbed to see that the boy seemed to be turning even greyer rather than recovering. He reached in the other boy's pocket, shivering as his hand brushed against Harry's thigh as he pulled free the miniaturized bed and chairs. He set the bed on the floor and gestured harshly at it, the inexplicable desperation allowing him to perform a piece of wandless magic that he would have probably had difficulty with otherwise.

The bed sprang back into its regular shape and size, and Draco pulled Harry up on the giving mattress. He sent Dobby scurrying off for a cool compress, needing to have no one else present to witness this weakness of his, this fear.

Harry's breath was low and wheezing now and Draco pulled off the black rimmed glasses to check his eyes. The pupils were dilated far enough to almost completely obscure the iris, only the thinnest of rings remaining around those black pits. Unexpectedly, that unnatural black contracted to pinpoints as Draco watched in sick confusion. The body sprawled in Draco's lap stiffened and he asked in a detached voice, "Potter? What's happening? Answer me, you daft git."

The usually brilliant green irises seemed bled with red as they focused on the Slytherin and a disturbing pleased smile grew across Harry's face before the boy went just as suddenly limp. Dobby came skittering back into the room and held out an icy towel as he asked nervously, "Is Harry Potter all right, Master Malfoy? What has happened to him?" Draco wasn't sure how to answer as his took the compress that Dobby offered, not feeling it in his even colder hands.

He ran the cloth over Harry's lax face, brushing aside the nearly dry hair to wipe over the boy's scarred forehead. He gasped when he saw that the familiar lightening bolt looked raw and angry, as if the cut were freshly new and not fifteen years old. Draco muttered to himself, "What the Devil is going on?"

He hadn't been expecting any reply, when the Gryffindor licked his lips and said softly, "Voldemort." Draco dropped the damp washcloth.

Living in Malfoy Manor and being part of one of the darkest families in the Wizarding world, Draco had learned what it was like to be truly frightened for himself. Others thought that he was free from fear, that his confidence and his position and his money had protected him from it. The truth was that he had learned to remove himself from the fear, particularly in the last few years, knowing that his father and those he served would pounce on fear like any good predators.

It hadn't been an easy lesson to learn, since Draco had been spoilt by the staff and more or less ignored by his parents since he was born. He'd never had much occasion to fear until the rumours started surfacing that the Dark Lord going to come back. Then everything had changed. Then he had learned what fear was and how it would destroy a person, more easily than his mother's punishments or his father's disapproval.

Though this strange new fear for another person was unprecedented, the old fear that he felt at the mention of the Dark Lord was familiar enough that he could quell it without much effort. Because of this defence mechanism, Draco was able to appear thankfully indifferent now that Harry was again conscious.

Picking up the compress from where it was fallen on his trousers and left a disturbing damp patch, he seemed unperturbed by Harry's bizarre collapse as he asked clinically, "What just happened, Potter?"

The Gryffindor looked blearily up at him, but he seemed to be regaining his colour. "I told you: Voldemort. We're connected, he and I. He can force his way into my mind, and I can do the same to him - particularly when one of us has our guard down. That spell took more out of me than I expected. I wasn't being careful."

Draco's expression didn't change as he said nastily, "Full marks for understatement, Potter." But in his heart, he was struck with a sudden chill, only tinged slightly with the relief that he hadn't told Harry anything. The Dark Lord would have surely killed him (and slowly) if he found out that Draco had let Harry in on his plans.

Harry didn't seem aware of what he was saying and Draco would not let such an opportunity pass him by, so he asked unfeelingly, "Is it because of his resurrection? Is this link because he used your blood in the ceremony?"

Everyone had a rough idea of what had happened in the cemetery that night, thanks to Harry's tell-all interview last year. But Draco probably knew much more of the story than regular people who had read the article.

Harry was able to move by now and pushed himself off of Malfoy and into a sitting position, though he was still leaning heavily on the Slytherin. He absently rubbed his scar and Draco was left wondering by his resigned attitude whether these sort of attacks were a frequent part of Harry's life.

The Gryffindor said, "No, it wasn't because of the ceremony, or even because of our shared blood - though that probably didn't help. I've always been connected to Voldemort; able to see what he sees." The black head dipped down as he said heavily, "I feel what he feels: the rage, the hatred... the joy at the Dark revels. The thrill of innocents' blood."

Harry sounded horrified and in a locked away part of Draco's mind where he could still feel, he was horrified as well. Harry continued with a sigh, "And I can know everything that he knows, just as he can know anything that I do - when he can get past my defences. I can only try and hope that he didn't have the chance to get much this time."

The two boys sat silently leaning on each other, as Harry tried to get over the pain and Draco wondered what this would mean for his plans. The two most central players in all his manipulations - each of whom he was telling different lies to - had access to each other's minds. Great, what else could go wrong? He might be able to convince Voldemort that anything he'd told Harry was just a lie to get the boy to trust him, but if Harry learned that Draco was still dealing with the Dark Lord, everything would be lost.

And yet Draco knew he couldn't control what went on in Harry's mind, and he couldn't exactly ask the boy to kindly not go traipsing around in Voldemort's secrets. Not without seeming more than a bit suspicious. He realized that he was going to miss his class if he didn't get moving soon. He glanced at the boy who was propped up against him and once again hated what Harry was doing to him.

The Gryffindor had slipped his glasses back on and looked physically recovered, but Draco wasn't so sure about his mental state. Then again, it would be hard to be sure about the mental state of anyone constantly subjected to the Dark Lord's twisted psyche. He probably ought to be amazed that the Gryffindor was as sane as he was.

The blonde glanced at Dobby, who'd remained silent and unnoticed through the whole crisis, as a good house elf ought to. The creature was still familiar enough with his former master's moods from their many years together to understand his unexpressed concern from that single glance. He nodded, his large bat ears flapping ridiculously with the motion and said solemnly, "Dobby will take care of Mr Harry Potter, Master Malfoy, sir." Draco nodded and eased himself away from the slight boy. Harry wove for a minute then held himself straight.

Draco said sharply, with a trace of his usual bite, "Well, Harry, fun though it is to watch you have a breakdown and make an arse of yourself, I've got to go to class - which frankly takes precedence over your little drama. I'll be coming back to my room in two hours, and you better not still be here."

He sniffed haughtily and swept from the room, having no bag or possessions to take with him since everything was back in the Slytherin dorms. He was confident that Pansy would see to his things. Harry smiled, perversely cheered by this normalcy from Malfoy and from the message he garnered from it: 'Get a hold of yourself, this isn't that big of a deal.'

Compared to the endless coddling and the suffocating sympathy he would have gotten from any of the Gryffindors if he told them about his experiences in Voldemort's world, it was positively heartening to have someone simply tell him to get over it. He allowed Dobby to fuss over him and wondered about this strange abusive friendship that he was so enthralled with.

HARRY WALTZED INTO THE POTION'S classroom five hours later, normal as you please. The blonde was in his usual spot between Crabbe and Goyle, his two cronies providing a solid wall of flesh around him to protect him from the rest of the Slytherins' antagonism. Harry was similarly flanked by his two lackeys and the green-eyed boy showed no sign that he hadn't had a lie-in and a relaxing morning in the Gryffindor den.

Draco had gone back to his new room to find all the furniture restored and put into place, after he had talked to Pansy in Arithmancy. The girl had made Crabbe and Goyle package up all his things, then she had shrunk them herself, knowing that Draco would be upset - and justifiably so - if the boys' ineptitude caused them to blow up all his possessions instead of shrinking them as any third year ought to be able to do.

She had slipped the small bundle to him and had filled him in on the situation after class. Blaise had made it clear to all the Slytherins that Malfoy was persona non grata - they had even changed the password as soon as he'd left. Pansy looked concerned, though Draco wasn't a fool enough to believe all that concern was for him. A good amount was surely for her own tenacious position.

She didn't ask him where he was staying now, knowing that the knowledge would surely cost her more than she wished to pay. Nor did she tell him the new password to the Slytherin dorms - Draco no longer had a high enough position for her to take such a huge risk on him. She was only helping him out to curry his favour because she suspected he had some secret plans. She had heard from her father that the Dark Lord was not as finished with the Malfoy boy as everyone was being led to believe. Draco didn't miss the calculating glint in her eye and was very glad for Harry's Invisibility cloak, which would allow him to keep his new quarters a secret.

He had not gone to breakfast or lunch in the Great Hall, and wasn't sure what to do for dinner. He couldn't allow Zabini and his followers to think that they had gotten the better of him and forced him into isolation. But if he sat with the Slytherins and was dismissed, it would be the final nail on his coffin - he wouldn't ever be allowed back in.

Where else could he go? He had terrorized the Hufflepuffs and alienated the Ravenclaws. And the Gryffindors hated him nearly as much as they hated Voldemort. Except for Harry, of course. But was he willing to go public with Harry? And was the colossal Gryffindor even willing to be seen in public with him?

He was interrupted in his musings by Goyle nudging him with a large meaty shoulder. He realized that he was still in Potions and had quite a while before he had to deal with dinner arrangements. But when he looked up, he realized he couldn't avoid dealing with his ex-housemates. He was fairly ringed by hostile Slytherins, and the Gryffindors and the other students were watching curiously.

Zabini stood at the fore of that mangy pack and leaned forward to place his hands on Draco's desk with deliberate care. He hissed in a voice that carried well in the suddenly silent room, "You're so pathetic, Malfoy. You don't even deserve to wear that Slytherin crest." He smiled slowly and fingered his wand thoughtfully, levelling it at Draco's chest, "Maybe I ought to remove it for you." He was interrupted by a derisive snort.

They all turned to see Harry Potter leaning back in his chair nonchalantly. He watched them with merciless green eyes and said to Draco, "Shit, Malfoy. Even the Slytherins don't want you anymore? I didn't know you could sink any lower than that."

Draco smirked slightly and spoke just as mockingly, "Oh, I could still sink much further: I could be a Gryffindor."

Many of the Slytherins sniggered, before remembering that Malfoy was no longer one of them. Ron was ready to launch across the room and beat the blonde into a bloody pulp, but Harry held him back with a hand on his elbow. "Prefect's don't fight," he reminded his friend. Ron was surprised to see his small friend taking any part in this conflict but before any of them could react further, Snape blew into the room and class began.

HARRY WAS WITH A LARGE crowd of Gryffindors headed to the Great Hall for dinner, when he saw Draco loitering in front of the large doors. He pulled Hermione and Ron back as the rest of the group milled into the dining hall. Ron asked impatiently what was the matter, eager as he was to get to dinner before all the choice food was taken. One gets a little competitive when one grows up in a family of nine.

Harry nodded toward Malfoy, who seemed to be issuing orders to Pansy Parkinson now. Ron immediately objected, waving his large hands in front of him, "Oh, no. Not Malfoy. Whatever it is: if it involves Malfoy, I don't want a part. Unless, of course, it involves beating."

Harry tried to sound understanding as he said, "Look, I know you guys don't like him-"

"Neither do you!" Ron exclaimed in exasperation. Harry looked toward Hermione, but support didn't seem forthcoming from her either.

"Ah, right. Well, of course I don't like him. But the thing is, he really doesn't have anyone else. He's been forced out of Slytherin, as you must've noticed, and he's not exactly popular with the other houses..."

Ron stared at his best friend and asked him seriously, "And how is any of this our concern? Let the little bastard rot. You reap what you sow and all that rubbish."

When Harry couldn't agree with him, the redhead stormed off through the double doors, muttering, "I don't believe this."

Hermione looked uncertain, but she nodded slightly at Harry when he turned his questioning glance on her. He smiled gratefully at her and she was glad to have caused that rare happy expression. He call out, "Oi, Malfoy!"

The blonde glanced in their direction, then dismissed Pansy before coming over to join them. He looked superciliously at the two Gryffindors and asked, "What do you want?"

Harry smiled at the prickly boy's choice of words and said, "Just calling in that favour, Malfoy. You're going to come eat with us."

Draco blinked and asked, "You sure you want to waste your favour like this? Granted you may get lucky and someone might just kill me..." Harry let his smile grow and lead the two of them into the Great Hall. Draco hurried to step alongside Harry, never willing to trail after the Boy Who Lived.

Harry glanced toward his own table, but the Gryffindors were already staring at Harry in horror. No, they needed more neutral ground. He walked over to Hufflepuff table and asked a few of the kids at the end whether they minded the three sitting there. The younger students hastily made space, in awe of Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived; Draco Malfoy, the most notoriously evil student at Hogwarts; and Hermione Granger, the prodigious genius who had helped save the school almost as many times as Harry. As everyone stared, the threesome sat and dishes appeared in front of each.

Draco watched apprehensively as Luna Lovegood and Ginny Weasley came to sit with them minutes later. He said to Harry, "I think I've lost my appetite, Potter."

Ginny looked him up and down and said acerbically, "Well, no one's forcing you to stay."

Draco smirked and told her, "That's where you're wrong, Little Weasellette. Your dear Mr Potter is forcing me to mingle with you plebes, obviously hoping some of your goodness might rub off. I hope poverty isn't contagious as well."

Ginny's ears were turning red, just as her brother's were wont to, but Loony Luna was as unconcerned as usual as she said breezily, gesturing with a drumstick dipped in tapioca pudding, "I've never much liked the separation of houses. Why, it's like people trying to separate jarveys and gnomes."

Hermione decided to point out, "Er, Luna, jarveys eat gnomes."

"Exactly."

Draco stared at the Ravenclaw in consternation. He turned wordlessly to Harry, who patted him on the shoulder and said, "Don't worry, Draco. You'll survive, and just as evil as ever."

Their audience was surprised by this practically friendly attitude, but not nearly so much as when Draco smiled sharply and shoved Harry over, upsetting him from his seat, as he growled, "Oh, shut up, Harry."

Harry smiled back and hissed in his ear, "Play nice, dragon." Draco unexpectedly flushed and turned away from the dark-haired boy distractedly.

He decided to speak to Hermione instead. Mudblood though she might be, she could at least carry on an intelligent conversation. He drew her into a discussion of their term project for Arithmancy and left Harry to entertain the other girls.

The small mixed group engaged many of the Hufflepuffs into their conversation and Harry had his usual cheering effect on all the diners. The other tables all watched curiously (and some, resentfully) the cross-house mixing at Hufflepuff table. Ron was pointedly ignoring them, aside from the angry glares he shot at them every couple minutes from where he was sitting with Seamus and Neville.

Hermione had managed to draft one of the Hufflepuffs from their class into her discussion with Malfoy to help her argue her point - though she had to admit to being surprised when the Slytherin used actual data and theorem to prove his point, instead of resorting to insults as she would have expected. They'd actually managed to be civil to each other for the whole hour of dinner, without more than a handful of personal attacks.

Finally, Hermione glanced at the small-faced watch decorating her wrist, which showed far more than just a regular analogue clock. She interrupted Harry from his conversation with one of the Hufflepuff quidditch players, and told him, "Harry, it's nearly eight. You ought to be going before you're late."

He looked at her in mock reproach and sighed, "Yes, mother," though it sounded a bit odd from him, unaccustomed as he was to the word.

Draco snorted and said saccharinely, "Yes, Harry-kins, wouldn't want to be late for your 'meeting.'"

Harry pushed himself out of his chair and told Draco, "Bite me."

Draco wasn't familiar with the Muggle phrase, but Harry was smiling and their bizarre group of dinner-mates were calling out their goodbyes, so he didn't quite dare respond. Harry smirked and winked saucily at Draco, before leaving the Slytherin to fend for himself.

FOR THE FIRST TIME, HARRY knocked before letting himself into the dungeon room, now Draco's room. He found the blonde in his window seat, filling in complicated charts for Astronomy. Having done most the work to set up the room and make it what it was, Harry felt confident to throw himself on the bed and look around in a proprietary manner. There were many new knickknacks that hadn't been there this morning. He noticed several Dark or questionable tools and said slyly, "Been patronizing Borgin and Burkes, have you? Looks like you never got that Hand of Glory, though."

Draco glowered briefly at him and then continued to work on his chart as he asked in a bored tone, "How was your meeting?"

Harry grinned and stretched out on his back. He toed off his shoes and kicked them off the bed, then pillowed his head with his folded hands as he said, interrupted by his yawning, "Oh, it was crap. Got chewed out for our little display today. Then the usual lectures and commands."

Draco wasn't certain who Harry met with every night, though he could guess well enough that the Boy Who Lived met with Dumbledore on a regular basis. He couldn't have guessed that Harry actually met with most the staff members every week.

Harry asked drowsily, "How did dinner go?"

Once he was finished with the night's assignments, Draco put his completed papers in his bag along with his fine self-inking quill. He stacked his books neatly on the table, then walked over to the bed. Draco perched next to Harry and said softly, "Come on, Potter. It's half-eleven, time for you to go."

The boy didn't respond, so Malfoy jostled his shoulder. "Come now, Harry, this is the second time today that you're profaning my bed. Granted," he said thoughtfully, "you did provide me with said bed, but it is regardless mine now."

Harry muttered something that sounded rather like, "Go 'way, Aun' P'tunia," and Draco snorted again as the boy rolled away, taking the duvet with him. He shoved the Gryffindor further toward the middle of the bed, all the time muttering about what an imposing little sod Harry was, then pulled himself up on the soft mattress as well. He threw off his shoes and pulled his tie loose from his uniform, flinging it to the floor blindly. Grimacing at sleeping in his clothes like some ill-bred Gryffindor, he doused the lights with a quick wave and stretched out alongside his unexpected bedmate with, "Good night, scarhead."

He wasn't sure, but he thought he heard a soft murmur of, "'Night, Draco," in reply.