White Horses

HARRY WAS WANDERING QUITE AIMLESSLY around Hogsmeade in the pale, wintry light. He pushed open the door to Scribners and the bell above his head tinkled softly to betray his presence. He smiled abashedly at the clerk and then ducked into the stacks.

It was Wednesday morning and Harry had skived off his transfiguration class. McGonagall would surely be furious when she tracked him down later, but he was already miles ahead of the class (though he didn't let anyone else know it), and so he wasn't overly worried. He was vaguely looking for Christmas presents for his friends; he'd talked with Professor Lupin and it seemed that no one would be able to go home for the hols, as they'd expected.

He walked up and down the rows of books, wondering what to get for Hermione. She would be happy with any sort of book, be it history, theory or even fiction. But he wanted to get her something perfect.

He'd thought about getting her something Muggle, since they were both cut off from their home-world. Would that really be appropriate though? Or would it just remind her how she couldn't return to her family and friends? He had just decided that maybe a book would be the safer choice, when he saw a small dragon-hide journal in a stack of books leaning haphazardly against the wall.

He carefully unwedged the book, prying it out from under the weight of the books on top of it and coughing at the cloud of dust that exploded in its wake. The book was quite small, not even a hand's-breadth across, but long and thin like an old ledger. It was made of finely cured dragon-hide the natural verdant of a Welsh Green, with an ideographic dragon stamped in silver on the front. It was simple and fine, and absolutely demanded to be bought for Malfoy.

He waffled momentarily over whether he should even get a present for Draco - would a present from him be rejected? He had never seen Draco exchange any gifts with his housemates or any of his 'friends', but perhaps they'd done it in private.

On a whim, Harry bought the book from the curious storekeeper, who asked him teasingly about his classes. He smiled reassuringly and winked at the woman as he paid for his purchase, then walked out of the dusty store, turning the journal over in his hands in a considering fashion. He wasn't sure whether he would actually give it to the boy, but at least he had the option now.

Harry was so lost in his musings that he never heard the curse that knocked him to the ground. Unconscious and unaware of it, his limp body was dragged away and the gilded book was left forgotten in the grey December mud.

DRACO WAS FEELING INCREDIBLY UNCOMFORTABLE as he sat at the Hufflepuff table for dinner. He had been wary last night when Harry hadn't shown up to dinner, but Granger and the Weasel had been gone as well, so he'd figured that the infamous Gryffindor Trio were just up to something. But then Harry hadn't shown up to classes today, hadn't contacted Draco at all, hadn't even left a note in his new room. And now he hadn't shown up to dinner for the second night in a row.

He saw Ron and Hermione back at the Gryffindor table. Maybe it was his overactive imagination, but he thought they both looked pale and tense. It wasn't just his imagination though, that Hermione was watching him suspiciously.

Surprisingly, the youngest Weasel seemed to have taken pity on him. She nudged him on the arm and he held himself carefully still as he looked at her coldly. But she didn't seem frightened. Although he only truly reacted to Harry, she had at least gotten to see that he could be almost human. As such, she was trying to be a bit understanding - after all, Harry had been the boy's only ally and now he'd left the Slytherin alone.

Draco had continued to show up at meals, hoping Harry might actually be there at one of them and would explain why he'd been so mysteriously absent for the last couple days while Draco beat him into a bloody pulp for leaving him alone with these people. Thus far, the plan hadn't worked out very well.

Instead Dumbledore stood to address the students in the middle of their meal. Everyone was quick to quiet as they noticed his silent sign for attention. He spoke with a kind, apologetic smile, "My dear students, I'm sorry to interrupt your meal for this address, but I've been hearing some rather distressing rumours. It seems many of you have noticed Harry Potter's absence and it has started some wild allegations. Let me tell you now: everything is fine.

"Harry had to return to his Muggle relations for a short tenure, due to a family emergency." The old man's eyes twinkled as he chided them, "Mr Potter has not been kidnapped or caught a rare infection disease or even," he seemed to be looking at some of the young Hufflepuffs, "been turned into a giant blast-ended skrewt by a bad potion."

The students he'd been watching flushed in embarrassment at the rumour they had obviously perpetuated. Dumbledore concluded before he sat down, "So, put your imaginations to rest and your worries at ease. Mr Potter will be back among us before you know it."

Draco didn't believe him for a single moment. And neither, it seemed, did Ron. The ginger boy was watching the old man with confused curiosity, as if wondering why he would lie.

Draco wouldn't believe that Harry would traipse off to the Muggle world and not tell him about it. For over two months now, Harry had come running to him at every sign of trouble or trauma. Why wouldn't he have for something like this? Maybe because he knows how you'd react regarding his Muggle relations. No, something rang false in Dumbledore's story, something more.

He knew that there was something more sinister going on, and that the headmaster was purposefully and willfully hiding it. He continued his cold and untouchable mask as Ginny Weasley said encouragingly to him, "See? Harry will be back in no time." Despite her statement, Draco thought she didn't really believe the old man either and his respect for the girl went up a couple of notches.

The truth was that Ginny liked the headmaster well enough - it was difficult not to in a family that was so closely tied to him. Nonetheless, ever since her fist year, she hadn't really trusted the man.

She remembered how ready he been with answers and explanations after the Chamber of Secrets, but if he had known so much, why hadn't he done something to help a petrified eleven-year-old girl under his protection? Even Harry, Hermione and Ron had been able to figure out the location of the Chamber, as second years. How could it be that Hogwarts' most venerated headmaster couldn't figure out the mystery that a couple of twelve-year-olds solved? And if he had known, why would he knowingly let unprepared, under-trained children take on one of the most feared creatures in the Wizarding world? No, Dumbledore might be good enough at what he did, but Ginny harboured no illusions that what he did was always in his student's best interests.

And now she was left to deal with Malfoy, with only Luna and a few Hufflepuffs as her backup. The boy had quickly reverted to his familiar Slytherin habits, snapping waspishly at anyone who dared speak with him, and holding himself distant and aloof. Whereas Hermione saw this as proof that he was still the same old bastard and that his teasing with Harry must be some sort of elaborate (and surely sinister) act, Ginny was beginning to think differently.

She preferred to believe that Draco was genuine in his reactions to Harry and that this old iciness was rather his defence against his loneliness and uncertainty. The boy had no house, no allies (or none who could dare speak for him), and no friends, save Harry. Although she had grown out of it well enough, Ginny hadn't entirely forgotten the pain of alienation.

This was what prompted her to try again and again to pry Malfoy out from his shell and though he reacted with derision, it wasn't all that different from the scorn he often lavished on Harry. She began to realize that maybe it wasn't a bad thing, for Malfoy to protect himself behind that wall of pride. He was going to need every scrap of pride he had, to defy the world as he was doing. Ginny smiled wryly and thought, It sure isn't easy, being friends with Harry Potter.

PETER PETTIGREW, MORE OFTEN KNOWN by his once fond moniker of 'Wormtail,' was feeling mighty pleased with himself. He had been sent scurrying around Hogsmeade as part of a bull-shit mission, he knew it. Voldemort had merely been planning to get rid of the disgusting, grovelling man-child for a while when he had sent Wormtail back to Hogwarts to see if any of the secret paths and tunnels that he had used as a student were still unprotected. He had only been sneaking around the town for a couple of days when he saw his chance. Here, on this miserable and drizzling weekday morning, when the streets were mostly deserted, was Harry Potter wandering around on his lonesome.

Wormtail had watched gleefully as Harry slipped into a bookstore and thought as quickly as was possible for someone of his intellect. He remembered how pleased his master had been when he had brought him Bertha Jorkins and her information; bringing him Harry Potter would surely put him back on top in the Dark Lord's favour.

In the shadows of the alley, Wormtail transformed back to his human form. He watched as Harry left Scribners and caressed his powerful silver hand. Glancing around to be sure that there were no witnesses, he stunned the Gryffindor and watched him collapse awkwardly to the ground. He quickly levitated the boy, Potter's head lolling under the force of the mobilicorpus spell, and slunk away with his prize.

POTIONS CLASS WAS A NIGHTMARE. They were working on a particularly nasty and complicated brew that could be used on any piece of writing to reveal who had written it. (Although it could be bypassed and fooled if a wizard were clever enough.) Everyone was doing abominable work, even Granger the Genius. It seemed that everyone was feeling the imbalance in the room. It had started at the beginning of the term, when Snape had been so derogatory toward Malfoy. And then there had been the influx of new students from the other houses (and the loss of a couple of their own), thanks to the attack. The Hufflepuffs had quickly sided with the Gryffindors and the Ravenclaws just stayed out of anyone's business, focussing on the work.

When Malfoy had been removed from Slytherin house, things had started tilting dangerously: the Gryffindors still fought with the Slytherins, and Harry still fought with Draco - but everyone was wary. And now, Harry had gone. There was no goading with Malfoy, no pranks or veiled insults. The loss of the only constant thing from their entire school career - the rivalry between Potter and Malfoy - had been the last little push to completely disrupt the class's equilibrium. Everyone was jittery, no one was insulting as they usually would have been and even Draco was being left alone by the Slytherins. Not that he noticed much either way.

It had now been a bad four days since Harry's apparent disappearance. Most of the school still believed Dumbledore's story, but some of those closest to Harry - as well as some of the most observant Ravenclaws - were finding it difficult to ignore the frantic whispering of the teachers and the tension that both the staff and students positively hummed with. Draco shouldn't have been bothered by Harry's absence. After all, once he carried out his plan in full, it was likely he would never see Harry again. But all this silent protestations didn't change the fact that he was unnerved when Harry was gone.

He sorely missed having the boy around to tease; to see the determination in those green eyes when Harry tried to come up with the perfect comeback. The private smirk they shared when they insulted each other in front of everyone else. That eternally untidy black hair that Draco so enjoyed trying to fix, and the small hands that wove so well with his own when they kissed. There were so many parts of Harry that only he knew, and he didn't want to share them with anyone else. But the thoughts of the other boy were driving him to distraction. Where the hell are you, Potter?

HARRY AWOKE TO A STRANGELY familiar burning pain and he realized in a sickening rush just what that feeling was. He didn't need to open his eyes to see the large spider-like hands, the red eyes burning in a bleached white skull, to hiss surely, "Voldemort."

That inhuman visage twisted into a triumphant smile, "Harry Potter. It's been a while hasn't it. I haven't seen you since you destroyed my prophecy and got that ridiculous convict godfather of yours killed."

Harry vision was momentarily lost in a field of white as he was reminded of Sirius' pointless death. He growled mindlessly and flung himself at the monster before him, only to find himself stopped by the tight binding that strapped his arms and legs to the chair he was sitting in.

"Now, now, Harry," the Dark Lord chided him, "We can't have you hurting yourself just yet." His horrible smile widened and he seemed to savour the words that rolled off his tongue, "We'll be doing more than enough of that for you, soon enough."

Harry thought back to the prophecy that said he must either destroy this man or be destroyed, thought of all his classmates who had died, of Sirius, and felt burdened with the same unbearable grief that he had felt last year in Dumbledore's office. For a moment it overshadowed the pain of having Voldemort so near to him, a pain equivalent to the Cruciatus, and he spoke out of his hopelessness, "Why don't you kill me, then? Just get it over with."

Voldemort stroked the boy's hair softly and laughed as Harry wretched from the pain. He said with cold reason, "Oh, I can't kill you now, Harry. I might accidentally make you a martyr.

"I can't kill you until I've broken the world. Only then will your mutilated, lifeless body be enough to convince the people of their defeat." He held Harry's right hand curiously in his own unnaturally long digits and Harry screamed, feeling as if the skin was being peeled from his hand and his veins were flowing with acid.

Voldemort whispered softly directly into his ear so that he could be heard over the cries, Harry flinching away from him, "But I need your knowledge to break them, Harry." With a decisive movement he twisted Harry's pinky outward and back, snapping the small bones with a sickening crack. Harry passed out at the unexpected surge of pain that didn't seem to lessen, but to instead spread through his body.

Oblivion wasn't his privilege though, and Voldemort revived him immediately. Harry's arm jerked spasmodically, but couldn't get far when it was so tightly bound to the chair and his twitching hand was clasped in the steel of Voldemort's grip. The Dark Lord seemed to understand some of Harry's unspoken bewilderment at this physical pain and he said reassuringly, "Wouldn't want to risk old Dumbledore's attention by using Dark spells. We'll just have to make do with more crude methods."

He pulled Harry's wand out from a pocket - they'd obviously searched him when he'd been unconscious - and let go of Harry's throbbing hand to take hold of the familiar and well-loved piece of wood.

He snapped it in two and the sound of that break was as painful to Harry as the sound of his bones breaking had been. Voldemort watched in satisfaction as the wand-halves burst into flame and crumbled to the dusty ground of the shrieking shack. Harry felt his hopes at escape scattering with the ashes. "Can't have you trying any magic, either," Voldemort said, before taking hold of Harry's hand again. "Now, where were we?"

THE DOORS OF THE GREAT Hall banged open in response to Hagrid's mighty shove and the students sitting along the tables for dinner turned to stare. The half-giant strode quickly down the length of the suddenly silent hall, apparently unaware of the grisly picture he presented with his hands and front painted with bloodstains. He went immediately to the headmaster and they held an urgently whispered conference. Without saying anything to the students, Hagrid left again, followed by Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey. Professor Lupin also got up, but he went to the Gryffindor table to talk briefly with Ron and Hermione. The two students jumped out of their seats in response to whatever he said and the three of them followed the path that the headmaster had taken.

Draco forced himself not to react, though it was painfully obvious that whatever had happened somehow involved Harry. Why else would his cronies leave with the headmaster and the school nurse? He didn't realize how tense he was though, until Ginny surprised him by touching him lightly on the arm. He started and growled harshly at her, "What?"

The Weasley almost shrank back but held her resolve. She said quietly, for his hearing only, "They aren't going to let you in to see him. You know that, right?"

He snarled back, but as quietly as she had spoken, "Why the hell would I want to go see Potter?"

For some reason incomprehensible to Draco, the Gryffindor smiled at his reaction. She said simply, "I don't know how much you know about Harry, but if you know about his cloak then I can get you in to see him."

Draco could only stare at her. He wanted to deny even wanting to go to see Harry, but was too Slytherin to let such an opportunity pass. He narrowed his eyes at her and managed to make it sound like an insult when he spat out, "Maybe there is one decent Weasley."

THAT WAS WHY DRACO FOUND himself trailing silently behind Ginny Weasley, under his borrowed invisibility cloak. (He hadn't explained how he'd gotten the cloak - he wasn't sure even Ginny would approve of Harry's lending it to him.) It was no surprise when Ginny led him to the hospital wing. The girl really had no better idea than he where Harry was, but it seemed an obvious place to look. And it seemed they were right, because there were Ron and Hermione huddled together outside the entrance.

As soon as she spotted the youngest Weasley, Hermione rushed to Ginny and threw herself on the other girl, practically sobbing, "Oh, Ginny! They won't even let us see him! It just like the Third Task all over again..." Ginny patted the other girl soothingly and Draco thought it curious to watch the younger Gryffindor, who he'd always seen as a bit of a twit (if he'd seen her at all), comforting the usually composed and mature Granger.

She asked her brother over the crying girl's head, "Do you know anything?"

Ron shook his head and said resignedly, "Only that he's back. He showed up at Hagrid's cabin, in quite a state. Dumbledore wants to question him and have his injuries treated before anyone else might get to see him."

Ginny glanced back as if to catch Draco's eye, though she was actually several feet off, and said in a determined voice, "Well, I'm going to see if I can't get some more answers." She passed Hermione off to her brother. Draco walked up behind her and put a soft hand on her shoulder. She only jumped slightly and, knowing that he would follow, she pushed the door to hospital wing open in a wide, swinging arc.

Lupin rushed out from one of the curtained beds almost immediately and seemed harried to see her there. He whispered quickly, "I'm sorry, Ginevra, but you can't be here now."

While Lupin was trying to herd Ginny back to the door, Draco squeezed her shoulder in thanks and slipped around the two of them. He positioned himself on the far side of the curtained bed, against the wall. He could hear the other two Gryffindors accost the professor for information when he showed Ginny to the door. Then he heard Dumbledore say, "It seems your friends will not be patient for much longer, Harry. Please, let us continue. What happened after Voldemort broke your wand?"

Draco almost missed Harry's soft reply in the jumbled surge of emotions that he felt upon hearing Dumbledore's words. So Harry had not just been waylaid by some Death Eaters, but by Voldemort himself. It was almost too horrifying to think about and he desperately listened to Harry's hoarse voice instead.

"He continued to try to get information from me. He suspected that you must have known something more about the prophecy and would have told me. He was intent on any information about the Order and their plans, members, meetings."

The dull, emotionless croak that was telling the story was almost unrecognizable compared to that clear lilt of Harry's natural voice, and his words grew even softer as he continued. Draco held perfectly still as he strained to hear, "He didn't want to use any Dark magic. He wasn't sure if the Shrieking Shack was close enough to activate Hogwarts' wards. So he stuck with more... Muggle methods."

Draco felt sick and he didn't want to listen, but he couldn't seem to block out that soft voice. Harry detailed Voldemort's methods, telling Dumbledore what had happened to him less than a mile from the school, "There were... beatings. That's how my leg was broken."

There was a brief silence and Draco wondered what was happening inside those curtains. Harry started again suddenly, "And then, the fingers. There were some spells; they weren't Dark, just used creatively. Like the carving spell - he told me it was usually used for engraving wood or stone, not..."

Harry cleared his throat and continued in a strangled voice. "Hot... hot oil, at times. Some Potions, to keep me awake and aware, to heighten sensations. And knives." He couldn't seem to go any further and he fell silent for several minutes, before he finally ended with, "I don't know how long it lasted."

Dumbledore told the boy that he'd been gone just five days and Harry repeated disbelievingly, "Just five days...?"

Dumbledore prompted him into speech again by asking, "How did you escape, Harry?" Draco wanted sincerely to hit the old man. And so Harry told his audience members - the one whom he was aware of, and the other who remained hidden - how he had managed to escape when Voldemort had left for a stint to organize the rest of his plans. He frequently disappeared to visit his headquarters, wherever they might be, and left Harry in the loving clutches of his Death Eaters.

Harry had done something to his guards with a bit of wandless magic. He said 'something' because he wasn't sure if he had only knocked the masked figures unconscious or if he had accidentally killed them. Then he'd tried to heal some of the worst of his wounds: set the broken bones and stop the bleeding. It hadn't been a huge success, since he hadn't had his wand and had never tired wandless medical magic before. But if had been enough for him to stagger through the passageway that lead to the school grounds, debilitating guards as he went.

"I know that the wards extend underground, I could feel when I passed through them. But we should probably block off the tunnel under the Whomping Willow, and the ones that lead into Hogsmeade. Wormtail knows about all of them, since he was one of the Marauders."

Draco didn't understand all of that, and it seemed that Dumbledore didn't have a very better idea as he said, "If you will show us the locations of all these passageways, we can be sure to take care of them."

Harry must've given some sign to the affirmative, because he continued, more fluently now that he wasn't talking about his torture, "I cut through the Dark forest. The acromantula's almost got me - seems that Aragog has finally kicked the cauldron and his offspring are running wild. Not that even Aragog would've helped me. Bane saw me, but just said some crap about letting the stars run their course. Bloody centaurs. Luckily, Grawp found me and brought me to Hagrid. I don't remember much of it, honestly."

Dumbledore's elaborate robes rustled as he stood to ask one last question, "Thank you for telling me what happened, Harry. I know it was difficult for you. I just need to know one more thing: Is there anything you told Voldemort, that I should know?"

There was a long silence, during which Draco held his breath. Harry finally said defiantly, with the first hint of emotion in his voice, "No, sir. There isn't anything."

Dumbledore didn't say anything to that and called out to Madame Pomfrey. Draco heard her mothering Harry and force-feed him some Dreamless Sleep potion. When the boy was apparently unconscious, the two adults discussed his condition.

"He will recover physically, but some things may not be overcome - even by magic. The boy did an admirable job trying to heal himself without a wand, but unfortunately it made things worse. I've had to re-break and reset his fingers, and I can't say just yet whether he will regain full functionality. Also, his attempts to heal some of his wounds, particularly those on his chest, have now made them permanent scars. I could have removed the residue from the oil if the cuts were still open, but now it has served to create tattoo-like scars - the pigments are now stuck under the healed skin. Most the minor lacerations and contusions were healed with no complication and his leg should be completely fixed.

"The biggest concern now is his mental and emotional health, and I must say, Headmaster, that I do not entirely approve of your using a truth potion on the boy when he is in such a state."

Dumbledore led the mediwitch out of the curtained area and said regretfully, "I did only what I thought necessary, Poppy."

The headmaster left and Draco could hear the Gryffindors in the hall entreating him. The mediwitch was firm, though, and said, "Harry has been put to sleep and will not be bothered. You may come back tomorrow." With that final sounding statement, she closed and locked the door. Draco waited tensely while she checked on Harry one last time, then retired to her own rooms.

In the silent dark of the room, Draco slipped into the privacy of the curtained bed. Harry appeared deeply asleep and so the Slytherin simply stared at him for minutes. There were still faint yellowish discolorations where some of his bruises had been recently healed. Around the voluminous hospital pyjamas, he could see any number of bandages and salves plastering the boy. His right hand was entirely bandaged and the boy looked positively horrid. He was paler even than was usual and had dark bruises under his eyes. He looked like he was suffering even in his dreamless state and Draco reached out hesitantly to brush the boys hair back, as he often had in the past.

Harry flinched and his left hand shot up to grab the offending digits in a surprisingly strong grip. His eyes popped open and darted about madly before seeming to fix on Draco. "Take off the cloak, Malfoy." He loosened his grip on Draco's hand and said softly, "It's disturbing to be touched by someone you can't see."

There was something dark in those simple words that Draco didn't want to know, and didn't want Harry to know. He pulled off the Invisibility cloak unquestioningly and saw Harry already being drug down by the potion again. But he hadn't let go of Draco's hand and as he stood there helplessly, Harry pulled on that hand to drag the blonde down to the bed with him.

Draco awkwardly edged onto the bed and when Harry's pyjama top gaped, he blanched to see more heavy bandages. He swallowed heavily but still didn't say anything to Harry. The Gryffindor tugged on his arm to pull Draco around him like a living blanket that could protect him from the Dark's cold.

Draco was wary of causing the boy more pain but, as gingerly as he could, he held the frail boy to him. Harry seemed to take comfort from his silent presence and said in a heavy voice, as he tried to fight the drugs, "Please, Draco. Stay a while."

Draco's throat felt tight when he heard this pitiful request. Harry would never demand that Draco stay with him, wouldn't even beg him to stay the whole night. He only asked that he stay a little while. Draco couldn't have refused even if he had wanted to. Feeling the boy go limp as he fell back into his drugged sleep, Draco gathered Harry tightly against himself and breathed deeply into that messy black hair, "Yes, Potter. I'll stay a while."

HARRY WOKE UP ALONE AND wondered if he had only imagined Draco's visit the previous night. His questioning with Dumbledore was nothing more than a nauseating blur. He still couldn't truly believe that he was back at Hogwarts, until Ron and Hermione showed up. Hermione broke into tears, as one might expect. Ron put an arm around her and asked their friend, "All right, Harry?"

Harry mustered up a weak smile for his friends. "I'm all right. Or I will be," he lied with a slight wince. His friends still didn't know what had happened to him, though it was obvious that he'd run into trouble - which anyone could guess would involve Voldemort or his supporters. They made small talk instead of asking the difficult questions and Harry heard all about what he had missed in the last week.

Draco showed up at the hospital wing nearly an hour after the Gryffindors had, but he was delayed even further by Professor Lupin at the door. The greying man stood in front of the door and told him, "I'm afraid the hospital wing is off limits right now, Mr Malfoy. If you need medical attention, I can go fetch Madame Pomfrey for you."

Draco kept his face noncommital as he said, "No, I am not in need of medical attention, I'm here to see Potter."

Lupin had seen Harry taking meals with the Slytherin (no one could miss it, really) but that didn't mean he was going to let Lucius Malfoy's son in to see Harry when he was weak and vulnerable. His voice was unusually chilly when he said, "I don't think that's going to be possible, Mr Malfoy. Harry needs to recover his health and I'm sure he doesn't need you to aggravate him."

Draco wanted to hiss back, "Don't be so sure," but kept himself in check by remembering that this was a teacher. Then he remembered that he was Draco Malfoy and didn't give a damn about the teachers in this crap school, so he said it anyway.

Lupin tensed and said to him in a modulated voice, "Mr Malfoy, I am giving you the chance to leave peacefully on your own, or I will have someone assist you. You are not getting past these doors."

Draco thought it might've been a bit of a mistake to talk back to the professor and began to feel desperate as he said, "You have to let me see him. He's my... He's..." Draco couldn't and wouldn't explain it, and tried instead to rush past the teacher guarding the door. He managed to grasp the handle and fling the door open, before Lupin grabbed him. He grappled with the old man, not even giving the professor time to reach for his wand.

Hearing the door bang open and the ensuing scuffle, Ron and Hermione rushed out to see what was happening. They were shocked to find Draco Malfoy fighting like a wild animal, attacking Professor Lupin. Ron grabbed the wiry blonde and pulled him off of Lupin, taken aback by the tension strumming through those ropey muscles. Draco shook himself free from the gangling redhead and glared at all three Gryffindors, his chest heaving and his eyes shining with... well, those couldn't be tears. Not on Draco Malfoy.

Ron asked disbelievingly, "What the bloody hell is going on out here?"

Lupin was staring at Draco, shaken by the boy's violent reaction. He daubed his bleeding lip and told Ron, "Mr Malfoy here wanted in to see Harry. He grew quite enraged when I refused to let him in."

Ron looked the two of them and then shrugged, "For God's sake, just let him in then!"

Not only Lupin, but Hermione and Draco himself, all exclaimed, "What?!"

Lupin looked doubtfully at Malfoy, but the Slytherin was staring critically at Ron. He took a step toward the Gryffindor and narrowed his eyes up at him as he said, "I told your sister that she was the one decent Weasley. I might have been wrong."

Ron blinked, surprised that Malfoy had even talked to his sister, let alone paid her a compliment - or what passed as a compliment for Malfoy. Then Draco smirked, "The whole lot of you might just be incredibly stupid."

Ron's surprise quickly turned into a more familiar hatred. He growled, "Don't start with me, Malfoy. I can revoke my invitation just as easy as I gave it. Easier, in fact." Draco slipped back behind his icy mask, which Ron decided in retrospect was even worse than the insulting but animated boy.

Harry was speechless when he saw his... well, he saw Malfoy, whatever the boy was to him, walk in with his two friends. He couldn't think of what he could possibly say in front of his fellow Gryffindors, and finally croaked out, "Draco! What the hell are you thinking, showing your pasty face around here?"

Ron snorted and Draco's cold expression sharpened into a glare. "I don't think you're really in a state to accuse anyone of being pasty, Potter," he sneered, with a pointed once-over of Harry's pale and battered appearance. "And I only came to see if you were going to be done convalescing by the time of the Slytherin-Gryffindor match next week."

The mention of quidditch, the sport that once consumed so much of his life, surprised Harry. In the past two years, quidditch had become more of an afterthought, but still something to look forward to and enjoy. Now, after his ordeals in the last week, Harry was jolted to realize that the world had continued moving on around him - ignorant of his torture and suffering. Quidditch matches had still been held, tests had been studied for, people had laughed and played games, all the while that Voldemort had carved hateful words into his body.

Before he could be consumed by the dark memories again, he forced himself to focus on Draco's silvery eyes, which he only then realized seemed over-bright. But Draco couldn't have tears in his eyes, could he?

Ron had watched their interaction with an avid curiosity. It seemed so bizarre and almost horrific to see the two boys being so caustic toward each other, after he had seen them be so... ugh, tender when they were alone (or at least they had thought they were alone). That made a new thought occur to him: what if this relationship of theirs had been going on longer than he and Hermione had even suspected? After all, they didn't act all that differently in front of others than they always had. And yet they seemed to have such a bond between them...

Before Ron could follow that blossoming suspicion to its fruition, he was snatched back to the present by Malfoy's words as the git said, "Slytherin house has a new Seeker for you to massacre, Potter. Of course, the poor bastard should be no challenge after an opponent like me."

For the first time since Ron had been reunited with the bedridden Harry, his friend seemed entirely present and engaged - not lurking beneath the dark shadows in his eyes. Harry said sharply, "Malfoy, what do you mean, Slytherin's got a new Seeker?"

Draco just nodded, but it seemed to confirm something with Harry, who slumped back into his pillow. He said musingly, "So, they did it then." He looked up at Malfoy and there was something so private and painful in that glance that Ron imagined Harry had forgotten his and Hermione's being there. Harry asked cryptically, "Zabini?"

Draco nodded yet again and told him, nominally including Ron this time, "Yes. He's removed Crabbe and Goyle as well, since they are still loyal to me. At least, more than they are to him."

Left out by all the mention of unfamiliar power-plays, Ron latched on to the important facts, "You mean, Crabbe and Goyle are out as Beaters?"

Malfoy looked back at him, his face closing off when he wasn't talking to Harry. But he answered Ron civilly enough and the three boys started discussing the ramifications this would have on all the houses' teams and the running for the Cup. Ron and Draco addressed most of their comments at Harry, rather than at each other, but Harry really had little part in the conversation. He just seemed to be enjoying watching Ron and Draco debating about something they both loved.

Hermione was glad to see Harry alive and conversing again, but was silently steaming that it was Draco's presence that had evoked such a change. Such a sudden shift in attitude and behaviour was surely evidence of a spell, and Hermione was determined anew to find out just what hold the Slytherin had over Harry Potter.