White Horses

DRACO BLINKED NERVOUSLY AS HE was subjected to that merciless glare. He had to look away, and now that he had let down his walls, he couldn't keep the stain of a blush off his pale skin. Harry watched in fascination as that rosy glow spread down his throat and chest. Draco asked dismissively as he slid off the bed, "Do you mind if I put on some clothes?" Harry had an unreasonable urge to say that yes, he did mind. Instead he nodded brusquely, averting his eyes as Draco walked unabashedly past him.

In the few minutes that Draco had free from Harry's scrutiny, he scrambled for lies that could help him. He said quietly as he pulled up a pair of light chinos, "Harry, I need to know what you're planning to do with this information."

Harry turned in his chair to see Draco's narrow back as the boy pulled a long-sleeved white shirt over his fair head, covering a faint web of old scars that laced over his white skin. He spoke coldly, leaving that glimpse of scars for another day, "No need to worry, Malfoy. I'm not going to turn you over to the Aurors. Not yet."

Seeing how ungiving the Gryffindor would be on this issue, Draco resolved to tell him as much as he could. He sat back on the edge of the bed, pushing his sleeves up around his elbows, as if to purposefully highlight the mark on his forearm. The real reason was that - though Harry probably hadn't ever noticed before in their years of glaring at each other - Draco had always had the habit to roll up his sleeves, even in the most frigid climes. The truth, when he indulged in such fancies as the truth, was that he felt somehow freer, as if his hands were more mobile without the sleeves dampening his movements. It was a small freedom that he had long been denied and he rubbed his wrists worryingly as he spoke.

Voldemort came during the summer.

No, it wasn't the first time I'd met the Dark Lord.

The first time? After our fourth year. That's why I was even angrier with you last year.

...because, oh, I don't know. Because you'd brought him back. Because you could fight him. Because you were there.

Yes, back to the present. My father was in the new prison and so I was expected to be the Malfoy representative. What choice did I have? Do you really imagine I would be welcome in Malfoy Manor if I had refused to serve Him?

Oh, yes, Potter. I had just scads of options. I suppose I could have owled Dumbledore or maybe just waited for you to save me, since you're so good at that.

Right, that was cruel. But you must understand that I didn't have any choice in the matter.

Snape...? Snape and I have an understanding.

He told you that?

Oh, don't look so guilt-stricken, I already knew that Snape was a spy. Just as he knew I was a... Death Eater. A catch-22, I believe you Muggle-lovers call it.

Right, our understanding. I can't speak for certain regarding Snape, but I don't believe he knew any better when he told you that I wasn't with the Dark Lord. That's what everyone was led to believe. That's why I was expelled from Slytherin house. He found out the truth though, and hated me all the more for it. So, now we keep each other's secrets - until too much is at risk.

And what would you have from me?

The truth?

Harry, you know I can't tell you that. He would kill me, but not until he had used me in every way available to him.

No, of course not. I didn't want any of this.

Oh, for Salazar's pity... Potter, I didn't mean it to sound like that. I did want you, Harry. I still want you. It's the only good thing that has possibly come of this shit assignment.

...yes, it was an assignment.

Yes, it involved you.

No, it didn't involve seducing you. I thought of that as a bit of a perk, myself.

You know I can't tell you that.

No.

No.

Harry, that knowledge would cost me my life. I'm not willing to die for your peace of mind.

Wait, wait, that is not "all there is to it, then." Gods, I'll tell you anything I can.

Like... like I never meant to hurt you. Like that this assignment will not cause harm to you, more than it already has caused you pain. Like that if he finds out that I've failed, I will be killed and something even worse will be planned for you - by someone less sympathetic toward your existence.

"That's not enough, Draco. That's not nearly enough."

The Slytherin ran his hands through his fine hair, venting his frustration upon the silvery blonde silk. He asked desperately, "Is this it, then? I cannot tell you more, Harry. I've already told you enough to get me killed ten times over. I have laid myself on the line and let you see past all my artifice and all my masks. Did I do it all for nothing - is there still no hope?"

Harry stood again and smoothed down his borrowed pants. He sounded bleak as he told Draco, "If there's hope, I can't see it."

HARRY WALKED INTO THE GRYFFINDOR common room and silence spread around him like he had cast a charm. He truly believe for a moment that they all knew, that they could all see what he had done last night with Draco Malfoy, Death Eater extraordinaire. Then he heard Lavender exclaim, "My god, Harry. I don't know what you've gotten into, but for goodness' sake, keep it coming." He didn't really understand, but all the girls in the room were staring at him in shocked admiration, like he had a gold bar stuffed down his pants.

Hermione and Ginny rushed forward and each grabbed one of his arms to drag him up to the boy's dorm. They were followed by catcalls and some rather explicit comments. When they arrived at his dorm, Harry found himself facing two of his closest girl friends, both of whom were staring at him unashamedly. Hermione breathed, "Harry. I hate to admit it, but Lavender was right. Where did you get the GQ clothes? You look great." She backed up slightly and reassured him, "Not that you don't usually, but... my word, Dudley's castoffs can't compare to this."

Harry flopped down on his bed and was immediately yanked back up by the girls, who insisted that he could not profane The Clothes by wrinkling them. He sighed in frustration, beginning to understand that all the girls' reactions were because of Draco's clothes. He said without thinking, "Oh, for fuck's sake... they're Malfoy's clothes, ok?"

Ginny seemed a bit surprised; she hadn't known that boys ever swapped clothes like girls did. She turned her confusion to Hermione though, when the brunette asked in an unexpectedly cold voice, "And just what happened to your clothes, Harry?"

Sitting more carefully this time, he eased down onto the bed and told her, "No, it wasn't like that. I needed to... ask him about something."

Hermione said sarcastically, "And asking him somehow involved you spending the night and losing your clothes?"

Ginny watched the two of them carefully, wanting to be sure that she was interpreting their comments correctly. She had known the boys were surprisingly close friends, after seeing Malfoy's reaction to Harry's kidnapping. But it was actually something more than that? And Hermione knew?

Before any more incriminating statements could come out, Ron burst into the room. "There you are, Harry! You were supposed to be in the locker room thirty minutes ago! We were beginning to worry you were going to miss the Gryffindor versus Slytherin game!" Harry blinked in surprise. Quidditch...

Hermione was telling Ron in a low voice, "It seems Harry's been playing a bit of one-on-one with a certain Slytherin."

Harry broke out, "Christ, Hermione, it's not like that."

Ron stared at them both. "Ugh, I really would've been happier not knowing that," he muttered.

He was drowned out by Hermione asking acidly, "Oh, then why are you wearing his clothes?"

It seemed she'd pushed too hard this time though, and he told her flatly, "Please leave, Hermione. I need to get changed for the game." Hermione opened her mouth, but Ron dragged her out of the room. Ginny wasn't sure if she should leave or not. She saw Harry start to pull off the borrowed shirt and made to move. But what she saw made her stop.

"Harry..." Her voice was as awed as all the earlier comments, but this time it was horror that made her exclamation so soft. He realized that he had revealed his scar to her and sighed, pulling the shirt all the way off. He reached for his wardrobe and pulled out the scarlet shirt that was worn under Gryffindor team robes. Slipping his arms into the sleeves, he let the shirt ride up his shoulders as he turned his head back to Ginny, saying, "Another gift from Voldemort." Before she could respond, he had yanked the shirt on and was starting on his pants.

Her cheeks burned even as she turned to face away from Harry's striptease. She didn't think he was doing it on purpose, but was embarrassed nonetheless. She started mildly, "So, Malfoy..."

Harry brushed past her, fully clothed and draping his quidditch robes over an arm as he went. He told her in a similar tone as that he'd used on Hermione, "Is none of your business. Neither is my relationship with him. And I'd appreciate you not mentioning anything you saw in here either."

If he was expecting some kind of huff like Hermione would have given, he would be disappointed. Ginny shrugged and agreed, "Of course not. It's your secret to tell, not mine."

He felt foolish now for snapping at her, and said in a more apologetic tone, "Er... right. Thanks." He glanced toward the door and back at her, before saying, "I've got to be going then. See ya, Gin." She smiled and wished him good luck, gears already turning madly in her head.

HARRY WATCHED THE SNITCH IN a desultory manner. He'd seen it within the first fifteen minutes of the match and had spent the last hour and a half preventing the new Slytherin Seeker from catching it, and allowing his own team to rack up points. Normally Slytherin and Gryffindor were evenly enough matched that this wouldn't be a wise tactic, but without Crabbe and Goyle, the Slytherin Chasers were being annihilated.

And of course Draco wasn't there to cheat outrageously and win back some points for his house.

Disgusted, he was trying to clear the thought of Malfoy from his mind when he caught a glimpse of icy white hair. Then he noticed it was joined by a fiery auburn head. Ginny, although she was the reserve Seeker and should have been down on the team bench, wasn't even wearing her quidditch robes and was leaning on one of the stadium's open stairwells with Draco. They seemed to be watching the game amicably together and Harry saw the girl point at him. Draco turned to look and Harry imagined he could feel the weight of that gaze from across the stands.

Suddenly tired of playing, Harry darted after the snitch. He snagged the fluttering little ball before the inexperienced Seeker that Slytherin had chosen to replace Malfoy had even realized what was happening. He'd never had a chance. Harry glanced up at the stairwell again, but his two spectators couldn't be seen; they'd either left or tucked back into the shadows. Feeling unreasonable and irritable, he headed for the ground. The rest of the players hadn't even noticed that the game was over. They would figure it out soon enough, but Harry didn't wait for them before he headed to the showers, handing Hooch the struggling snitch as he passed.

DAYS LATER, HARRY WAS WALKING through the crisp snow that had covered Hogwarts' grounds. He had thought some cool, fresh air would make him feel better, and Hermione and Ron had agreed readily enough - sick of him moping around the dorms as they were. He had been ignoring Draco in their shared classes for the last week, but he still didn't feel any better. And it wasn't just Draco's being a Death Eater that was bothering him. It was the fact that he still wanted to be with the boy, even though he was a Death Eater. It was the fact that it now felt wrong for him to not talk to the Slytherin.

He thought tiredly, Someone important must hate me. The dour sentiment had been prompted by the sight of a painfully familiar pale head in Greenhouse Six. That should have been surprising enough, since Number Six was only for those with the private permission of Professor Sprout. Draco had his face down and was turned away from Harry as he dug into the warm, moist dirt, mixing in water and potions by hand. Shocking: a Malfoy getting dirty, and by choice.

Sprout bustled into view and the two discussed whatever plant it was that Draco was working on. From what Harry could garner, it seemed this must be Draco's final project for the quarter. He caught the boy as the Slytherin stepped outside to wash in the spigot that stood as bare and cold iron admist the snow. Draco started. He seemed flustered to see Harry, who wasn't sure if he could read Draco so well just out of familiarity or if it was seeing behind the mask that had changed the way he saw the boy.

Draco looked dirty and vulnerable and Harry thought wildly that he had never wanted to kiss him more. Perhaps the Slytherin could read this in him as easily as he'd been read, because he got control of his expression. He turned on the spigot and winced as the frigid water spilt over his fingertips. He said unemotionally, "Hello, Harry. What're you doing out on a hellishly cold day like this? Just enjoying the seasonable weather?" With his now clean fingers, he carefully rolled up his sleeves partway up his arms, so that he could wash away the dirt up to his wrists.

Harry stood next to him stiffly and only said, "Something like that. What're you doing with Sprout?"

Draco continued to scrub his skin carefully, as he explained, "I've been doing independent study with the professor because of my... difficulties with the Slytherins."

Harry continued to watch him, standing too close for either of their comfort. "I didn't think you liked Herbology that much."

The blonde got a private little smile on his face and his voice was almost normal as he confided, "Ever since that bloody Mandrake bit me in second form, I found a new fondness for Herbology."

The Gryffindor smiled back at him and they had a brief moment of understanding, before Sprout came out and interrupted. "Draco, outstanding work with those snap-dragons. They'll prove invaluable, I'm sure. Let's just wrap up, shall we?"

The professor smiled at Harry, "Sorry, Potter, I'll have to steal him back for a few minutes."

She swept back inside and Draco left his wrists under the icy water for a couple more moments of silence. He finally straightened and said awkwardly, "Well, I've got to get back."

He turned off the rusty spigot but found himself stopped by Harry's hand on his arm. The boy was grabbing him right where the Dark Mark was hidden. Harry seemed to realize it as well and let go hastily. He reached up and wiped away a smudge of dirt from Draco's fine jaw. He said uncertainly, "I could wait for you to finish..."

But Draco only shook his head and took his hand from the spigot, turning away. "That's not necessary, Harry. I've got to get back now." He walked back into the greenhouse, pulling the frosted door shut behind him.

HERMIONE AND RON WERE WORRIED about the situation. They sat together on the bed and Hermione said, in a tone that implied it had been said many times already, "He doesn't seem to be doing any better, does he?"

Ron looked up from his quidditch magazine and said tiredly, "No, he really doesn't. You don't think they've... split up. Do you?"

Hermione lay back on the bed and muttered, "Oh, I don't know anymore. I mean, Malfoy has stopped coming to dinner, full stop. So has Harry, for that matter."

The truth was that their experiment in inter-house relations has died quickly without its chief instigators. Even Luna and Ginny had each gone back to their respective tables. Ron looked back at the article on the Chudley Cannons and his ears burned red as he said, "Sometimes boys do stupid things when they care about someone."

Hermione looked up at him and asked coolly, "Oh? Like what?"

His face was bright red, obscuring his freckles, as he picked up her hand and told her, "Like arguing instead of daring to express their feelings."

Her breath caught in her throat as she looked up at the ginger boy. Eyes shining, they each slowly leaned toward each other. Hermione's eyes slid shut and she felt Ron's breath on her face when he murmured her name. Then Harry burst into the room like a dark cloud. His bad mood fell apart like someone had flipped a switch, and he asked with genuine curiosity, "What are you two doing on my bed?"

He noticed their hands still clasped together and managed to conjure an approving smile for his two best friends. He said, "Hey, good on you guys," but it didn't quite have the desired effect.

Ron dropped Hermione's hand as if it was a bubotuber and he stumbled, "Oh, no - it's not..."

Hermione turned a frosty glare on him and asked, "Oh, isn't it?"

While Ron was getting impaled by the icy daggers Hermione was shooting from her eyes, Harry took off his cloak and noticed that Dobby had laundered and returned his pyjamas from... that night. His mood dropped off again.

Even in her own distressed state, Hermione noticed the sudden change in Harry's attitude. She waved at Ron to shut him up and asked their friend, "Can't you tell us what happened, Harry?" Harry continued his mute testament, though.

How could he tell them that Draco was a Death Eater? They'd lock the Slytherin up without a nanosecond of hesitation. So how could them about the conflict of his still wanting to be with Draco? He wanted to be able to tell the blonde about his day, about catching the snitch, about the disaster that had been his Care of Magical Creatures exam. He wanted to quiz him on charms and kiss him and mess up his hair when he wasn't paying attention. How could he justify feeling that way for a Death Eater?

Breaking the long silence, Ron asked, "So, were you the dumper or the dumpee? My guess is dumpee, given the way you're moping around."

Hermione looked aghast at Ron's frankness, but Harry just looked serious as he said stiffly, "It's neither, really. We had a... misunderstanding." It seemed unbelievably weird to discuss this with his two best friends and so all he said was, "I'm still trying to decide if I can come to terms with what I learned."

Hermione bit her lip and then blurted out, "Harry, if you don't mind I'd like to try a spell on you. But to do it, I'd need you to cast a bubble-ward - like you did at the D.A.. It's not Dark magic, but it would raise some eyebrows if anyone knew I was casting it."

Harry trusted Hermione more than he trusted almost anyone, but he still had to ask, "Just what is this spell supposed to do?"

Hermione looked up at him through a sheaf of bushy hair, "Well, it shows magical influences on a person, such as spells or potions..."

The boy understood immediately and surprisingly wasn't angry when he asked, "So, you think Malfoy might've put some charm or curse on me?" She had the grace to look embarrassed, and Harry just shrugged, casting the requested ward without difficulty. He lowered his hands and said, "There. Do whatever you need to for your peace of mind."

The bright young witch needed no further encouragement; she twirled her wand and said, "Aposiopesis."

The kaleidoscope of light that followed her intonation nearly blinded all three of them. Hermione stood there blinking as she heard Harry ask tiredly, "Okay, now I know that nothing ever happens normally for me, but I have to ask: Hermione, is this little light show normal?"

She could, of course, recite the entire passage concerning this spell by heart, so she said confidently, "No." She couldn't see Harry's face well, but he didn't seem reassured.

"Well, Harry, you're not quite normal yourself. So it's not that bizarre that you have a lot more magical ties than the average sixteen year-old would." Ron rolled his eyes and waited for the girl to arrive at something useful. After some technical jargon that probably neither of the boys listened to, she started identifying the different coloured glows that were suffusing the Boy Who Lived.

"Okay, I think I've got it. This one," she plucked at a green glow that clung to his skin like moss. The instant her wand touched it, it came away like a piece of liquid string, trailing from her wand like taffy until she left it on the bed. Harry wasn't sure he liked the spell or whatever sitting on his bed, but it had already been sitting on him, so it was a rather moot point. Hermione poked it with her wand and it pulsed, "This is actually tied to Dobby. It seems to alert him if you're in need of his services. I suppose that's how house elves know where to be."

The boys both held their breath, but she didn't start a tirade about house elves; just turned back to the world's most technicolour ball of string that was Harry. She started tugging a large blue section, "Ah, now this is Dumbledore. Though I can't really tell what this is. It looks to be a protection spell, but it seems to have some different specifications." She pulled off a small orange cloud that was clinging to his hair and Harry thought he could feel the tug of it. "That's your connection to the Weasleys, of course. Your spot on their clock and all."

Next came a red spot on his arm, shaped vaguely like a lion rampant, "Unsurprisingly, your tie to Gryffindor. And all these," she rapidly plucked out several dozens of little 'strings,' like someone picking loose threads out of a blanket, "are various tokens from your admirers and rivals in the Wizarding world."

Harry looked at the not-small pile those threads had made and asked seriously, "Can we burn them or something?"

Hermione laughed regretfully and told him, "I'm afraid this spell only let's us see your influences, not change then."

Ron muttered, "Figures," and watched as Hermione continued her dissection. Here was a sort of built-in Dark Detector, from Moody. There was a communication spell that apparently linked his magical mirror to the one Sirius had once held. There were too many colours to all be analysed, but two great webs that Hermione couldn't seem to even move caught the girl's attention.

"It's like they've really taken root in you. These two are tied to each other and tied into you." She sounded a bit shocked as she said, "This glowing green is from your mother... her protection. But it's tangled with this darker green, which is You-Know-Who's influence."

It had been a long time since Harry had heard the rational girl refer to Voldemort as 'You-Know-Who.' Something that she saw had unnerved her, and Harry couldn't help his morbid curiosity, "What is it, Hermione?"

She shook her head as she watched the green threads pulse, centred in two clusters: one over his heart and one over the scar on his forehead. Her voice was uncharacteristically uncertain as she tried to explain her fear. "Harry, this is... so very unusual. For two warring forces to be linking like this, one trying to protect you and one trying to kill you... It would create an incredible stress on your mind and body. I think it's probably why your scar hurts when he's around." She lightly tapped the familiar old scar, "Here. This is where his hold on you is centred. When you are close to him, the force of his magic probably gives strength to his influence on you, making his ties stronger than your mother's.

"I think... no, I'm almost certain that if you are in his presence for too long, it will allow his influence to win over your mother's protection. And if it does, the Killing Curse that he cast on you all those years ago will be completed."

Hearing her statement, Ron whispered to himself, "Avada kedavra," and Hermione nodded.

"You've been carrying that curse in your body all these years, Harry. It's still there, waiting to be completed. Do you see? Voldemort doesn't have to do anything to win. If you are even near him for too long, his influence will overpower your mother's and... you'll die."

Ron asked in a small, hesitant voice, "But... but what about this last thing? You know, when Harry got kidnapped?" He winced when they turned their eyes on him, but continued, "Well, wasn't Voldemort there at that time, Harry?"

Not telling them what had happened would of course come back to bite him in the arse. Now he had to think about it again and talk about it again. "No," he said wearily, "He was never there for more than a half hour. The rest he left up to his... helpers."

Neither really wanted to ask what 'the rest' was. Even curiosity didn't go that far. Hermione turned back to the glowing landscape of Harry's body and saw a silvery gleam amongst his black hair. Discarding her wand momentarily, she reached up to run a hand through Harry's softly clinging hair and push it off his face. It was such a similar gesture to what Draco did whenever he pulled him in for a kiss that Harry winced.

Hermione probably didn't notice since she was looking at the frail silver hairs in her hand. They could have been from Malfoy's own head. Ron had seen Harry's flinching, but wouldn't say anything about it. Hermione poured the silvery bundle from one hand to another. "Well, this is from Malfoy," she started, but she didn't sound as triumphant as she should have. "It doesn't seem to be a spell though. More just a... connection, between the two of you. As if your magics have been linked." She rubbed the thin filaments between her fingers and mused, "There's fear, and hurt and doubt. And so much... sorrow." She looked up at Harry and asked him, "Are these Malfoy's feelings? Or yours?"

Harry sat heavily on the bed, displacing the distressingly large piles of 'strings' that had been removed from him. "I don't know anymore, Hermione. They're probably both of our feelings."

Hermione took a deep breath and allowed her world to flip on its axis. She placed the silvery threads back in Harry's hands and smoothed a hand over his hair in a motherly gesture. When he looked up at her questioningly, she told him in a soft voice, "They aren't all negative feelings in there, Harry." She closed her hands over his and explained, not at all wanting to, "There is also attraction, happiness and... and joy. There is true caring between you, and as much as I hate to admit it: it is no spell."