White Horses

HARRY WOKE AT MIDDAY ON Saturday to find a familiar thin arm draped across him. His glasses were digging into his temple and he reached a clumsy hand up to pull them off and toss them onto the bedside table. They clattered against the new pair of glasses that Draco was still resisting wearing, despite the very real threat of Madame Pomfrey's anger.

The dark-haired boy rolled onto his back, looking over at his still sleeping bedmate from the few inches that separated them. It had to be nearly twelve, but Draco still looked exhausted. Harry turned in toward the blonde, easing himself onto the sprawled out Head Boy. He pressed a light kiss to that relaxed mouth and then buried his face in Draco's shoulder, eliciting a small contented sigh from the Slytherin. Feeling reassured, Harry fell back into the warm cocoon of sleep.

WHEN HARRY WOKE THE SECOND time, Draco was gone from under him and the light was on in the bathroom. Thinking wryly to himself, You missed your chance, Potter, he rolled over to squint at the alarm clock. It was after one. Harry had no idea when he'd even fallen asleep the night before and certainly didn't remember how he'd made it to the Head Boy's room.

Hearing water running in the small, private bathroom, Harry decided to take the unGryffindor way out and curled up to go back to sleep. Let Malfoy make the next move. Considering how last night he had ended up here in the boy's room, with Draco wrapped around him, it seemed to Harry that things actually went better in their relationship when he was unconscious.

DRACO'S HAIR WAS STILL WET when he left his bathroom, the longest strands clinging to his temples and cheekbones. He immediately glanced over at the bed and was surprised to see Harry still deep in sleep, with his dark hair blending into the black silk bedclothes. He had thought that the noise that he'd made while showering would surely wake the boy. It seemed that it would be up to Draco himself to do that.

He had woken that morning to the weight of Harry on top of him, still familiar to him thanks to the bed they'd shared during the summer. Most recently this position reminded Draco of when Harry would collapse on top of him, exhausted, after sex.

Remembering that had of course made Draco want the boy on top of him in a far more active way. But instead he had slipped out from under Harry, gently rolling the Gryffindor away, and snuck into the bathroom.

Now, finding that his escape tactics hadn't worked after all, Draco looked down at his boyfriend and marvelled at how irrationally he was behaving. Why was he running away from this anyway?

Somehow he couldn't shake the feeling that they were in the middle of an argument, even though they hadn't actually argued about anything. Everything felt stressed, as if they were tiptoeing around each other while waiting for some kind of resolution. But how did you patch up after an argument that you'd never had?

Deciding to at least try to act normal, Draco gave into his urges. He walked across the thick black carpet until he was looking down at Harry on the bed. Sitting carefully on the edge of the mattress so that his sudden weight didn't disturb the boy, he reached out one slender hand to brush Harry's angular cheekbone.

"Harry," he called softly, using the boy's real name in this strange peace offering, "wake up, Harry. It's past one, you lazy Gryffindor." Okay, so some things never changed.

Harry scrunched up his face in his sleep and made a quietly protesting sound, and Draco couldn't help a small, precious smile from curving his lips - even though it was an expression no Slytherin (and especially no Mafloy) should ever make. Particularly when it was due to an unreasonable infatuation with the bloody Boy Who Lived.

Draco bent down and kissed the boy lightly, before whispering, "Wake up, Harry. You're going to waste the whole day and I, for one, can think of better things to do in this big bed than sleep." Harry opened his clear green eyes and Draco worried for a moment whether the boy would turn away from this rather sudden gesture. But Harry just grinned broadly and reached up to pull his boyfriend back against him, his arms going tightly around the Slytherin's thin shoulders.

The Head Boy was slightly bemused but mostly just happy at Harry's eager attitude. The Gryffindor peppered kisses across Draco's face, feeling every inch of the cool, damp skin that he could, then rolled the boy over with a mischievous smile. Leaning down to give Draco a long, deep kiss, Harry's hands easily undid the buttons on the Slytherin's shirt with a practised ease. He pushed the shirt open, baring the smooth planes of Draco's lightly tanned chest, and marvelling at the boy's wiry and graceful strength (privately, he would even admit to himself that Draco was very probably stronger than him).

Smoothing his hands over the boy's warm flesh, Harry ran his reverent touch up that faintly trembling body. Looking down at Draco, he took the boy's face in his small hands; one hand lightly caressing those sharp cheekbones and the other buried in the summer-bleached silver hair. He pressed a chaste kiss to Draco's mouth for a few beats then pulled back.

Draco's silvery eyes stared solemnly up at him, searching his face for something, and then the Slytherin reached up to guide Harry back down for another gentle kiss in return.

When Harry pulled away again, it was with an utterly silly, happy expression that only a Gryffindor or Hufflepuff could try to pull off. It ought to have made him look a fool, but Draco couldn't seem to help thinking it was adorable - and so it took him moment to notice the clean cut that was beginning to gap open at Harry's throat in horrible mockery of that wide smile.

Blood began to ooze, and then flow in earnest, from the wound as Draco stared in horror. He had learned from the last time that none of it was real, that Harry wasn't feeling any pain - but how could he possibly snog his boyfriend when the Gryffindor seemed to be bleeding to death on top of him?

He rolled away to the edge of the bed, fastening the buttons of his shirt with shaking hands as he sat with his back to Harry. "I'm sorry - I can't..."

Harry pulled Draco around gently to face him. The Gryffindor's green eyes were wide and hurt, and there was a trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth. He spoke quietly and the trickle increased, "Why? Draco, what is the matter?"

Draco was watching that blood with a horrible sense of ill-ease and he mumbled through numb lips, "Nothing's the matter. I just have a Head Boy meeting that I have to go to at two. Which is," he glanced at his watch, "was five minutes ago."

He got up and though he couldn't bring himself to touch that bloody mouth, he dropped a quick kiss in the boy's black hair. Licking his lips nervously, Draco paused and asked doubtfully, "You're all right, right? You feel fine?"

The Gryffindor was bewildered but nodded slightly, murmuring, "Yeah. Fine." The blood started to spread down his shirt.

Draco spoke quickly, backing toward the door, "Sorry, I've really got to go. I don't know how long I'll be, so you ought to go and use what's left of the day. I'll see you later." Then he was out the door and Harry was left feeling spurned and very, very confused.

AS WAS HIS USUAL HABIT - although he felt much more uncomfortable about it today than usual - Harry had 'borrowed' some of the Head Boy's clothes. He didn't know just what spell the Slytherin had used to get him in pyjamas the night before, but couldn't find his own clothes anywhere in the room. So, it was wearing a pair of thin, faded jeans with a hole worn in one knee and the pyjama top, which he had transfigured into a comfortable hoodie, that he made his escape through the old Gryffindor dorms.

He had no idea why Draco had a pair of such decrepit pants but figured they wouldn't be missed much. Plus, he just loved to steal the other boy's clothes. Although they were almost always inappropriately long for him, he loved the feeling of closeness; to be surrounded by the clothes that smelled faintly of the blonde.

Before long, he was in front of the Fat Lady once again and as the portrait swung open, Hermione looked up from her book to see Harry slouch in, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of a pair of holey jeans. He immediately spotted his friend by her bushy hair and came over to drop into the chair next to her. Hermione couldn't help noticing that the former hero looked even more pained and unhappy than he had the night before.

"Nice jeans," she started, putting down her book. "Not a pair I've seen you in before."

Harry shot her a knowing look, but she wasn't offended; she hadn't really been trying to be sly. "Yes, Hermione, I did steal Draco's trousers. Though I don't know why he even keeps such a rubbish pair of torn up jeans."

Hermione thought she knew why: they looked indecently good on Harry and probably would on Draco as well, since they had almost the same build. Ignoring how scruffily hot her (gay - must forget gay, Hermione, old girl) friend looked with his bed-tousled hair and his earnest green eyes, she asked him suddenly, "Hey, do you have plans for the rest of the day?"

When he shook his head, she tossed her book down (causing quite a few shocked glances in the common room) and grabbed him by the hand, "Come on then, we're going to Hogsmeade!"

HERMIONE AND HARRY SET OFF for Hogsmeade from the front gate, feeling it safe enough that the secret passage to Honeydukes was not necessary. Mostly they just didn't want to walk a whole hour bent over in a crouch - it wasn't as easy as it had been as children. They were traipsing across the fields of drying winter grass when Harry remembered to ask, "Hermione, don't you have a Head meeting today?"

The girl was staring up at the clear blue sky, enjoying the brisk fall air as long as she had her Gryffindor scarf woven about her shoulders. She turned laughing brown eyes on him, looking bonny and healthy with her wind-reddened cheeks, "No, I'm perfectly free today. Why?" It wasn't entirely true; she had plenty of revision that needed doing, but she was willing to take the time out to spend it alone with Harry and make sure her friend was all right.

Harry shivered a bit at the feeling of the wind whistling through his borrowed holey jeans and shoved his hands back into the pockets. He told Hermione unsurely, "Oh, Malfoy had just said that he had a Head Boy meeting to go to today, but..."

Hermione didn't miss the sad expression that had spread over the boy's face and hurried to reassure him, "Well, Head Boy and Head Girl have different duties. So we often have separate meetings. I'm sure it's nothing." She glanced at Harry's grave face and asked, "Is everything all right? It's been a week now, since the articles started."

The dark-haired boy looked away and gave a brittle laugh, "Now you sound like Ginny."

"We're both worried about you, that's why. So is Ron, in his way."

They walked on in silence for a while, as Harry fought the urge to tell Hermione some of it. He was tired of worrying about everything by himself and the two of them had always had an understanding that Harry didn't share even with Ron. Maybe it was just because Hermione was a woman, but whatever it was, he felt more able to discuss his relationship problems with her now that they were older.

"I don't know." He finally spoke out in frustration. "There's nothing specifically wrong. I mean, I'm sure we're both getting crap because of the articles - and then Draco got attacked by his housemates. I think he's also worried about what happened to his mother, though I've never heard him speak of it. And now every time that I've showed interest in the university idea, he gets all stroppy."

A brief flash of her old anti-Malfoy sentiments rushed forward for a moment and she snapped more sharply than she surely meant to, "Why? Doesn't he want you to be educated and be the best that you can?" For anyone to refuse education was like a personal attack to Hermione.

Trying not to make one of the Slytherin's few friends turn against the boy, Harry struggled to explain, "No, that's not it at all. I think that he'd just worried that I will leave him behind. He doesn't say anything, but I think he's as afraid as I am that it'll turn out this was all for nothing."

Surprised at that pessimistic attitude, Hermione asked her friend, "Do you think it was all for nothing? Do you think it was a waste; that this relationship was a waste?"

"No." Harry shook his head vehemently, his black hair buffeted by the cold winds, "I mean, of course there have been bad things and we've both been hurt a lot but - but, no, of course it wasn't a waste. Things are just a bit rough right now. It'll get better."

Hermione stopped and watched the slight boy continue to walk away from her. She hurried back up to him and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him to a stop. He looked down at her questioningly, his expressive green eyes wide and surprised. She continued to search his familiar face and then began slowly to smile. Hermione pulled the boy down and while he looked at her in confusion, she kissed him on the forehead, directly over his old scar.

"I love you, Harry. And I do hope things will get better for you. If you ever need anything - anything at all - you let me know."

Harry nodded mutely, a bit awed by Hermione's declaration. He hugged the smaller girl and, unlike when they'd been kids, didn't feel awkward about it.

Feeling the Head Girl's thin arms around his neck, Harry whispered, "Thank you, Hermione. You know I love you the most of any woman."

Hermione laughed brightly and pulled back to tell him, "And you're going to love me even more. You've still never gotten your Apparition license, have you?" Her friend shook his head, staring at her disbelievingly. Hermione pulled him along by his hand and exclaimed, "Well, you are seventeen and a big, bad, official hero. It's time, dear Harry, that you learn to Apparate."

"SO, HOW DOES THIS WORK?"

Hermione snorted in amused exasperation; she'd been explaining the process to Harry for the last twenty minutes. The boy flushed a bit and tried to clarify himself, "I mean, why does this work? How is it that you get from one place to another? How far can you go?"

His friend smiled in bemusement, "Since when are you interested in magical theory?" He glared at her but allowed the Head Girl to continue. "I've studied arithmancy and magical theory for years, Harry, and still I can only just begin to see how it might be understandable. Apparition is easiest to do without trying to understand it." She smiled wryly, "Look at the twins as a shining example."

Harry was leaning against the old stile that lay on the outskirts of Hogsmeade. To this day, he still half-expected to see a shaggy black dog come loping into sight, tail wagging and tongue lolling. Ignoring these pointless thoughts, he asked again, "So, how far can a person Apparate? I know I've heard of wizards Apparating across the country."

Hermione stood in front of him and crossed her arms across her ribs. She ignored the whispers and jeers of the townspeople. As soon as they'd walked into town, the comments about Harry had begun. They hadn't even dared stop in at the Three Broomsticks for a butterbeer, so abhorrent were the glares they were receiving. She told the ostracized boy, "Well, there's no concrete answer for that. It depends mostly on the strength of the wizard. Even average wizards can travel hundreds of kilometres, with a bit of practice. I'm sure that a wizard like Dumbledore could Apparate across entire oceans without much effort."

Looking over, Hermione saw her friend looking exhilarated at the idea, and chided him, "Remember to crawl before you can walk, Harry." She demonstrated and, with a small pop, Apparated several feet to the side. Harry watched with a proud grin and she reminded him, "The most important thing to remember is not to be afraid. If you're unsure, if you don't focus 100% on where you're going, you'll end up splinching yourself."

The boy remembered the first time he'd heard the term and, just as he had at the Burrow, he imagined leaving behind a leg and perhaps and ear or two, or his glasses. Hermione patted him on the arm reassuringly and said with a bit of a twinkle in her eye, "Don't worry. You're Harry Potter - I'm sure you will have no problem."

And so they started. The first attempt that Harry made was only several feet, as Hermione had done, but he didn't splinch himself - and that was surely an accomplishment to be pleased with. As he almost instantaneously reappeared on the other side of the stile, he stumbled and fell to his knees. Hermione rushed over to help him to his feet and he grinned up at her.

Coughing slightly, Harry wheezed, "Gods, that was amazing! I thought it would be painful or something, since so many wizards and witches hate to Apparate..."

For the brief moment that he had focussed on his destination, he'd had to let go. For those fractions of a second that seemed timeless, he had been free: free of his body, free of his worries, free of being Harry Potter. There was only magic and power, and everything else had been inconsequential. It was a bit like great sex.

"Looks like we've got a natural here," the Head Girl said lightly as she helped him brush off the road's dust with a smile. He couldn't help a spontaneous laugh and he suddenly felt as light-hearted again as he had weeks ago when he'd first been reunited with his friends at Platform 9¾. I wish Draco were here. He'd be so mad because the Boy Who Lived got it right on his first try, but I know he'd be proud.

Even though Draco was off somewhere that may or may not be a Head Boy meeting, Harry was heady with his success and decided to try even further this time. He disappeared to the other side of town for several moments and came back with a slightly bedraggled flower in his grasp and coughing as if he were kicking up dust, but the cool air was clean. Hermione took the offered flower as she asked in bemusement, "Developing a bit of a cough, are you?"

Harry's happy expression didn't fade, even as the coughs shook his thin frame, and he said lightly, "I don't know why, but every time I Apparate, I get a tickle in my throat - as if I just choked on some dust." He laughed and repeated, "'Every time I Apparate.' I like the sound of that."

The bushy-haired girl looked at him with vague concern, but couldn't think of any reason why he should have such a reaction. It was probably just the start of a cold or something, which was being aggravated by the powerful magic.

He continued to practice and although his cough persisted, he had no other problems with the new form of magic. It probably didn't hurt that he was more accustomed to wandless magic than the normal wizard - he was even more accustomed to wandless magic than an abnormal wizard like Dumbledore. Luckily, no one still knew about the full extent of his and Draco's skills, though his friends knew enough to suspect.

And then there was that time he'd managed to 'Apparate' away from Dudley when he was in primary school. Perhaps he had a propensity for some of this magic stuff, after all.

"Hey, Hermione," the dark-haired boy looked at her with cheeky laughter glittering in his eyes, "how would you like to go to London for a bit of shopping?"

His friend laughed disbelievingly, but when she saw that he was serious about his suggestion, Hermione asked, "You mean it? You want to go to London?" She searched bright eyes and accused teasingly, "You've been with Malfoy too long. You're as bad as a Slytherin about breaking rules."

"Oh, come on," he elbowed her lightly with a friendly ease. "It's not like we ever needed much encouragement - and aren't Gryffindors supposed to be the reckless ones?"

"Well, you're certainly out to prove it, if we are."

But it had been so long, really... Last year, Harry had always been caught up in Draco or dragged down by the Slytherin's 'death.' In Fifth year, he had been so angry and the whole school had been in chaos. Fourth year had been overshadowed by the Tournament and Cedric. The last time Hermione had really felt this close comraderie between the two of them was when they'd saved Sirius together in Third year. She'd missed it.

There had been brief moments when they would almost recapture that bond, of course: struggling to learn the Summoning Charm for the First Task, sabotaging Umbridge and sharing the secret of Grawp, even this year in the most fleeting of bonding between she, Harry and Draco.

Hermione wanted to take this chance. Even if they might get in trouble or even hurt themselves, she wanted to go away with Harry and learn about the man her childhood friend was growing into.

"Let's go, Harry."

THE HARDEST PART OF APPARATING to London was finding a place to Apparate where they wouldn't be noticed. Hermione ended up deciding that matter, since she had grown up in the City. They Apparated directly to her parent's house.

Hermione went first, taking with her the crumpled flower that Harry had given to her earlier, now enhanced with a tracking spell. Focussing on that tugging sensation, Harry closed his eyes, imagining that he could almost see the spell like a glowing beacon - then he let go. When he opened his eyes again (when he had eyes to open again), he was standing in a small, but tasteful, Muggle living room. He glanced around and, not seeing his friend, called out, "Hermione?"

Speaking aloud caused another spasm of coughing and Harry was bent over the arm of a floral-patterned sofa when Hermione came back into the room with her mother in tow. Helen Granger hurried over to the thin boy and patted him on the back. Harry straightened up and looked up at the older woman with watering eyes.

He was surprised to see that Hermione's mother looked nothing like the girl. Aside from a similar petite build, there were no traits of the sleek, blond woman in his bushy-haired friend.

The woman smiled and said, "You're Harry, aren't you? I think that I've seen you - along with your Weasley friends - in Daigon Alley when we've dropped Hermione off for school."

Harry had indeed seen Dr Granger and her husband before, but had never spoken to either or even paid much note to the adults. He said now, "Yes, I'm Harry Potter. It's very nice - though very surprising - to meet you."

Hermione came over to Harry's side and shot him a smirk that he imagined was supposed to be reassuring. "We just, uh, 'popped' by for a visit. Thought we'd go about town a bit. Maybe do a bit of shopping."

"You sure you don't want to stay for dinner? Your father's only popped out for a bit - he'll be sorry to miss you." Mrs Granger had a twinkle in her eye that reminded Harry of Dumbledore, or at least the Dumbledore that he'd believed in as a child.

The Head Girl of Hogwarts reassured her Muggle mother that they would be fine and stop for something to eat. As they headed out the front door and onto the street, she told her mother, "I'll come again, mum. Whenever I next have a chance."

"Oh, Hermione?"

The two students stopped and turned at Mrs. Granger's voice. She held out a black peacoat and said gently, "You might not want to go out in your cloak, love."

Flushed with embarrassment, Hermione skipped back up the stairs and grabbed the jacket from her mother. Harry took her cloak from her and folded it into a small bundle, which shrunk to the size of a handkerchief in his hands. He tucked it into one of the deep pockets of the jeans he'd stolen from Draco, and they set off down the road.

"Come on," Hermione lead the way, confident again on her old stomping grounds, "there's a tube station nearby."

BY THE TIME THE TWO Gryffindors returned to Hogwarts - with a couple bags apiece of clothes and Muggle essentials, and bellies full of the best curry in London - it was nearly seven in the evening. While they were walking up to the school and cheerily debating whether Harry should have bought that last shirt that Hermione had made him try on, Draco was arguing with Madame Pomfrey down in Hogwarts' hospital wing.

Draco truly had gone to a meeting that afternoon, though he lied to Harry about when it started. He had surprised Professor McGonagall a bit when he'd shown up at her office almost two hours early, but she'd eventually made time to see him anyway. And after they had reviewed the effectiveness of the Slytherins' punishment and discussed his precarious position as Head Boy for an hour or so, he had gone down to the infirmary to consult with Madame Pomfrey.

When he'd arrived and told the woman that he was having trouble with his eyes, the mediwitch had given him a couple of stock potions and then left him in a private bed while she treated her other patients.

After thirty minutes, he'd become bored and began to have difficulty keeping his mind off of the situation with Potter.

After an hour had passed without him receiving any further attention, he began to ponder just leaving and scrapping the whole go-to-the-teachers-for-help plan. Luckily in some regards, Pomfrey had come back in to check on him at that point.

The matronly witch checked his eyes, muttering various spells and tests, and seemed disappointed with the results. She addressed Draco in a stern voice, "Mr Malfoy, I'm going to need you to be a bit more specific with me. You said you were having problems with your vision. Just what kind of problems do you mean?"

Draco once again weighed how much to tell about his bizarre new condition, but he knew that if he wanted it gone (which he very badly did) then he would have to give the mediwitch all the details. So, he began to tell her everything.

"It started, obviously, when the Slytherins blinded me last week. If you recall, when you finally found a spell that restored my sight, I reacted... negatively."

Pomfrey interrupted to remark wryly just how negative she thought he'd been, then Draco continued.

"When you cast that spell, I could see again, but not properly. I saw the castle decaying around us and when I looked at Granger and Potter... when I looked at them, I saw many different versions of them, younger and older, dead and alive; all of it at once. It was disturbing."

The mediwitch had to agree with his description and, her suspicion growing, she spoke aloud as if to herself, "And then you asked me to 'undo' it. I altered the spell, weakening it and balancing it with a mild version of occulem vidi." She focussed back on the student before her, "And the problems didn't go away then?"

The blonde Slytherin shook his head and reassured the witch of her skills - he himself knew that it was only thanks to her excellence at mediwizardry that he could see anything today - and said, "No, they did go away... almost entirely. That day, after you altered the spell, I looked up at Potter and..." He swallowed hard. "I saw Voldemort."

Pomfrey visibly jumped when she heard the Dark Lord's name, but did not sound any more discomposed when she said, "But he was killed and, if I am to believe what Dumbledore told the staff, you're the one who did it."

"That's true," the ex-Death Eater admitted, "I know he's dead, of course. But that day, I saw him. He had one hand around Potter's neck and with the other hand he had, ah, stabbed through Potter's chest."

He glanced up to see the older witch looking disturbed just by his sparse description. Then again, it would probably disturb anyone - now when they all thought they were safe from the Dark Lord again.

Regaining her regular brisk composure, Madam Pomfrey asked him, "Have you seen Him since? Or any other strange visions?"

Draco nodded, knowing that the woman was catching on, "I've had other visions. I have now twice more seen Potter looking gravely injured. I also once saw Ginevra Weasley looking much older and surrounded by her own pack of little Weasleys."

"But when you see Mr Potter injured, he doesn't appear older to you?"

"Not really. He looks the same age as he is now."

Looking concerned, the mediwitch bustled off to her supply cupboard and came back with her hands full of potion bottles. She quickly and deftly began mixing several of the strange concoctions together. The end result was a silky thin potion that was heavenly blue with an iridescent silver sheen and smelling of vanilla beans. Draco cocked an eyebrow in surprise; this was the most pleasant-looking potion he'd ever had to choke down in Pomfrey's care.

Taking the thin glass vial, the blonde swirled the potion consideringly as he asked, "And just what is this supposed to be?"

The witch didn't reply but only gestured for him to swallow the mysterious substance. He did so and then immediately started coughing. His face was still screwed up in disgust as he spat, "Ugh, that's got to be one of the worst potions I've ever had. And considering how much work I've done with Snape, that's saying something."

The mediwitch had the slightest glint of unholy satisfaction in her eye as she watched for signs of the potion taking effect. "Remember, Mr Malfoy, that just because it seemed pleasant does not mean a thing is." She smiled knowingly. Then, watching as his eyes began to bleed out so that only the silvery iris could be seen, she told him, "This potion will make you more receptive to what is commonly known as the Sight."

Draco went still even as his pupil-less eyes shot up to stare at the witch. Ginny had also mentioned the Sight when he had told her about this affliction, and he was no more prone to believe it now than he had been then.

"This cannot be the Sight. Everyone knows there are no spells that can give it, you can only be a Seer if you are born to it!"

Ignoring his agitation, the mediwitch spoke mildly as she continued to examine his eyes with different charms and magical devices, "That is true enough, but whatever the Dark spell was that was used to cause your blindess, it might have some side affects that resemble the Sight. Or they could even be simple hallucinatory visions that mean nothing."

She summoned a stack of photos from her desk, some of famous events, others of mundane everyday life. Holding the pictures out to the Slytherin, she instructed, "Now, you must cooperate with me so that these tests give conclusive results. Tell me, what you see in the photos."

Draco looked down at the regular Wizarding photos, watching the figures in them walk and interact and, even in one photo, punch one another. He went through each picture, describing what was happening. Once he was done with the stack, Pomfrey's voice interrupted his reverie, "That was very good, Mr Malfoy. But I'm afraid I have to tell you that those photos in your hands are nothing more than regular, unmoving Muggle images. Everything that you just described, only you could See."

Paling under his fading tan, the blonde stared at Madame Pomfrey in horror as she told him, "I don't know how it's happened, but according to this preliminary test, Mr Malfoy, I have no choice but to conclude that you have somehow managed to contract the Sight."