White Horses

DRACO STARED MUTELY UP AT the mediwitch, his vision still dancing thanks to the potion she'd given him. He watched a slightly wavering Pomfrey explain the different varieties of the Sight to him. He watched his life slip away from him.

HARRY AND HERMIONE BURST INTO the Gryffindor common room, laughing and clutching several bags apiece. Ginny Weasley stared in shock at their cold-reddened faces and dancing eyes as they dropped into the couch next to her. Hermione collapsed against her one close girlfriend, gasping through her giggles, "Oh, Gin! I wish you could've come..."

"Come where? Where the hell have you guys been all day? I thought you had revision, and an Arithmancy essay..."

Even the reminders of Hermione's real life and responsibilities weren't enough to bring her down for once, as she exclaimed, "We went to London!"

Leaning forward so that he could see past Hermione to smile reassuringly at Ginny, Harry tried to explain a bit better, "See, Hermione thought it was about time that I learn to Apparate and, though I still don't have a license, we decided to go to London for a bit of a day-holiday."

Ginny stared in surprised at her usually straight-laced and bookwormish friend and felt a smile growing across her face.

The Head Girl was glowing happily and currently struggling with Harry, digging through the boy's pockets for something. The Weasley raised an eyebrow and was glad that her brother wasn't here - even if Harry was gay and in a relationship, he was still a tasty boy wearing scandalously torn jeans whom Hermione was groping.

"Here!" Hermione was gasping with laughter as she held a worn leather wallet aloft proudly.

Harry was red and flustered, burnt by embarrassed as he pleaded with Hermione. He held out his little hands, "Please! Hermione, give it here!"

Ginny watched all this curiously. The Head Girl was crowing triumphantly and ignoring Harry's begging, as she pealed back the ragged edges of the boy's wallet. She flipped through it and pulled out a picture, well-worn and folded in half.

"I shouldn't think it myself, of course, but it really is so cute," the Seventh year girl offered by way of explanation. Ginny took the photo in silent question, looking up at Harry. Her other friend had buried his face in his hands though, and didn't look up to meet her gaze.

Ginny unfolded the photo carefully and then blinked, realizing just what she was seeing. She held in her hand a Muggle photo of Draco Malfoy, when the boy must've been no more than five or six years old. He was tiny.

She looked up at Harry again and asked in a disbelieving voice, "Is this really... is this Malfoy? Where on earth did you get this from?"

Harry mumbled into his hands, "Yes, it really is Malfoy. And I got it from the woman who took it, of course."

Ginny waited for more, but Harry wasn't speaking. Glancing back down, she stared at the innocent, defiant little boy who seemed to be glaring at her just as he had when she'd first met him in her first year - but this glare was not yet hate-filled. Looking at those young grey eyes, framed by thick and sooty black lashes, Ginny couldn't believe that this beautiful little boy would grow up to become a Death Eater - could this young boy have imagined that he would live in times so dark?

Harry reached over and grabbed back the photo, folding it quickly along the familiar line. Ginny smiled at the flushing boy, in his stolen jeans, and decided that the young Malfoy could never have imagined that he would have Harry Potter as his best friend either, let alone as his lover.

"Yes," she agreed with Hermione, "that is unbelievably cute, though it is hard to use the word to describe a Malfoy." She grinned at Harry, catching those green eyes. "Beautiful; sure. Hot? Undeniably. But cute? It boggles the mind."

Smiling tentatively back at her, Harry clasped the precious picture tight in his hand. Hermione smirked at both of them and handed back the boy's wallet without a word. She turned again to Ginny, "So, Harry's been telling me a bit about how things are going with our illustrious Head Boy."

Ginny looked at the other girl appreciatively; she'd not managed to get much out of the boy when she'd tried to grill him before. "From what I've heard," the Seventh year continued, pushing back a hank of her bushy hair, "it seems Malfoy's got issues with the idea of Harry leaving. These problems between them are only going to get worse as we get closer to commencement.

"Harry's told me that they haven't discussed anything of their future as a couple. 'I dunno - boys don't talk about stuff like that,' is, I believe, a direct quote." Harry glared at her predictably. She continued, "Of course, neither dares to be the first to admit to any kind of future or to make a commitment. So they are both unsure and it's apparently making them both miserable."

The boy didn't say anything to refute any of this, so Ginny asked him, "Is that what you think is happening, Harry? We saw that things seemed more tense than usual on Friday. How are things when it's just the two of you?" She was wondering if Malfoy acted differently in public that he did in private - perhaps the articles and public recrimination were beginning to get to him, and that was why he feared commitment.

Harry avoided her eyes shiftily as he admitted, "Thing have been kind of bad between us as well. Every time we get, erm, close... Draco pulls away."

"'Pulls away'? Literally or emotionally? What do you mean, 'every time you get close'?"

"Well," the green eyes darted up to look at them, "one morning, the day after Malfoy got attacked in his house, I was with Malfoy in his room. He woke up and freaked, I guess he'd had some kind of nightmare. He kept on insisting that I was bleeding, that there was blood on his hands. He wouldn't come near me for the rest of the day."

Hermione thought her friend looked more uncomfortable admitting that he had slept in the other boy's room than he was about telling them Malfoy'd had some sort of breakdown. Hermione had already known the boys slept together (having seen it first-hand) and considering the look on Ginny's face, the other girl was not surprised by it either. Neither did she seem surprised by the description of Malfoy's nightmares or whatnot; did she know something more, had Malfoy told her something?

Harry continued, "And just this morning, in fact, he pushed me away again. Things started alright - he woke me by... Er, that is, things were all right when I woke up. It seemed like everything was back to normal. Then we... er..."

"You snogged," Ginny supplied helpfully, not finding it difficult to guess what Harry was having such a problem saying.

He gave her a tolerating glare and repeated, "Yes, we 'snogged.' But then Malfoy suddenly pulled away and rushed off, saying he had a meeting to go. As it is, we've barely touched since these bloody fucking articles started."

The girls both stared. They hadn't heard any real anger or resentment from Harry before about the articles. He had been accepting and understanding since this had started; he'd never once complained about how difficult it was for him, even though it obvious that it was difficult.

They weren't the only ones to hear Harry's little outburst, though, and Seamus looked over to say nastily, "It's only what you deserve, you filthy queer."

Hermione and Ginny twisted about, baffled to see the blonde Irish boy looking so vitriolic. Hermione asked incredulously, "Just what are you trying to say, Seamus?"

"I'm saying just what I did. It only serves right that Potter's Death Eater lover would leave him, now that everyone's found out what freaks they are."

The girls were insulted and furious, but looking around the bright common room, they realized that they were the only ones. The rest of the Gryffindor were either looking away and ignoring the volatile situation, or were watching with the same ugly hatred that Seamus showed - though in varying degrees.

Hermione stood up and dragged her two friends off with her, clutching her bags tightly. "I would suggest," she said coldly, "that you don't shoot your mouth off about things that you don't even know about, you narrow-minded homophobe."

The threesome fled to the Head Girl's private room. Once inside, Harry dully chastised her, "You shouldn't've done that, Hermione. You're already jeopardizing yourself enough by standing by me and Draco, without actively insulting people."

Hermione toyed momentarily with the idea of smacking Harry about the head as Malfoy likely would've, but ended up just fuming, "Well, someone had to stand up for you fools - and obviously you weren't going to. Forget them. They can all go bugger themselves. You were saying that you and Malfoy never touch any longer?"

Harry seemed to have bit more difficulty than she did with switching back to the subject and stuttered, "Well, yes... I'm not trying to make us sound like a bunch of horny, teenage boys (not that we aren't, either) but... Well, our relationship has always been very physical. If it weren't for the strong physical attraction between us, neither of us would have ever considered a relationship with another boy, let alone with each other. We did spend over five years hating one another, after all."

"Huh. You're telling me," Ginny interrupted sarcastically. Then she continued in a more thoughtful tone, voicing something that had bothered her for quite a while, "So, how did you two end up together? I mean, do you think that Malfoy is changed? Do you still blame him for all the things he did to us?"

Harry lay back on Hermione's bed, looking up at the ceiling. He didn't know how to explain what he felt, but he would try. "I think that we've both changed some. By the time we got together last year, I was no longer the excited, naive Gryffindor that turned down his offer of friendship, just because he seemed like a git. And Malfoy... well, he still was, and is, a demanding, harsh, insulting son of a bitch. But he had also begun to grow up and learn how the world truly works - probably because he was forced to be Marked."

Ginny made a faint squeak of surprise, since she hadn't been there for Draco's retelling of how he had received his Dark Mark, but it went unnoticed.

"I guess when you grow up a bit, all those things that seemed so horrid when you were children take on a more nostalgic feeling. When he insulted Hermione's heritage... that was horrible and will always be horrible. But he truly didn't know any other way to think at that time. Once he realized there were more options, he stopped calling her that and now considers her one of his few friends.

"The other things we did to one another now seem mostly funny. I still laugh when I think about getting him with that mud at the Shrieking Shack. And even his horrid little badges during the Tournament just seem like an amusingly juvenile and spiteful stint by a spoiled little boy who didn't know any better. I mean, honestly, who passes out badges to insult their arch-enemy? I'm sure Voldemort would've been all torn up if I'd started a 'The Dark Lords stinks!' campaign."

The boy closed his eyes and there was a private little smile on his lips as he added warmly, "And then I've also discovered some things that may have always been there, but I'd never known about. Like how he is actually funny; how he takes care of me and knows precisely when to give me comfort and when to tell me I need a reality check. He loves to read. He hates to look less than perfect in public, but when it's just the two of us, I know he secretly enjoys me mussing up his hair. He hates to drop all his masks and poise, but I love..." The boy's voice hitched. "I love being able to see the real Draco Malfoy."

Eyes still squeezed shut behind his glasses, Harry cleared his throat, trying to get rid of the thick ache that was choking him. I am not possibly going to cry because of something so stupid as my boyfriend not snogging me, he told himself fiercely and then jumped when Hermione put a light hand on his shoulder.

Her eyes were bright, but the Head Girl's tone was brisk and clear when she told him, "Well, from what you're telling us, I think it's a good sign that you and Malfoy have been, uh, experiencing difficulties in your intimate life. If you were having all this uncomfortable tension, but still going at it like bunnies, then I would be very worried about just how serious you were about this relationship. But from what you've just described, this relationship goes beyond just your sexual attractions - and it's something worth fighting for."

Ginny had been staying quiet as she replayed in her mind the conversation she'd had with Malfoy the week before. Draco had told her that he was having some strange visions and in them, Harry was always dying. That certainly would kill the mood, she thought to herself as some of the pieces began to fall together.

She couldn't be sure if his 'visions' were really the main cause of this new distance though, and even if they were, she wouldn't betray the Slytherin's trust by telling Harry about it. Instead she suggested, "Harry, I think you need to talk to Malfoy about it. If he's the one always pulling away, then ask him why."

Harry knew she was right, and so agreed reluctantly to try to find the boy tomorrow and talk things out.

SUNDAY MORNING, HARRY WOKE UP at half-six and hurriedly got dressed. He was out of the Seventh year boy's dorm in less than five minutes and was incredibly glad his dormmates were still asleep when he left.

Clutching the Marauder's Map in his hand, he paused in the empty common room. The night before, Hermione had offered him the use of her room's fireplace, if he wanted to Floo directly to the Head Boy's room. Somehow that had felt too much like he was invading Draco's space though; to corner him in his own room with no way to refuse Harry entry. Instead, he was planning to use the tunnel behind Salazar's portrait, and he would go knock on the boy's door and see whether Draco allowed him in or not.

"I solemnly swear I'm up to no good."

The lines arched across the parchment, creating the labyrinthine passage ways of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Harry's eyes scanned the dungeons, wanting to check if there was anyone yet up and moving in the Slytherin dorms or common room. The Slytherins all seemed to still be asleep (as one might expect at seven a.m. on a Sunday morning), except for the one person who was not in his room. Where was Malfoy?

Harry checked all the dungeons again, but there was no little green figure labelled, "Draco Malfoy." He glanced at the blank area where the old Gryffindor dorms (and also Draco's room from last year) were, but there was no one in those abandoned halls either. He swept the map for moving objects, but only a few teachers and Ravenclaws seemed to be out and about. Finally he strayed across a green dot where there oughtn't be one. Unmoving, in the Restricted Section of the library, was the small figure with miniscule letters above it reading, "D. Malfoy."

I AM NOT SPYING. AND I'm not cornering him. It's the library, he can tell me to leave him alone, or he can leave himself. I'm not cornering him.

Harry was still trying to convince himself as he silently snuck into the Restricted Section. It was a bit of a letdown, then, to not see anyone in the Restricted Section. But there were several books scattered open on the floor and a tingling magical presence that lifted the hairs on Harry's arms with its familiar taste.

Kneeling down, the Gryffindor examined the books spread out on the floor and was surprised to find that they were all about divination or the Sight. He could hear the quiet, deep breaths of sleep and reached out carefully until he felt the silky brush of his very own invisibility cloak. Taking a hold of that thin, gauzy material, he pulled and the cloak slithered into a pool at his feet, revealing Harry's boyfriend, asleep on the floor with his face pillowed on a book.

Draco's rather long blonde hair was flung over a page detailing the varying reliability of the Sight, and his hand was still curled around the book's edge. Pomfrey's glasses had finally seen some use and were currently being bent into a surely harmful position by Draco lying on them.

Harry had no idea what would have prompted Draco to be illegally researching Divination in the Restriction Section until he passed out in exhaustion, so he tacked that onto the end of his growing list of questions. He smoothed back that white-blonde hair and said softly, "Draco."

The sleeping boy didn't even respond and Harry gave a quiet snort of laughter. His boyfriend truly was crap at waking up. He reached out and pinched the other boy on the cheek, a bit more insistent this time: "Draco, it's time to get up. You can sleep down in your own room, but if you stay here, someone else is going to catch you. Someone like Madame Pince, and she will give you detention forever, and lock you up in some obscure stacks and make you sort books for the rest of your life, and then you'll never be able to-"

"'rry?" came the sleepy reply to interrupt his blathering.

The Gryffindor smiled down at the blonde, who was flinching away from consciousness, "Yes, it's Harry. Who else?"

Draco mumbled feebly, shifting as if finding a better position to go back to sleep, "'m sorry. Love you."

Harry froze as the blonde settled back down into slumber. What was that? Draco was sorry? What for? And more shockingly, Did he just say he loved me? No, it must've just been something from a dream.

He shook the Slytherin's shoulder and said, "Draco, wake up now. What did you just say?"

The boy blinked silvery eyes up at him and, after the briefest and most complete flash of panic Harry had ever seen flash across a person's face, said ,"What? I didn't say anything. I was just dreaming - about my mother. What the hell are you doing here, Potter?"

For a few moments, Harry couldn't even imagine a thing to say. Had Draco said those words for his mother or for him? He must've realized he'd said something; why else would he have had that moment of panic?

Finally, the Gryffindor lied desperately, "I was just coming to get a book for Hermione, and found you asleep on the floor. What's with all the Divination books? I took Divination for years - hell, even had a prophecy made about me - and I can tell you it's mostly rubbish."

Draco had gotten up during his speech and was putting the books back on their shelves. He said quietly, "Yeah, maybe."

The silence stretched and Draco didn't say anything more. After a whole minute of that awkward waiting, Harry reached around his boyfriend to grab a random book off the shelves and said, "Well, I've got to get this back to Hermione, you know how she is. But I could stop by later, or... or we could go out flying or something, if you'd like."

"No, that's okay. I have lots of work to do."

"Oh." Harry wrapped both his arms around the book he had supposedly gotten for Hermione. "I guess I'll see you in Potions tomorrow then." The blonde only nodded and Harry backed out of the room. "All right. Er, bye then."

The Gryffindor fled and Draco was left staring at the divination books that he'd spent the whole night pouring over. He'd found no record of any kind of spells or curses that could actually give someone Sight. Mostly all he had found was reference after reference to how Seers have a great propensity for madness, and tend to be isolated, unstable individuals. Great.

All the books had confirmed what Madame Pomfrey had told him the night before. There were various types of Sight-though most Seers did not fit clearly into one simple category. The Sight could vary by how far into the future one Saw, be it moments or years, even generations. The Sight was also demonstrated in different levels of probability. Some people Saw things that would happen, no matter what was done to change it. Some people saw things that would happen unless something was done to change it. Some Seers were even assaulted with the unending possibilities of the future, always Seeing things that could happen. Pomfrey wasn't certain, but she tentatively diagnosing Draco as either of the first two types, since he had accurately predicted all the photos.

If the prognosis was correct and Draco actually had true Sight, that meant that something horrible would happen to Harry and, from the look of things, it was going to be soon. He hadn't seen some older Harry dying, as he had seen an older Ginevra with a mess of kids, so it seems as if whatever was going to happen to Harry, it was going to happen to this Harry, now, at this time. The only question was whether it was going to happen unless he changed something, or regardless of it.

HARRY RUSHED BACK TO THE Gryffindor dorms, still clutching the book he had stolen from the library. Hermione was already up and starting on the work that she'd neglected the day before. Taking the seat next to her, Harry belatedly realized that he'd taken the book from the Restricted Section without checking it out. He slid it across the table and mumbled, "Here; got this for you."

Hermione was flabbergasted, her disbelieving stare darting between Harry's miserable face and the book he'd thrown in front of her, labelled Potions to Purge Pregnancies, and Other Witching Essentials.

The dark-haired boy laid his head down on the table and muttered into the wood, "I did what you said, and tried to talk to Draco. But he was in the library, in the Restricted Section, so I had to make up some reason to be there--instead of just looking like I was spying on him."

"And so you told him I was pregnant?!" Hermione exclaimed.

"What?" Harry had no idea what she was talking about, so Hermione held up the book for him to read the title. As soon as he did and soon as the realization flooded his face, he mumbled, "Oh my god, I'm sorry, Hermione. I'd no idea... I was just so blown away after he said that he loved me, that I just grabbed any book without looking."

Hermione stopped him with a hand on his arm and asked excitedly, "He said he loved you? Oh, Harry, but that's lovely!" The boy's face didn't exactly scream happy reassurance, though. "Isn't it?"

"Well, maybe it would be, if he'd meant it. He said it while he was still mostly asleep and then denied having said anything once he woke. And then he was acting all cold and distant, like he has been, and so I just ran away."

Hermione picked up the book that Harry had accidentally stolen and, after one regretful look at her schoolbooks, told the boy, "Come on. Let's go put this away and you can explain what happened."

They left the empty common room and started through the halls, both speaking in hushed whispers as they made their way back to the library.

"So, I went to go talk to… him, this morning," Harry started, as if there was any such caution needed when the whole school already knew about he and Draco, and were probably even now making up rumours that were far worse than the truth. "I checked the Map and saw he was in the Restricted Section. When I got there, he was asleep under my invisibility cloak, surrounded by Divination books."

"Divination? Since when is he into Divination?"

Harry glanced back at his friend and said unsurely, "You know, I'm not sure what that was about either... I've never heard him talk about any kind of interest in Divination; it's not the sort of thing he'd go for." He fell silent and Hermione had to prod him to continued, but he did, "So. I tried to wake him up and he mumbled a bit, first apologizing and then saying that… that he loved me. When I tried to ask what he'd said, he closed off. Said he'd been having a dream about his mother, so it's surely nothing to do with me."

Hermione didn't comment on that; she didn't want to give her friend some kind of false hope by reassuring him that the declaration was meant for him, and truly meant something, especially when Draco's actions seemed to say anything but. She said weakly, "But you still haven't really discussed anything…"

"I tried! I..." Harry burst out and then immediately corrected his volume, pausing slightly, "I tried to ask Malfoy to get together later, but he turned me down."

This really didn't sound very positive and they both fell silent. As soon as they arrived at the library, Hermione kept watch, while Harry snuck the book back to where he'd pulled it from. Hurrying back into the hall, Hermione picked up her thread, "Well, things may not seem very positive right now, but… well, nothing will get better if nothing gets done. You're just going to have to keep trying to make things better or... give up."

She was a bit surprised herself to realize how strange it seemed to try to imagine Harry and Draco, broken up. Just now she couldn't imagine her friend with anyone else, be they a guy or a girl. Harry nodded glumly, but it was clear that neither of them felt fired up by her bland advice. It was quite the departure from their high spirits the day before and it didn't seem that the week would be getting any better.

"PROFESSOR SNAPE?"

HEARING THE UNEXPECTED voice, the Potions Master looked up to see the school mediwitch standing in his doorway. Unsure what had prompted her unusual visit, he set down his quill and greeted her warily, "Yes, Madame Pomfrey? What can I do for you?"

The older woman came hesitantly into his office, ignoring the one stiff-looking chair and preferring to stand. "Well," she said, looking sideways at her fellow professor, "I came to talk to you about one of your students. About Draco Malfoy, in fact."

"Malfoy?" Snape's voice was as cold and disdainful as when speaking of Gryffindors. "I don't want to hear anything about Malfoy, unless it's the announcement that he's lost his Head Boy position - the unnatural pervert."

Pomfrey pursed her lips but didn't reprimand the professor; it wasn't her place to tell anyone else what to believe. But her voice was a bit chilly as she continued, "I'm afraid that is not the happy news I've come to impart, though my news could be considered just as bad." Snape perked up and waited to see what the woman had to say.

"Somehow," she continued, looking searchingly at Snape, "Malfoy has been inflicted with the Sight. It seems that whatever spell the Slytherins used to blind him has inexplicably given him the ability to See, though I've no idea whether it will prove to be permanent. It does seem conclusive, however, that he has contracted either Type I or Type II."

The long-haired professor looked properly shocked and he asked quietly, "Malfoy has the True Sight?" Pomfrey nodded, but didn't say anything as this information began to adsorb into his greasy skull. It was unusual to have a Seer once a generation at Hogwarts. A True Seer only appeared once every couple centuries.

Finally Snape managed to respond and spat out, "So, he's even more of a freak than we knew. What's it to do with me?"

"He's one of your students!"

All Pomfrey received for her impassioned plea was an icy glare. Realizing that she wasn't going to get anywhere with the prickly man, she said stiffly, "Professor Snape, I need your assistance in making some potions. I have a student who is a True Seer and so I will need the appropriate brews that can help block the affects of the Sight. As Potions Master of Hogwarts, it is your responsibility."

The other professor gave no sign of agreeing, but she was confident that he would prepare the potions. He knew that she would go to Dumbledore otherwise. And they all knew how dangerous a True Seer could become if they were not controlled.

AT DINNER THAT EVENING, DRACO paused when walking into the Great Hall. He glanced quickly at the Hufflepuff table, but Harry was not there. Before his hesitation could draw attention, he hurried over to the Slytherin table. All the Uppers who had attacked him where still tied up in detentions and were never around for dinner. And without their influence, he had begun to make a bit of progress with some of the other students.

Nodding to some of the lower years, he took his seat at the Uppers' end of the table. He shared a quick greeting with Nott, who was one of the few Slytherins who didn't seem to give a damn about his sexual preferences or his part in the war. The aloof bastard treated him with just the same reserve and wariness as before.

Like most Death Eater's children, Malfoy and Nott had been forced together since they were young, but unlike the rest of the young Dark wizards and witches, Draco had always known that Nott was his equal. That was why he had never tried to treat the boy as he had Greg and Vincent, and why he had never spent much time with the boy at all.

When he had been young, he'd had no idea how to deal with someone who was actually smarter than him - especially if that person didn't seem to show any interest in competing with him. Now that he had grown up some and stepped out of his father's influence, he began to appreciate the strange, isolated Slytherin.

Still, even as he was trying to improve his relations with his housemates and forget about any bloody visions or his mother's murder, he couldn't ignore the curious stares that probed him from the Gryffindor table. He turned around, expecting to see Harry's hurt face, but was surprised to see just Granger and the Weasleys watching him.

He looked away immediately - but apparently even acknowledging them had been too much, because before long, Granger started over to the Slytherin table.

Not wanting anything she'd have to say to be overheard by his housemates, he got up as well and met her between tables.

"Granger," he said with the slightest smirk, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

He truly did enjoy riling up the girl; out of all the strange Gryffindors that had been inflicted on him, Granger was the one he would have most likely been friends with anyway - if there were no Light and Dark, and she weren't a Gryffindor Mudblood while he was a Slytherin Death Eater, that is.

The Head Girl frowned up at him and asked, "Malfoy, have you seen Harry today?"

He felt a quick moment of panic, but didn't show it as he replied, "Not since this morning. I saw him in the library at seven or eight in the a.m., though." He smiled shortly, "Have you lost him?"

Hermione frowned, "I guess we have. But I'm sure he'll show up; probably just out flying or at Hogsmeade or something." Draco made a faintly agreeing noise and she said, as if to reassure herself, "It's not as if there's any danger for him anymore."

Draco watched her with a look of mute anticipation, clearing waiting for some signal that she was done. Scoffing slightly at the tall blonde, she dismissed him with, "Fine, act all cool and is if you never worry. I know the truth." With one last scornful look, the Head Boy went back to his table, and Hermione headed back to hers.

SEAMUS SAT IN HIS BED, an open magazine in his lap. He wasn't really reading, but was enjoying the sound of Harry's pathetic pleading. Harry fucking Potter, who had always been admired as some sort of hero, but was actually just a sick pervert. Seamus watched the deceptively still curtains around Harry's bed, which gave no sign of the boy's struggles within their smothering gloom. Harry fucking Potter, who had cocked everything up.

He listened to Potter's cries and didn't feel a thing for the boy who hadn't even saved his sister from being killed at her school, hadn't stopped his best friend from being murdered on the Hogwarts Express, and hadn't even stopped the monster who had caused all these deaths. Voldemort had to be killed by some petty squabbling within his own forces - the Wizarding world certainly hadn't needed any hopped-up hero for that.

"Seamus?! Please, let me out! You can't...!"

Hearing this relatively rational voice, he wondered if his boggart was really working. After all the trouble he'd had to trap one of the damn things, he would be very frustrated if the spell that kept Harry in also kept the damn thing from transforming. But he'd researched everything - the boggart should be able to transform even within the magical vacuum he had created around Harry's bed, since a boggart's ability to transform was not completed by expending magic but was an internal ability of the monster.

Casting a Silencing spell over the other boy's space, he had just laid down to go to sleep and give Potter a bit of time to enjoy his little 'gift,' when Ron Weasley walked in. The prefect asked in a hushed voice, "Hey, Seamus. Sorry to wake you, but have you seen Harry this evening, mate?"

"No, I haven't - sorry, Ron."

"S'all right. Good-night."

"Good-night, Ron."

Downstairs, Ron, Hermione and Ginny continued their worried search. Smiling in the dark, Seamus rolled over with a contented sight. The silence expanded through the room and the Irish boy fell into an easy sleep.