White Horses

HARRY WAS LYING WITH HIS head beneath his pillow, trying to ignore the boy on the end of his bed. It was made easy since Draco was sitting silently, facing the other way, and very pointedly ignoring Harry as well.

Draco had been back several times during the night, and each time he appeared he scorned Harry - not even acknowledging the boy enough to fight with him. He didn't seem to hear the Gryffindor's pleas or his digs. Even when Harry had physically pulled the boy around to face him, Draco had stared right through him. That had been even worse, and so Harry had allowed the blonde turn back away.

Harry kept trying to remind himself that this wasn't real, just as he had when Hermione and Ron had appeared, and when Sirius had appeared, and as he was still trying to do now.

It had been a bit of a tip off when his friends had started materializing out of thin air, and he'd quickly realized that it must be some sort of spell. Some illusion of your loved ones betraying you, though he couldn't remember ever hearing of such a spell. When he'd tried to get out of his bed, the curtains might as well have been made of steel, for how much they gave under his efforts. His fingers had scrabbled along the cloth as if it were smooth glass, unable to gain purchase.

He'd pulled his wand and tried a fair barrage of spells, but each time he did, he felt the spell sputter out as soon as it was completed. Throwing aside his wand, he'd tried wandless magic but, even though he could feel the magic in his own body, it seemed to dissipate before it could strike the curtains, as if something were absorbing it.

As one would expect, he had regardless tried many times during the night to escape (especially when Sirius had appeared and told Harry how glad he was to be dead, and that James and Lily were dead, so they wouldn't have to see what a shameful disappointment he had become), but it never worked. All his expending magic had only succeeded in irritating the cough he'd developed in the last week.

He'd had to sit through Sirius' disgust, through Ron and Hermione making out and forgetting him as they got caught up in each other, and through Draco, refusing to even acknowledge him. Harry had tried begging, baiting and even insulting the illusionary Slytherin, but Draco had not responded, not even turning around to sneer at him.

But this, Harry thought to himself as he glanced up at the thin blonde's back, isn't so bad. I'm used to Draco just being nearby but silent. It could almost be comforting-...

"Potter."

As soon as he had thought it, of course, things changed and any semblance of comfort was gone.

"Potter, you fucking slag," the boy continued, "just what the hell is it that you think you're doing?"

The Slytherin had turned back to face Harry at last, his grey eyes glittering madly. "Going to keep running and hiding forever?"

Harry turned away this time and buried his face in his pillow so as not to see that hateful look.

"You are so pathetic. You know the reason I can't even bear to touch you or be near you any longer?" Draco paused and his silky voice came closer. "It's because I'm too god-damned disgusted.

"I'd thought I could just keep on fucking you - since that's the only reason I took you back last summer anyway - but I can't even force myself to do that any longer."

Harry clasped the pillow tightly over his head and then found it torn from his grasp. Shaking, he held his arms over his head, still trying to bury his face in the mattress. Draco grabbed him harshly, his long, bony fingers digging into the Gryffindor's arms hard enough to bruise. He wrenched Harry around, forcing the boy onto his back as he grappled with him.

"You fucking child," he spat, his silvery eyes narrowed and spiteful, "I made sure you lived, even when I sent you to the Dark Lord, but I see now that I should have just let you die. You would've been less of an embarrassment to everyone that way."

Draco slowed for a moment, pausing to run a gentle touch along Harry's cheek and whisper, "What? Did you think you loved me?"

The touch trailed down his scarred chest.

"Did you think I loved you?"

His hand paused over the Dark Mark on Harry's chest, as it had long ago.

"You don't even know me, and I can't fucking stand you."

He dug his short, buffed nails into that thick rough skin on the Gryffindor's chest.

"You are a pathetic, weak, perverted little boy. You will never grow up. Believe me, I've been waiting. I've waited, and waited, for you to improve, but I can't wait any longer. And I refuse to watch this great cock-up that you call your life. I'm leaving you." With that, the blonde figure dragged himself roughly off of Harry and disappeared through the solid curtains.

Even though he knew it wasn't real, Harry couldn't help the stinging pain that flooded him as he waited a few moments, nervously propped up on his elbows. But no one else came to torment him. As the minutes passed, a new insidious thought wheedled into his consciousness: Maybe no one else was coming. Maybe he had been truly abandoned now, even by his demons - and he was stuck alone in his prison.

Rolling quickly off the rumpled bed, Harry began to run his hands along the impenetrable curtains again. They offered no more hope that they had all the night before, but Harry seized on a half-formed idea and dropped into the narrow space between his bed and the wall of curtains. He struggled to force one of his small hands under the tiny gap that was left between the steel-like curtain and the cold floor, wincing as he scratched off the skin from his knuckles. The only sounds to be heard in his prison were his grunts of pain and the cold empty silence of his abandonment.

DRACO PUSHED HIS SOGGY EGGS around the gold plate in front of him as he sat at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall. Wincing to himself, he scooped up a small pile of the rapidly cooling eggs and let them fall into his mouth, feeling the clammy, congealed chunks slide down his throat. He felt ill.

He glanced again over at the Gryffindor table, as he had been doing all morning. Harry wasn't there. This wouldn't normally have alarmed him, but Hermione had called upon him again last night via their connected fireplaces, hoping to find Harry with him since the Gryffindors still couldn't find their Golden Boy. Judging by the tension evident in Hermione and the Weasel, the search had proved unfruitful.

His empty fork hung suspended in the air as Draco watched the remaining members of the Trio and he didn't even notice the first year at his elbow until Blythe said loudly and seemingly out of nowhere: "Hey, Malfoy!"

Jumping in surprise, Draco dropped his fork and heard it clatter against the stone flagrons. Groaning silently he ducked under the table to retrieve it and let the small boy's excited tones wash over him.

"Oh, sorry, did I surprise you? You know, I have my first exam in Potions today - will Snape really fail us if we just stir the potion the wrong way or the wrong number of times? I mean, how would he even know? He can't see all of us at the same time..."

Resting his head on his knees for a brief moment, Draco closed his eyes and sighed tiredly. "He won't fail you, but you ought to know by now," he replied, muffled, from under the table, "that aspects such as the direction you stir are critical and will-"

He broke off, transfixed by a glint of light he had seen when he had opened his eyes again to locate his fork, flashing a few feet from him in the dark under the table. It looked like the double round glare of a pair of glasses and it was coming closer.

Blythe was calling his name in concern as he stared frozenly at the pale blur which resolved itself into a horrible spectre of Harry. Draco flung himself back, knocking his head against the tabletop and upsetting his balance on the bench that ran alongside the great table. Following the crack of his skull against the wooden table, he tumbled backwards out of his seat to land painfully on the cold, hard floor.

The brief look he had gotten at his boyfriend had been far too much and far too real for his peace of mind. Harry had been drowned this time, and the soft lips which Draco had kissed countless times had been a dead, cold purple. His skin had all gone blue, but that wasn't nearly as bad as how it appeared bloated and half-rotting - chunks missing where something or someone had taken a nibble. His eyes had gone cloudy and flat behind his round glasses, but still that empty glare had seemed aimed right at Draco; resentful and betrayed. The last thing he had seen before he fell away had been his old necklace, the former Portkey, glittering far too bright and gaily as it dug into the soft, distended flush of Harry's neck.

In the brief hush that followed his painful landing, there came a clear exclamation from the Gryffindor table, "Harry!"

For a moment which would compete for being the worse in his life up till that point, Draco thought that the others had also seen his vision of Harry and that it was not a vision but reality. He turned to see the horrified expressions of the Gryffindors, but instead found himself staring at a comparatively normal vision of Harry, striding toward his house's table.

This Harry looked wan and drawn, but reassuringly alive. He looked like he'd gotten ready in a rush, with his sack slung across his chest and his clothes wrinkled. Harry arrived at the table beside Hermione and Ron and threw his bag to the ground, letting it slid slightly under the bench. He tugged his long sleeves further down over his knuckles and was moving to sit down when Hermione jumped up.

The Head Girl first threw her arms around him tightly, then pushed him away in order to slap him on the arm reprovingly. "Where have you been?! Do you know how much you made us worry? No one could find you! God, Harry, don't you even think about anyone else?"

From across the room where he still lay sprawled on the flagstones, Draco could practically see the shadow fall over Harry's face as something snapped inside the boy. His sharp green eyes narrowed to slits and ignored the girl, moving very purposefully away from Hermione to sit down. He pulled a plate toward himself but that was as far as he got before Hermione laid into him again.

"Harry!" She grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him about to face her, her eyes bewildered and angry, "What are you doing? What is wrong with you today? How dare you-"

Harry jerked away from her touch and repeated increduously, "How dare I? How dare I?!"

He pushed back out of his seat and stood over her again.

"Fuck." He spat the words in her face. "You."

Harry punctuated the curse with a shove, sending the skinny girl tripping backwards. At this point, Ron jumped up as well and towered furiously over the smaller, dark-haired boy, "Don't you touch her like that! Hermione is your friend and she'd been worried about you! Just because you suddenly feel like ditching us doesn't mean we're ditching you!"

"Piss off, Ron!"

The Boy Who Lived's voice came out harsh and hysterical. "You have no idea what..." He turned away furiously and Draco could see the boys face again as he, along with everyone else in the hall, stared in shock.

He couldn't be sure from this distance, but Harry's angry eyes seemed to be sparkling with something like tears. Draco finally pushed himself up and stood, tense and alone, among the sea of disbelieving faces. He waited unsurely to see if Harry would notice him.

The Slytherin wasn't sure if Harry had seen him or not, but the boy ducked down, snagged his sack and then started off. Ron's long arm shot out to pull him back but the ginger boy let go again almost immediately. Although no one would possibly repeated it, everyone sitting close enough could swear that they had seen Harry's eyes flash red in that instant. No one else tried to stop him as he practically ran from the room.

Hermione turned to stare mutely at Draco, as if asking him to do something. He ignored her as well and sat back down at his table, trying to banish her hurt face and Harry's wet eyes from his mind. Blythe resumed his excited chatter, this time centred on the scene which had just unfolded, and Draco wondered just what the hell had happened to Harry the night before.

SITTING ALONE IN N.E.W.T. POTIONS, Harry watched the clock and felt his cheeks burn with shameful resentment. Just past his anger, he could dimly feel that he oughtn't to have lashed out at Ron and Hermione like that, and he also could feel an unreasonable fear. It was the same fear that had pricked him through the night: that the visions he'd been plagued with were an inescapable reality.

Although they had never said anything of the sort, he could well enough assume that Hermione and Ron would get married soon after graduation and be perfectly happy and have perfect little ginger geniuses and be perfectly out of his life. He didn't imagine it to be any sort of intentional slight; their lives were simply going in different directions.

The other couple was headed for normalcy and a happy, family-orientated, regular life in the Wizarding world. He, on the other hand, was headed for a life of persecution as an outcast, suspicious and homosexual former-hero. As if his former fame hadn't been bad enough, now he was positively infamous for his sexual preferences.

That reminded him of another thing that was niggling in the back of his mind. He had told Draco once how he wasn't sure he could live in the Wizarding world. Now he was all but certain, though not because of his own aversions, but because of those of the rest of Wizardkind. But he had no idea what to do in the Muggle world either. He had no career options, no plan for his life. His only consolation was that he could probably live off his parents' and Sirius' money without ever needing to work a day in his life.

He stared at his small hands splayed on the pitted potion's table. His knuckles were still bloody and bruised from his desperate escape.

Once he'd realized there was a gap under the curtains surrounding his bed, he'd known he had to try to break through there. Presumably Seamus had limited whatever spell he'd used to the confines of Harry's bed - after all, the other boys were bound to notice if half the dormitory suddenly became a magical dead-zone.

He'd had no guarantee the barrier didn't extend a few crucial inches around the bed, but there was nothing else for him to try.

With a niggling idea tickling his tortured mind, he shoved his right hand under the stiff, unbending curtain. His fingers passed under that iron curtain without any much hindrance, but his knuckles came to a halt. As he started to scrap his knuckles against the sharp edge of the cloth, his mind was whirring away, puzzling through the inexplicable familiarity of this spell.

He used his other hand to help shove his right hand under the barrier, feeling the skin break as he continued to push. His bones were pressed against the stone of the floor, the soft flesh between those two hard surfaces pulsing with pain. With one last gasp, he forced his hand under the curtain, tearing long gashes down the back of his hand as he went and creating angry blue abrasions on the bones of his wrist, which quickly welled with bright red blood.

He could remember the spell now.

It was one of the basic spells they had all learned in Hagrid's Care of Magical Creature's class. A simple charm for trapping moderately dangerous or troublesome beasts, but it was considered elementary because of its many limitations.

Although it created a field in which magic would be absorbed, the parameters of the field had to be limited by some physical cage. And while it made the material of the cage unbreakable, it would not create a physical barrier of its own. What this meant for Hagrid's class was that they needed a very fine mesh cage to cast the spell on, else small creatures would simply escape and those creatures who were able would reach outside the cage and there find their revenge.

The choice to use this spell had been surprisingly clever on Seamus' part. He had found a suitable barrier to cast on which would prove almost impenetrable. The only thing Harry still didn't understand was the spell that was causing him such painful delusions. How could any spell continue working in an area that absorbed all magic issued from a body?

His arm screamed in pain as he forced it further under the iron curtain, trying feebly to twist his fingers in the direction of the canopy, but he couldn't possible turn his arm over. He twitched his fingers in a stilted imitation of the wand movement need for the counter-curse and whispered, "Finite incantetum."

He could feel the slightest thrill of magic course down his arm and spark out of his hand to hit the curtain - but the only reaction was a dying little fizzle that gave way to the silence of the boy's dorm.

Harry tried again, desperately trying to gather any last shreds of magical reserve in his body, though he had expended practically all of his energy during the night. The sparks that flew from his bloody fingers were even smaller this time.

Craning his neck, Harry couldn't even see his wand, though he knew it must be lying on top of the duvet where he'd left it. He strained his left arm as far as he could, feeling his shoulder pop and the ligaments in his arm protest in that familiar old pain that only a Seeker could know. His hand floundered blindly amid the bedclothes until the movement was stopped by a sudden weight. The phantom-Draco was back and had perched on top of his arm, pinning Harry immobile as he twirled the Gryffindor's new wand in his slender hands.

"What's this? You're not trying to leave me, are you?" The blonde leaned further over the bed to sneer disgustedly at Harry's damaged arm and the bloody streaks he'd left on the stone tiles of the floor. He continued coldly, "Not that it surprises me. I always knew you would betray me.

"I knew you didn't really care about me."

Harry screamed as he pulled his battered right arm back through the hard, unforgiving edge of the curtain, cradling the limb against his chest as it slowly oozed blood.

"You've never dared to give a damn about anyone," the blond hissed at him.

Struggling up to his knees, Harry came level with the bed and glared up at the cruel Draco who was taunting him.

"That's why no one could ever give a damn about you," Draco whispered.

Harry threw himself at the boy, kissing the false Slytherin on the lips and, before the illusion had a chance to react, he had jerked his arm out from under Draco and sent the blonde tumbling backward onto the bed.

Snatching his wand back, he fell again to the floor and thrust his left hand, still clutching the precious wand, under the canopy surrounding his bed.

Grunting in pain as he forced his wrist to pass under the curtain by the force of his dive to the floor, he cried desperately, "I did! I gave a damn about all of you - and you, Draco, I loved you more than anyone! FINITE INCANTETUM!"

Harry tumbled through the suddenly pliant cloth with ridiculous ease and rolled across the floor until he hit Ron's bed, tearing down the canopy and taking it unintentionally with him. Struggling weakly, he escaped from the clinging cloth and burst into the bright morning sunlight.

He spun unstably, staring at his rumbled bed where no sign of Draco (or any other of his visitors) could be found in the bath of light. Whatever Seamus had done must've been broken by the spell.

Falling back onto the pile of former curtains, Harry shakily held his arms out, clutching his wand awkwardly, and attempted a basic healing spell. He was shocked to find that not a single spark left his wand, but not as shocked as he should have been.

Head buzzing with a peculiar light feeling, Harry dimly realized he was going to be late to Potions. What he didn't realize was that he was suffering from sort of shock, as he pulled his long sleeves down on the wrinkled clothes he'd been trapped in when Seamus had tricked him and shoved him into the prison of his bed. He grabbed his bag and had gone tripping down out of the Gryffindor dorms.

Even now as he sat in the empty classroom waiting for his fellow students, Harry couldn't summon up enough energy to even get the blood off his arms with a simple Scouring spell. Instead, he was forced to stumble up and go wash himself at one of the large stone basins that lined the walls.

The shock of the cold water spilling over his raw skin brought Harry back slightly to himself. Blinking confusedly, he stared momentarily at his gory hands under the stream of liquid, as if he couldn't remember why they were so damaged. He began to clumsily scrape away the caked blood, shoving his sleeves up around his elbows and mindlessly scrubbing.

It was at about this time that Draco let himself into the classroom. The Slytherin's eyes swept quickly over the empty desks and were directed to Harry's figure by the sound of water splashing onto stone. He hesitated for a moment and Harry glanced at him blankly, then turned back to the sink. The Gryffindor thought vaguely, I must ask Malfoy to do all our spells today. He snorted in slight hysteria over his private thoughts. I'd be lucky to manage a lumos right now.

"Potter?" Draco's voice interrupts the boy's reverie.

Draco moved cautiously toward the boy, as if afraid of what might happen. As Harry's torn-up hands came into view, he flinched but forced himself to ignore what must be another of his cruel visions.

He was at a loss as to how to address what had happened at breakfast, but was saved by Harry speaking first, "Malfoy. Could I ask you a favour?"

"Uh, sure. What is it?"

Harry turned off the water and pulled his sleeves back down. He headed back to the worktable where he had left his bad and asked in a soft voice, "Could you take care of any spells today in class? I'm not up to it."

Draco certainly hadn't been expecting such a mundane request, so he agreed before he could even consider what it meant. He didn't have a chance to ask why either, before the door to the classroom opened again. A group of Gryffindors came in, Hermione and Ron in their centre.

For a moment, the larger group and the lone couple stared at each other from across the empty classroom. Harry was sitting easily, his face empty, and made no move to get up and approach his housemates. Draco continued to stand beside the boy's desk for an awkward moment, then moved wordlessly to sit down next to Harry. He began to pull out his notes from their last class meeting.

A rude shout came from outside the door and Draco could recognize Pansy's harsh, nasal tones, "What, are you Gryffindorks too obtuse to even find your own seats? Clear a path, you peons."

The Slytherins had no such qualms as seemed to be troubling the Gryffindors, and immediately trouped into the room and took their usual seats on the far side of the classroom. They raucously pulled out their equipment and Draco heard more than one rendition of Harry's furious exclamation at breakfast, the Slytherins mimicking the shrill, "Fuck. You." It still wasn't as good as he could have done, but it was quite accurate.

Moving slowly, the Gryffindors began to shuffle to their seats. The two Hufflepuffs in the class came in and took their spot together at the back of the dungeon, followed by a larger group of Ravenclaws - who took seats between the Slytherins and Gryffindors, but carefully left several empty desks to separate themselves from Harry and Draco.

Draco turned again to ask the boy next to him about his strange request but at that moment, Snape came blowing into the room. Immediately, silence settled over the students.

Draco was surprised to see Snape's eyes rest on him for a long moment, then that beady, angry glare turned onto Harry, as the Gryffindor stared dully at his desk. "No more drama today, I hope," the Potions Master drawled coolly, before his voice dropped to a spiteful hiss, "though I supposed I shouldn't expect much else from a queen."

The Slytherins and most the Gryffindors laughed, though the Ravenclaws simply looked bored and impatient to start class rather than make petty insults. Draco couldn't see the Hufflepuffs behind them, but he didn't care to either. Harry continued to stare stupidly at the desk, apparently not even noticing the jibe.

"Your text should be open to page 138. Today we are making Fortune's Touch." There were a couple appreciative hums and Snape frowned at them in thunderous disapproval. "I shouldn't need to remind you at this level, but I am compelled to warn you, if only to stop you miscreants from disrupting my class: this potion will not bring you good fortune. It only draws Fortune's eyes upon you.

"Her wheel spins ever. Bringing up the lowly..." He looked scornful and continued in his softest, most poisonous voice, "...and casting the mighty down into the mud." His eyes paused on Harry and Draco again.

"Few are foolish enough to seek her favours."

Filling the introductory page of the potion was a long quote, warning potential brewers,

"With domineering hand she moves the turning wheel,
Like currents in a treacherous bay swept to and fro:
Her ruthless will has just deposed once fearful kings
While trustless still, from low she lifts a conquered head;
No cries of misery she hears, no tears she heeds,
But steely hearted laughs at groans her deeds have wrung.
Such is the game she plays, and so she tests her strength;
Of mighty power she makes parade when one short hour
Sees happiness from utter desolation grow."

Draco looked at the old Roman's words on the pages of his Mostly Potente Potions and shuddered. He remembered another of Boethius' quotes, penned before the man had died a horrible and unjustified death: In all adversity of fortune, the most wretched kind is once to have been happy.

The Slytherin thought he wouldn't mind a potion that would remove him from Fortuna's sight. He and Harry seemed to be favourite playthings of that fickle goddess and it caused them no end of trouble and pain.

He turned back to the page in front of him. "Potter, heat the cauldron to a rapid boil and-" Draco read the instructions, then remembered what his boyfriend had said. "Ah, never mind. I'll do that. You go get some powdered unicorn horn - two grams."

Harry moved slowly off and they started the potion. Draco couldn't begin to explain the dark-haired boy's preoccupation as he half-heartedly carried out the tasks Draco set him to, nearly ruining the potions three times in less than thirty minutes. He seemed barely awake, responding dully if at all to any of the Slytherin's requests. He was absolutely useless today.

Letting out his breath in a hiss of annoyance, Draco got up to get some more mandrake shavings, since their potion as too thin. As he left, he told Harry, "Just keep stirring in figure-eights. But slowly; we don't want the temperature to drop."

He set off for the storage room, matching stares with the Potions Master as he passed him. The man knew something - had Pomfrey told him?

Ignoring Snape and his glowering, Draco slide into the storage room and consciously dismissed the professor's expression from his mind, wondering about Harry instead. He hadn't been paying much note to the other boy recently, so he wasn't entirely sure if the outburst this morning was as out of the blue as it seemed to him. Had something happened the night before? Or had this been brewing and he simply hadn't noticed?

Back in the classroom, Harry was stirring listlessly and didn't even notice his professor's approach. Snape snatched the boy's ladle out of his loose grip. Silently, Snape dipped the ladle into the thin potion, then watched it run off the spoon in thin threads. He dropped the ladle back into the cauldron with a splatter of watery potion and finally spoke, "Potter, at this stage your potion should be viscous and syrupy. Does this look syrupy to you?"

Harry glanced at the barely simmering liquid in front of him and suggested, "A thin syrup; sure."

Snape was patently not amused and told the Gryffindor coldly, "Increase the temperature of your brew or your potion will be ineffective and you will fail."

Harry thought about that for a moment, murmuring thoughtfully, "Hmm." He pulled out his wand unsurely and glanced toward the door to the storage room, but Draco still hadn't returned.

His face doubtful, he flicked his wand and said weakly, "Ignitio."

Nothing happened.

Snape seemed boggled for a moment, then sneered incredulously, "What's this, Potter? Can't even handle basic wizardry any longer?" He spat out, "Finally the form reflects the flaws within. Now, light the fire."

Harry glanced desperately around for Malfoy, even though there was no conceivable way for the boy to save him now that more and more of their classmates were noticing what was happening.

Feeling light-headed, he took up his wand again and closed his eyes. Screwing up every bit of energy he had, he tried even clutching his muscles until his hand gripped whitely about his replacement wand. Opening his bright green eyes, he focused so intently on the potion it seemed surprising that it didn't simply boil under the heat of his gaze.

He whispered, "Ignitio!" Then the room went black as he tumbled backwards into unconsciousness.