White Horses

THE CLASS HAD WATCHED IN shock as Harry fell limply to the ground. Snape swooped down on the boy, but it seemed that he had simply fainted. The students who had gotten up from their desks to see the Gryffindor's collapse all stood stock still as Draco came back into the room.

It took him only a moment to register Snape crouching next to the empty desk where Harry should have been standing. There was a pile of robes on the floor by Snape's feet.

The light flakes of mandrake root fluttered to the stones as Draco dropped them in his rush to the empty circle surrounding his desk. He found Harry lying in an awkward heap behind the worktable. The boy's face was grey and if he was breathing it was too shallow for Draco to detect.

"What happened?" he exclaimed, as he knelt by the boy in alarm. His heart was pounding painfully in his chest. He knew that this could not be another vision, not with everyone else staring at Harry as well.

Snape moved away and explained dismissively, "Potter seems to have fainted. You can take him to the Hospital Wing - but if you do not complete your work, I will fail you on this potion."

The Head Boy didn't even consider the threat. He propped Harry up against himself and glanced quickly at the Gryffindor side of the room. Ron and Hermione were watching in blank disbelief but made no move in Harry's direction. Snorting his disgust, Draco cast a quick lightening charm on the limp boy and hoisted him up into his arms. He didn't once glance at his potion.

HARRY SHIVERED AS HE SAT in the prison of his bed, his legs stretched out straight and long in front of him on the duvet. He'd heard Ron leave the dorm room and then he'd been surrounded by silence. Apparently Ron hadn't been able to hear all his calls for help.

A faint shimmer began to condense itself at the foot of the bed. Harry looked up from his feet and was shocked to see a pale shade of Sirius appear within his canopy. The rangy man was looking down at his own silvery hands, as if he was surprised to be seeing them as well.

"Sirius?"

At Harry's voice, the faintly transparent man looked up at him blankly.

"But... you... Nick said you wouldn't become a ghost..."

His godfather murmured in confusion, "I... shouldn't be. I'm not supposed to be here."

Harry shifted onto his knees and moved toward the phantom, his green eyes pricking with tears. "Sirius..." he whispered brokenly, "Oh my god, I've missed you so much... I've wanted to tell you - wanted to say how sorry I was."

He scooted toward the man, not noticing the wariness in those ghostly eyes. "I'm sorry because, because it was all my fault. Oh, Sirius, it was all of it my fault."

The boy moved as if to touch his godfather's whiskery cheek, but Sirius Black flinched away, disgust and distrust painting his pearlescent face.

Harry's voice was shaking and unsure and as he asked, "Si-Sirius?"

The ghost moved further away and looked at Harry doubtfully. "I've been watching, Harry. From the other side of the veil. We couldn't believe it at first - your parents and I - but you really are, aren't you?"

Sirius shook his head in weak denial and said in a thin voice, "Gods, now I don't even know what to think about you. Thinking of how we talked, how you always hung about, wanting to come live with me... I mean, did you really care about me, or were you just interested in me like that?"

DRACO WALKED PAST THE GRYFFINDORS, Harry hanging boneless in his arms. The boy's skin had a greyish, waxy pallor and the slightest crack of green eyes could be seen from beneath his limp eyelids as his head fell back against Draco's shoulder.

Hermione jumped forward to follow, but was surprised to find Ron's hand, which she had been grasping tightly since Harry's collapse, an unmoving weight in hers. She turned back to glare at him in disbelief, then dropped his large hand as she went after the Slytherin.

Ron glanced at his potion, then at the mute Gryffindors around him. Shaking his head, he followed his girlfriend's thin back out of the dungeons.

HARRY WAS GOBSMACKED AND IT took him a moment to recover enough to deny what the man was saying, "No. I mean - I mean - NO. Oh my-... I've, I've never felt that way about you. You were just like an uncle, or a brother, to me. Well, more like a brother really, I don't think an uncle ought to have encouraged me to break rules and all..."

He was babbling, but he didn't know how to respond to Sirius' rejection, now that they had finally met again. The mix of horror and aversion in his godfather's eyes prodded him on: "I've never felt that way about any other guy - Draco, er, I mean, Malfoy is the only one that I've ever..."

This wasn't helping. The old convinct closed his eyes in apparent pain and muttered, "It had to be a Malfoy, didn't it? You had to align yourself with the only other family as dark as the Blacks? Don't you remember - when you are fucking that freak albino - that he is the spawn of the woman who signed my death sentence?"

THE STRAINED GROUP OF STUDENTS arrived at the Hospital Wing and Madame Pomfrey bustled out from her office as soon as she saw the unconscious boy in Draco's arms. She asked quickly, "What happened? Potions accident?"

Draco shook his head mutely in response to her hurried question. He'd still been in the storage room when Potter had lost consciousness - he didn't know what had happened.

Hermione's voice piped up shakily, "He was having difficulty casting a spell. Snape was goading him, but he couldn't even finish a simple ignatio. When he tried to... he just collapsed."

Pomfrey cluck her tongue, but underneath her disapproving front, she was concerned. Such a degree of magical drain, which would prevent a wizard like Harry Potter from performing a simple charm, could only come from either performing an impossibly complicated spell or from serious illness.

She waved her wand and Harry's light body was snatched from Draco's arms and levitated onto one of the hovering stretchers perennially charmed to follow the mediwitch. She directed the stretcher into a private room and told the students, "Thank you for bringing him to my attention, but you should return to your classes. If you stop by tonight, I'll let you know whether Mr Potter will be allowed any visitors."

Pomfrey ignored the disappointed noise from Hermione and made to close the door behind her, but was prevented from it when the door suddenly refused to swing shut. Squeaking indignantly, she heaved her plump body against the piece of solid old wood and when it still didn't give, she looked up again at the seventh years.

Draco Malfoy was standing tall and tense, his arm stretched out and fingers splayed wide - though he had no wand in sight.

"You will not lock me out, Madame," he told her emotionlessly. "I will break down this door. And if you move him to another room, I will break down that door as well. Until the Hospital Wing is no more, and the castle falls down upon us."

The mediwitch pressed her lips tightly together, then nodded tersely. "Fine. I may have a use for you then, Mr Malfoy."

"DRACO?"

HARRY'S VOICE WAS LESS sure now. After the appearance of what seemed to be Sirius' ghost, he was beginning to realize that there was something unnatural (even for Hogwarts' standards) happening within the confines of his bed.

After Sirius had faded away from him, Harry had tried to push against the canopy around him, just as he had when Seamus had first shoved him onto his bed and cast a charm on the thick curtains. The cloth was as hard as steel and that was yet another clue that whatever was happening was not meant for him to particularly enjoy.

And now his distant and confusing as hell boyfriend had appeared on the other end of the duvet. Harry heard the Slytherin sigh in boredom, and he called out to him again, "Draco?"

When he still received no response, he inched toward the boy. He was still wary after his confrontation with Sirius. He blurted out, "Um, Malfoy. If I've done something, just say so. If you don't, then I won't understand what's going on, or why we are like this right now." He laid a soft hand on that narrow back, but Draco didn't even flinch or seem to notice.

The other boy felt cold under his hand and Harry said to his phantom all the things he hadn't been able to say to the real Draco. "Why are we like this, Draco? What's happened? Things were going so good... no, things were going great this summer. Was it because of the articles and all the drama? What is happening to you? What is happening to us?"

Draco continued to stare, bored, at the wall of curtains and drummed his fingers on his fine pants, ignoring Harry utterly.

DRACO STOOD TENSELY NEXT TO Harry's bed, not moving even for Pomfrey to get about examining the boy. He was gripping the railing that ran around the bed so tightly that all the blood was squeezed from his hands, leaving them a dead white.

Pushing her way past the Slytherin, Madame Pomfrey ran her wand over Harry in a diagnosis spell. His entire body was, as it had appeared when she'd first seen him, dangerously devoid of energy. But nothing else seemed to be strictly wrong with him. She felt a few warning tremors as her wand passed over the boy, but nothing strong enough to warrant such a collapse.

Frowning in confusion, she continued her exam. As she check the boy's limbs, she was taken aback to find the wand in her hand vibrating so hard that she nearly dropped it. She looked down at the prone Gryffindor's arms and a terrible idea set up camp in her mind. Staring at the dark stains barely visible on the boy's black shirt, she thought to herself, No. He couldn't have possibly... why would he want to kill himself? It couldn't be...

She waved her short oak wand and the boy's sleeves split effortlessly and peeled back with a sickly and wet tearing sound. It was perhaps worse than she had expected, though not the purposeful cuts she had feared. Hermione and Ron gasped as they saw the graphic wounds and the smell of old blood and gore wafted across the room.

Draco felt nauseous, but not from the shock of the wounds. As he looked at the deep gouges that were beginning to seep fresh blood, he knew that he had seen them that morning in the Potions' classroom.

He could have done something, told someone. If he had known the wounds were real, he would have insisted that Harry go to the infirmary. But he had just assumed that it was another of his visions, and hadn't done a thing. He couldn't even protect Harry from this - how could he fix the deathly vision he truly was Seeing?

Draco asked quietly the same thing that Pomfrey was thinking, "Are these self-inflicted?"

The mediwitch focussed on the wounds, beginning to clean out the dirty wounds on the boy's hands and arms. "I'm not certain. I can't imagine how another student could have done this-but does Mr Potter have any reason to harm himself in such a way?"

Draco remained silent, gripping the railing and staring at the bloody, mangled hands inches from his own, and so Ron shook his head mutely as he put his arm around a shaking Hermione.

HARRY WAS CASTING EVERY SPELL he could think of on the iron curtains surrounding him. He didn't want to turn around and see if Draco was still sitting silently on the foot of his bed, ignoring him. He suddenly heard Ron and Hermione's voices in the dorm room and, thinking that they had come back looking for him, he started calling out desperately, "Ron! Hermione! I'm in here - I'm trapped! Just come check my bed!"

The voices came closer but judging by the couple's conversation, they hadn't heard him. Ron sounded exasperated as he said, "I told you, I already checked up here, but..."

Hermione snapped back, "But what? We still haven't found him, so we should keep on checking! What if you missed something?"

There was the sound of a curtain being pulled back and suddenly the voices were much closer. Harry whirled around. Hermione was sitting wearily at the foot of his bed, Ron standing above her in the small space between the bed and the curtains. As her boyfriend watched in concern, Hermione sighed tiredly and told him, "Oh Ron, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you. It's just... I'm just so worried, that's all."

Ron leaned over until he was on her level, placing his hands to either side of her on Harry's bed. He said softly, "I understand, Hermione. Harry's important to all of us."

Harry stared at his friends in disbelief, and then burst out, "But, I'm right here, you two! Can't you see me?! I'm right in front of you!"

Ron glanced over and looked directly at Harry. Then he turned back to Hermione and told her, "But, you know, you're important, too." He lifted her chin gently. "The most important, to me." She gave him a small watery smile and as he leaned in, her eyes fell shut.

Harry goggled unbelievingly at his friends. "Ron, you looked just at me!" he exclaimed, "Hermione! You said you're worried about me - well, I'm right here! You guys, I'm right here!"

Hermione's eyes opened a slit and she glanced at Harry, before saying impatiently, "Yes, alright, Harry. We see you. Just not right now, okay?"

Ron moved in to close that last inch separating them and kissed the Head Girl softly. His hand came up to cradle her cheek, fingers tangling through her thick hair. It might've been beautifully tender, if it weren't for the disturbing way they were utterly ignoring him to snog.

The ginger boy leaned further into Hermione, forcing her back onto the bed. Their kisses became more enthusiastic, and Harry was horrified to see Ron's hand trail up the girl's side, slipping under her shirt and rucking it up to reveal a smooth expanse of creamy skin.

He yelled, "Guys! I'm still here! Stop it - I'm right here!"

IN THE HOSPITAL WING, THINGS were progressing slowly. Pomfrey had finished cleaning Harry's wounds on his hands and arms, revealing underneath the caked grime and blood just how deep and cruel the cuts were.

Hermione had silent tears running down her face and finally she managed to gasp out, "How could this happen? He couldn't have done this to himself, could he?"

She turned to look up at Ron for reassurance and her boyfriend wrapped his arms around her shoulders, tucking her face into his broad chest. But she wriggled loose from that grasp, turning her head to the side to look under Ron's arms at the still figure of Harry on the bed, with his ghastly wounds, and Draco standing silent vigil above him.

HARRY CROUCHED AT THE TOP of his bed, pressing himself as firmly as possible against the wall. He muttered spells desperately, trying anything to open the cursed curtains. He threw whole waves of power at the hangings, but there was still no effect.

A piece of clothing flew and hit him. He pulled it away in disgust, realizing it was Ron's shirt. Harry moaned to himself, "Oh god..."

In cruel echo, he heard Hermione moan, "Oh, god... Ron!" His best friend gave a breathy little gasp and as Harry tried to close his ears against it, he beat on the curtains with his bare hands. Trying anything to get away, he threw his entire weight against the canopy.

A bare arm, damp with sweat, brushed against him and he shuddered in horrified disgust as the bed rocked underneath him. He tucked himself into the highest corner of his bed, sobbing to himself, "Please, stop. Please. I don't want to know this. I don't..."

POMFREY'S TREATMENT HAD SLOWED CONSIDERABLY. She was trying to heal the gaping wounds, casting spell after spell, but every spell that she cast was being absorbed by Harry's body. He was so drained and weak that the energy that was meant to heal his external wounds was being absorbed just to keep his body alive. This was more serious than even she had thought.

She spun on Draco, "Mr Malfoy. I told you I might have something for you to do."

He nodded immediately.

"Are you willing to help?"

The Slytherin didn't ask a thing, but nodded again.

Turning away from Harry, the mediwitch stood in front Draco and grasped him by the shoulders in an uncharacteristic move. "Now, Draco, I need you to be honest." Her voice was suddenly different: insistent and urgent. "I saw what you did earlier, to stop me from closing the door. You had no wand." She shook him slightly with her hold on his thin shoulders. "Mr Malfoy. Can I assume that you are as proficient as Mr Potter at using wandless magic?"

Draco licked his lips, then nodded quickly.

Madame Pomfrey took a shuddering breath and turned back to look at Harry, whispering only for her own hearing, "Then this may work." With her back to the students, she said aloud, "What I am suggesting may not even be possible, and might even hurt you, Mr Malfoy - it's never been done, that I know of. But Mr Potter is in far more trouble than I realized. He needs large doses of power immediately.

"If he doesn't restore magic to his body, he will die. For a wizard or witch, magic is equally as necessary as blood for any Muggle. I don't know how he lost this much power, but this degree... there's sometimes no coming back from it."

She looked back at the students, "Normally we would extract magic from several wizards, but the process takes too long. We have no spells that can take magic abruptly without placing the donators in a similar shock, and so someone as far gone as Harry cannot normally be recovered. But, Mr Malfoy," she met his steely grey eyes, "It might be possible to give that much energy, if one were used to working with raw, wandless magic. I need you to try."

He stepped forward and asked simply, "What do I do?"

The mediwitch seemed to waver for a moment, unsure whether she was doing her job properly and wondering if she was knowingly putting another student in danger. Then she told him, "All right. Here's what I need you to do: you have to imagine your power, in whatever form seems right to you.

"Imagine yourself creating a pile or a bundle, whatever image comes to mind, of power in your hands. Can you do that for me?"

He nodded again and with nothing more than these vague instructions, he closed his eyes and brought his hands up to cup them in from of himself. They all watched in unsure trepidation as he concentrated fiercely, then the Gryffindors shivered as the room temperature seemed to drop by several degrees.

Ron whispered to his girlfriend, "Did you feel that?"

It seemed as if the air surrounding Draco was cooling rapidly. They could feel a prickle along their own skins, like tiny needles tugging at them. Madame Pomfrey realized that Draco was not gather his own power, but was pulling magic out of the area (and the people) around him.

She looked quickly at Harry, afraid that the Slytherin might inadvertently steal the last vestiges of life he still clung to, but the Gryffindor on the bed seemed untouched. She moved closer and could feel the air around him as it were a cocoon of warmth, safe from the leeching force of Draco's cold power.

Her eyes flew back to the Malfoy boy. Was he doing this on purpose? Did he really have this much control over wandless magic?

Draco opened his eyes and looked down at his cupped hands. They were filled with a strange substance, brimming with what looked just like ice. As he moved slightly, though, to look up at Madame Pomfrey in question, the mass in his hands sloshed like a liquid between his thin fingers.

It truly seemed to be liquid ice. Not cold water, but actual ice made malleable. The cloudy, frigid fluid in his hands steamed slightly as he turned toward the mediwitch.

She said shakily, "Now we have to give it to Harry."

Draco took the few short steps to the bed where his boyfriend lay and as he did so, a couple droplets of the liquid spilt from his hands and fell to the floor. With a slight hiss, the droplets evaporated instantly; too cold to even remain extant in room temperature.

Hermione opened her mouth to protest - how could they possibly put that in Harry? Wouldn't it kill him? But Draco was moving forward and Madame Pomfrey seemed ready to allow it.

"Harry," Draco whispered softly to the unconscious boy, "open your mouth." The boy's lips parted slightly and the other started. If Harry was as drained as he seemed, there was no way he could be responding to Draco's request. But it seemed just as impossible that Draco could be doing it, without lifting a finger or even disturbing the pooled power in his hands. At least, it seemed impossible until Hermione remembered the way Harry could immobilize a whole room full of people without even blinking.

The Head Boy began to trickle the bizarre ice into Harry's slightly open mouth. At first it seemed to be going down but before long Harry began to choke. The ice dribbled down his cheeks as the unconscious boy spasmed. It seemed that his body was too weak to even use the muscles necessary to cough and clear his airway, so his throat convulsed and he gasped uselessly. As the Boy Who Lived struggled for those weak, wet breaths, Draco's eyes flew to Pomfrey.

She looked shaken, but sounded as if she were certain when she told him, "Continue. It shouldn't really harm him, even if it goes into his lungs, his body should absorb it."

So Draco continued to pour his power into Harry, though a fair amount of it was wasted and spilt. As soon as his hands were empty, Pomfrey spoke up, "Again please, Mr Malfoy."

Trying with difficultly to ignore the gurgling gasps of Harry's laborious breathing, Draco closed his eyes again. He held his hands out, trying to summon the power, but he couldn't focus past the sounds of Harry chocking on his power... dying.

Malfoy! He addressed himself sternly. You can do this - if you don't, he really will be dying. Now, save his life.

His hands were full again when he opened his eyes, though this time he was sweating slightly with the effort. Without needing any prompting, he started to feed the substance to Harry again. This time, though, there seemed to be a bit of an improvement. The unconscious boy was choking less and his skin, though still incredibly pale, was no longer that deathly grey.

As the last few drops went down his throat, Harry exhaled deeply and it seemed to Hermione that she could feel that warm breath from where she was standing, five feet away. But the warmth evaporated as Draco began that strange process once again and the room temperature fell away. This time as the chill spread, though, Hermione did not feel any little prickles along her skin. This cold was deep and impossibly still - like the calm before the storm.

Draco was being very purposeful about cutting himself off and not drawing power from those around him. As he was growing weaker by depleting his own stores of magic, he was less certain of his control. If he were to pull magic from the air, he was afraid he might just snatch back the energy he had given to Harry - which he could practically feel sitting in from of him, as if his body could recognize it as a part of himself.

It took much longer for his hands to fill this time and they were trembling as he held them out in front of his body. When he opened his eyes finally, he gave such a terrible start that all the power flew from his hands. Some of it hit Harry, which might have been beneficial, but most of it simply evaporated.

Draco sucked in a great, shuddering breath as he struggled with an overwhelming sense of presque vous. He stared down at Harry, not moving and not breathing as he lay on the hospital bed, and for that moment he knew with absolute certainty, This will come to pass. He will die here.

"Mr Malfoy!"

He turned his wide eyes, pupils contracted to pinpoints in his silver gaze, on the mediwitch and she began to ask him, "Is it...?"

He nodded and the mediwitch bustled off, he hoped to get something which would help. He watched her go, though she wasn't the same Pomfrey he was used to. The Madame Pomfrey who had just left had blue, swollen flesh and eyes bulging from her face, above an uneven ring of bruises that decorated her neck like a macabre necklace. It seemed that the school's mediwitch was not going to meet a peaceful end.

Ron and Hermione were also staring at him, though they were in their early or mid-twenties. Weasley looked like he had gone to seed a bit: chubbier and unshaven, he had a dragon-claw earring in one ear and a great scar trailing across his face and shoulder to the empty sleeve where his left arm ought to have been.

Hermione, on the other hand, was wearing clean and professional-looking clothes, her hair very long and spilling over her shoulders and chest. He noticed a silver ring on her left hand, but it looked much finer than anything Weasley could have given her. In fact, it...

Draco stepped forward and grabbed the girl's hand, ignoring her surprised gasp. He looked closely at the ring and realized that he had been right: it was stylized to look like a thunderbolt. His eyes shot to Harry's corpse on the bed. What did all of this mean?

Pomfrey had dashed back into the room and she thrust a potion at Draco, forcing him to drop Hermione's hand. "Drink it," she commanded sharply, "I had Snape prepare it for me."

Although he thought the only thing he was likely to get from Snape was poison, he tossed the potion back. It was cloyingly sweet and filled his vision with pink light for a moment, but once he blinked reality back into focus, the hospital room resolved back into its regular appearance.

The seventh year Hermione was staring at him in shock, her hand still half-raised, but Draco spun away. He darted immediately back to Harry's side, summoning power into his hands, fuelled by the certainty of this last vision.

It will not happen, Potter. You will not die here. He said it fiercely to the boy, though only in his mind.

He let his icy magic flow into the Gryffindor and this time there was no denying the wind that the boy raised. As Draco poured those last handfuls of power into Harry, a strong gust of wind rattled the room and Pomfrey yelled over the din of creaking windows and juddering bottles, "Don't worry! His body is just trying to convert the magic into his own!"

Ron squinted into the strong gusts, seeing Harry and Malfoy at the centre of it, their hair being buffeted and their clothes snapping in the wind. So this was Harry's power? Wind? Well, no wonder he was such a natural flier then.

The air began to calm, now just a gentle breeze, now barely a whisper of wind. Finally the room was still again and all eyes turned to the dishevelled figures of Harry and Draco. Madame Pomfrey went around to the other edge of Harry's bed and, pointing her wand, murmured, "Ennervate."

The boy on the bed began to stir fitfully and Draco placed a hand on his shoulder. Harry stilled under that touch, then pried his eyes open to peer groggily at the Head Boy, "Malfoy?" He lifted one hand to scrub at his face, but winced in pain when he tried to rub his eyes. He asked in confusion, "Where are my glasses? What's happened?"

Madame Pomfrey handed back the student's glasses and asked, "Do you remember being in Potions this morning, Mr Potter?"

Harry start to say no as he slipped on his glasses, but then he saw his hands and realized why it had hurt to move them. "Wha - what's this? My hands... oh," the boy's breath whooshed out of him, "I remember..."

"What do you remember, Mr Potter?"

"I-I'm not sure. I remember Snape asking me to do... something. I don't know what. I was trying, but... I don't remember after that. Was that real? Or a dream? It doesn't seem real..."

Hermione answered, "You passed out, Harry. You passed out trying to cast a simple fire charm that any first year could do. Madame Pomfrey said that you were fatally low on magical energy. What happened that you were so out of energy? What happened to your hands?"

But Harry simply shook his head, muttering, "It's all like a dream. A nightmare."

Pomfrey explained, "That is because you've been in shock. You were probably acting irrationally, I'm surprised no one else noticed it."

All three students felt guilty, since they had all noticed Harry's strange behaviour but hadn't thought it was anything more than one of his moods.

"Mr Potter," the mediwitch continued, "these wounds... are they self-inflicted?"

Harry blinked rapidly and stuttered, "What? No! Well, yes... I mean, it was an accident! I was just trying to..." He shook his head and tried to assure the mediwitch, "I wasn't trying to hurt myself."

She seemed very doubtful and so Harry begged, "Please. Can't you just heal the cuts and send me back to class?"

"Back to class? I don't think you understand the severity of-"

"Please."

She stared at the solemn boy and then, with a hearty sigh, began once again to heal the gouges that scored his hands and arms. Finally, his flesh was whole again, though pink and raw. He tried to push himself up and winced as the tender skin brushed against sheets that suddenly felt like rough canvas rather than 600ct Egyptian cotton.

Pomfrey pulled out a bottle of Pepper-up Potion from a cupboard and poured out two generous doses. She handed one to Draco, though Harry didn't understand why, and the Slytherin drank it without a word, steam pouring out from under his wildly tangled hair. Only then did Harry really look at the Head Boy and realized that Malfoy was rumpled and shaky-looking.

The witch thrust a large glass into his hand as well and he tried to swallow the spicy potion, but started choking instead. As he coughed up the highly-peppered brew, Pomfrey frowned. The coughing fit continued for longer than was usual for a student who couldn't stand the heat and it had a different sound to it; Harry's coughs were interspersed with a whooping kind of wheeze, as if he couldn't fill his lungs with air.

Once he finally quieted, he handed the glass back to Pomfrey. She didn't try to give him another dose, but did tell him, "If that cough persists, come see me."

He agreed unconvincingly and then struggled up from the hospital bed. Draco helped him silently up, then the four students stumbled out of her wing and Madam Pomfrey watched them go with a bewildered concern.

HARRY WATCHED THE CLOCK IN Charms. He was desperate to get out of class and distinctly regretting his rush to get out of the Hospital Wing. His hands and arms still burned with sharp pains and needles, and his whole body felt heavy and cold. He had an excuse not to do any charmwork today, so he was sitting uselessly between Hermione and Ron, and trying to ignore the curious stares and whispers. Word had travelled quickly of his mysterious collapse.

Finally the bell chimed and he was free. He shoved himself up tiredly and made for the door. Once he was out of the classroom, he turned left, separating from the pack of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs that made up his Charms class.

"Harry!" Hermione dashed after him, "Where are you going?"

"I just want to sleep," he explained weakly. "I'm going back to the Tower." Though he seriously doubted whether he would be able to sleep in his bed tonight. He still couldn't clearly remember what had happened this morning, but he couldn't seem to forget last night.

But Hermione and Ron dragged him off to the Great Hall, insisting that he needed sleep and food to regain his energy - and they clearly didn't trust him to take care of himself. Under the strict eyes of his friends, he forced down a couple dinner rolls, though they tasted like sawdust in his mouth. When they seemed satisfied, he said, "All right, now I am going back to the Tower to sleep."

Neville, who had just arrived at the table, piped up uncertainly, "You can't. The Tower's been locked. They found a boggart in our dorm. Would you believe it? Scary."

Hermione asked sharply, "How did it get there? What's happened to it?"

Neville stuttered a bit in the face of her stern questions, "Well, they show up all over the castle, don't they? McGonagall will just get rid of it, I s'pose."

Ron was looking curiously at his girlfriend, but she looking fiercely at Harry. The ginger boy asked, "What is it, Hermione?"

She explained bluntly, "Come on, Ron. Harry was missing for hours, shows up injured and completely out of energy, and now we hear that there was a boggart in his room."

The prefect blustered, "You mean that Harry... that that boggart..."

Hermione, who hadn't lifted her eyes from Harry, asked the pale boy, "Were you in your room last night?"

Looking down at his red hands, Harry nodded.

Ignoring Ron's gasp, she continued, "Were you there when Ron came and asked after you?"

He nodded again.

"Harry, were you there with the boggart?"

The boy paused and Hermione could see his eyes dart about as he thought wildly.

"But you couldn't get out?"

He didn't respond.

"You were trapped?"

Still no response.

"Did someone put you in there?"

He looked away, searching for escape and Hermione's voice was breathy as she asked, "With the boggart?"

She couldn't believe it, but Harry glanced up at her, those frightened green eyes meeting hers for just a second, before darting away - and she knew it was true. She was about to burst out in a furious diatribe when Harry said desperately, "Hermione, let it alone!"

Ron, who had finally caught up, asked unbelievingly, "Harry, how can we let this alone?"

Harry pushed away from the table and repeated miserably, "Please. Just let it alone." He hurried out of the Great Hall, feeling sick. If that truly had been a boggart that he'd been trapped with, then... then that meant his greatest fear had changed.

Lupin had once congratulated him, impressed that the greatest fear that Harry held was of fear itself. Back then, he'd had nothing really to lose. But now he had things to lose: he had the people whom he loved to lose. And the idea of them leaving him, or forgetting him, or not wanting him, was the scariest thing he could think of.

He was snapped out of his reverie by the sharp flapping of owl wings. He was surprised to see an owl swooping down upon him, even more surprised when he recognized the eagle owl, though he hadn't seen it in years. It was the only eagle owl at the school and until Sixth year, it had delivered sweets to Draco every week. Harry though it would probably rather tear out his eyes than deliver a letter to him.

The long, curling claws clamped firmly onto his shoulder and the owl dropped a letter into the boy's hands. Ruffling his feathers, the bird shifted from one foot to the other impatiently, squeezing his talons into Harry's shoulder with each irritated shift. Understanding this quietly violent message, Harry tore the letter open quickly. It was simple and brief: Potter. Can't make it this Friday. Next time then.

There was no signature or sign, and Harry's smarting hands dropped limply to his side. The owl took off with one last dig into the boy's flesh, satisfied that his letter had been read.

Standing alone in the wide hall, Harry reeled with the painful realization that something really was wrong with he and Draco. He was going to lose him.