White Horses

FRIDAY NIGHT. AGAIN. IT HAD been two weeks since the boggart incident and Draco's cancellation. The previous week Harry and Draco had met as scheduled, but that was about the only positive thing that could be said for the evening. The two had studied past midnight again, but in that entire six hours, they had said less than fifty words to one another. Come to think of it, in the entire 144 hours between their Friday meetings, they had said less than fifty words to each other.

Harry looked at the silent blonde next to him. Draco was squinting at the last several pages of his sixth form history text, still refusing to wear Pomfrey's glasses. The Slytherin had already finished all of his other sixth form work, except for this last chapter of history and a bit of arithmancy that Harry couldn't possibly help him with.

It was only mid-November, so Draco would probably be able to sit for his exams over the winter holidays. That was assuming that he would stay for the winter holidays. Last year had been the first time that the boy had intended not to return to Malfoy Manor (though he had ended up stuck there all the same). Would he stay at Hogwarts this year, if it weren't for the sake of a devious plan and if the school wasn't locked down due to Voldemort?

Harry counted off his fingers silently. November, October, September. Not even three months back at school, but everything had managed to fall apart spectacularly in that time. August, July, June. Nearly six months altogether, since Draco had escaped his mother's dungeons and come to Privet Drive. It was just about the same length of time that he had spent in the oubliette.

Was six months of peace enough to get over six months of torture? Was it the horror of his imprisonment that was making him cut himself off from Harry now? What is his bloody secret?

The week before, Harry had tried to keep up to Draco's pace of studying, but he was still too damn weak and tired all the time. It was like getting over a serious illness; he felt fine, but he just got so exhausted from daily things. And it only seemed to be getting worse as the weeks passed, not better.

Still, he wouldn't dare go back to Pomfrey. He'd been the one to insist that he didn't need to spend time in the Hospital Wing, so he was sure the mediwitch would have a thing or two to say if he came back now, looking for help.

As a result, even though he had tried to stay up with Draco the last Friday, he had found himself nodding over his book. Finally, Draco had spoke into the tired silence, "Why don't you just leave, Potter?"

That flat voice dragged Harry back into the waking world and his mind was swept clean of its tired cobwebs by the clarifying wash of pain. His own voice was thin as he asked, "W - what?"

Draco sighed, looking slightly exasperated as he set down his quill and looked at his boyfriend. He explained in a neutral and matter-of-fact tone, "What I mean is, you are tired. You are falling asleep in your chair. Why don't you just go back to your dorm and sleep?"

Harry had protested weakly but had left all the same. This Friday he was determined to make it through the night with Draco. Not because he was worried about the boy's studies - no, Draco clearly had everything under control without Harry's help. But he was determined that they would actually spend time together tonight and they would actually talk.

He watched closely as the blonde flipped another page in his textbook. Less than five pages left. The Gryffindor pretended to be looking at the book in front of him, but really he was examining his boyfriend out of the corner of his eye.

Draco looked rather beat, actually. Perhaps his silence towards Harry was not just aversion. He seemed to be under heavy stress and Harry began to notice for the first time the tiny wrinkles that were crinkling the corners of the boy's silver eyes, partly because of squinting constantly at his books and partly because of looking so constantly unhappy.

The Head Boy was tense all the time and seemed to have spent the last month avoiding looking Harry in the face. His eyes were always hooded by some dark shadow that Harry didn't understand. What had happened? Things had been bad for quite a while now, but it seemed like they had been much worse since Draco had been attacked by his housemates. Was he still getting trouble from the Slytherins? Had that betrayal shaken him more than he let on?

The boy in question turned the last page in his book and found himself staring at the end papers. He continued to stare at that blank sheet for a moment. He could feel Harry's eyes on him but wasn't entirely sure that he was ready to look up and face the boy yet.

"Draco..."

The blonde closed his eyes tightly. He couldn't ignore that voice and so he had to turn to face Harry, opening his eyes warily. "Yes, Potter?"

Thankfully Harry looked normal, even if he did look rather wretched. Deep inside himself, inside of all his poise and his layers of control, Draco could feel a burning pain that was eating away at him like acid. He didn't mean for things to get like this. But he didn't know how to remedy things. He couldn't possibly tell his boyfriend that he kept Seeing him dying graphic and unnatural deaths. Draco wouldn't say anything until he knew what it all meant and why he was haunted by the horrific premonitions.

Harry smiled, though it was a bit wobbly and more than a bit unsure, "You've finished. Now there's just arithmancy left to finish and you'll be done with all your sixth form work."

The dark-haired boys smile turned sheepish, though there was still that awful pain in his eyes. Draco knew that the Gryffindor meant to hide it, but Harry was utter crap at hiding things from him.

"I can't help you with arithmancy, of course. Wouldn't know arithmancy from Greek. But, er... we should really take a break." Those green eyes were begging him. "Right? You've been working hard all term. Let's just take the rest of the night off, get Dobby to bring us some toasting bread and relax for a while."

Draco continued to look straight into the boy's face, without showing a reaction. Harry's smile slipped another notch. His voice was soft as he asked tremulously, "Okay?"

Draco wanted to say no. He wanted to run from the room and the school and everything in his life. But what would his life be if Harry wasn't in it? He would spend his days alone and without reprieve in Malfoy Manor, no company but the miserable house elves and the memory of his mother's life and death.

It was a difficult thing, almost physically painful to make himself move, but Draco reached out his hand to Harry. "All right, Harry. Let's do that."

THEY HAD GONE BACK TO Draco's room, via the old Gryffindor dorms. Harry thought he'd seen the old man in the portrait wink at him - so perhaps Gryffindor understood why Harry had run away from him last time. Or maybe he'd just been imagining the wink. It was awfully dark in the dungeons, after all.

Draco had summoned Dobby and asked for toasting bread and hot chocolate, which the house elf had returned with immediately. He also brought marshmallows, sweets and a small mountain of Harry's favourite éclairs.

Harry smiled genuinely for the first time that evening and thanked the awkward little creature. Dobby scurried off and left the two boys alone in front of Draco's fireplace.

Not saying a word, Harry plopped down on the floor in front of the large hearth. He conjured up a nice toasting fork and stabbed one of the fat slices of bread. Holding it slightly above the crackling flames, he glanced back at Draco.

Following that questioning look, Draco also sat down, although he dragged over an elegant green silk and suede pillow to sit down on. Never losing his grace or posture, he plucked up one of the large marshmallows and neatly ran his own toasting stick through its centre. He held his victim near Harry's, above the fire.

Harry knocked his stick against Draco's, trying to jostle the boy's marshmallow loose but nearly losing his own piece of bread instead. He smiled sheepishly and Draco rolled his eyes in a sort of forgiving arrogance.

The Gryffindor turned his green eyes back to the fire and asked, "So, how is everything?"

"Everything, Potter? Well, I can't really speak for everything. As godlike as I may seem (especially compared to you), I'm afraid that I am not actually omnipotent."

Harry broke out in a wide smile. Draco hadn't teased him like that in months. It was almost like last year. His voice held a tinge of laughter as he amended himself, "Oh, so poor of me to remind you of your non-god status. I was referring particularly to everything in your life. You know, school, friends, housemates, Head Boy duties, plots to overthrow Dark Lords... those sorts of thing."

"Ah... those sorts."

The Slytherin stayed silent for several long moments and Harry began to feel apprehensive. But then the boy began to talk.

Draco told him about his classes, the few that they didn't have together. Told him how some of the youngest Slytherins were actually beginning to listen to him. How he'd received inquiries regarding his mother's possible death and his being declared the new Lord Malfoy - even though his father was still alive in prison. How he wasn't sure he would even want the Manor if he had it.

They ate crispy bread, sometimes a bit too black but still consumed. They burned their tongues on piping-hot and gooey marshmallow centres, and drank cups of bottomless hot chocolate. It was as perfect as Harry could have imagined and he couldn't believe that it was even possible that this evening was happening. Was this all he'd needed to do? Just force Draco to sit still and actually interact with him?

Harry looked at the boy sitting only inches from himself. The warm light from the fire made Draco look, for once, like he was made of gold, not silver. His hair was still nearly white from the summer, but reflected the aurulent hues of the flames. His skin shone the colour of tawny leather and even his silver eyes took on an orangey-yellow tinge in the low, honeyed light.

Without thought, the Gryffindor reached across those few inches separating them and pressed his lips softly against the other boy's. Before Draco had even reacted, Harry increased the fervour of that kiss, running his tongue playfully across the part of Draco's warm lips. He was shocked when Draco shoved him away.

Staring at the Slytherin's profile as the blonde turned away, Harry asked unbelievingly, "What the fuck, Malfoy?"

His voice hadn't been angry or loud, but Draco's was both when he turned back and repeated, "What the fuck, Potter!"

Harry stared in confused disbelief. Everything was going great. What was happening?

"Do you really only think of yourself? Gods, Potter."

Harry continued to blink uncomprehendingly. He couldn't seem to breathe properly and the tired cold that had plagued him for the last couple of weeks was spreading through his body again, leaving even his lips heavy and hard to move. He forced words through them, muttering, "I don't understand. What are you talking about? What is going on here?"

Draco stared at Harry and the blood dribbling from the boy's mouth as he spoke. He reached out quickly to try to catch the blood and Harry's eyes widened as Draco unexpectedly and inexplicably ran a hand across his lips. Draco knew then that it was just a vision.

"This isn't working," he said quietly, still staring straight into Harry's eyes, with one hand suspended near the boy's face. He watched as bloody tears began to spill from Harry's eyes and couldn't even tell if the boy were actually crying real tears or if the whole thing was just his mind's illusion.

With those bloody tracks lining his face and a tiny smile quirking up one corner of his mouth, Harry asked blankly, "What's not working?"

"This, Harry. This isn't working. We are not working."

The Gryffindor seemed to be trying to smile still but his facial muscles were not obeying him. Instead his mouth just quivered as he asked in a falsely light voice, "What are you saying, Draco? That you want to break up?"

For a second shock was evident on the blonde's face, but then it disappeared behind his mask. He searched Harry's eyes for a long minute and Harry looked back just as fiercely. He was trying as hard as he could, but he couldn't understand what he saw in those silvery eyes. He didn't understand a single thing in that familiar, beloved face.

"Yes."

Harry couldn't even blink. He couldn't move. He had no control over the tears that welled up in his eyes and dripped down his face. He couldn't even feel them because he couldn't feel anything in his body.

He hadn't really meant to suggest that. Harry had thought that the shocking question would make them talk about it, make them work things out, because Draco would realize that he truly didn't want to break up. Draco was supposed to have realized that he did not want to break up.

"Okay." The word escaped Harry as the slightest exhalation. He continued to sit there, inches from Draco's eyes and Draco's lips, for nearly ten unending seconds. Then slowly, moving as if his body wasn't his own, he looked around the familiar room. He dropped his roasting stick, letting it clatter onto the stone hearth and adhere its burnt marshmallow onto the cold marble.

"All right then," he murmured, pushing himself up and picking up his sack from the floor. Draco was still looking directly at him and Harry wasn't sure whether he wanted the other boy to look away or not. Which would make this easier?

As if anything could make this easier.

He backed toward the door, knocking himself against an ebony dresser and then fumbling for the door handle. "I'll... I'll just be going then. See you around, Malfoy."

He slipped out the door and dashed up the stairs. He didn't even notice or care that he was running through the Slytherin common room and didn't even see the students who stared at him in disbelief.

He shoved the heavy stone door open and then he was running through the halls with no awareness for the world around him, until he distinctly heard Ron and Hermione's voices. He'd run right past them without even noticing. He had no idea what they were doing out in the halls but he knew that he couldn't face them right now. He continued running, even though he heard their hurried footsteps echoing after him.

"Harry?! Come back! Harry!"

The worried voices only spurred him on and he looked desperately around the halls he was rushing through. Finally he found what he was looking for: a neglected doorway, tucked into a niche in the rough stone walls. He stopped, nearly falling over himself and wrenched on the door. He felt layers of protections and wards tear under his hands and the old wood swung easily open.

Slamming the door shut behind him, Harry threw up new locks and wards without even thinking. He heard Ron and Hermione's voices go past him, accompanied by the pounding of their feet against the stone floors.

Harry collapsed against the door, sliding down to the floor in a limp pile. He couldn't feel his legs to bother getting up again. Behind his tightly clasped eyelids he could feel tears filling his eyes again. His eyes popped open and he stared at the ceiling with wide eyes, trying to will the tears away.

His chest was burning. There was a great pain inside of himself that he couldn't understand and it was growing, overtaking the numbness in his limbs. His head pounded with the strain of unreleased tears. His throat ached with a pressure so great that he couldn't breath, though the muscles of his chest were tensing spasmodically to try and fill his lungs with air.

He'd had the wind knocked out of him, but not from any physical blow. It was just gone.

His eyes slid down from the ceiling and ran into a familiar golden arch, elaborately engraved and framing a mirror as tall as the room.

No... no, it cannot be....

Words scrolled along the top of the arch, incomprehensible until one considered that everything appears backward in a mirror.

Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on woshi. I show not your face, but your heart's desire.

He stared into the huge glass, its realistic images visible even in the dim moonlight streaming through the room's windows. Without taking his eyes of the mirror for more than an instant, he stood shakily and grabbed a rickety wooden chair from the wall. He hurled it at the magical artefact with all the strength in his wiry body, watching the image until the very last second.

The glass exploded from the frame and instantly a glittering powder of pulverised glass spun through the air at him. The initial crash of the glass breaking was nothing compared to the drawn-out cacophony of the thick shards shattering upon the stones. So much was the force of Harry's blow that the sharp pieces flew all the way across the room, crashing off walls and quite a few of them leaving jagged cuts in his skin as they passed.

"FUCK YOU!" He screamed the words at the top of his lungs, drowning out the sharp tinkling of the glass shards' continual rain. "I HATE YOU!"

He dropped back to his knees, glass crunching under him and digging through his robes into his thin skin. Blood dripped from the cuts on his face, mixing with his tears to leave bloody tear-tracks on his gaunt, white face. His sobs forced their way through his constricted throat and he muttered, "God damn it, I hate you, Draco. I hate you."