White Horses

HERMIONE CHASED MALFOY'S FLEETING FIGURE into the night. In his deep black robes, all she could barely see his was his silvery head in the gloom ahead of her. Luckily they both knew the paths of Hogwarts' grounds well enough that they were in no danger of running into the lake or over a cliff.

"Draco!" She gasped out the boy's name in a wheezing breath. He either didn't hear it or chose to simply ignore it because the Head Boy kept running at his own clip. They crossed into the partially covered courtyard that lay beneath the clock tower and Draco's staccato footsteps pounded against the stone pathway, louder even than the heavy ticking of the great clock. The iron-banded door banged open with just a wave of Draco's empty hand and Hermione slipped through the opening after him.

They dashed up the stairs to the next floor, flying around the corners so fast that Hermione had to push herself off the walls to prevent running face-on into them. Her chest was heaving painfully as she gasped for breath - more accustomed to hours of rigorous study than even several minutes' physical exertion - but she managed to catch up enough to grab the cloth of Draco's fluttering robes.

The sudden jerk on his robe sent Draco tumbling to the floor and Hermione sprawled after him. They skidded along the rough stone for several feet, but while Hermione still lay groaning on the ground, Draco was already up again and sprinting for the door. Cursing under her breath, the Head Girl struggled to her feet and limped after the blonde again.

When she made it through the polished doors of the Hospital Wing, she found the main hall dimly-lit and seemingly empty. Draco's quick steps were echoing from somewhere as he checked each of the screened beds in the wing. Looking around but seeing no sign of the Slytherin, she hissed furtively, "Draco! Where are you?"

The blonde poked his head out from behind one of the curtains and Hermione could see for the first time the rough abrasion across his jaw and his cracked glasses. She hurried over to where he was and pulled out her wand to whisper, "Occulus reparo!" The boy's glasses at least became sparkling and clean, but she didn't know any medical magic to fix the ugly scratches that were purpling on his jaw.

Draco didn't even acknowledge her spell, but said, "He's not here. He's not in any of the beds - where the hell else would he be?"

Hermione tried to be rational and suggested, "Perhaps he woke up and Madame Pomfrey simply gave him a potion, and sent him back to his dorm." She saw Draco's scornful look and admitted, "Yeah, I don't believe it either."

She glanced around the gloomy room, its guttering torches not giving much light, "We ought to ask Madame Pomfrey. Let's try to find her, shall we?"

They hurried over to the mediwitch's office, but there were no lights burning there either. Standing outside the locked door, Hermione wondered aloud, "Where could she be? She wouldn't just abandon her post. There's supposed to be someone here at all times, in case of emergency."

"Unless there was an emergency," Draco suggested darkly and Hermione ignored his implication that Harry could be that ill. She peered into the small window on Pomfrey's door, while Draco was looking down the hallway. It led off of the main hall where students were usually treated and to the few private rooms that were kept for highly sensitive cases or professors. Last time they'd had to take Harry to the Hospital Wing, after his collapse in Potions, he'd been placed in a room down this corridor.

He glanced at Hermione and said, "I'm checking down here. Are you coming?"

She waffled for a moment, looking desperately at Pomfrey's empty office, then she nodded and followed him again. They started down the long, dark corridor. Along one side were large windows, opening onto a scene of the smooth lake in the moonlight. Along the other side were a series of numbered rooms, one through twelve. They tried each door they passed. Most of them were locked, but that never stopped Draco for long.

Almost all of the rooms they opened were empty. In one they found a huge store-room of potions and salves. Another was full of rather disturbing metal contraptions that were apparently used in some sort of medical treatment, though they looked more like devices used for torture. In one room, a student was sleeping, though he or she was covered with thick, bristling hair from their head to their furry toes. Hermione shuddered and felt her skin crawl as she remembered her own (thankfully brief) furry days in second year.

Finally they arrived at the end of the hallway. There was only one door left; either Harry would be behind this door or he had been taken off to St Mungo's. Without hesitation, Draco threw the door open and they stepped into the shadowy room. On the far side, against the dark windows, was a small bed - and in that bed, a slight body was outlined beneath the covers.

They stepped further into the silent room, until they saw the messy black hair and the familiar thin face of Harry Potter. Now that he was faced with Harry's still figure, after nearly breaking his neck to get here, Malfoy couldn't seem move from his spot on the floor. He watched as Hermione stepped up to the bed and gently whispered Harry's name, and he thought wildly, It can't be. Not already.

Draco was swamped with the same feeling of presque vu as the last time they'd been in the Hospital Wing together, but it was even stronger this time. He reeled from the feeling that fate was pounding down on him, as if trying to instate itself here and now. No, it's not time, he thought to himself, as if he could really stop what was happening, It's too early! But he couldn't deny the words that were filling the room, belatedly realising that he was the one speaking.

"This is how it will happen. With you and I looking on, Hermione, he will die. We will watch him die and be unable to do anything to stop it."

Hermione turned back to Draco and crossed the few feet between them, pulling her arm back as she came. As soon as she was close enough, she let her arm fly, her splayed hand slapping him hard enough to send him staggering back into the door. The shocking sound of skin striking skin echoed in the small room and Hermione told him furiously, "I don't believe you, Draco. I won't believe it, and neither should you. Divination means nothing, premonitions and prophecies mean nothing. It's our choices that decide our fate!"

She hugged her arms around herself, her nails digging into her own skin, "Harry won't die like this, not here. He will die years and years from now, when he's old and wrinkled and surrounded by the ones who love him. He won't die like this!" But even she was obviously caught up in the verity she heard in Draco's premonition, or she wouldn't have been protesting so fiercely.

Draco reached one hand up to feel the hot skin of his cheek, where Hermione had hit him. The Head Girl noticed the movement and said weakly, "I'm sorry, Draco. I didn't mean to hit you so hard. But I... it just can't be. No one even knows if you have the True Sight, right? You must be mistaken."

He nodded once, willing to lie for her peace of mind, even though his own was shattered. They both stepped over to the bed this time, where Harry still lay as if asleep. All their clamour hadn't even begun to disturb him. Hermione called to him again gently but there was still no response. "Harry, please. Wake up and let us know that you're all right. Please, Harry."

Draco stepped around to the other side of the bed and leaned over the unconscious boy. Harry didn't look as bad as he had when he'd collapsed from his magical exhaustion, but he certainly didn't look like his usual, healthy self either. His skin was white and looked curiously thin. Draco could see the purple veins that sketched like lace across his eyelids, and even his notoriously wild hair seemed limp today.

Biting his lip, Draco reached a trembling hand out toward the boy and as soon as if his fingers touched that silky black hair, a completely unreasonable feeling of reassurance swept through him. His tensely-held breath whooshed out of him and he smoothed the Gryffindor's hair away from his face. With the hair pushed aside, the boy's old scar was left glaring on his pale brow. Draco brushed his cool fingers across the angry red mark and was surprised to feel a shock run through him when he touched the hot skin. Not entirely conscious of what he was doing, Draco felt some of his own cool power seep into the boy from the light touch of his fingers.

"Harry," he called his ex's name like Hermione had. "Harry, it's time to wake up."

Miraculously, this time the Gryffindor responded. His papery eyelids flinched as he wrinkled his brow and he murmured sleepily, "Draco, I had such a horrid dream."

Harry's short black lashes swept back and he blinked his impossibly green eyes as they adjusted to the gloom of the room. His pupils dilated wide, nearly consuming the green, as he looked up at Draco and recognized that the boy standing there was not his Draco.

The Slytherin watched painfully as the knowledge visibly filled Harry's eyes, leaving them suspicious and hurt. He retreated imperceptibly from Draco's touch, without actually moving an inch, and so Draco removed his hand from that warm skin.

Hermione spoke up from the other side of the bed, aware of the awkward scene in front of her, "Harry! What happened? Hagrid told us that you collapsed!"

Her friend turned to look at her, more than willing to ignore Draco, if such a thing were possible. He rubbed his forehead distractedly and seemed to be straining to recall something, as he said, "I collapsed? I don't even remember that. I know that I went down to Hagrid's. And I didn't feel very well; like I had no energy at all." He looked up at Hermione searchingly. "When I got there, Hagrid sat me down and gave me tea and food, but... I started coughing, I remember. Hagrid wanted me to go to the Hospital Wing, but I refused."

Harry closed his eyes again, deep wrinkles springing up between his eyebrows as he strained to remember. "I think..." he said unsurely, "I think we argued. He was accusing me of... something. Yelling that I was irresponsible... reckless... and..." He shook his head faintly and spoke wonderingly, "I don't know. I don't remember."

"Have you seen Madame Pomfrey? Why did she leave you alone back here?" Draco posed the questions, but Harry acted as if he hadn't even heard the Head Boy. Instead Hermione had to repeat the questions to get a response out of Harry.

"I've not seen her, but I don't know if she's seen me. I don't remember anything since I was at Hagrid's, but she could've been here while I was unconscious, for all I know."

He broke off as he started coughing and Hermione immediately understood why Hagrid had insisted argued with Harry about coming to see Madame Pomfrey. Harry sounded like… well, like he was dying. Surely no one could cough like that and live for long. The wheezing, moist coughs seized the boy's entire body and it was obvious just from listening to them that Harry had absolutely no control over them as they threw him up off the bed. The coughs only died down when his lungs could squeeze out no more air without collapsing, then he would suck in a huge gasp of air, which tended to set off the coughing again.

When he was done this time, Harry collapsed back onto the bed weakly, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. Hermione wasn't sure if they were only from the strain of the coughs or from pain - but of course coughing it like that must be painful, right? It sounded as if the boy's whole body was tearing itself apart.

She looked up from her friend on the bed, her eyes meeting Draco's silvery ones over the boy's head. She saw the dark certainty in the Slytherin's eyes and she shook her head ever so slightly. You're wrong...

Biting her lower lip painfully, she watched Harry wheeze for air and decided, "I'm going to find Madame Pomfrey. She must have something that will help." She glanced again at Malfoy, then gave him a stern look as she said, "I'll leave the two of you, then. I think Draco has something to say to you."

She backed out of the room, staring at her two bewildering friends, one old and one new. She didn't understand why everything had to be so difficult for them. Were they simply not meant to be together? - but it seemed as impossible for them not to be together as it did for them to be together right now. How could you love someone that much and not have it work? If she had loved Ron that much, she would have tried to make it work - if only she had loved him that much.

Maybe I'm just like Ginny, she thought bemusedly, as she went to check Pomfrey's office again. Wanting to believe that a love like theirs is possible, if only out of hope of finding it myself someday. Deciding that Harry would forgive her, she pulled out her wand and called commandingly, "Accio Marauder's Map."

BACK IN THE TUCKED AWAY room number twelve, there was a great amount of not-talking getting done. Harry continued to lay unmoving on the bed, exhausted to his bones, with his eyes closed as he ignored Draco standing over him. His breath evened out to a slow regularity and Draco asked softly, "Potter, you still awake?"

Harry couldn't help flinch at the intimate familiarity of that voice and those words. Was this some kind of cruel joke? How could he have ended up here again, lying in bed with Draco watching protectively over him, even though the damned Slytherin had dumped him less than a week before?

Draco had heard the hitch in Harry's breathing and knew that the other boy was still perfectly conscious and only ignoring him with all his will. He glanced around the room, but there were no chairs for visitors in these rooms. These rooms normally saw no visitors.

Glancing at Harry's tense face and closed eyes, he shrugged to himself and then sat gently on the lumpy little bed which was the only piece of furniture in the room except for a small bedside table. He watched Harry twitch again, but the dark-haired boy still didn't move or say a thing.

Draco sat there on the edge of Harry's hospital bed, facing away from his ex, with his long legs stretched out on top of the sheets. He could feel Harry's body just centimetres from his own, but he was careful not to touch to the boy. He started speaking.

"So, I've been talking with Hermione," he started out abruptly, "and she seems to think that I should tell you everything. You see, there are a few things that I never told you. I didn't particularly lie about them - at least I don't remember ever lying about them - I just never told you."

Harry had felt the mattress give under Draco's weight and he cracked an eye open to see the boy's thin back in front of him. Draco was sitting on the side of his bed, his legs stretched out in front of him in a position that somehow looked childish. Harry continued to watch the blonde through his down-swept eyelashes, but didn't say a word.

Realizing that - as he'd expected - he wouldn't be getting a response, Draco continued, "I don't know why I didn't tell you. I guess I just didn't want you or anyone to know, because if anyone knew, than it would make it more real. It would be undeniable then."

Intrigued despite himself, Harry had no idea what Draco was talking about. He continued to wait without speaking, though, not sure yet how to respond to this overture. He listened unquestioningly as Draco launched into his story.

"I told you, of course, about what happened last winter. How my mother found me after I had... gotten rid of the Death Eaters." Even though all Harry could see was the boy's back, he could tell that Draco was rubbing the watered-down mark on his arm. "Things weren't very clear after that, but I woke up in dungeons some time later. My mother came to," Draco swallowed hard, "gloat over me, and then she threw me into the oubliette.

"I only realized after I got out that I was in there for six months. There's no way to tell time down there. With a Wizarding oubliette, there is no need to feed your prisoner - there are charms enough to keep them alive but never release them from their hunger or thirst. There are no interruptions, and nothing for the prisoner but the dark and the dry old bones."

Draco laced his hands together tightly, trying to focus on what he was saying without actually being drawn back to that dark place. He continued dispassionately, "The prisoner is left alone without any contact, without anything to relieve the nothingness. And not for hours, or days, but months or years.

"For all that time, the prisoner cannot use any magic, whether he has a wand or not, because the walls are made of magic-absorbing halcyon. The prisoner cannot speak, cannot see, cannot perform magic - the psychological trauma begins to eat away at their selves, until they have no self left."

Throughout Draco's explanation, the boy had very carefully avoided relating any of his descriptions to himself, but now he had no choice. He had to explain his own circumstances, for Harry to really understand what had happened. He stared at the stone wall that faced the foot of Harry's bed.

"I don't really remember it that well, but I was like that, too. When my mother finally appeared - I don't know when it was - I couldn't remember who I was, or who she was. I didn't know that I was a wizard, I didn't even know that I was human because after that long in the dark, you forget what terms like 'human' mean. I spoke with her, but it wasn't like me speaking at all. It was as if the words were speaking themselves, because until I heard them, I didn't know what they meant.

"This probably sounds ridiculous, but I'm just trying to explain something that can barely be explained: how it feels to lose your humanity, your self, your sanity," Draco spoke the words slowly, feeling the darkness welling up inside of him. He continued his story, "When she came to visit me, she told me that she had found out about our relationship. She said that she had been thinking of releasing me, but not once she found out about my... perversion. She left me with a fleeting trace of human contact and a name: Harry Potter."

Harry jumped a bit, realizing that Draco was not so much addressing him as repeating what had been said to him. He couldn't yet think about what all this meant or begin to react to it - he had to hear it all first.

"I couldn't really remember what the name meant, but I knew it meant something. I could at times remember a boy - a strangely beautiful boy, who seemed small and frail but could somehow save me, even though I wasn't sure what it would mean to be saved. The boy had wild black hair and eyes as green as death or spring, and he would haunt my hallucinations.

"I told you, that one night the boy Harry opened the door to the oubliette and let me out. He freed me, gave me back my sight and told me he loved me. But something wasn't right - and I didn't know what I was doing, but I knew that there was something wrong in the world and so I just reached out and fixed it. I know now that it should have been impossible, but somehow I cancelled the effect of the Polyjuice Potion - because that's of course what it was.

"It had been Pansy Parkinson all along, playing herself off as you as part of her own twisted game - perhaps it was even my mother's idea, I don't know. I left her in the oubliette, where she was obviously rescued, by her family or perhaps by the aurors who came to investigate my mother's disappearance. I wish that I had just gotten rid of her then, but I suppose it wouldn't have changed anything. Everything would have gotten out eventually."

The blonde paused. Most of this Harry had known or had hints of, so it had actually been the easiest part to tell. Now he had to tell everything that he had kept inside of himself until just this night. His voice was small as he said, "I left the dungeons, still not in my right mind. I didn't yet recognize the manor, but my feet knew their own way out and so I followed them. But I was unlucky.

"I ran into my mother, before I could escape. I don't think that I really knew her to be my mother, but I recognized her at least as the one who controlled the oubliette and the one who had given me nightmares with your name. She started ranting at me; demanding to know how I'd gotten out, cursing Pansy for her carelessness, and promising me that I would be back in that hole and never see daylight again."

Harry had a quivering of where this was going, but he was still trying to deny it. As Draco tried to delay, bits and pieces of the past several months came back to him: Draco's calm reaction when he heard about his mother's death, his threat to Pansy that she would end up like Narcissa, his describing their summer in the country as 'running from the law.' He struggled to keep his mind blank and waited for Draco to either confirm or deny it.

"I only meant to get past her," the boy said softly, and Harry knew then that his fears were confirmed. "I still couldn't control my magic, still wasn't even sure what could or couldn't be done with magic. I just wanted her to stop, wanted her to be gone. And she did. She stopped permanently, I suppose. There was nothing left of her, not even a stray hair or a fleck of dust to tell that she had ever been there."

Harry was shaking his head in horrified denial, though he'd been expecting these words. Draco told him, "I still don't even know what I did. It was no spell, it was just raw force, but... but the effect was undeniable. I was the one who killed my mother, Harry."

The Gryffindor swallowed with difficulty, feeling a roiling bile fighting its way up his throat. He began to speak, but all that came out was a helpless little noise. His mouth moving uselessly for several moments, he finally managed, "Draco... I..."

He couldn't think of what to say, overwhelmed with what Draco had done and what had been done to him. Matricide. How did one respond to that, even if the woman had been certifiably insane? He was saved from having to respond though, because Draco wasn't letting him speak yet: "No, wait. There's more."

"More than that...?"

"Yes. I have to tell you everything. Please, let me finish before you say anything." Harry stared wide-eyed at the Slytherin's back. How much more could there be? What else had Draco done and never told him about?

"I have the Sight." Draco simply came out and said it. Harry was now the fourth person that he had talked to about it, and it was becoming a bit easier with each retelling. "I wasn't born to it; it seems to have somehow come about after the Slytherins attacked me back in September."

He rolled the cloth of his pants between his fingers, nearly repeating what he had told Hermione, "The first time I ever Saw was when Pomfrey managed to remove whatever blinding curse the Slytherins used. You probably remember that I reacted rather strangely then. When one of Pomfrey's spells finally took effect, I could see the Hospital Wing but nothing was normal. It was as if it were changing even as I looked at it, decaying and changing. As I watched, you, Hermione, and even Pomfrey herself changed in front of my eyes.

"That was when I asked Pomfrey to fix what she'd done. At that time, I still thought it was the spell that she had used that had caused me to see things like that. But even after she changed her spell, you still weren't right."

"Me?" Harry couldn't help asking softly, even though he had been instructed not to say anything.

"Yes, everyone else seemed normal, but you. I Saw the Dark Lord standing behind you and he had stabbed you through the chest. He told me, 'Death waits for us all. Even you, Malfoy. Especially him.' That was the first time I saw you dying."

Harry swallowed painfully when he heard that statement. The first time...

Draco started counting off on his fingers, "Up till now, I've Seen you, Ginevra, Hermione, the Weasel, and Pomfrey. Most the others I've only seen once or twice. I saw Ginevra looking several years older and with a couple brats of her own. Hermione was also several years older and looked like she was doing well - while Ronald looked a bit worse for wear.

"But with you it was always different. After that first night in the Hospital Wing, I thought maybe it had just been a fluke, but then the next morning when I woke up, I found you dead next to me. Your blood had covered the sheets and me as well. Your throat had been torn out."

Harry stared fiercely at Draco's narrow back. He still remembered that morning: he'd found Draco in the bathroom, hanging over the toilet and babbling desperately about blood.

"I've seen you dying more times than I would care to remember. It's always a bit different, but always with the same result." Draco ran a thin hand through his shorn hair and said, "I couldn't stand being near you and seeing you like that."

"That's why...?"

"Sort of. I really wasn't thinking clearly that night. I don't think I've been thinking clearly for quite some time." He really did sound perplexed as he struggled to explain, "Ever since we came back to school, things have just been... wrong. During the summer, I could almost forget about my mother and pretend all that hadn't happened. But then, when we got here and Dumbledore told me that the Ministry was investigating, I was waiting everyday for the Aurors to burst in and end everything."

Harry knew he had never even noticed. Draco had seemed distant and stressed, but Harry had never imagined anything like this. Even after all their time together, could Draco still fool him that easily? Didn't he know the Slytherin at all?

"People started finding out, the articles started. Then you started talking about Hermione's universities. I felt like everything was slipping away from me. My family was gone, my future with them. With the articles' appearance, my place in the Wizarding world was gone. And when you started talking about going to the States, it seemed like I would be left with nothing.

"The visions had started then, and the only dependable good thing in my life - you, Harry - was also taken from me. You were the only person I wanted to be with, but I couldn't even stand being in the same room with you. Not when you looked like that."

He didn't want to, but Harry was beginning to understand Draco's reasons for breaking up with him. Not that understand made it seem any better.

"That night in my room, I really wanted to make things normal. I tried to act like I used to around you, and to relax and joke. But even then I saw you dying." Draco stared with burning eyes at the wall in front of him and bit his lip, as he struggled to control his voice. "I couldn't do it, Harry."

The Gryffindor took a deep breath and held it. Closing his eyes briefly, he asked, "What is it that you want, Draco?"

"I..." the blonde struggled to put his roiling emotions into words, "I still want to be with you, Harry. In whatever way I can. We weren't just lovers, we were friends, right? I can't stand not having that. But I just don't know what to do. If I keep Seeing things like this, then..."

Harry cut him off by saying suddenly, "Look, Draco, I love you." He saw the boy jerk in shock and paused for a moment, but no response was coming. He continued, "I have for a long time, and I still do now. And I know that you loved me once, too."

Draco was breathing rapidly and holding himself as still as he could, as if to not miss a word of what Harry was saying. The other boy continued, "But that isn't enough for me now."

Closing his eyes against the tears he could feel welling up, Draco bit his tongue. His throat was closing up painfully but he managed to get out, "Oh. I see."

"No, I don't think you do." Harry pushed himself up from his prone position, trying to reach out to the boy in front of him. His movement threw him into another coughing fit, though, and so he fell back onto the pillow.

Draco finally spun around when he heard the harsh coughs tearing through the boy again and he hesitated uselessly. Finally, he gently put one arm around Harry's back, trying to support the frail boy as he coughed. He was horrified to feel the muscles spasm under his hand, but held on.

Cradled in Draco's loose hold, Harry wheezed out, "When you broke up with me, I couldn't do anything. I couldn't even imagine how to live. Even before that, when we were having problems the last couple months, it was killing me to never know what was going on or where we were going.

"Draco. I want to be with you. But not just for today, or even for the rest of the school year. For forever." The blonde stared down at him wordlessly, his silver eyes wide and disbelieving. Harry told him, "I can't promise you that we'll have forever. But if we could, would you want that?"