Starting Over Again

Chapter 2

Fred and George went to get Professor Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey. When they got back twenty minutes later, things had gotten quite out of hand. Malfoy was upstairs in Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's bed throwing a fit at Mr. Weasley and Ron. Meanwhile Harry was trying to escape from the 'good talking to' Mrs. Weasley and Hermione were giving him in the kitchen. This comes as no surprise considering the fact that the talk consisted mainly of yelling.

"HARRY POTTER! Why on earth would you be outside without an adult? You know how dangerous this world is for you. Why would you be willing to risk your life for some fresh air? WHY?"

"Molly, please calm down," said Professor Dumbledore. "Panicking won't get us anywhere. Now, Harry, will you please tell us what happened?"

"Well," he said, "I woke up and decided to go outside for some fresh air, When I went outside I saw Malfoy lying in the grass, looking extraordinarily bloody. I ran over to him and tried to ask him what had happened, but he was in too much pain. That's when I brought him inside." Harry paused for a moment. "Sir, what do you think happened to him?" He was genuinely worried about the boy. Anything to make him put down his barriers in front of Harry had to be pretty bad.

Dumbledore sighed deeply. This would be difficult. Harry blamed himself for nearly everything that went wrong in the world nowadays. And he usually did this when things were not his fault.

"Well," the old man began slowly, "It could have been one of three things. One is that he greatly disappointed his father. Lucius is not above hurting his own son. The second is that he seriously upset Voldemort. Tom is very likely to have done this to someone who failed him. The boy may have had a mission and failed. Or he could have disappointed them both and Tom decided that Lucius wasn't punishing him enough."

This news was extremely shocking for Harry to hear. How would Malfoy disappoint Voldemort? And even if he had disappointed his father, how could someone be so cruel to his or her own child? Wait a second. Of course family could be cruel. Just look at the Dursleys.

Then there was a soft knock at the door, and Madam Pomfrey entered.

"How is the boy, Poppy?" asked Dumbledore.

The look on the nurse's face did not look promising.

"He is stable, physically, but mentally we may have some problems. It took a good bit of coaxing to get him to let me heal him at all." Then she turned to Harry. "Mr. Potter, did you have any trouble getting him to let you carry him inside?"

"No. He wasn't at all afraid. But he did say something about knowing that I wouldn't hurt him. It was almost like he trusted me." After Harry answered her question, Madam Pomfrey began conversing quietly with the Headmaster. Harry walked over to the window and looked out onto the spot where he found Malfoy. He truly hoped the beaten Slytherin would be all right.

Mrs. Weasley was beginning to worry about Harry. Over the past six years Harry Potter had become like an eighth child to her. With everything that he had been through over those six years, she could tell that Harry was becoming more and more introverted as the years progressed. Sirius dying, plus how he seemed to be taking this Malfoy business, made her worry about the boy's well-being.

Mrs. Weasley wasn't the only one worrying. Hermione watched Harry look over the front yard and was trying to figure out how to approach him without making him too angry when Mr. Weasley came in.

"Harry, young Mr. Malfoy wants to talk to you. Even if he doesn't talk about what happened, I think it might be best for you to be in there rather than Ron. You're less likely to kill the boy," said Mr. Weasley with a faint smile.

Harry nodded and started for the door. As he left, he could feel the worried stares of four people on his back.

Ron passed Harry on his way downstairs; you could almost see the steam coming out of his ears. Harry made his way to the Weasley's bedroom. He took a deep breath and walked through the door. Malfoy was lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling, and didn't even look as Harry walked in. He sat down on a chair next to the bed, and started to look over the Slytherin before him.

Even healed, Malfoy didn't look any less awful. He only looked less bloody. His hair stuck to his forehead and his skin was sickly pale. There was almost no fat on him, like he hadn't eaten in weeks. The passionate hatred was gone from his silver eyes, leaving hopeless gray ones behind. The ill boy turned his head to look at Harry.

"Hello, Potter, how are you?"

"I've been better, but I've been worse, too, so I don't guess I can complain." Harry would just go with whatever Malfoy wanted to talk about. He saw no need to push the boy.

"And you, Malfoy? Are you at least feeling a little better? Physically, anyway."

"A bit, I suppose. Doesn't matter though, because I probably still look like hell. How has your summer been, Potter?"

The conversation continued this way for nearly an hour. They talked about current events, Harry filled Malfoy in on Quidditch, and they even got around to talking about the weather. After an hour, Malfoy said he was getting tired.

"Alright," said Harry, "I'll leave so you can rest."

"Wait! Don't leave yet, Harry, please. I don't want to be by myself right now."

Harry smiled at the blonde boy. "Okay, Draco, I'll stay."

Draco got more comfortable and fell asleep. His last thought before drifting off was, 'He called me Draco.'

He watched as Malfoy got settled in and fell asleep. A few minutes later, Hermione came in to check on them. Harry asked her to bring him one of his Quidditch books so he had something to do. When she came back, she had his book and his summer homework. The last thought Harry had before starting on his book was, 'He called me Harry.'

End chapter two.