Play The Game

Someone coughed, an arm slipped, and pain shot through an elbow. Blaise Zabini blinked as he was woken up rudely by the train coming to a halt at the Hogsmeade Station. He glanced out of the window. Having neglected to close the blinds before falling asleep, it gave him a scenic view of the small town of Hogsmeade by night, blanketed in a thick layer of snow.

He got up from his seat slowly and reached up to take his suitcase from the overhead hanger. It took a while, but after three strong tugs it was down and ready to be dragged back up the long winding path to Hogwarts.

There was hardly any sound on the train as he moved slowly down the corridor, past seven compartments, five of which had sleeping people inside which would be woken up when their stop arrived. Assuming they hadn't already missed it.

Blaise placed a hand on the door and pushed, bracing himself against the vicious onslaught of bitingly cold wind. The minute both his feet and his suitcase were on the platform, a whistle sounded and the train left for its next destination, leaving Blaise Zabini to wait alone.

Still shivering with suppressed adrenaline, Draco stumbled his way through the unmarred snow on the path to the station. Potter's lips had left a burning patch on his forehead, and he kept raising his hand to check that it wasn't bleeding or anything.

'What have I done?'

He pushed a snow-laden branch of holly aside, and further up the tree a branch unloaded its covering on his head. Draco grunted angrily, brushing his head with a gloved hand. "I hate snow," he snapped, his breath curling up in icy vapour, parting as he stormed through it.

The tall wrought iron gates creaked mournfully as he pushed through them, taking a moment to look up at the diamond-bright stars against the velvet of the night sky. It struck Draco that it made a beautiful cloak, and he wondered if he should get one for his mother's January birthday.

Kicking his feet through the snow, Draco pondered the matter of Harry, though only lightly. Too much thought would stain the surreal covering it all held like a shield above its fragile form. Once it started getting realistic and not just a late Christmas - possibly drunken - fantasy, things would start going very efficiently wrong.

Draco stepped onto the platform of Hogsmeade station, which looked as though it had been sifted lightly with icing sugar. The snow crunched under his booted feet as he walked up to the tracks, looking about for Blaise. He soon spied him, curled up into a ball on a bench and apparently fast asleep. Draco smiled fondly and walked over to him.

"Anyone would think you were a tramp," he said loudly, standing over him.

"A tramp in expensive clothing," Blaise replied, still curled up in a ball against the cold. He opened one eye and looked up at Draco, "Hallo."

"Happy Christmas," Draco greeted flatly. "A tramp who stole some posh clothing and happens to wear it with pinache." He held out his hand to Blaise and pulled him to his feet.

Blaise stumbled slightly, and flashed a brief smile to Draco. "Happy Christmas to you too," he replied, holding out a small emerald green package, the same colour as Potter's eyes.

Draco noticed this immediately, those eyes without glasses fixed in his head like headlamps, the light of which lingered inside his eyelids. He gripped the package in his gloved hands.

"Should I open it when we get back, or now?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Your choice." Blaise shrugged, grabbing hold of his suitcase with frozen fingers.

Draco picked up another of Blaise's bags, slipping the package into his pocket. "My fingers are too numb just now," he said with a smile. The volcano boiling inside him, held back by the question 'should I tell him?' overflowed.

"I've got something to tell you about, Blaise," Draco said, taking a deep breath.

Blaise nodded, looking at Draco out of curious eyes. "Go on."

Draco proceeded to tell him what had happened on his way to the station, about meeting Potter and - surprisingly, considering his gender - exactly how it made him feel and confessed his worries about all of it. When he was finished, he opened and closed his mouth for a moment, watching the little puffs of steam with a frown.

"I think that's pretty much it," he said, embarrassed, and ducked his head.

Blaise reached forward and brushed some of Draco's fine hair off his forehead, to look at the place Potter had kissed him with a slight frown. He dropped his gaze to Draco, unreadable. "Did you regret any of it?"

"I regret..." He hesitated. What did he regret? "I regret that I didn't make more of it."

Blaise smiled and brushed Draco's hair back into place before looking at the road back to the school. "I'm tired, and I need sleep. We'll talk tomorrow and I can freak out better."

"So you're going to stop here and wake up tomorrow to walk back to the castle?" Draco asked, one corner of his mouth lifting. "Seems a little silly. Maybe I should have left you here."

"You could always carry me," Blaise suggested.

"I'm not carrying you, you lump," Draco sneered, then returned to his thoughtful melancholy.

"Cheer up you miserable git," Blaise responded. "It's Christmas and Potter just kissed you."

"He didn't," Draco said mournfully.

"So someone else, who looked liked Potter, who you believed was Potter, kissed you instead?"

Draco shot a glare at Blaise.

"One day, someone will beat you up for piss-taking, and you'll deserve it. I'll be on the sidelines clapping and cheering for whoever finally dares."

"And some day I'll punch you in the face so you can see that maybe Potter likes you," Blaise retorted sourly as he brushed past Draco and began to walk alone.

Draco came to a halt, frowning slightly. He watched Blaise walk away, then ran after him as he rounded a bend in the path. Draco held his arms out and looked frankly at Blaise.

"Hit me," he told him.

"No."

"You crazy bastard, hit me!" Draco stormed, clenching his fists.

"No."

"Oh for GOD'S SAKE!" Draco shouted, casting about him for some kind of release. Fury and adrenaline built up in him and he balled a fist, smacking Blaise in the cheekbone, quite hard.

"You don't want to hit me." Blaise rubbed his rapidly reddening cheek angrily with a balled fist. "You want to hit Potter because you know he's doing this to you," he said slowly, standing right up against Draco and poking him hard in the chest with each word, "and you don't like it."

"Potter doesn't give a shit about me!" Draco shouted. "Potter doesn't mean anything!"

"Potter means a lot. Admit it, Draco." Blaise scowled, clenching his jaw line.

"Potter means a lot to the world, and the world decided it didn't care for me a while back," Draco said tensely, his whole body rigid as he stared at Blaise through narrowed eyes.

"And you mean a lot to Potter."

"NO I DON'T!" Draco roared.

Blaise curled his hand into a fist and pulled it back before putting every ounce of energy he possessed into hitting Draco square in the jaw. The action sent the slightly smaller Slytherin sprawling backwards against the wind and onto the snow.

"I told you."

Draco's lip peeled back from his teeth and he let out a snarl, leaping to his feet and spinning a fist into Blaise's chin. As the black-haired boy reeled, Draco spat out a tooth into the snow and watched it melt its bloody way down before returning his death glare to Blaise.

"Just drop it and start acting like a Slytherin and not a romantic!" he said in a terrible whisper. "Potter does not even tolerate me, let alone like me. And even if he did, I wouldn't do a thing about it because I'm not like that."

Blaise pushed himself up on his arms, lay on his back in the snow. His bottom lip was busted, bleeding onto his chin whilst his cheekbone turned purple.

"Who defined Slytherins? Who said we have to be who we are? Who said that we can't believe, we can't hope and we can't dream?" he snapped, shaking snow from his hair. "Don't you get it Draco? We're Voldemort's fucking pawns. We're brainwashed, and when the final battle comes it will be us who will die and not be remembered."

"Do I want to be remembered?" Draco demanded. "Does it really matter that I ever clung to this miserable existence? Voldemort can push me around all I want, because at least then I won't have to decide for myself. I won't have to feel like this and I can just let it all go. I can get away from everything and just do whatever he says. I don't have to be a rich man's son. I don't have to be an aristocrat. I don't have to be presentable. I don't have to be witty, or smart, or sharp. I don't have to be beautiful. I can just be me and I can die being myself. If that doesn't happen, I'll live until I'm ninety and hate every second of it, alone."

Blaise reached a hand up to Draco. "Help me up."

Draco reached out absently to pull Blaise to his feet.

"I'm sorry I hit you," he mumbled. His lip was getting thick and the coppery tang of blood traced across his tongue. Though Draco couldn't see it, where Blaise's fist had hit his face, the pressure had torn his skin into a shattered spider-web of bloody lines waiting to well up. A rich violet bruise was pushing to the surface beneath the cracked skin. The cold air began to sting at it viciously, like miniature vipers.

"But Blaise, it doesn't matter what I feel or want," he explained. "If I feel nothing and want for nothing, I'll never be hurt."

"But you'll never live," Blaise said quietly, as he placed a hand on Draco's cheek where he had been punched. "I hit you harder than I thought was possible," he commented dryly. "But I'm not sorry."

"I know you're not," Draco said blankly. He fingered his own lip and then removed his glove to test Blaise's jaw and chin. "You're OK. No permanent damage done." Draco put a finger into his own mouth to find where the tooth had come from. It was his bottom left canine. Draco scooped a tiny ball of snow and packed it tightly into the gap, wincing at the chill.

Blaise dropped his head onto Draco's shoulder uncomfortably. "We need to get back or I swear, I'll sleep here."

"Yeah," Draco mumbled, pushing Blaise's head upright and starting to walk, still holding his finger in his mouth. A little unsteadily, hands wrapped around his trunk, Blaise followed Draco up to the castle.

***

Harry was shaking slightly from the adrenaline coursing through his veins as he began to walk back to the Gryffindor Tower under cover of the invisibility cloak. 'I just kissed Draco Malfoy... granted it was on the forehead, but still... oh my god... I kissed him...'

"Distracted, Harry?" a gentle voice inquired. Dumbledore stepped down, lifting the invisibility cloak's hem to peer underneath it through his half-moon spectacles. "I saw your foot."

Harry jumped, and then peered under the invisibility cloak at him, looking a little frightened. "Professor, sir," he said hurriedly, "I didn't mean to be out - well, I did, but that's not the point! I was only coming out for a second! Please don't take points from Gryffindor!"

"That's quite alright," Dumbledore smiled. "But are you?"

Harry flushed, though it was not very visible in the darkness. He sighed and walked forward, turning around and sitting on the bottom step of the staircase to the Gryffindor Tower. He tucked his hands under his arms and looked at the ground. "Not really."

Dumbledore folded like a strip of cardboard to sit beside him.

"Can you tell me what's wrong?" he asked, crows' feet crinkling beside his eyes.

"Not really," Harry replied as the last of the adrenaline rush drained out of him.

"Ah," Dumbledore nodded, straightening his crumpled purple wizards' hat.

"You see everything, don't you?" Harry asked curiously, looking up at the wise man. "Does Ron hate me at the moment? I don't want him to hate me."

"Mr. Weasley is annoyed that you won't listen to him," the headmaster answered solemnly. "And you should."

"I didn't need to listen to him. I know Mal..." Harry trailed off and scrubbed at his eyes - effectively taking out the contacts. He put them in his pocket and took out his old glasses, slipping them up his nose. "Should I apologise?"

"The watch?" Dumbledore asked sagely, lifting Harry's wrist to examine it. "It's very nice. A worthy present. I think Mr. Weasley is not the only person who deserves an apology and a friendly ear, though Ron definitely does need one just now. He's up there, by the way."

Dumbledore pointed to the gallery above them.

Harry smiled, nothing ever got by Dumbledore. He stood up, and picked up the invisibility cloak off the floor. "Professor Dumbledore, sir, you won't take points right?"

"Of course not, or I should take points from the teaching faculty for drifting about at this time as well," Dumbledore said with a smile, remaining seated on the stair as Harry swirled out of sight and made his way up the stairs.

Harry - now feeling a lot better - reached the top of the stairs and opened the door to the gallery to see Ron and apologise formally, for not listening to his best friend when he should have.

'Mr. Malfoy and Harry, friends? They'd be a force to be reckoned with,' Dumbledore mused silently, gazing at the stars through the stained glass window over the enormous double doors, lost in thought

***

Blaise sat down on his bed to pull on his bright white socks, a present from his cousin who attended Durmstrang and barely got in touch. Blaise had been surprised when he arrived home for Christmas to realise that every single member of his family had sent him a present because usually he just got them off the Slytherins and his mother and father. Maybe, just maybe, he had thought that he would finally have a proper Christmas and his parents would start giving him more attention than they gave to Voldemort, and the current goings on. 

It wasn't to last.

Five hours into being home, when he had finished opening the presents from his family, Voldemort had got in touch. It seems that Christmas was wasted on the wizard, he didn't care, and the moment he voiced that he wanted Blaise's father and mother there with him, the small spark of hope in Blaise was put out immediately. His parents had wasted no time in getting their stuff together and packing him away on a train back to Hogwarts while they celebrated Christmas in a wholly different way.

Pulling himself out of his thoughts, Blaise realised that he still hadn't given Draco his Christmas present. True, he had given it to him at the station, but Draco had handed it back to him to carry, and both boys had forgotten about it as they fell asleep for the night.

Spotting the emerald green wrapping paper glinting in the light off the fire Blaise stood up and walked over to the chair. He picked the present up and walked over to Draco, who was still sleeping. With a smile tugging at his lips he dropped it onto Draco's stomach. "Wake up you lazy bugger and open your present."

"Piss off," Draco snapped automatically. He rolled onto his side and yelped in pain. He lifted his head and blinked blearily, tossing his hair back and looking at the cobweb of blood on his pillow.

"Shit Draco," Blaise said in a quiet voice, staring at the weird bruise on his face, the exact place he had hit Draco last night.

Draco sat up, touching his skin with trembling fingertips. "I've had worse," he said thickly.

"You need to get Madame Pomfrey to look at that," Blaise replied evenly. "It looks nasty."

"If she stocks teeth, I could do with one of those, too," Draco said with a grin. The gap in his lower jaw was clearly evident.

"You should get a gold one." Blaise nodded.

"Gold is lower-orders," Draco said flatly. "I'll just live without rather than have one of those. Hey, d'you want your present before we go to the hospital wing?"

"Sure," Blaise grinned. "Yours is..." he blinked, "underneath you now somewhere."

"It's lucky," Draco murmured, arching his back. He retrieved a package and his expression tightened as he saw the colour and remembered Potter again, but he ignored it.

"Yours is on the mantelpiece," he said with an imperial wave of his hand and indicated a silver wrapped parcel.

Blaise straightened up from his bent over position, looking at Draco's bruise and walked over to the mantelpiece. Draco usually gave the best presents in the House, and this year was probably no different.

Draco plucked at the ribbon around his package absently with a fingernail, watching Blaise.

"Did we really fight over Potter last night?" he asked eventually.

Blaise blinked, picking up the present as he did so. A dark look came over his face. "Yeah, actually. Never thought of it that way."

Draco put a hand to his forehead and closed his eyes, breathing deeply across his swollen lip, air hissing through the gap in his teeth.

"Ow," he murmured. "Listen, I don't want to hear about it, alright? You think I'm a complete poof now, right? That's fine. I don't really care. Just please - don't talk about it to everyone in the school."

Blaise turned his head slightly to the side, registering what Draco was saying to him. He moved the present to another hand and strode over to Draco, before sitting down crossed-legged on the other boy's bed. "I do not think like that," he pointed out. "And I will not tell anyone if that's what you want."

"You don't?" Draco asked, tilting his head on one side and sitting up to look at Blaise. "Thanks."

He looked pointedly at the gift Blaise held. "Are you going to open that?"

"Me first then?" he asked. Without waiting for an answer he ripped off the silver wrapping paper to reveal a large sheet of black velvet. Blaise unfolded his legs and stepped off the bed, letting the material fall down as he held his hands above his head.

Circles of different coloured gemstones made a pattern up and down, with gold symbols. Blaise smirked, a magical Twister mat.

"I thought you'd like it," Draco beamed. "It curses your opponents." He took a pencil from his bedside cabinet and tapped a gold symbol. It flashed and boils sprouted on the pencil, which Draco dropped sharply.

Blaise laughed and folded the mat back up, placing it on the chair behind him. He sat back down on the bed and looked at the present Draco was holding. "Thanks, and open yours. I'm getting impatient."

Draco nodded, wincing as the blood moved in his swollen cheek. He ripped the paper off with slightly bloody fingernails and pulled out a box, opening it carefully. Inside was a perfectly round glass ball, about as big as a Bludger. It was completely clear, but for a rainbow swirling across the surface, like on a child's soap bubble. Draco stroked a hand across its surface and staggering bolts of colour shot through it, bouncing about the inside. He jerked his hand away and the colours subsided.

"What is it?" he asked Blaise, lifting the box.

"A Traumosphere. You fill it with one dream, the one thing you want. But the Traumosphere isn't stupid, it knows when you are lying and it knows when a dream is going to end. The colours inside the sphere will reflect your mood pertaining to the dream until finally the dream is achieved, or it must come to an end." Blaise looked at the Traumosphere carefully; he had gone through a lot to get it. "It also takes half the burden off you for the dream you put into it. Choose wisely."

"Just the one dream?" Draco asked, lifting his eyebrows to look at Blaise without raising his head. The rainbow colours of the sphere swirled across his face.

Blaise shrugged, "I don't know for I've never had one nor seen one before: they're extremely rare. Presumably, the dream you put into it will also be the dream that began all your other dreams, but they pale in comparison."

"Thanks," Draco breathed. He put his hand over it and closed his eyes. The staggering rainbow bolts swirled up to his hand again until luminous lights flashed over his face and a gently pressed breeze started, lifting Draco's hair from his face and stirring the pages of an open book nearby. He snapped his hand away and the bolts settled like dry ice into the bottom, building until they filled the whole ball. After a moment or two, crimson the colour of blood and roses filtered through like cordial added to water.

"What does that mean?" Draco asked blankly, looking at it.

Blaise reached over and pulled out the card from the box where instructions were written. "It doesn't say, the colours change depending on the person so there isn't really a code." He scratched his chin with his free hand before continuing, "Probably, that's how you feel about your dream at the moment."

"Red," Draco said flatly.

"Or," he added as an afterthought. "It could mean you need to see Madame Pomfrey real soon."

"You're determined to get me up there aren't you? You realise you'll get in so much trouble for knocking my tooth out," Draco said solemnly, snapping the lid shut.

"And you'll get in trouble for busting my lip," Blaise replied. He had, so far, been ignoring the throbbing in his bottom lip that was at least twice its normal size. "And, you still need to get dressed."

"Piss off," Draco drawled. "I want to play Twister."

Blaise laughed, climbed off the bed and unfolded the mat in one smooth motion. With a flick of his wrist the mat was lay across the floor. "Game on?"

"I'll beat you. I know how this thing works."

Draco clambered out of bed, straightened his black silk pyjamas and muttered a spell over the mat. He retrieved a spinner from the box and set it going.

"Right foot amethyst," he read, sticking his foot into a circle.

"Yeah, but the mat is mine, so it likes me better." Blaise moved his foot and flicked the spinner. "Right arm sapphire."

Draco leaned over and planted his hand in the circle.

"You know, if you stay too long on a circle you start to sink?" he added conversationally.

"Sounds fun," Blaise said dryly as he slid his hand next to Draco's right foot.

"I lost my Uncle Rudolf that way," Draco mused.

Blaise decided that keeping any part of his body on one of these Gemstones for too long was definitely a no-go. "We should get Crabbe and Goyle to play," he suggested. "Right hand ruby."

Draco gave a heave and jumped his hand over to the ruby circles, bending to avoid knocking Blaise down.

"They don't know their colours, let alone gemstones."

Blaise nodded distractedly. "That, or I'm colour blind."

"Me too," Draco agreed mildly. "And everyone else but them."

"That has to be it," Blaise replied, placing his hand on a circle. He flicked the spinner with a toe on his free foot, but was unable to see what it said. He poked the back of Draco's knee with his elbow. "What does it say?"

"Oh hell!" Draco exclaimed, crumpling. His elbow banged against a gold sign and warmth flooded up his arm.

"Your arse looks enormous in those trousers," he said conversationally, then clapped a hand over his mouth. He hopped upright and stepped off the mat. "What did I just say?"

Blaise flushed and managed to climb off the mat without getting a curse put on himself. "You, eh..." he trailed off and frowned slightly, before realisation dawned on his face. "Probitas Hex."

"You think you're SOOO smart," Draco sneered. "Oh I'm sorry."

Blaise blinked then started laughing. "You," he started breathlessly, between laughter, "you better ho - hope you don't see Sn - Snape."

"I'd better hope I don't see Potter," Draco said vehemently. "What do I do?"

"I don't know the counter-curse. It's hard or something. We should go see Madame Pomfrey - which reminds me." He looked over, now sober, and studied the bruise on Draco's face. "It's getting worse."

"Well, at least I'm better-looking than you are," Draco said happily. He bit his lip. "I hate myself like this. I'm sorry."

Blaise shrugged, "It's interesting. Though I meant what I said."

"I know. How about I don't open my mouth until we get to the hospital wing?" Draco suggested.

"Deal." Blaise walked over and pushed Draco in the direction of the bathrooms so he could go change before they went. He crouched down and began to fold up the mat once the other boy had gone and placed it in his trunk neatly between his emerald green cloak and copy of Magical theory by Adalbert Waffling.

Draco emerged, muttering snidely, once he had washed and dressed.

"Let's go, Cuddle-bums," he said flatly, tipping his head forward.

Blaise shot around and looked Draco up and down out of narrowed eyes. "I thought you were going to keep your mouth shut...?"

"Don't squint at me, Tiddles," Draco said lightly, patting Blaise's cheek. "Can we just get out there quick before anyone else comes and gets in my way?"

Blaise nodded mutely and held the door open for Draco, so the other boy could walk out first. They walked in relatively quiet silence, with Draco not wanting to say anything for fear of speaking his mind, and Blaise knowing that Draco wouldn't reply anyway.

As they rounded the corner and came out into the brightly-lit entrance hall, Blaise realised something. "Dammit," he hissed, "I've left the door unlocked. Wait right here Draco, I'll be back in a second." And just like that, he took off at a run back the way they had came.

Draco's mouth dropped open in despair. What was he going to do NOW?

*

Harry swore mentally as he ran down the stairs from the Gryffindor Tower at full speed. His contacts weren't in his pocket where he had left them last night, and he remembered seeing something glint on the steps where he had sat with Dumbledore as he went to find Ron. 'Please be there, please be there,' he prayed as he reached the final set of stairs and jumped down them, two at a time. He skidded to a halt at the bottom and began searching the step frantically.

"Oh LOOK, it's The Boy Who Kissed," Draco said loudly and scornfully, tossing his head. "Is he as blind as a dingbat without his Potter-Wee glasses?"

Harry froze, hand halfway across the step. He straightened up but refused to turn around, knowing that his eyes would betray him if he did. "What do you want, Malfoy?" he asked harshly, hurt by the words.

"I wouldn't mind another kiss, but make sure you do it properly this time," Draco said flatly. He put a proverbial gun to his proverbial temples. 'You stupid IDIOT,' he snapped to himself.

"I - You - What?!" Harry demanded, thoroughly confused. He turned around and stared at the blond Malfoy in front of him with a completely floored expression.

Draco rolled his eyes back into his head, tilting it back and shutting his eyes.

"No one kisses a guy on the head. You have to do the thing properly," he explained with amazement at his own words. "What am I SAYING?" he demanded aloud.

"I think you need serious help, Malfoy," Harry said tensely. He whirled back around, not caring for the contacts anymore. They could go to hell for all he cared, Draco's words had hurt.

"Please don't go," Draco said pleadingly. He looked such a state standing in the middle of the hall, small without his cronies, bruises adorning his face and hair hanging across shadowed eyes.

Letting the Gryffindor get the better of him Harry shook his head. "I can't trust you Malfoy. Last night, you were... different. More human than I've ever seen you before and, it was a strange experience, but I didn't not like it. Then you turn up today covered in bruises and blood, and practically mocking me. I'm sorry Malfoy, but I can't stay." He turned away and began to climb the stairs, not noticing when he crushed one of the contact lenses under the heel of his shoe.

"There's a hex," Draco said desperately. "I was playing cursed Twister... Probitas Hex. Potter. POTTER!"

Draco ran after him, crushing the other lens. He grabbed Harry's arm and turned him around.

"Stop walking away from me," he pleaded.

Harry turned around but did not pull himself out of contact with Draco's hand. "Give me one good reason to."

"Because I like you," Draco blurted out. He gritted his teeth together, pulled his lips back and screwed his eyes shut.

Harry was shocked into speechlessness. "I - eh - you what?" he asked, blinking as the Slytherin boy who was holding his arm closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. 'Don't be an idiot Potter, he means as a friend.'

"I -" his sentence was cut short as he noticed Blaise Zabini walk around the corner from what, Harry guessed, was the Slytherin Dungeons. He slowly pulled out of Draco's grip, suddenly frightened by what this other Slytherin's reaction might be.

"Oh piss off Blaise," Draco snapped under his breath, looking down. His fingers tightened around Harry's arm. "I'm sorry for everything that went wrong, and I..."

Harry took a step back, still looking like a deer caught in some headlights. What should he do? Half of him wanted to sod Gryffindor pride, and capture Draco's lips and another part - the more rational one - wanted him to turn and run away.

"Mr. Malfoy, kindly let go of Mr. Potter, now." The harsh voice cut through the Entrance Hall sharply, and Harry could see the glare plastered on Professor McGonagall's face in his mind's eye. This was not good.

Draco dropped Potter's arm as though it had burnt him.

"Push off, you Scottish hag," he murmured, gazing at Harry briefly before snapping his fingers and marching off up the stairs, ignoring Professor McGonagall totally.

Blaise mouthed wordlessly, trying to comprehend everything that he had just seen. Finally, breaking into a run, he shot past Potter and grabbed Draco by the shoulders turning him around.

"Mr. Malfoy!" shrieked Professor McGonagall as she descended the stairs, scowl in place and a tight bun on the back of her head. "5 points off Slytherin for your insolence and you will report to my office every Wednesday from now on to serve detention until I decide that you have learnt your lesson."

"Oh, will I?" Draco smirked, casting a derogatory glance over his shoulder at McGonagall. "I'd like to see you try to make me, Wrinkles."

"Draco!" hissed Blaise, slamming a fist over his friend's mouth and turning to the Professor who was reddening and mouthing wordlessly. "I'm sorry Professor, really. It's the Probitas Hex, I need to get him to the Hospital Wing."

"Oh that's bollocks and you know it. You know, I nearly told four-eyes that I'm in love with him!" Draco beamed, clapping Blaise on the back as he pulled the restraining hand from his mouth.

"Mr. Malfoy!" This was too much for McGonagall. She strode over to the Malfoy boy, grabbed him by the ear and proceeded to drag him in the direction of the Hospital Wing. "You may come with me, Mr. Zabini. Mr. Potter, I suggest you go back to the Gryffindor Tower and catch up on some shut eye, you look exhausted."

"Stop dragging me you prune!" Draco hissed, slapping McGonagall's hand away. "I can make my own way there, sans the Zimmerframe."

As they disappeared around the corner - Blaise rapidly apologising, Draco insulting, and McGonagall fuming - Harry finally came to terms with everything that had been said. He slumped against the wall next to the stairs with a defeated sigh.

'I know I'm probably reading between the lines here, but do you love me, Draco Malfoy? Or, at least, as much as I love you?' He closed his eyes and let his chin drop onto his chest with a weary sigh.

"What do you think I'm saying? I didn't actually tell him that I love him!" Draco could be heard to explain exasperatedly. "That would just be stupid..."

***

Madam Pomfrey looked heavily at the two boys. 

"It's your own fault, you know," she said.

"But that's hardly the spirit!" Draco protested.

"Can you help him, then?" Blaise asked tiredly as he sat on a visitor's chair.

"I certainly can, but I don't think it's worth my while," Madam Pomfrey sighed, standing up and bustling off to another part of the ward.

"What can you possibly mean?" Draco squeaked. "I can't stay like this forever! It'd be worse than being as fat as you!"

"I mean," Madam Pomfrey said ominously, "that you deserve some humiliation to make up for all the things you've done to people."

"But this just makes me more insulting," Draco bargained with a smirk.

"Shame," Madam Pomfrey said lightly.

Blaise grinned and placed his elbows on his knees, resting his chin on his palms. "How long will it take to wear off then?"

"About a month," the medi-witch called.

"A month?!" Blaise exclaimed. "That's torture."

"A MONTH!" Draco yelped. "How useless are you? Can't you see through your piggy little eyes that this won't help anyone at ALL?"

"Can't you just make him face it for a day?" Blaise pleaded.

"I could," Madam Pomfrey said. "But what good would it do me?"

"You're useless!" Draco snapped. He stood up and marched to the door. "I'll go and find the counter-curse for myself."

"I wouldn't doubt him," Blaise said quietly to Madame Pomfrey.

"I don't," Poppy admitted. "Mr. Malfoy, come back here please."

Draco stopped. "Mr. Malfoy is my father. My father is in jail. Would you refrain from referring to me as Mr. Malfoy? I'll be going now."

"No, Draco, you will not."

Poppy Pomfrey crossed the ward briskly and put a hand on his shoulder.

"If you will stay here for a while and control your urges to be nasty to people, I'll reverse the spell," she bargained.

"That's stupid. I can't change how I think," Draco scoffed.

"Maybe you can change how you believe you think," Madam Pomfrey said mysteriously.

Blaise felt a strange admiration he had never felt before for the old nurse as she talked to Draco. "You might as well try it Draco, you have nothing to lose."

"I have everything to lose!" Draco protested, but it was weak. He bit his lip. "Alright, old witch, if you heal up my bruises and get me a new tooth, I'll stay here and learn to live with this bloody hex."

"It's a deal. Would you like a gold tooth?" Poppy asked with a wry smile.

***

"HARRY!" Ron bellowed, shaking his friend's shoulders. "HARRY!"

Ron raised panicked, dilated eyes. Harry's scar had actually burst and blood poured freely from it, spilling over the boy's face.

"Oh Christ, Harry!"

Ron threw the covers off Harry's writhing body and scooped him up, staggering across the room and down the stairs with his friend in his arms.

"Please, stop screaming," Ron pleaded. "I just need to get you to the hospital wing..."

The redhead pushed out into the corridor at a staggering run, fingers digging into Harry's arm and leg as he strove to hold onto the struggling boy. It seemed to take an incredibly short time to reach the door of the hospital wing, but it was still too long for Ron. His lungs and arms burned and his legs shook like jelly.

"You're getting fat," he accused Harry irrationally. "I swear you were never this heavy." He crashed his elbow against the hospital wing door.

"Madam Pomfrey!" he cried. "Please help me..."

Poppy started from her slumber at a loud banging and sat up in bed, straightening her hairnet before running to open the door.

"Mr. Weasley!" she gasped. "Mr. Potter!" The old medi-witch ushered the tall redhead and his burden to a bed and helped to put the still-writhing Harry on top of it.

"What happened?" she asked.

"He was screaming and rolling around... I think he was having another dream," Ron confided in a whisper.

Poppy looked up at him, raising her brows. "Well, I'll get something to calm him down. Thank you for bringing him, but you should go back to bed now." She crossed to a glass cabinet and began rifling through it.

Ron nodded blankly, pushing the hair back off Harry's bleeding forehead. "See you tomorrow, mate," he said distantly, walking slowly out.

At the other end of the room, Draco stirred. "What the hell's that?" he murmured, swinging his legs out of bed and standing up.

"Draco, would you please go back to bed," Poppy called. She hesitated. "Actually, I think I need to go and see the headmaster. Would you make sure nothing happens to Mr. Potter while I'm gone?"

Draco's mouth dropped open. "That's not fair! Just because you're going senile, you old bag." He stormed over to Harry's bed in a grand sulk, but froze when he saw the boy.

"God, you look awful," he said generously, poking Harry to see if he moved. "Hello-o-o?"

"Draco, please," Poppy said with a sigh, turning to look at him. "This might be life or death. I need to know if I should let him sleep or wake him up."

She pulled a dusky pink dressing gown around her and swirled out of the room. Still muttering, Draco sat on the end of Harry's bed. He tilted his head to the side and gazed at the Gryffindor. Of their own accord, his fingers reached out to trace the indigo shadows beneath Harry's eyes and smooth the blood from his forehead.

"Are you alright?" Draco whispered. It hardly seemed important that Harry could not hear him.

Harry's head turned onto its side and his mouth opened slightly.

Then suddenly there was something there. Hands were easing the pain on his forehead, wiping away the pressure from his scar. He reached up a hand, clasping the fingers in his weakly.

Draco jumped as Harry gripped his hand.

"You awake, Potter? You're bleeding," he told him helpfully. 'Please let go of my hand.'

Harry's head fell back to the side and his hand went limp.

Draco had turned away and settled to humming 'Too Funky' when Harry started yelling then stopped in a gurgle of pain and surprise. The Malfoy boy turned around sharply, tipping Harry's head sideways and rolling his body over. Trembling fingers snatched Harry's wrist and checked the pulse. It was racing and skipping, jumping about.

"Potter!" Draco cried, vaulting over him and dropping to his knees on the floor, looking into Harry's face. Draco made sure that his mouth was clear and pulled his eyelids back. Potter's eyeballs rolled madly.

"Harry!" Draco cried, clutching the boy's wrist desperately, the pulse flittering beneath his fingers.

"Don't... stop... Draco... Hermione Ron... Sirius I'm sorry... Dumbledore... I didn't want to... I don't want to go... Don't stop loving me..." he mumbled through thick lips, turning his head from side to side frantically.

"Potter... Harry... You, please stop this," Draco pleaded, brows knitting in a panicked frown. He put his shaking hand to Harry's cheek. "I'm here, it's okay."

There was that cool touch again, the one that helped him; took the pain away. His eyelids flickered and opened slowly, blearily. He couldn't see anything, where were his glasses? He saw the owner of the touch and reached a hand out slowly, his fingertips just brushing the skin before his hand fell limp and eyes slipped closed. "Don't stop," he whispered quietly, leaning into the touch as he fell asleep.

A shiver ran down Draco's spine, goosebumps rippling over his skin. His eyes narrowed slightly and he settled down with his back against the cabinet, making sure that his palm still rested against Harry's cheek and his fingers still held his wrist.