Rematch

Chapter Four

The wind swirled around him, stirring litter, pigeons and dust from the paved square. Draco tipped his head back, squinting against the iridescent brightness of the cloud-covered, pure white sky. He pushed his hands deeper into the pockets of his leather jacket.

Few people wandered through that square in Central London. It was cold, windy, miserable. Some sort of urban wasteland. Draco checked the pocket of his white hooded top, worn under his jacket, for a copy of the note he had sent. It said everything it needed to say. Its recipient would know that this was important.

Leaning down to scratch a spot of mud off his dark jeans, Draco felt the tightness in his back, only healed last night by Madam Pomfrey. Unprompted, his mind relived the sensation of Harry's hands tracing his spine. Draco closed his eyes, sighing heavily. He hooked his hair behind his ears, but since he had had it cut recently, it just fell back in again, strands billowing about in the arid wind. He kicked the floor with his trainer, pacing just for something to do, waiting. He whistled softly to himself.

Alexei wasn't sure it was Draco at first; the boy seemed to have changed a lot since his nineteenth party. "Draco!" he called heartily, seemingly appearing from no where to greet his old friend.

He was dressed in a clean and neatly pressed black suit, with a dark blue shirt underneath with a white collar. A white silk tie completed the look. He had obviously been to a meeting so was, for once, sober. "Wie geht es Ihnen?"

"Sehr shitty," Draco said, taking his hands from his pockets and walking over to Alexei. "Sehr shitty indeed." He put his arms around his friend, embracing him tightly. "I need somewhere to stay. I'll explain later."

Alexei nodded, studying Draco closely. "Then to the Mansion we shall go," he said, placing a hand on Draco's shoulder and leading him to an alley they could Apparate from.

Once they stood in the hallway of Alexei's extensive wing of his parents' mansion, Draco felt safe. He breathed a long sigh of relief.

"Oh Merlin, Lex, I'm in so much shit."

"Wait," Alexei commanded, holding up a hand. "I need to be pissed before I sit through anything as long as that meeting."

"It's not a long list, but it's a fairly large one... if that makes sense." Draco sighed. "I don't want to be pissed; I think enough's gone wrong without a hangover."

Alexei nodded then led Draco into a wide, spacious living room of sorts. He crouched down by a cabinet to flick a door open and pulled a bottle out, placing it to his lips and taking a long swing, downing all the contents in one.

"Das will do for now," he said, standing up and putting his hands into the pockets of his pants, his open jacket sticking out behind them.

"Talk."

Draco slumped on a sofa, lengthways, with his head on the seat and his feet crossed on the arm.

"Well, among other things, I've clearly run away from school," he started. "It's a long, long story. I recommend sitting down."

Alexei pulled his jacket off, throwing it onto the back of his sofa before sitting down luxuriously and crossing one leg so the ankle was resting on the knee of the other. He rested his arms on the chair arms and reached for a glass of wine on a desk next to him.

"Ja. I can see that, Draco."

"I have a habit of stating the obvious," Draco admitted. "Harry and I have had a falling out, to put it lightly. Basically, it all starts with me 'dying'. Before I was taken away, I was sure Harry was dead too. He was just in a coma, it seems. When he woke up, they told him I was dead and stuck him in a mental institute, because he refused to believe them. Where I was kept, I had no news, no night, no day, hardly any food. I suffered the same as he did, thinking that he was gone, that I had lost him. Blaise - he's there - came and released me, said that I had to get out of there otherwise I would be killed.

"So I did. I went. You know this bit, though. I came to you, you told me that Harry was still alive, and between us we got his aunt and uncle's address."

Alexei nodded, motioning with the hand holding the wine glass for Draco to carry on.

"When I got there, he ignored me. Just... ignored me. I had to wave a hand in front of his face before he reacted at all. Then..." Draco's voice cracked. "Then he told me to get out of his fucking head, that I was dead. Fucking hell." He sat up, bending forward to cradle his head in his hands.

Alexei nodded and swirled the amber liquid in his wine glass around. "Hmm, it was probably the shock," he said thoughtfully. "Please, carry on, Draco," he urged.

Draco nodded, spinning to put his back to the cushions and sitting cross-legged on the sofa.

"I went to stay with mother, until school started. I didn't want to go. I had a mental fucking breakdown. I spent four days tied up so I wouldn't hurt myself or anyone else." Draco held his arms out, pulling up his sleeves. There were pearlescent gashes across his inner forearms. "Mother realised that I needed some kind of jerk back into reality. She told me that I had to go back to school, no matter what. So I went."

Despite what he had said earlier, Draco crawled forwards slightly, without taking his legs from the sofa, reaching for the bottle and drinking straight from it. Taking strength from this, he carried on.

"I'm meant to be dead," he said, taking his leather coat off and pulling his hands up into the sleeves of his white sweater. "Everyone thought I was dead, so the moment they found out I was alive and going back to school, they – the reporters – started camping at the station. I was about ten minutes late and pissed off, then Harry ignored me and I ignored him. We've been doing that since, but then he spoke to me a couple of times - apologised, and I threw it back in his face." He drew a long, shuddering breath, gulping more alcohol.

"I was practicing Beating out on the pitch last night, and then my bat broke 'cause I was hitting it too hard, and the Bludger came back at me. I threw myself off the broom backwards, forty feet. When I opened my eyes, he was there. He tried to carry me, but I couldn't bear it. I was horrible to him. Then, things were sort of getting okay, when I realised that I can't... I can't, I won't let myself get into that again." He looked down, hair hanging in his face. He rubbed his thumb across his knuckles, still wrapped in his sleeves.

"I don't know why I'm doing this, why I'm punishing him and myself. I don't understand, but somehow I have to do it. I told him that I didn't want him to come near me again, but when I woke up this morning he was there, sleeping. Watching me sleep." Draco gritted his teeth, snarling sharply as he thought of it. He took another swig, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "So I shouted at him. I pushed him back, I hit him over and beat him into unconsciousness." He gave a snarling growl of self-rage.

"Madam Pomfrey sent me to the headmaster, and I told him to fuck off, and left." Draco looked up desperately. "Help me, Lex. You're the only one left.”

"You told the old fart to fuck off?" Alexei grinned, finishing his wine and placing the glass down. "Nett.” He laced his fingers together and stretched them out before continuing:

"As I see it, you've both been hurt tremendously. I doubt the scars will ever fade, but they're going to stay and be just as painful the more you ignore them. Tell me, after Potter said sorry to you and swallowed his pride, did he seem different?" Alexei raised an eyebrow. "His scars don't hurt as much, but it was a risk doing what he did. In truth, everything lies with you, he's done all he can, and it's up to you to say something to get rid of your scars."

Alexei stood up from his leather armchair smoothly, loosening his tie. "I can't physically do anything at all Draco. You've got to decide whether he's worth it, and I can't do that for you," he said quietly. He walked over to one of the sliding doors. "I'm going to get changed, I'll be back in zwei minuten."

Draco drained the bottle, slumping back. Alexei was right, of course. Why wouldn't he be? "He was sad, sorry, like he was before," he said aloud, essentially to himself. "But he's rejected me. Now I'm rejecting him." He tried to justify it, but it simply didn't work. "Now I'm... now I'm too proud to say that I'm sorry. No, wait. I said I was sorry, four times, but it's not enough. Not after what he did to me. No, he's not getting me back just because I really am sorry. No way." Draco threw himself face down onto the sofa from where he sat. "He can learn to wait."

Alexei reappeared precisely two minutes later as he had said he would, now dressed in low slung dark blue jeans and a black silk shirt. His hair was carefully gelled and he was carrying another wineglass, this time of a blue liquid. "How long are you going to be here for, Draco?" he asked, standing in the room facing the sofa and putting his free hand in a pocket.

"It's what, just October?" he asked, glancing at his watch, not that it helped. "I have a feeling the old fart won't send anyone for you. You can stay till December, and then I'm kicking you out."

"Knew I could count on you," Draco grunted.

"It's Christmas, Draco, and with the amount of parties around then, I can't afford to be mending you." He paused. "Despite the fact only you can mend yourself anyway."

The blue liquid was now finished, and he was looking his usual self, eyes twinkling at a dirty joke most had over looked, his body looking relaxed and a lopsided smile on his face. "Now, we're going to meet up with everyone and get pissed. I don't want you moping around here.

You'll bore yourself to death."

"That would be fun," Draco said, voice muffled by the sofa cushions.

Alexei frowned, finding another bottle and pouring its contents into his glass. Somehow, he knew he was going to have to intervene in this. Draco was too stubborn.

***

'I feel like shit,' were the first words Harry remembered flying through his mind as he awoke in the Hospital Wing, lying on a bed and ... feeling like shit. He groped for his glasses then looked around sleepily, but he did not raise his hopes. Draco wouldn't be here, not after what had happened. He had the feeling he wouldn't be seeing Draco for a while.

"Are you awake, dear?" Madam Pomfrey asked, leaning over. "He didn't hit you too hard. Scratched you a bit." Her voice was tight with disapproval. "I think it was your initial fall that knocked you out."

"Plah," Harry replied, turning onto his side in the bed. He winced as a cut on his cheek came into contact with the rough pillow but stayed in this new position none-the-less. He pulled the cover up to his chin and stared at the window. “Where is he?”

"Mr. Malfoy has left the school," Madam Pomfrey said, sounding as though she thought it was good riddance.

"What? How?" Harry demanded, turning to look at Madame Pomfrey with a lost expression. "Dumbledore didn't stop him?"

"Mr. Malfoy went to the bounds that demanded suspension, anyway. His choice to leave would only have been forced, had Dumbledore persuaded him to stay."

Harry couldn't really say much to that, it made perfect sense. "Have I got any long-term damage?" he asked, rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling and not much caring for the answer. So Draco was gone, he'd actually done what Harry had wanted to do around this time last year. He was probably at the Manor, Harry figured, with his mum doing jack all.

"Nothing physical," Madam Pomfrey sighed, leaving him to his thoughts.

Harry plucked at the covers with his hands, rubbing the fabric between his thumb and forefinger. He had left it all to Draco now, whether they were or they weren't. And while Draco was at home making this choice, Harry was doomed to be stuck in Hogwarts, going to classes with no word or warning as to what was happening. He vaguely wondered what Voldemort could possibly be doing, but he didn't have any ideas. He wondered where Blaise was, as he had been in the Manor also but had not been at school this year, but he didn't know that either. He knew nothing, and it was going to stay that way for a long time.

Ron raised a hand nervously to knock on the door.

"Are you sure this is such a good idea?" he asked Hermione. "I mean... Draco? Last time he buggered off, Harry blew his top. I don't know if..."

Hermione gave him a flat stare. "You're saying, as far as I can deduce, that we should simply leave Harry because Draco did the same?" Her tone was about as warm as an arctic winter.

Ron's ears reddened and he looked at his feet. "Sorry," he mumbled, knocking on the door.

"Come in, you two," Madam Pomfrey said presently, opening the door for them. Ron stepped past her apprehensively, but Hermione strode across to where Harry lay immediately.

Harry was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. He made no move to show he had noticed Ron and Hermione's entrance.

"Good morning Harry!" Hermione said in that bright tone that she reserved especially for Harry's periodic fits of injury and depression.

Harry lifted his head to see Hermione then dropped it back down with a sigh. "Hello."

Ron remained hovering in the background, but Hermione, not to be deterred, pulled up a chair and plonked herself down.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Slightly better than shit. At least the cuts and bruises have gone," Harry replied, pushing himself up in the bed.

"Something almost exactly, but not quite, the opposite of good?" Ron asked, a half-smile crossing his face. He perched on the end of Harry's bed, looking sadly at his friend.

Harry smiled at Ron, then at Hermione. "Thanks, guys."

"Don't mention it," Hermione said, kissing him gently on the top of his head. She sighed. "You're in a bit of a mess lately, aren't you?"

"I always seem to be in one," Harry said bitterly, taking his glasses off to clean them on the blanket.

Hermione and Ron simultaneously restrained comments that it was mostly Draco's fault, both biting their lips.

"I know what you're thinking," Harry said as he slipped on his glasses. "And you're wrong."

Ron looking down, but Hermione shrugged. "Only you can know," she murmured. "We're sorry."

"What for?" Harry asked softly.

"For... I don't know. I think he's been suspended," she said, "on probation, so to speak. One more toe over the line, and they're going to expel him."

Harry nodded. "Madame Pomfrey told me."

"Ah," Hermione said blankly. She clearly had very little else to say. She took in a breath and paused tentatively before speaking.

"Maybe it would do you good... to be without him, you know," she suggested quietly. Ron pretended not to listen. "If you know that he's alright, then you don't have to worry. He's not doing you any good..."

Harry, for his part, managed to do a brilliant job of staying calm as he stared at his hands. "It's not that easy. I can't just forget him like that, it's not that easy."

"But maybe it would help you if you tried," Hermione offered. "I don't know. I care about him too, but he's not doing you any good right now. He's not right in the head." She lowered her voice to a whisper for the last five words, as though Draco himself might hear them. "He needs help."

Harry clenched his hands into fists in the blanket, twisting it between them. "He's perfectly fine," he ground out.

"Harry! Look what he did to you! That doesn't seem like fine to me!" she shrilled.

"Harry," Ron started slowly.

"And what did he do to me, Hermione? How do you know there wasn't a perfectly good reason for him to do it?" Harry demanded, his eyes darkening. "There are other ways to be hurt, how do you know I haven't hurt him so much it pushed him to do that!?"

"In that case maybe he needs to get away from you!" Hermione snapped, cheeks flushed. She stood up, clenching her hands. "You're not doing each other any favours like this."

"Well what should we do then?" Harry shot back, pulling off the trademarked Malfoy glare.

"Get some distance," Ron suggested, watching as Hermione stormed away. "I don't know why she's so worked up about it, but either you and him need to be tied on opposite sides of a room to shout it out until you can talk civilly, or you need to keep away from each other."

Harry paused for a second. "I didn't know you knew, how did you... Hermione!" Harry turned his glare to her. "I bloody told you not to tell anyone! Urgh. I can't believe you."

Hermione's answer was the sound of the door slamming.

"I'm sorry, Harry, but I'm not as bothered as I thought I'd be," Ron half-smiled. "I'm here to help, mate. Might not have much advice on pulling blokes, but I'll do my best..." His eyes widened. "Uh... Not like that... Erm..."

Harry's eyebrows shot up and he stared at Ron for a good five minutes before dissolving into laughter.

Ron shoved him, ears a fiery red. He folded his arms across his chest. "Oh bloody ha, ha," he snapped sourly.

Harry finally calmed down enough to look Ron in the eye. "Oh come off it," he grinned loosening his grip on the cover. "It was funny." He glanced around the room for a second. "I feel like discharging myself, see my clothes anywhere?" he asked.

"Bollocks to that," Ron laughed. "Ah, well, if that's how you want to play it. I'll be right back." He hopped to his feet and jogged out.

***

As he strolled down the corridor to the Gryffindor House with Ron by his side, Harry felt more at home than he had done in years, and all it had come from Ron's acceptance.

"Hello, Harry dear, haven't seen you in a while," the Fat Lady greeted, nodding her head to him. "Hello Ron, how's the Head Boy job coming?"

"Not too bad, lots to deal with," Ron shrugged. "Mainly old Harry's love life. I'm being called to a meeting regarding the fate of that certain someone," he added in an undertone to Harry.

"Ouch," Harry replied, bending down to tie his shoelace. "Uh, I don't know the password. Ron?"

"Fane," Ron said, holding the portrait wide to wait for Harry. "I don't know what I think about it, really."

"I don't think it was that serious," Harry replied, standing up and joining Ron by the entrance. "But that could just be me."

He stepped through the portrait hole and walked out into the Common Room, blinking at the harsh red he would need to get used to again.

"He's done a lot of things over the years that people have chosen to ignore, rather like you. Thing is, you're the golden boy, and he's not." Ron sighed. "Not really fair."

"Things rarely are when love gets involved," Harry said quietly, more to himself than anyone. As he looked up he encountered wide brown eyes. "Hey, Ginny."

"Harry," she greeted with a smile. "How are you?"

"Love sucks," Ron agreed.

"I'm getting better," Harry replied off-handedly.

Ginny raised an eyebrow to Ron and gave him a thoughtful look. "Is there something my big brother isn't telling me?" she asked sweetly.

"Probably," Ron grunted, turning his back.

Ginny opened her mouth to say something but Harry shook his head, giving Ginny a meaningful glance. With a frown, she turned and walked off to join Dean and Seamus.

Harry placed a hand on Ron's shoulder comfortingly. "You OK?"

"A little fucked up, but aren't we all?" Ron sighed. "Look, are you OK about him?"

Harry diverted his eyes. "If anything, I believe in his judgment."

"What, to bugger off and leave you?" Ron sounded a little angry. "Look, I don't know much about you two, but I know that that's something you just don't fucking do, mate."

"Ron, it's complicated and it's not like he had a fucking choice now, is it?" Harry snapped, suddenly infuriated that no one could just accept it and not ask questions. "Look, he was presumed dead somewhere, and when he came back I rejected him, I was cruel to him, I probably shattered him inside when he'd been through enough already. I deserve whatever I get."

Harry turned, dropping his hand to his side and staring at the wall.

Ron shrugged, awkwardly embracing Harry's shoulders before backing away.

"If there's anything I can do..."

Harry glanced around the Common Room where people were trying - and failing - not to look at himself and Ron. "How about not hug me in public?" he grinned.

"Oh just ‘cause you're fucking homosexual!" Ron protested, blushing furiously.

"Bisexual," Harry corrected, moving to walk over to a chair which was empty near Dean and Seamus' violent game of chess.

"What the fuck ever," Ron snapped, but he grinned.

"Take that, you monkeybuttfaced pile of... Hey guys," Dean said, waving a bishop at them.

"Ha, HA!" Seamus yelled in triumph. "Take that you stinking cheat!"

He waved at Harry and Ron whilst grinning manically at the fact one of Dean's castles was being beaten to a pulp.

Dean grunted, slumping back.

"Queen to E6," Ron suggested. Dean frowned at him, and then shrugged.

"What he said," he told the little chess piece. It slid forwards, head butting Seamus' knight off the board.

"No fair!" Seamus protested, grumbling as his knight fell to the floor. "Cheater! You're not allowed to use the best player in Hogwarts History! That's just not fair."

Harry laughed, slumping into the seat facing them. "Admit it Seamus, you want Ron’s help too."

"Hell yes," Seamus beamed.

Ron blushed and shrugged. "I..."

"Shut up, don't help him, he's a faggot," Dean recommended. "Unless you tell him stuff that's stupid."

"I'm not a faggot," Seamus snapped, prodding one of his pieces to move a square. "At least I didn't imagine a meeting with Harry last year."

Harry blinked. "A what with me?" He vaguely remembered coming back from Alexei's party, and Dean talking to him about something he couldn't remember. "Oh... yeah. What was that about?"

"I spoke to you!" Dean insisted. "I really did. You seemed a little off, but I swear I spoke to you."

"You couldn't have, I was out that night with..." Harry trailed off. "At a party."

Seamus grinned, forgetting the chess game momentarily. "With whom, Harry?" he cooed.

Ron coughed. Dean slammed the chess piece down.

"I spoke to you! I'm not fucking cracked; I know I spoke to you. You told me you weren't going to the party."

Seamus looked slightly startled at Dean's reaction. "You're not cracked, that chess piece is," he said slowly, motioning to the chess piece Dean had slammed down.

Harry visibly recoiled. "I'm sorry, Dean, I don't remember having a conversation, but I do remember the party."

Dean shook his head. "Something weird's going on," he said slowly, tapping his wand against the chess piece, once he had retrieved it from between the sofa cushions. It melded back together again, as good as new. Dean set it down more carefully.

"Harry, I swear I spoke to either you or someone who looked like you. I don't know what that means, though."

Ron looked up at Harry. "Polyjuice? But why?"

Harry looked at Ron blankly and shrugged.

"He's the fucking Boy-who-lived?" Seamus offered unhelpfully.

"Fucking being the operative word," Hermione snapped maliciously, appearing behind them. "It was written all over your face." She snatched up a heavy book and stormed out again.

"What's with her?" Ron frowned, but he looked curiously at Harry.

Harry frowned, his face darkening. "Just ignore her," he snapped irritably, adding "bitch" under his breath.

"Fucking, eh?" Dean looked interested. "Fucking whom, what, how, when and where?"

Harry stood up angrily, tensing his fists by his sides. "You can all fuck off," he ground out before turning and storming to the boys’ dorms.

"What did we say?" Dean asked, looking around him for backup.

Seamus started laughing. "Either someone's still a virgin, or lost his virginity by accident."

"Accident?" Ron frowned. "Hell, it'd be great to lose it by accident, but I thought guys sorta had..." He paled, and then flushed. "He didn't," he breathed incredulously.

"He didn't lose it?" Seamus asked, obviously assuming that if anyone would have known, it would have been Ron. "Oh, well."

He turned back to the chess game and began hacking Dean's pieces apart with his King.

Ron sank to sit on the arm of Dean's chair. "I can't believe him," he murmured.

"Can't believe what?" Dean asked mildly.

Ron jumped. "Oh, nothing..."

Seamus raised an eyebrow but let it drop, concentrating on the game. "Take that Mr.-I'm-better-than-you-at-Transfiguration!"

"Piss off," Dean suggested.

Ron's thoughts drifted away from the game. Hermione would know, of course. Girlish intuition or whatever that might be. Draco and Harry? Sex? Ron's firmly heterosexual and Draco-disliking mind recoiled from it. Would Harry do that?

Ron shook his head. He barely knew Harry anymore. They may have been friends for six years and more, but all he really knew about Harry now could be written on the back of a postage stamp with space for a few of St. Paul's letters to the Corinthians. It was not an inspiring thought, and Ron sighed heavily. He could almost physically feel his best friend slipping through his fingers, and Draco was there, in the very teeth of the pit, dragging Harry down.

"Cheer the fuck up," Dean said, punching Ron in the ribs and winding him. "Screw this game; let's go to the Hog's Head."

Seamus stood up quickly, accidentally knocking the chess game and all its pieces to the floor. "Sounds like a plan, Dean my man." He paused. "Do we take Harry?"

"Go and get him," Dean told Seamus. "He needs booze."

"Will do," Seamus replied, darting up the stairs to find Harry stood in the middle of the room with his arms around himself. "Uh, Harry, are you OK?" he asked tentatively.

Harry glanced over his shoulder at Seamus and smiled sadly. "Ever had the world pulled out from beneath your feet? That you're given fame you don't want, and fall for people you shouldn't?"

Seamus shook his head. "Can't say I have, Harry mate."

Harry laughed slightly turning to stare at the floor. "I know. It's all been dumped on me."

Seamus strode forward, wrapping an arm around Harry's shoulders. "You need to be pissed, now, and forget everything."

"Do I have a choice?"

"Hell no. March your firm Seeker butt down them stairs now!" Seamus ordered, pushing him down them and following.

"Seamus?" Dean demanded. "Firm Seeker butts, is it? Do we have to worry about you too?"

"Hey!" Seamus protested. "I got it off Parvati and Lavender, you know as well as I do they always go on about his arse."

Harry ducked his head, looking away so they wouldn't see his blush.

"He has a perfectly serviceable arse, as do the rest of us," Dean said sagely. "Made for sitting on and photocopying. Hurry up and get your cloaks," he told them, swinging his own around his shoulders. "I'm thirsty."

Seamus shrugged, pulling his off the back of the sofa. Harry ran back up to the dorms and handed Ron's to him wordlessly while slipping on his own.

"Where're we going anyway?" he asked.

"Hog's Head, probably," Dean said. "Unless anyone has any better ideas." He looked around him to see if this was the case.

"Hog's Head's fine by me," Ron shrugged.

"Fine by me," Harry replied, walking over to the portrait.

"Whatever you say, Cap'n," Seamus added, bowing to Dean.

Ron looked about him, waiting for everyone to leave before stepping through the hole in the wall. Things were getting way beyond his understanding now, and the time was rapidly coming when he ceased to accept things without knowing what was going on. Something had to be done.