Eclipse

Laughing in a crown of jewels,

Numbness from a scepter's wound.

Toss and turn, I spin and learn,

"Catch yourself before you burn."

A joker's dance before the king,

Jangling beads, and silver rings.

Close your eyes and bare the sound,

Jumping up - falling down.

(~Indigo Girls)

Chapter 4

Burden of Duty

The glistening toes of a pair of black boots appeared under the hem of the robes swishing steadily down the stairs, followed by scale-like hands grasping the banisters, and a cold, serpentine face which sent a repulsive wave of fear through Draco's stomach. Draco jumped out of his chair. It simply would not do to be caught sitting in the presence of such a powerful wizard. The air crackled with invisible ripples of dark energy, and Draco could feel the hairs along his arms standing on end in response. Add another thing to the list of new and disturbing things he had experienced in the past few hours. As Lord Voldemort passed him, he pressed his back against the wall and bowed his head in a gesture of humility.

In the cell, Potter was staggering to his feet. His face was screwed up into a parody of pain as though something was blinding him. Draco guessed that it must be the scar causing that reaction. Instead of shrinking back to the far corner of the wall, however, Potter took a step towards the cell bars. He got no further though.

Lips pulling back in a perverse sort of grin, Voldemort pulled his wand from his robes and pointed it at the captive. "Prohibito!"

As though swept aside by an enormous hand, Potter went flying towards the back wall of the cell, and landed against it with a heavy thud, spread-eagled. The manacles dangling there jumped to life, snapping themselves around his wrists and ankles. As he struggled against his restraints, the chains retracted into the wall, securing him firmly in place. With another casual wave of his wand, Voldemort sent a thick band of cloth wrapping around Potter's mouth, effectively gagging the boy.

He tucked the wand back into his robes. "Malfoy, unlock the cell." Voldemort's voice dug sharply into Draco's ears, both thrillingly terrifying and powerful at once. He turned automatically to remove the key from the shelf, but found his father had already done so. Lucius did not look at Draco once as he moved to the lock and turned the key. He bowed deeply as Voldemort walked passed him into the cell.

The Dark Lord moved up to Potter as a spider approaching a gnat caught in its web. "Mister Potter. So good of you to join us for this occasion." The voice was dark, sibilant, and held no trace of mercy. It was easy to see just how powerful the Dark Lord was. Now Draco understood exactly why his father had chosen service to such power.

Although restrained, Potter was doing an excellent job of showing precisely how pleased he was to be there. He strained against the metal cuffs, and Draco could see the blunt edges cutting into the skin on his wrists. Writhing frantically, his eyes flashed with defiance, pain, contempt, and pure unadulterated hatred. His expression now made the looks he'd given Draco over the years seem almost affectionate. Draco wondered just how securely the manacles were attached to the stone wall.

"Come now, Potter. This will be a glorious event. You should be honored to have a part." Voldemort began walking back and forth slowly in front of the struggling boy; a controlled pacing, that of a giant black cat toying with a half dead mouse for amusement.

Draco snuck a sideways glace at his father. Lucius was standing still as a sentinel, observing the occupants of the cell with detached attention. Draco swallowed and pulled himself up a bit straighter in imitation of his father. In the cell, Voldemort continued his monologue.

"Dumbledore was probably foolish enough to presume some sort of triumph that night you escaped for the final time. Your temporary escape was nothing more than a disguised gift to me. At that juncture, I was merely redrawing, and regaining my body and most of my power was a sufficient goal. I would have killed you and been done with it. However, once I had my body and my loyal Death Eaters returned to me, I could bide my time."

He stopped pacing in front of Potter and took a step towards the boy. Beads of sweat started to form on Potter's face and his glasses slid to the end of his nose.

"You took something from me. Power. I am well aware that you are a powerful wizard, but much of that ability does not belong to you. Now, I shall have it back." He reached up with one hand, extended a long finger, and pressed it against Harry's scar.

Eyelids squeezed shut over brilliant green irises, and Potter's body went completely rigid under the restraints. His teeth bit down on the cloth gag, and the muscles of his jaw bunched and strained. Still, he didn't make a sound.

Draco's amused smirk fell into a startled frown. He had known Potter's scar had some strange connection to Voldemort, because it had caused episodes of a sort at school, but he had been totally unaware that it was so significant. The Dark Lord watched the scrawny boy's obvious suffering with casual satisfaction, creating a stark contrast between himself and his struggling captive. It was an unnerving display to watch, to say the least.

Finally, Voldemort pulled his hand away. Harry sagged against the wall, breathing heavily. His face was an unhealthy grey, the scar burning a vivid slash of acid colour against the pallor of his skin. After a few bracing breaths, he straightened his back and resumed his struggle against the restraints, although it seemed to Draco that something of the boy's energy had been irretrievably spent. Still, the defiance burned brightly behind his eyes.

The Dark Lord resumed his slow march back and forth across the cell as though nothing had happened. "In twenty days, there will be a full lunar eclipse. Such astrological events are times of high magic. I discovered an ancient spell used by warlords and wizards of the past to absorb the powers of their enemies. The spell centers on the magic released by the eclipse and a potion using your blood. How very entertaining this is for me, Potter. You shall be bleeding for my pleasure yet again."

Harry made another violent lunge against his restraints, and Voldemort laughed at him. A high, echoing, shrieking noise; not the pleasant thing a laugh should be. It sent sharp, icy chills along Draco's spine, and he felt himself shrinking further against the wall, desperately seeking comfort and protection from the inanimate thing.

Voldemort continued his sermon, enjoying the opportunity to gloat in the face of his enemy, milking every drop of pleasure from watching Harry writhe and struggle, with the successful promise of his vendetta finally close at hand. "On the night of the eclipse, I shall consume the potion. As the light begins to bleed away from the moon, your magic and your life shall begin to bleed away from your body. As the darkness grows, my power shall grow with it until the moon fades from the night sky." He spun around to face Potter, his cloak billowing. The Dark Lord certainly had a flair for the dramatic.

The face before Harry pulled up into a tight sneer. "When the last of the light is gone you will die, and my power will be fully restored. It's almost poetic in its simplicity." The sneer changed into a hideous excuse for a smile. More a grimace of vicarious pleasure. "I will enjoy watching you die. I have certainly waited long enough."

A low growl began in Harry's throat.

"With the power I will have retrieved from you, I will be unstoppable. Now, being unstoppable, what would I want to do first?" His tone was singsong, taunting his helpless captive. Harry's growl grew a bit louder.

Voldemort laughed again, a sound that simultaneously caused Draco to cower more closely against the wall, and spurred Harry into a more heated fury. "I will take my Death Eaters and I will destroy Hogwarts."

Harry's eyes went wide and he shrank back, hanging there in shock momentarily, before regaining his equilibrium and lunging forward again, thrashing and straining with renewed rage.

"Oh yes, Potter, it's my personal gift to you. Hogwarts will fall; every last brick. And every last Mudblood. Just think, you've made it all possible." That awful smile cracked his face open again for a split second.

The growl in Harry's throat became a muffled wail of despair, and if it was possible, the violence of his thrashing only increased. Draco could see a bit of blood starting to seep around the edges of the manacles. He watched it with a sort of morbid curiosity. It was better than focusing on the Dark Lord, after all.

Voldemort took another step towards Potter, closing ground to step inside Harry's personal space. "Don't be so upset," he mocked. "At least you'll be with your filthy little Mudblood friends and parents. Yes, your parents. Now you know their sacrifice was in vain. The fools they were. Wasteful, powerless, fools..."

Fighting against his gag, Potter managed to bark out two sharp syllables, and Draco was quite certain they weren't, "thank you."

"You still haven't learned any manners, boy," Voldemort spat, whipping his wand from his robes. "CRUCIO!"

Harry's back arched sharply with the pain lashing through him, throwing his head back against the wall with a crack, but that was the least violent part of the spectacle. The muscles along the sides of his slender neck bulged unnaturally and his hands contorted like grotesque claws, grasping desperately for support. Every limb began to shake as though pulled by invisible strings, heaving and lurching as spasms passed through them. Like some bizarre puppet, Harry danced in his restraints. Sweat soaked his hair, which was plastered to his forehead and neck in dark clumps, and his glassed flew off from the convulsions. Through all of it, his mouth was pulled open as though screaming, but not a sound escaped his lips.

And Draco watched in horror.

The Dark Lord laughed again, that high shriek echoing through Draco worse than before as the display continued. Seconds stretched into minutes. When it finally seemed as though Harry should have died, Voldemort turned his wand away. The boy's body seemed terribly frail as it collapsed limp against the wall, seeming like a broken shell of a human, where only minutes ago he had been blazingly alive, raging with a strange fire. Now, not a muscle twitched. The Dark Lord nodded in satisfaction. "Perhaps now you'll learn to keep a civil tongue in your head."

With that, he whipped around and strode from the cell, pausing again once outside it. Lucius automatically locked the door behind him, not that Harry could have gone anywhere.

Draco swallowed convulsively and pulled himself as straight as he could stand. Suddenly, the idea of being honoured by Lord Voldemort seemed to be much more intimidating. He took a steadying breath. This was what he'd always wanted. This was his time to be acknowledged. Potter had only gotten what he had long deserved, and Draco was soon to receive his glorious due.

Voldemort approached him and looked down his nose at his newest servant. Draco bowed his head in respect, knowing better than to look up into the Dark Lord's face. His stomach tried to lurch in its place, but Draco forced it to lie still.

"Young Malfoy," Voldemort began slowly, as if appraising the reactions of this boy who seemed slightly too childish and innocent to be worthy of the Dark Lord's praise. "You've accomplished a task which has will eventually restore my full power. For that, you shall be rewarded. The Malfoy name has long been in my service, and you have served to increase its honour by a quite considerable magnitude."

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco was watching Harry's wilted form, searching for some sign of life. Realizing what he was doing, he mentally slapped himself. Was he insane? Lord Voldemort himself was addressing him, and he was too busy watching his sworn enemy to care. He squeezed his eyes shut and refocused on the words of his future master. Then he opened them again, and stared intently at the shiny black boots poking out from under the bottom of Voldemort's robes.

"When Potter is dead, you will be inducted into the ranks of my loyal Death Eaters in acknowledgement of your contribution. You will be the youngest Death Eater in my service. I was hesitant to consider it when your father originally made the request, but you seem to have proven yourself worthy of further consideration." His voice dropped a level. "Be certain that my confidence is not misplaced." The unvoiced threat hovered ominously in the air.

Draco realized he was expected to respond. Without lifting his head, he said as clearly as he could, "Yes, my Lord."

This seemed to please the Dark Lord well enough. The robes whirled as Voldemort turned away. Draco raised his head and watched as he half marched, half glided towards the dungeon stairs. Lucius nodded at Draco in approval, handing him the key to the cell as he fell into step behind his master.

Without looking back, Voldemort pulled out his wand and waved it lazily over his shoulder. In his cell, the restraints around Harry's wrists and ankles dropped away, the gag disappeared, and the apparently lifeless boy collapsed to the ground. Draco listened as the footsteps of Voldemort and his father faded away, disappearing as the dungeon door slammed shut behind them.

Draco stared at the limp figure sprawled face down on the floor, and began slowly walking towards the bars with obvious trepidation. Potter had stood up to Lord Voldemort. Even bound and gagged, he had actually looked Voldemort in the eye and defied him. Of course, it had done him no good. What good could it do? Voldemort was the more powerful wizard, much more powerful. Potter deserved what he got. You don't go up against the most powerful wizard of the age and not expect to come out on the bottom. He deserved no better. He deserved...

Draco reached the door of the cell. Biting his lower lip, he sucked in a deep breath, caught in a moment of indecision.

Glancing down, he stared at the key in the palm of his shaking hand, and he tossed it up into the air nervously a couple of times. Draco had known the boy was a high-security prisoner because of how badly the Dark Lord had wanted him, but it never struck him that Potter was actually a threat... until now.

With a shock, Draco realized that he had just admitted to himself just how powerful Potter really was. More than enough to stand up to Draco, Harry Potter actually did have the strength to stand up to Voldemort. He had always known it was true, somewhere in the back of his mind, but it's never something you want to admit to yourself about your rival. The implications of such an admission were just as undesirable. Power... the boy, lying face-down inside the cell, had it. Certainly he was no match for the Dark Lord, but still, there was power in him. As Draco's well-conditioned mindset demanded, it was a thing of value which required him to be respected or feared. In Potter's case, Draco wasn't sure which idea scared him more, but both thoughts were already brewing in his mind.

He felt himself being pulled harshly in two directions. For the first time in years, Draco's emotional reactions were ricocheting off the walls and ceilings without asking his permission. Half of him was screaming that he had to see for himself if Potter was alive, to make certain he would survive, while the other half wanted to cower as far away as possible to brood on the demonstration of force he had just witnessed. The most unsettling part of this was that neither pull was something he had ever wanted to feel. Simultaneous fear for Potter, and fear of Potter.

He needed an answer aside from his emotions, utterly unreliable as they were at moment. He took a deep breath. It was his job to keep Potter secure for the Dark Lord. That also meant he had to make sure Potter was alive, right? He was no use dead, after all.

The trembling in his hands almost made him drop the key as he slid it into the lock. The mechanism caught with a clink and the door swung open. Draco approached the motionless form warily. Potter was lying face-down, but his head was turned to the side just enough for Draco to see the hollow of the cheekbone, the gentle curve of his jaw line, the faint indentation from the earpiece of his missing glasses. What he couldn't see was any sign of life. The fear of a potential threat vanished, leaving nothing but the wrenching anxiety that Harry was dead.

Draco fell to his knees next to the still body and rolled it over. Harry's other cheek was bruised from falling onto the floor and there was a trickle of blood at the corner of his slightly blue lips.

"Damn it, Potter, wake up!" He held his cheek over Harry's mouth and could feel the faintest trace of warm breath against his skin. With his own heartbeat pounding in his ears, he reached down and seized Harry's wrist. The beats were weak, but he was alive.

Draco breathed a sigh of relief, only to sit up in shock at the fact that he was relieved. Why should he care about Potter? Why...? Because Lord Voldemort needs him alive. Draco's future glory depended strictly on Potter's usefulness to the Dark Lord. That was it. Perfectly acceptable.

Keep telling yourself that, whispered a little voice in the back of his mind. Shut up, he snapped.

Pulling a clean handkerchief out of his pocket, Draco aimed his wand at it. "Aquaro." A small jet of water squirted onto the cloth.

Draco leaned over and brushed Potter's sweaty fringe away from his forehead only to recoil in shock. The familiar lightning bolt scar stood out like a fresh, new cut. Had the Cruciatus Curse done that? Draco watched in scant amazement as the edges of the cut slowly melded together and faded into the thin line he remembered.

Tempted by a strange curiosity, Draco reached out to touch it, this legendary scar, and then stopped, inches short. He couldn't understand why, but he somehow felt that to touch it would have been an unforgivable violation. Admonishing himself for even giving a thought to the issue, he quickly pressed the cloth across Potter's forehead again, covering the scar completely.

Harry was lying back in a thick patch of grass, wet with the nighttime dew. He could feel the cool breeze across his skin; hear the trees rustling . . . see Draco Malfoy's face leaning over his, worry creasing his features into a deep frown. Why was Malfoy worried? In the sky, over the other boy's shoulder, the moon was full, brightly illuminating the night sky. No, no... it wasn't full. There was a small bite out of the lower edge... then a larger bite. In the fading light, he could make out the worry on Malfoy's face turning into pain, and it seemed as though he were about to cry, or break into two. It wasn't just the light fading away. Harry felt as though he were fading away with it. As the dream dissolved, he felt Malfoy's hand cupped against his cheek . . .

A cool pressure against his forehead pulled him fully away from the dream. It was a pleasant contrast to the burning pain that was flooding the rest of his body. His confused brain was asking questions again, but he couldn't quite reach the answers. Where was he? It was so hard to remember through the pain. How did he pass out? Where did all this pain come from? Then it came back to him, and he almost wished that it hadn't. Voldemort. The Cruciatus Curse. How long had Voldemort kept his wand turned on him? It had seemed like an eternity.

Gradually, Harry felt the floor stop tilting beneath his back, and realized that he was barely breathing. He tried to suck in a deep breath, but only succeeded in racking his body with a coughing fit. There was a strange bubbling sensation in his lungs, and a surge of blood into his mouth. Oh wonderful, he thought sardonically.

The wet cloth against his forehead was removed briefly, only to be replaced by something cooler. Something else dabbed at the edge of his mouth. At first, in his disorientation, it hadn't occurred to Harry that there must be another person next to him, but finally the thought broke through the haze around his brain. Malfoy. It could only be Malfoy. There was no one else it could be.

Harry opened his eyes blearily, but even the dim light of the dungeons sent his head spinning. He moaned and squeezed them shut again as the floor rocked underneath him.

"Potter? Snap out of it, Potter." Malfoy's voice was forceful, but with no trace of its usual drawl, and what almost sounded like anxiety.

Harry gave another low moan in response.

"Potter, in the name of Merlin, wake up!" That was an order, pushy to be sure, but it still wasn't the drawl.

More slowly this time, trying to ignore the ache in his skull, Harry pulled his eyes open. Malfoy was leaning over him, his face lined with concern. In itself, that was enough to cause Harry alarm. It shocked him even more when Draco reached up and wiped his face with a damp cloth. Harry opened his mouth to ask just what the hell he was doing when he was shaken by another coughing fit, followed by the heavy metallic flavour of blood at the back of his tongue.

He felt the warm pressure Malfoy's hand against his chest, holding him down. "Lie still. You'll just make it worse."

Too dazed to argue, Harry nodded dumbly, making his head spin again. He closed his eyes and grimaced. Malfoy's hand felt along the back of his head until it came to the spot where he'd cracked it against the wall. Harry shied away from the touch, not wanting fingers anywhere near the tender area, much less those particular fingers, but Malfoy repeated firmly, "Lie still," and he had no real choice but to obey.

Harry opened his eyes again and watched as Draco pulled out his wand and aimed it at the offending bump. A wave of panic moved through him, as Malfoy muttered something too soft for him to hear, but the pain from the welt actually disappeared, and the foggy ache in his temples faded.

"Where did you learn that?" Harry asked weakly.

"Long story," came the flat reply.

"I'm not going anywhere," came Harry's wry response.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Even when you're half dead, you just can't drop the sarcasm, can you?" He peered down at Harry, and then sighed. "During the summer holidays, I used to come home with bruises after playing outside, father would complain that I looked like a common servant, all battered and bruised. So I learned how to heal them. Happy now?"

Harry tried to shrug, but his shoulder protested and the motion elicited another wet cough, so he settled for twisting his lips. "Do I look like I should be happy?"

Draco ignored the comment. "Sit up now. Otherwise, you'll choke on the blood."

Harry tried to comply, he really did, but halfway up, the blood started to rush from his head. As he fell back, a strong hand caught him firmly between his shoulder blades and held him still until the dizziness had passed. Harry would never have believed that he could feel gratitude towards Draco Malfoy, especially for something that required physical contact, but he was. The other boy's hand was a reassuring sensation, tingling against his back, as though it was also lending him some internal energy and strength as well as physical support. Malfoy gradually pushed him up the rest of the way, and Harry felt the other boy's hand lingering just a brief moment longer than necessary. He sat numbly, not wanting to believe what his brain was telling him.

Was it just the head injury, or was Malfoy treating him like a human being? Helping him even? No. Malfoy didn't want to help him. Malfoy was the reason he was in this mess in the first place. He was only doing this because Voldemort's prize couldn't die on them. He pushed all further thought on the matter out of his mind.

Despite the fact that he was a mess, and nothing he could do would really make any difference, Harry vainly reached around to adjust his robes, to have some semblance of presence in front of Malfoy, but the shifting caused his shoulder to throb even more, and he flinched.

Malfoy's eyebrows knitted together. "Your shoulder." He pointed towards the offending joint.

"What about it?" Harry asked, suddenly defensive. He shrank back, turning his shoulder away from the other boy.

Draco rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Let me see it."

"You're the one who stabbed it in the first place and you seriously expect me to..." Another coughing fit, more blood.

Malfoy scowled, but not at Harry. "We need to do something about that, too."

"State the obvious," Harry said in a rush between laboured breaths.

"God, Potter. Even when someone tries to help you, you've got to be such a stupid prat." Malfoy's voice was edged with frustration.

He reached across for the edge of Potter's robes, only to have his target twist out of his reach yet again. What was the matter with this kid?

Draco took a risk and searched Potter's face for himself. What he saw there was eerily familiar. When you hit an animal once, it never willingly lets you touch it again. It was the look on the house elves' faces whenever he brought back his foot to dole out some discipline. Now, that same mistrust was openly displayed on Potter's face. That was fair, Draco supposed. He had caused the injury. Why should Potter trust him to fix it?

Harry forced his breath to hold steady long enough for him to speak. "Sorry. The whole concept of a Malfoy trying to help me for altruistic reasons is a tough potion to swallow. The only reason you're in here, instead of sitting out there laughing at me, is because I'm no good to you dead."

Draco's eye twitched. Potter was actually remarkably perceptive, when you considered it in terms of direct comparison with the boy's low level of tact, but for some reason everything had sounded very different when his father had said it. "You're no good to yourself dead either."

"It's only a flesh-wound. It's not going to kill me."

Draco frowned. "It's been getting progressively worse since yesterday, and the likelihood is that it's infected. Yes, an infection will kill you quite effectively."

Harry's eyes widened at the blonde boy's words. Had Malfoy been paying enough attention to him to notice that? True, it had been getting worse, and he was probably quite right about the status of the injury, but Harry still didn't want the Slytherin anywhere near his shoulder. Unfortunately, it didn't seem like many other options were open to him. Slowly, tentatively, Harry nodded.

Without another word, Draco eased Harry's arm out of the robes, Harry wincing at the shock the movement caused. Draco paused mid-motion, waiting for the pained expression on Harry's face to fade a little before continuing. He peeled back the collar of Harry's jumper, and as Harry watched, he found himself shocked to note that Malfoy had... impressive hands. Seeker's hands, calloused from holding a broom, but delicate and quick. They looked like his own, although less knobby. The next thing he saw put Malfoy's hands completely out of his thoughts, and nearly made him pass out again.

The wound in his shoulder was an ugly thing, to use a gross understatement. The edges of the open wound were cracked and inflamed, and shocking red lines streaked away from it under his skin as the blood poisoning started to spread. Trails and smudges of dried blood covered the whole area. Harry felt his stomach start to turn and he quickly looked away.

"Biddy!" Malfoy's voice echoed through the dungeons.

A split second later, the house elf appeared. "Master Malfoy, sir!" she squeaked happily. "You is calling Biddy sir? What is Master Malfoy wanting?" Her questions came to an abrupt halt when she saw the look on Draco's face, then turned to see Harry's shoulder. Her huge eyes widened in shock. "Master Malfoy, sir! The prisoner is hurt, sir. Is Biddy to get Senior Master Malfoy?"

"No!" Draco cried a bit too quickly, before reassuming his more usual tones. "No, this is my duty. If father knew that anything had gone wrong, he would be most displeased with me. I can fix this for myself."

The house elf bowed in agreement. "Biddy is not wanting to have gracious Master in trouble, sir. Biddy is keeping Master's secret."

Malfoy nodded. "Good. Now, go to my private potions supply. There's a box labeled 'Medi-Potions.' Fetch it at once."

"Yes sir, Master Malfoy, sir!" She vanished.

The two boys were left in silence. Harry finally broke the standstill. "How long did he have the Cruciatus Curse on me?"

Draco's head snapped up at Harry's voice, and as he considered the question, he couldn't help noting the tone used. Harry spoke of it so casually, when the incident had almost killed him. It would have left most fully grown wizards catatonic. "Two minutes, maybe three." Draco kept his voice flat, neutral.

Harry nodded slowly. "It felt longer than the last time."

"Last time?" Draco's eyes widened just a bit.

"Last time," Harry affirmed. "At the end of the Triwizard Tournament. I suppose your father probably told you that Voldemort had me, and that I was lucky and escaped. I'm surprised he left out the part where he had me tied up and under the Cruciatus Curse."

"You lived through that twice?" Malfoy's voice was skeptical, incredulous, and under that, plainly amazed.

"Yeah, sure. The incredible, unsinkable Harry Potter. You'll have to keep pounding on him, because he just keeps bouncing back." Harry's voice was bitter. "I deserve no better, according to you anyway." Draco couldn't help but hear the bitter challenge in the other boy's voice.

Draco wasn't quite sure how to respond. Of course that was what he thought, and it was true, wasn't it? The prat deserved every bit of torment the Dark Lord had dealt him, and it was now Draco's duty to keep him alive for the next round. There was nothing about being nice in the deal. He would never put his name to a contract like that if it had included such a condition. Still, he felt a need to answer the challenge in Potter's words. "Well, after that performance and all the problems you've caused over the years, how could you expect anything less?" Draco leaned back from his knees and settled himself cross-legged on the floor. "You disrespected the Dark Lord to his face. What kind of a stupid stunt was that?"

Harry was staring poker-faced at the wall ahead of him, unmoving. He lowered his voice, but the bitterness in it only grew deeper. "The kind of stunt you pull when it's the only weapon you have."

Draco furrowed his eyebrows. "Weapon? You don't honestly believe you were fighting back that way? You couldn't move and you couldn't talk. You didn't accomplish anything."

"Perhaps not." His voice lightened somewhat. "But Voldemort got the message loud and clear."

"And what message was that?" Draco tried to inject some haughtiness into his voice to cover his flinching at Voldemort's name.

Harry glanced casually up at Malfoy. The other boy's face was just far enough away that it appeared slightly blurred without his glasses, but Harry could still see that Malfoy was unmistakably confused, and was still shying away from Voldemort's name like a horse bucking in front of a snake. Everyone was afraid of Voldemort it seemed; including those who rode in his wake, struggling for a scrap of that same power, but receiving nothing more than a perpetual cycle of servitude. Even Draco was afraid; Harry was certain of it. Looking up to face the other boy head on, Harry caught the wide, grey pools of Draco's eyes with his own stare, and was slightly surprised when this time Draco didn't look away.

Draco, for his part, was determined not to blink this time.

"The message," Harry said softly, "is that I'm not afraid of him. If I'm going to go down, I'll go down with Voldemort knowing that his never completely defeated me."

"That makes no sense, Potter. If he kills you, obviously, you've lost. It won't matter if you cowered or not. I think you did more damage to your head than I initially thought."

Underneath Malfoy's impassive face, Harry could tell that some part of what he'd said had made sense to the Slytherin, despite Draco's claims to the contrary. Harry shook his head, never taking his eyes from Malfoy's grey ones. "As much as Voldemort wants my life, he wants my fear just as much. Fear is nothing more than a perverse form of respect, and I have no respect for him."

"He's stronger than you, Potter," Draco stated definitively. "More powerful than any other living wizard. That's why anyone with a shred of sense knows better than to cross him. Everyone except you. He'll get exactly what he wants from you; your fear, and your life. He can have anything he wants. That's strength."

Potter shook his head. His voice was still soft, but it was anything but weak. "There's a difference between power and strength Malfoy, but I wouldn't expect you to understand."

Draco's nostrils flared at the insult. "Try me, Potter."

Speaking evenly and rationally, the other boy responded. "It's the difference between forcing people into submission to satisfy your own greed, and being willing to stand on your own two feet, even it you have to sacrifice everything to do it. Power disappears; it has no loyalty, no value. Someone stronger comes along, and it vanishes from you like a puff of smoke. Strength is a virtue, not a prize. It's something nobody can take from you until the moment you die, and I'm not going to let Voldemort take it from me. He can't have power over me if I refuse to fear him. Power and strength are connected, but they aren't the same thing."

Somewhere in the depths of Draco's gut, a tiny shiver began building upwards, climbing through his chest and along his spine. It crept up the back of his neck and over his scalp, making each hair stand on end. Of course he understood every word Potter had said. He wasn't stupid. But then, he wasn't crazy either. It was only natural to fear the Dark Lord. Only those foolish enough to oppose him needed to fear him, and fear him they should. Potter was powerful, yes, Draco had admitted that to himself, but he was no match for the Dark Lord. How could Potter be so brazen?

"Brave words for a dying man."

"You're scared of him."

Draco shrank back. "That's utterly ridiculous, Potter." He tried to sound tough, but knew instinctively he'd failed miserably.

"It's not ridiculous. It's obvious. You won't even say his name out loud."

"Out of respect for him!" Malfoy protested.

"Then why did you flinch when I said Voldemort's name?"

Again, Draco cringed at the sound of the name, unable to stifle his reaction in time. "It's not that! It's just that I..."

"Say it."

"What?" Draco felt his pulse speed up.

"Say his name."

"Potter, you're just digging for trouble now... "

"Voldemort." The intensity in Potter's glare turned up a notch.

"Don't do that." Draco scooted back an inch.

"Voldemort."

"Stop that!"

"Say it!" Harry's voice was unrelenting, but the outburst caused another deep, wet cough, bringing another warm rush of blood to the back of his mouth. He swallowed it, trying to keep his stomach from turning.

This time, Draco was too distracted to notice. "I... I..."

"You can't, can you?" It wasn't a question.

Draco balled his fists and leaned forward. "My father taught me better than to disrespect the Dark Lord."

Harry nodded. "That's because your father is scared of him, too."

"He is not!" Draco shrieked. "My father knows well to pay proper respect where it's due. Someone of the Dark Lord's status has earned that honour."

Potter closed his eyes and took a slow, careful breath. How could he make Draco understand this? It shouldn't matter to him, but for some reason, it did. "Voldemort's followers don't respect him. They fear him, because they know if they cross him, he'll kill them. Your father is more of a servant to Voldemort than Biddy is to you."

Draco's jaw jutted out in indignation, but his words sounded like a plea even to his own ears. The howl of the predator was now the cry of a wounded animal. "The Dark Lord gives his followers pride and honour!"

"No. He only takes it from them. He uses you and your father, he uses everyone. You're worthless to him beyond a point, just like I am."

Draco's face was set in stone, but his eyes were frightened. "No..." he whispered.

"You know it's true. I can see it in your face."

Draco turned away quickly. "Don't do that. Don't look at me like that."

Angry... be angry at Potter. He's just causing trouble, because that's what people like him do. They know nothing about the way anything truly works, about power, about honour, about making a name for your family. He's a Gryffindor for Merlin's sake! Potter's trying to take advantage of the fact that I'm not letting him die. He's jealous. He is going to die at the hand of the Dark Lord, and I will have power and prestige. Voldemort will give me honour! I, the Death Eater who caught Harry Potter, will be one of his most favoured servants!

Servant? No. That's what Potter wants you to think. It's not like that. The Dark Lord's follower. Yes, that's it. His follower. Potter is just playing mind games.

"The Dark Lord's followers will be richly rewarded Potter. You just can't admit that you picked the loosing side." The snarl was back in Draco's voice.

Harry shrugged with his good shoulder. "Believe whatever you want, Malfoy. At least when I die, whether it's sooner or later, I'll know I won't have died anyone's slave."

Potter returned to staring off at the wall, and Draco took the opportunity to search his face. As hard as Potter's expression was, his skin still had a grayish undertone and was coated with sweat and dirt. His lips were a shade too pale, slightly parted, and Draco realized the other boy was still not breathing easily. With the force and conviction behind everything said, Draco had forgotten how terrible Harry's injuries were. Draco almost had to admire the boy... but not quite. Biddy would come back soon. In the meantime...

A wet cloth landed in Harry's lap.

"Wipe your face. It's filthy."

Draco watched as Harry took the cloth in silence and ran it across his cheekbones, wiping carefully around the bruise on one cheek, and over the bridge of his nose. The cloth moved back and forth along his brow, then back through the mess of black hair, pushing the sweaty strands away from his forehead. It continued down to the nape of his neck, and came to rest there. Harry's head bowed slightly, letting drops of water squeeze from the cloth and soak the collar of his robes.

Shifting slightly, the sleeve of the robe fell down his arm towards his elbow. It exposed his slender wrist, which itself was encircled by shocking bands of raw skin, abrasions, and smudges of blood.

Draco blinked in surprise and glanced down at his own wrists. He had delicate skin, and although he hadn't been thrashing about like Potter, the night he had spent chained to the wall had left more than just an emotional scar. On his pale white wrists were the faint brownish smudges where his skin had chafed raw that night and scabbed the next day. Although he prided himself on his elegant appearance, and smooth, aristocratic skin tone, Draco had chosen not to heal these scars with magic. He wanted to be able to carry a reminder of that lesson as long as he lived, so that he would never again find himself in such a position. He'd never considered that it might someday represent common ground between himself, and a prisoner under his control. He didn't like it.

Harry sat still for a moment, then without moving, asked, "What happened to my glasses?"

Although there was no reply, he heard the sound of Malfoy's feet scraping along the floor of the cell, and a moment later the requested pair of glasses were placed neatly in his hand. Harry held them up, squinting through them in the dim light of the dungeons. They weren't too badly scratched, but the earpiece had been bent terribly askew. Harry sighed and shoved them into his breast pocket. He'd try to fix them later. Apparently there would be plenty of time for that.

A loud crack announced Biddy's return. "Master Malfoy, sir, Biddy is finding all of these. Is Master Malfoy needing anything else of Biddy?"

"No, just set the box down there." Malfoy sounded strangely detached.

Glass bottles of all different sizes clinked as Biddy placed the box on the floor. "Yes sir, Master Malfoy, sir!"

"Thank you, Biddy."

The house elf beamed at Malfoy in grateful adoration. "Oh, you is welcomed, sir! Let Biddy know if there is anything Biddy can do to help you, Master Malfoy, sir!" She bowed deeply and vanished.

As Draco began to dig through the box, he caught Potter looking at him again. Potter's eyebrows were raised in mild surprise... and approval. Draco felt a flush of pride wash over his cheeks before he caught himself. He was not looking for Potter's approval, nor did he want it. His father's approval was his goal. Potter was a thing to toy with until the Dark Lord had his way with him. Draco was merely using the opportunity to play head games with Potter, confusing him by thanking the house elf and pretending to be generous. Gryffindors are trusting. Potter would just become more open to future attacks, bait-and-switch. Draco was simply using a new predatory tactic.

Still trying to convince yourself, aren't you? The little voice was back.

I thought I told you to shut up.

He fished a small cobalt bottle out of the box and held it up to the dim light. It was half full. Setting it aside, he found a slightly larger red bottle and checked the label.

Harry watched in curiosity, starting to feel a bit nervous. He made another attempt at a deep breath, only to be rewarded by another bubbly spasm, and knew it would only get worse without help. However, his already shaky faith in Malfoy's medical care practically vanished as the Slytherin pulled off the corks of both bottles and topped off the small blue bottle with the contents of the red one. He handed the blue bottle to Harry. "Drink up."

Harry nearly choked. "You expect me to drink that? What did you mix together?" He knew Malfoy was good with potions, but that seemed too careless.

"The blue bottle is a potion for general lung maladies and breathing trouble; the red bottle is for internal bleeding. Trust me."

Harry gawked. His mind was reeling with a million insolent ways to explain exactly why he shouldn't trust Malfoy, but if he were to speak his thoughts aloud, his chances of receiving any help at all were slim to none. He needed the boy's help, true, but to trust a Malfoy? The person whose hatred for Harry was second only to Voldemort's? The person who had spent every spare moment of the past few years trying to find ways to torment him? The same Malfoy who, just yesterday, had poisoned him and handed him over to Voldemort?

The same person who had flushed with pride at Harry's approval of the way he'd thanked Biddy?

Harry downed the potion in one swallow. It smelled like turpentine and tasted worse, but it took effect almost immediately. Harry sucked in great gulps of air as though he'd just surfaced from too long underwater. The ferrous taste of blood disappeared from the back of his tongue and the sickening bubbling in his chest was gone.

Draco allowed himself a quick smile of pride as he noted the improvement in Potter's facial tone, the emergence of a faint blush in the hollows of his cheeks. He reached towards Potter. "Alright, now your shoulder."

Once again, Potter jerked away, the same spooked expression haunting his eyes.

Draco dropped his hand. "Not this again! Potter, let me look. I'm not going to hurt it."

"You caused it."

Draco sighed, his shoulders slumped, and he said softly, "I know."

It wasn't an apology, not by a long shot, but Harry heard a subtle change taking place with that admission. Not guilt, but responsibility. Malfoy had admitted responsibility for his action. Slowly, still not knowing quite why, Harry turned his shoulder towards Draco.

Draco brought up his hands slowly, and pulled Harry's clothes completely away from the wound. He allowed himself a moment of amazement that Potter had been able to function with such a grotesque injury, while showing so little indication that he even was hurt. This was certainly not something that would heal on its own. He didn't have many potions on hand that could heal a wound this grievous and only one that would do it quickly. Unless he missed his guess, he had only a few drops of that potion left, but it should be enough.

Selecting a tiny frosted glass bottle from the box, he tilted it to the side and frowned at the insignificant reserve of liquid remaining. It would have to do. He leaned over and rested one hand gently on Potter's shoulder to assure himself that Harry would hold still, and used the thumb of his other hand to pop the cork from the top of the bottle. "This shouldn't sting."

With that, he upended the bottle over the center of the wound and let a half dozen fat, pearly drops land squarely on the center of the gaping wound.

At first, Harry thought it hadn't worked, but then with surprising speed, the potion took effect. The red streaks of blood poisoning retracted towards the laceration, which was also shrinking. The hideous cracks around the edge of the wound melted away and smoothed over. Less than twenty seconds after the potion had touched his skin, all that remained of the terrible wound was a faint white scar, standing out against his pale skin. He lifted his arm and rotated his shoulder joint once. The pain was gone.

He glanced up to look at Malfoy, who, for the first time since Harry could remember, was actually smiling. Not smirking, not gloating, not sneering in someone's face for his own pleasure, but actually smiling. He seemed startled when he caught Harry staring at him strangely, and rapidly changed the smile back into his well-practiced smirk.

"I told you I knew what I was doing, Potter." He folded his arms across his chest proudly and lifted his chin belligerently.

"Actually, you told me to trust you." It was a very simple statement with no undertones.

Draco slapped his hand on the floor in exasperation. "You know full well what I mean, Potter. My potions skills are second to none. I'll bet you wouldn't even have had a bloody clue what the key ingredient in that potion was."

Harry didn't hesitate. "Phoenix tears."

The smirk disappeared as quickly as it had come. "How the hell did you know that? Phoenix tears are expensive and quite hard to come by. You don't cover potions using the tears as an ingredient until seventh year, and then you only use them in the advanced class and the Medicinal Potions classes."

Harry's pleasure at going one-up on Malfoy faded at the memories now flashing around his mind. His face dropped and his voice became impassive. "That wasn't the first time I had to be healed using phoenix tears."

Draco was honestly curious, but he tipped his nose up in the air and looked down along it, in an attempt to hide his interest. "Oh, and what sort of valiant deed were you performing to get yourself that chopped up?"

"I got myself into a fight with a basilisk."

Draco's nose came down and the sneer faded slightly. "That's impossible. First, if you'd done that, you'd be dead," he said with attempted conviction, "and second, there are no basilisks left. Not in this part of the world at any rate."

"Well, not anymore, no."

Draco considered this. Potter wasn't putting on airs; he wasn't trying to show off. He actually seemed pained by the thought, judging from his expression. "You're not kidding, are you?"

Harry shook his head. "I wish I was."

It couldn't hurt to ask, could it? "Well? What happened?"

"You remember that glorious monster that went about petrifying everyone our second year? That's what it was."

Some of the colour drained from Draco's already fair skin. "There... there was a basilisk at Hogwarts?"

"You didn't know about it? I thought your father would have bragged about the whole thing. A nice bed time story for you..."

Draco didn't really hear the last comment. He was too wrapped up in trying to rationalize with himself, convince himself that there couldn't possibly have been a real, live basilisk at Hogwarts. "That's impossible. The victims were petrified, not killed. A basilisk would have killed its victims." Cold, hard logic was on his side at last.

"It was only luck that kept anyone from actually being killed. Nobody looked into its eyes directly, they caught it from reflections and such."

Draco still wasn't paying attention. In fact, he was beginning to feel a bit queasy. "Whatever was inside the Chamber was only supposed to kill Mudbloods. A basilisk... that would have killed anyone."

"Now you're thinking." Potter smirked.

"It was in Hogwarts," Draco mumbled to himself, dumbfounded. "A basilisk in Hogwarts. It could have killed me."

"And to think... your father was the one who indirectly let that monster loose. Doesn't that make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside?"

Draco seemed to finally notice the other boy again. "My father would never have put me at risk!"

"Your father started the whole thing with that bloody diary!" Harry's eyes flashed angrily. "He planted it on Ginny Weasley deliberately"

"He couldn't have known what was inside the Chamber," Draco said, trying to convince himself more than Harry. "Otherwise, he never would have put me at risk."

"No, 'course not," Harry snorted.

Draco shot Harry a look of pure venom.

Harry merely sighed and shook his head. "Whatever lets you sleep better at night."

The Slytherin held his breath for a moment, and then narrowed his eyes. "So just how did you end up in a tangle with the basilisk?"

Harry tested his shoulder again and leaned back, propping himself up on his hands. "Ron and I went down into the Chamber after Ginny. We couldn't just leave her there."

"That bloody Gryffindor courage, right?"

"It has nothing to do with courage, Malfoy," Harry spat back, "and everything to do with loyalty. I couldn't let a friend die. Ginny was innocent, and got dragged into the whole mess because of an underhanded scheme of your father's. We couldn't leave her, it wouldn't be right, but then, a Slytherin wouldn't understand something like that."

Draco sniffed haughtily. "It wouldn't be my fault, if some silly little girl was too stupid to know what kind of magic she was messing with, and too weak to stand up to it. I shouldn't risk my life to go protecting someone like that."

"And I wouldn't expect a person like you to do it." Harry tipped his head towards Malfoy. "That's what friends are for, Malfoy. They stand up for you when you need them, and you do that for them in return. Friends are a strength, not a weakness."

"Oh yes, particularly when they almost get you killed by a basilisk."

"I'd risk it again for her in a heartbeat."

Potter spoke with such sincerity that Draco found himself blinking. "So... what happened down there?"

Pursing his lips, Harry took a deep breath and started, "When I got there, Ginny was almost dead. Voldemort took my wand and..."

"You-Know-Who was there?" Draco made no attempt to cover his reaction this time.

Harry nodded. "An enchanted memory of him from the diary was using Ginny's life up, draining it into himself. I don't really understand the magic behind it. He seems to like doing things like that. If he'd finished it, Ginny would have died, and we'd have two Voldemorts running around."

"That's just more proof of how powerful he is."

"Whatever." Harry obviously wasn't impressed. "He called the basilisk and turned it loose on me. It would have killed me too, if Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix, hadn't taken out its eyes."

Draco wrinkled his upper lip in distaste. "Saved by a glorified canary? That's a tale and a half. Do you honestly expect me to believe that?"

"Suit yourself, Malfoy. Didn't really matter though. That thing was still plenty deadly, even with Fawkes' help. I didn't have my wand, so I ended up having a swordfight with it."

"A swordfight? With a basilisk?" Draco asked in disbelief. "Before I even start on how insane that sounds, how in the name of Bloody Merlin's Beard did you get a sword?"

"Er..." Potter twisted his lip. "The Sorting Hat."

Draco scooted around towards Harry, and before he registered what Malfoy was up to, the other boy had poked him in the back of his head a couple of times. "Hmm ..."

"What are you doing?" Harry batted at him.

"Just wondering how hard you hit your head. You've bloody cracked if you expect me to believe that."

Harry swung around to face Draco. "You asked. I'm just telling you, although I don't have a clue why I'd bother to humour you with the story. Either you want to know what happened, or you don't. Take it, or leave it. "

Draco rolled his eyes at the ceiling. "Alright, so I want to know. It's a laugh if nothing else."

With a brief nod, Harry continued. "It's pretty simple, really. I had no idea how to use a sword, and even less of a clue how to use it on something so large. It lunged, mouth open, and I just reacted. The sword went through the top of its head. Must have hit its brain."

Draco's stomach started to twist in a knot. That was impossible. Absolutely impossible. Potter was off his rocker. "You killed a basilisk with a sword? The only reason I'm going to say I believe you is because I don't think you've got enough brains or imagination to make up such a ridiculous story."

"Your confidence is overwhelming," Potter said neutrally, his face expressionless.

"Wait, so if the basilisk was already dead, then how did you get injured? I thought you said you were saved by phoenix tears."

Potter snorted. "Yeah, the bloody thing just had to have the last say, so while I was driving the sword through its head, it drove a fang through my arm. Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth, and all that. The basilisk fell over and the fang broke off still stuck in my arm. I have to say, it stung a fair bit."

"You were bitten by a basilisk. Oh brilliant, Potter. Heroic to the last," Draco mocked. "So, where the hell did you get phoenix tears in a pinch like that? You couldn't have had more than a minute."

"Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix." Harry shrugged. "I'd pretty much accepted the fact that I was about to die, but Fawkes apparently hadn't, and got there just in time."

Draco sat back and examined Harry's face thoughtfully. The whole damned story would have seemed ludicrous had it come from anybody else, but for some insane reason, Draco believed him. "Potter, either that's the best lie I've ever heard, or you're just the luckiest bastard that ever lived. Do you still have the scar?"

Harry automatically brought his hand up to cover his forehead. "What?"

"Not that one, you prat. The one on your arm, from the basilisk. I want to see it."

Harry quirked an eyebrow. Why on earth would Malfoy want to see something like that? To see if the story had been true? Let him see for himself then. Harry sat forward and rolled up the sleeve over his right forearm. The phoenix tears had almost faded it away, but the traces of the puncture were still there, like an irregularly shaped starburst standing out against his normal skin tone, white over pale. He held out his arm towards Malfoy, and gasped in shock when the boy grasped his arm just above the abrasions on his wrist, pulling his arm closer so he could look in the soft torch light.

Malfoy's face deepened into a curious scowl as he ran a finger across the scar. "Just how big was this fang?"

"Maybe about fifteen centimeters long up to where it broke off."

Draco nodded, but didn't release his arm, still staring at it intently. The sensation of Malfoy touching him, skin to skin this time, was odd, and Harry wanted to pull away, but didn't. "Where did you get that one?" Draco asked as he jabbed a finger into Harry's skin near his elbow.

"What...?" Harry's jaw dropped as he realized what Malfoy was looking at. It was a thin line, just at the bend of his arm, where Wormtail had cut him. He jerked his arm away from Malfoy's hands and slid backwards a few inches. "It's nothing."

Draco jumped at the sudden, and apparently excessive, reaction to his question. It was obviously very much something, and even more plainly something that had Potter upset. Of course, this only served to make Draco even more fascinated. "Spill it, Potter."

Harry's face was very dark as he squinted back at Draco, still without his glasses. "I said it was nothing. Now go on and lock me back in here like a good little captor."

Draco's jaw started to sag downwards at Potter's sudden change in demeanor. He quickly snapped it back up. Had he just been dismissed again?

After the pattern of the conversation, that hadn't been what he'd expected, but then, why was he expecting anything? All he was doing was nosing into Potter's private business to satisfy his own curiosities. Know thy enemy, know thyself. His father had often said that, so perhaps this was what he meant. Be that the case, Draco was merely revising a lesson his father had taught him so long ago.

The exchange had left him wanting to know more. The knowledge that his further curiosities would go unanswered tonight dug at him like an invisible splinter, irritating at every movement. His mind was on overdrive to process all this new and interesting information, and Draco wanted the whole picture to work with. He'd spent all his life trying to get under Potter's skin, and here was the chance to get into his brain. Still, there would be more than enough time to pick apart Potter's brain, so why push the issue now? Because he was curious. Merlin's beard, he was actually curious.

Hoping to save some face after such an abrupt dismissal, Draco replaced the time-worn scowl of self-assurance and stood smoothly. "Most certainly. Goodnight."

He bent back down and retrieved the box of potions, moved slowly out of the cell, and swung the door shut. The sound of metal colliding with metal echoed coldly through the corridors. Draco balanced the box against his hip and reached into the pocket of his robe for the key. As he fitted it into the lock, he peeked in at Potter.

The boy was already settled back against the wall in the same spot as last night. His shoulders were slumped, his arms hung limp at his sides, and his knees were pulled up in front of him. The messy black hair at the back of his head was pressed straight up against the wall, and his face was tipped towards the ceiling. His glasses were still tucked into his robes, but his eyes were closed. His face was impassive, exhausted, and still covered with streaks of grime from the poor job he had done of wiping it. Physically, he looked every bit the prisoner he was supposed to be, but Draco was fast learning that raw appearances were deceiving.

Despite the bruise and the dirt, his features were suffused with a sort of quiet strength, and Draco suddenly remembered what had made him so hesitant to enter the cell in the first place. As much as he wanted to convince himself otherwise, he was dealing with a very strong wizard on the other side of the bars. It scared him to have to admit that. Power deserves respect; Draco had always said it himself, and he'd had it drummed into his mind by his father, but he had never considered that statement being applied to Potter.

It was a healthy sort of respect, Draco decided. One should never underestimate the enemy, and Potter was no exception. That was all. With a sigh, he looked back down at the key.

It was then that Potter spoke, very softly, unpretentiously, "Thank you."

Draco brought his eyes back up, pressed his lips together, and clenched his teeth lightly. He squeezed his eyes shut, and without really considering why, he whispered, "You're welcome."

With that, Draco turned the key in the lock with a light 'click,' and returned to his chair for the night. He set the box down lightly. He would call Biddy to retrieve it later. For now, he didn't want to speak. Even the soft jangling of the potion bottles was too loud to his ears. His mind was numb with a flood of watery thoughts, just beyond the bounds of mental cohesion. He was positively bone-weary in so many ways.

Reaching into the folds of his robe, Draco withdrew a flask filled with his Sleepless Nights draught, unscrewed the cap, and took a swig. Instantly, he felt the weariness in his limbs vanish and his heavy eyelids snap back up, but his mind continued to swirl.

Biddy came down with food and another pot of tea some time later. Without really noticing her presence, Draco instructed her to take the box of potions back to his storage closet and thanked her. He didn't have any attention to spare for house elves. His flood of thoughts had turned into a churning sea. Now, it seemed his life-raft had been cut loose from the shore, and he was drifting without a light to guide him.