Eclipse

Hello there
The angel from my nightmare
The shadow in the background of the morgue
The unsuspecting victim
Of darkness in the valley

*********

Chapter 17

Where the Road Ends

After so many days of silence and solitude, the shock of entering Hogwarts was almost more than Harry could take. He had barely pushed through the front doors of the school when someone had recognized him and cried out, bringing a crowd to swoop in on him like a flock of hungry vultures. Everyone was pushing and scrambling to know what had happened, where he had he been, and what the hell had happened to Malfoy. He was so overwhelmed that in his exhaustion his concentration lapsed and he almost dropped Draco. Even the Weightlessness Charm he'd cast on Draco wouldn't have stopped him from falling, and had he fallen, Harry might have lost what little emotional balance he had left. It was tumultuous enough, with dozens of questions being thrown at him at once, and just as many people pressing in on him, that Harry almost found himself wishing that he was back in the woods. At least there he had been alone with his grief.

He bent his head down and tried to push through the crowd, but it was like swimming against a current. He was relieved when a familiar voice called out from behind him.

"Get out of the way! Everybody!" Hermione shouted above the noise. Suddenly, she was by Harry's side, arms outspread to ward off the shoving throng. "I said, back away! I'll start taking points if everybody doesn't back off immediately!"

There was a murmur from the crowd, but with one sharp glare from Hermione, a path was quickly cleared. She nodded once and looked up at Harry. "Harry?"

Harry opened his mouth, but was barely able to choke out the words, "Hospital wing."

"Right," she said as they began walking.

Ron quickly fell into step on Harry's other side, flanking him. He looked down at Draco's limp body, and back up at Harry. "Harry... what happened to -"

"Not now, Ron. Please."

Ron's mouth fell open. "But Harry -"

Harry shook his head and looked straight forward towards the main staircase. He didn't want to answer questions now. There would be enough of those to come, he was sure. He wanted space and silence, but the muttering of the crowd that followed them at a distance buzzed incessantly in his ears, and Hermione practically clung to his elbow, plaguing him with more questions. All the while, Ron stared at Draco warily, looking as if he wasn't sure whether to help Harry with his burden, or assault Draco if he showed any signs of life. Harry gritted his teeth and kept looking forward.

He didn't answer a single question but instead kept shaking his head, mumbling that he needed to get Draco to the infirmary. If he could just keep his focus on that for three more flights of stairs, he could make it. Every step felt like it was made on wooden legs; they were so numb from fatigue he could hardly feel them anymore. At least they didn't hurt. But even if they had, he knew he probably wouldn't have cared at that point.

Upon arriving at the hospital wing, Hermione and Ron finally dispersed the crowd, threatening to take House points from anyone who remained lingering outside the infirmary. However, no sooner had the crowd left than they stepped through the doors and Harry was hit by another flurry of activity. Madam Pomfrey rushed into the room, wand already out. "Good heavens! What in the name of Merlin - put him down here, Potter. Quickly."

Harry felt himself bristle as Madam Pomfrey reached in to help lower Draco the rest of the way down, and he quickly got between her and Draco so he could arrange Draco's arms in what he hoped was a more comfortable position. He wasn't even sure if it mattered.

"Someone run and fetch the Headmaster," Madam Pomfrey barked as she began rummaging around in a nearby cabinet.

"I'll go," Hermione said tightly, and she ran out the door, shutting it behind her.

Ron seemed as if he was going to follow her at first, then hung back, hovering just close enough that Harry felt crowded. Harry tried to ignore him.

"I need you to tell me everything, Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey said brusquely. "Everything you know." She quickly drew screens around Draco's bed, shooing Ron backwards and effectively blocking him out.

Harry could hear him protesting in the background, but he didn't care. Ron was alive and alert, and Harry could talk to him later. Right now, all that mattered was Draco. But Harry wasn't even sure where to begin answering the Nurse's questions. He was shaking with emotion and now that he'd stopped walking, his legs were demanding to give out. He leaned heavily on the bedpost and realized that even his arms were shaking. "I... I don't know how it happened. I can only guess. I think he... somehow tried to sacrifice himself... with the potion, and -"

In one quick motion, Madam Pomfrey grabbed a chair from the bedside and swung it around behind Harry. He shot her a look of gratitude as he collapsed backwards into the chair.

"What potion, Mr. Potter?" Madam Pomfrey asked as she began casting spells over Draco.

"It was... he was trying to make an antidote, a counter-curse, for the Soul's Eclipse." Harry took a deep breath. "I think... I think it worked... but he never said... there was a chance that he -"

He was cut off by the sound of the infirmary door being thrown open with an echoing bang. "Where is he? Where's Draco?" Harry recognized that voice. Pansy Parkinson had burst into the room. An instant later, she pulled the screens roughly aside, almost toppling one of them. As soon as she saw Draco's prone form on the bed, surrounded by Harry and Madam Pomfrey, she let out a scream. "Get away from him!" She threw herself across Draco. "Oh, Draco! What did they do to you? What happened? Merlin, is he dead? Who did this to - YOU!" She'd turned her head towards Harry. In a flash, she was on her feet.

"You did this to him!" she shrieked, standing over Harry, who was too surprised by her sudden appearance to have moved from his chair. "It's all your -"

"Miss Parkinson," Madam Pomfrey cut in, "you will cease your outburst immediately, or you will be asked to leave the infirmary."

"I will not leave! I haven't seen my Draco in three weeks! I've been so worried, and nobody would tell me anything! And if he's in here," she motioned towards Ron with a sneer, "then I have every right to be here, too."

The Nurse seemed to be considering this, but as Harry looked from Madam Pomfrey to Pansy, something didn't seem right. True, he'd seen Pansy's melodrama over Draco before, but as Harry watched her sticking out her lower lip and craning her neck to get a better look at Draco, he remembered something. Draco had said that the Slytherins would know what had happened. They wouldn't be waiting to welcome him home; they'd be waiting to kill him. Maybe he was imagining things in his state of exhaustion, but Pansy's theatrics didn't sit well with him. At the very least, he wanted Pansy out of there because she was giving him a splitting headache.

"I think you need to leave anyway, Parkinson," Harry said, pushing himself heavily out of his chair and standing at his full height.

Next thing he knew, he was nose to nose with Pansy and her finger was jabbing sharply into his chest. "Who the hell are you to tell me to stay away from my friend? I've known Draco since we were four years old, and he's dead because of you! I'll have your neck for this, Potter!"

He stepped towards her, pushing her backwards, away from Draco. "He's not dead! Some friend you are, writing him off while he's still breathing. He told me a lot of stuff over the past three weeks, and you know what? I don't think he'd want you in here anymore."

Pansy's eyes darkened, and she shoved him back. "How dare you?!"

"That's quite enough!" Madam Pomfrey snapped. "Miss Parkinson, I think it would be best if you were to leave. Immediately. Mr. Malfoy is obviously unaware of his surroundings, and you are causing a disruption. Mr. Potter is also my patient and I will not have you upsetting him further."

"Potter is fine," she sniffed. "Unlike Draco."

"Mr. Potter is likely malnourished and dehydrated, and thoroughly exhausted from carrying Mr. Malfoy all the way back to the school," Madam Pomfrey said flatly. "I highly doubt that he caused Mr. Malfoy any intentional harm."

"So you admit it! He did hurt Draco! Oh, Draco!" She made a move to throw herself over Draco again, but in a flash, Madam Pomfrey cut in front of her.

"Out, Miss Parkinson!" Pansy hesitated and then Madam Pomfrey did something Harry had never seen her do, or ever expected to see her do. In one swift motion, she levelled her wand at Pansy, and it was plain that healing was the last thing on her mind.

Pansy stared in shock at the tip of Madam Pomfrey's wand, then narrowed her eyes. "You can't keep me away from Draco."

"I will keep anyone out of this infirmary if I think they are a threat to my patients' recovery. Now get out!"

For a moment, it seemed as if Pansy was going to curse the Nurse just by glaring at her, but then, without another word, she turned and strutted out of the infirmary with her nose in the air. As the door slammed behind her, Ron took a tentative step closer. "Harry?"

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but suddenly the world went fuzzy and cold. He stumbled backwards a step and fell into the chair again as the room swam around him. Immediately, Madam Pomfrey was crouched in front of him, pressing her hand to his forehead. "You've overexerted yourself. Mr. Weasley, help your friend over to a bed and -"

"No," Harry croaked. "I need to stay with Draco."

"Mr. Potter, you'll only be a few feet away from him."

"Harry," Ron said hesitantly, "maybe you should listen to her. You don't look too good, mate."

While he knew he should have been appreciative that Ron was trying to take care of him, he didn't want help. More to the point, he didn't want Ron to move him further from Draco. "I don't need to lie down," he said flatly. "The chair is fine... I'm not leaving Draco."

Ron frowned at him, and for a moment, it looked like he was about to say something, but Madam Pomfrey brushed past him as she moved around to Harry's other side, scanning him with her wand.

"Well then," she said, "if you insist on playing the hero -"

The mention of what Draco had called him so many times caused a fresh surge of pain in Harry's chest.

"- then at least eat and drink something."

"I'm not hungry," Harry bit out, still looking at Ron, whose face was set like stone. Ron looked away, and Harry shook his head to himself, then turned back towards Madam Pomfrey.

The nurse shot him a reproachful look and Harry flinched. He really wasn't hungry, but it wasn't worth the effort to argue just now. Madam Pomfrey must have taken his silence for acquiescence, for she turned back to Draco and began casting silent spells over him again, speaking between each spell.

"Potter, I need to know as many details as possible about the potion Malfoy consumed. Professor Dumbledore informed me weeks ago about this 'Soul's Eclipse' potion, but he had said that You-Know-Who was using that potion against you. What did Mr. Malfoy take?"

"It was... it was... I guess you'd call it an antidote he... brewed... for the Soul's Eclipse potion. We found all the ingredients just in time, too. He took it... and -"

"Stop right there, Potter." Madam Pomfrey said suddenly. She actually seemed somewhat afraid. "He brewed the potion out in the forest? With ingredients he found? Dear Merlin, did it poison him? I checked for poisons, but -"

"No," Harry said quickly. "It didn't poison him. He brewed it right. I'm sure of it. I... I don't know how it worked though. Draco tried to explain... but I never really understood what it-" Before he could finish his sentence, Dumbledore burst into the infirmary with Hermione close on his heels.

"Professor!" Harry felt a rush of relief at seeing the Headmaster. If anyone could save Draco, it was Dumbledore. That had been the driving thought that had dragged Harry the rest of the way home.

"Harry, thank Merlin you've arrived. We knew that you had survived, but we did not know... we were not aware of a threat to Mr. Malfoy." Dumbledore's voice was a serious as Harry had ever heard it, and Harry's throat tightened.

"You didn't know, sir?" He was less surprised and more dismayed at the revelation. That meant that Dumbledore had not been able to anticipate what Draco had done. Dumbledore always seemed to have an uncanny knack for just knowing things. Harry had hoped that maybe, somehow, Dumbledore had known what Draco was going to do, and would already have a solution or remedy for Draco's condition waiting when they arrived. Dumbledore was supposed to fix everything. It was a childish faith Harry realized as Dumbledore shook his head gravely.

"I am afraid we had no way to predict this precise turn of events, Harry." He paused. "No, I must correct myself. It was a possibility, but we had never considered that this would be the actual outcome. What did Mr. Malfoy do? How exactly did this happen? You must tell me everything you can possibly remember."

Harry's shoulders slumped and he stared at the floor in front of him. Now that his biggest hope had been smashed, he just didn't have the energy to talk through everything. Still, he had no choice. "Draco... he'd memorized the original Soul's Eclipse potion... and he made an antidote... counter-curse... whatever-it-was from that. He brewed it.... We brewed it... and..."

"Wait a minute," Hermione interrupted. "Malfoy brewed a potion and used it on you?"

"No!" Harry said quickly. "He took it himself... but it was to save me. I was just telling Madam Pomfrey before you arrived. It's complicated."

"Complicated?" Hermione frowned. "I read the text Dumbledore gave me about the Soul's Eclipse. Does the antidote work the same way?"

"I don't know... I -"

"That's some very strong and dangerous magic, Harry," Hermione continued, talking right over him. "And you're saying that Malfoy just made up a potion to use on - for - you? Do you have any idea how many things he might have done wrong?"

"How many... he... but -"

"Miss Granger," Dumbledore interrupted softly, "I believe Harry is trying to explain what did happen. And as you can see, Harry survived. Therefore, Mr. Malfoy must have done something right."

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows. "Well..."

"Draco did everything right," Harry said defensively. "I know he did. At least, he did everything as well as he could. But it wasn't working... not the way he'd planned. He was trying to anchor me, but it... it didn't..." Harry's train of thought came to a sputtering halt. He couldn't think straight. There were too many questions, and he didn't know all the answers. He could feel Hermione's and Ron's eyes drilling into him, and he didn't even know where to begin. On top of that, he could just tell that neither of his friends were going to give Draco any benefit of the doubt. Feeling overwhelmed, Harry tipped his head forward into his hands. "I can't do this."

"Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger," came Dumbledore's voice, tired but firm. "I believe it would be best for you to leave now. Time is critical, and at the moment, you are providing Harry with an unneeded distraction."

"What?!" Hermione gasped, plainly dismayed.

"But we need to talk to Harry!" Ron demanded, stepping forward. "We haven't seen him in weeks, and we need to know what happened! Harry... you can tell us what happened too, right?"

"Of course he can tell us," Hermione declared as she sidestepped Ron moved to stand by Harry. She was about to wrap him in a hug when he held his hand out to stop her. "Harry?" She was plainly bewildered.

"I... he's right." Harry inclined his head to indicate the Headmaster. "Please. I don't want to talk to anyone right now. It's hard enough... with just Madam Pomfrey and Professor Dumbledore. And I need to tell them... but I'd rather everyone just went away."

"But Harry... I don't understand. Why?"

"Hermione, I just can't. I'll... tell you what I can... later." He felt his throat constricting slightly with emotion. "Please, not now."

"Harry," Ron said, "you've been gone for three weeks! We thought you were dead! And now you can't even talk to us because the ferret -"

Ron never completed the sentence. With energy he didn't know he had left, Harry lunged out of his chair. "Don't you call him that! Draco almost died for me. He might still die."

"Boys, stop!" Madam Pomfrey shouted at them. "Mr. Potter, sit back down or I'll sedate you."

Ron seemed completely taken aback. "What the hell is the matter with you? If Malfoy dies, he probably deserves it! After he took you, I would have been happy to kill him myself!"

Ron sounded like he was trying to be angry, but he seemed more confused than anything. Harry didn't care if Ron was confused. Right now, he was a distraction, and he was threatening Draco, even though Harry had plainly said how much Draco had sacrificed for him.

Harry glared at Ron. "Draco was right. You would have cursed him on sight if he'd come back alive and I was dead!"

"BOYS!"

"Of course I would have! If you'd come back dead... what was I supposed to think? I mean... Harry, he brought you to You-Know-Who!"

Harry felt his fist drawing backwards of its own accord, but before he could strike, Hermione threw herself between them. "Stop it! Both of you. Harry, you're going to exhaust yourself; you need to sit down. Ron, I'm sure Harry has a very good explanation for this, and he'll tell us if you stop yelling at him!"

"Miss Granger is quite correct," Madam Pomfrey said tersely. "And the Headmaster is also correct. It would probably be best for you both to leave right now. Mr. Potter's explanation for you will have to wait for later."

"But... but Harry," Ron said sounding quite beside himself. "You don't really want us to go... do you?"

He hated to do it, but right now, that was exactly what Harry wanted. He nodded.

Never in his life had Harry seen the look of disgust Ron gave him just then. Hermione looked stunned.

"Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, now -"

"I'm going, I'm going," Ron said angrily. "Come on, Hermione."

Hermione seemed torn between holding her ground and following after Ron, but a stern look from the Nurse sent her trotting towards the door. She kept throwing confused, questioning looks back over her shoulder at Harry until the door closed behind them and they were gone.

Harry stood there, staring at the door, until he felt the floor tip under his feet. It was only Dumbledore's hands that stopped him from hitting his head on the bed table as he toppled over. "Harry, perhaps we should get you to a bed."

Dumbledore began to guide him towards a nearby bed, but Harry shook his head. "No... please, sir... I want to stay here. The chair is fine."

Dumbledore nodded understandingly and helped Harry to the chair.

In the meantime, Madam Pomfrey had already set herself back to work, fluttering around Draco, casting spells, and muttering to herself. "Respiration is seven breaths per minute... blood pressure is low at eighty-four over fifty-seven. Potter, I'm sorry about your disagreements with your friends, but now I really need to know more about what happened to Mr. Malfoy."

In an instant, Harry's mind was focused solely on Draco again. As much as the memory pained him, he needed to remember. He didn't really want to think about anything else, but at the same time, he didn't have very much useful information he could give. "I told you... he tried to counteract the Soul's Eclipse... at first it didn't seem to be working, but it must have worked. If it hadn't, I should be dead, so of course it worked. But in the morning... I woke up and he... he..."

"He what, Potter?"

Harry pulled off his glasses and leaned heavily on his hands. This was harder than he'd thought it would be. It was all too fresh, and he was too raw, and none of it made sense. Well, some of it made sense. While he could guess what Draco might have done, he had no idea how he'd done it, or - if Draco had attempted to sacrifice himself - why he wasn't dead. "He wasn't supposed to die... it wasn't supposed to hurt him... but I woke up and he was... he was -"

"If I may, Harry," Dumbledore interrupted softly as he placed a hand on Harry's shoulder.

Harry supposed Dumbledore was trying to lend him some support or comfort in the physical contact, but it was all Harry could do not to pull away. He didn't want to be touched. He didn't want to be comforted. He just wanted Draco back. But then, he didn't want to talk about it either, so he nodded his consent for Dumbledore to continue.

Dumbledore spoke while Madam Pomfrey continued her flurry of activity around Draco. "The boy tried to - and apparently succeeded in - saving Harry from the effects of the Soul's Eclipse potion. Had Voldemort succeeded, he would have indeed become more powerful than he had ever been before, and perhaps unstoppable." Dumbledore's mouth curved into a smile. "I do believe the wizarding world owes Mr. Malfoy a debt of gratitude."

"That's all very well and good, Headmaster," Madam Pomfrey quipped shortly, "but I don't care about the heroics and your marvellous tale. I need to know what's wrong with the boy, so that I can revive him." She cast another spell, which caused a little red light to glow over Draco's chest, pulsing softly like a heartbeat. Harry had to look away. Madam Pomfrey continued. "What is this antidote and how does it work? I do wish Professor Snape were back - his Potions expertise would undoubtedly be useful right now. Do you have texts on the antidote, or even on the poison itself?"

"It's not a poison, not precisely anyway."

"Then what is it?" Madam Pomfrey asked impatiently. "When you explained this 'Soul's Eclipse' to me, it sounded quite like a poison."

"The potion itself is only a vehicle for the energy involved in a complex piece of magic. The real hazard is more of a curse than a poison. And this is what's so astounding: there is no known antidote or counter-curse. Or at least, there wasn't."

At that, Madam Pomfrey ground to a halt, her wand fizzling with a half-executed spell. "Albus, are you telling me that a sixteen-year-old boy succeeded in counteracting a deadly, and if I'm not mistaken, violently potent piece of Dark magic from the most powerful Dark wizard in the world... without any sort of guideline whatsoever? That's ridiculous! Impossible! That's -"

"Exactly what Draco did," Harry said.

"By Merlin." Madam Pomfrey turned towards Harry, looking stunned, but also somewhat accusatory. "You said he brewed it... but he actually designed it, too? How?"

"I don't have any notes on the original potion," Harry said nervously, "but... these are Draco's notes on the counter-curse." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the roll of parchment. He'd found it blown against the base of the beech tree, and had hoped it might come in handy. He held it out towards Madam Pomfrey, but Dumbledore took it instead.

Madam Pomfrey didn't seem offended by Dumbledore's actions, and simply drew up behind him to read over his shoulder. Dumbledore unrolled the parchment, and Harry quickly saw which side he was reading. He'd almost forgotten... not that it was a problem if Dumbledore read it. It was just the wrong side. "Not that side, sir. Turn it over."

Dumbledore raised a curious eyebrow, flipped the page over, and surveyed the parchment. As he studied the spell diagram, his eyes slowly became wider and wider. Suddenly, he rolled the parchment again, and turned to Madam Pomfrey. "I must leave at once."

"But Professor!" Harry made a move to get out of his chair, but Dumbledore pushed him back down softly. "You're going to leave? But -"

"Harry, my boy, if I don't leave now, I may not have a solution in time. I have a theory -"

"Do you know what Draco did?" Harry asked in a rush. "Can you bring him back?"

The Headmaster's eyes were kind but serious. "Harry, I do not know anything for certain, but some of this spell diagram is similar to something I have seen before. From a different source, yes, but I'm quite certain I've seen something like it. I must confer with a colleague of mine who would know far better than anyone else - including myself - about this matter."

"But sir, where -"

"I will be back very soon, Harry, I promise. But unless I can confirm my suspicions, I doubt very much that we will be able to help Draco. And yes, he may be alive at the moment, but if left in this condition... he will eventually die. In fact, if he did indeed use this spell -" He indicated the parchment. "- as he designed it, and did indeed manage to save your life, I am amazed that he is still alive at all. I have a theory as to how he survived, but until I have more information, I cannot help him." He placed a hand on Harry's shoulder for just a moment before turning to Madam Pomfrey. "Poppy, keep Mr. Malfoy comfortable, keep him warm, but I don't think any potions or spells would help at this point. And Harry may return to his house as soon as you feel he is strong enough."

"I'm not leaving Draco," Harry said defiantly.

"Harry," Dumbledore said, suddenly stern, "you will do whatever Madam Pomfrey tells you to do. And I daresay your friends, Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley, need you just as much as Draco. They have been frantic in your absence, and although I believed it to be necessary, I was reluctant to send them away. They care for you very much. Also, who better to be with than your friends at a time like this? You need them, and I will not allow you to avoid them."

Harry meant to argue, but any argument died on his tongue. "Yes, sir."

"Eat something, Harry, rest, and then go see your friends. I will return as soon as possible. Poppy," he acknowledged the Nurse, and turned to leave.

"Wait!" Harry called out suddenly.

Dumbledore didn't turn around, but he paused. "Yes, Harry?"

"Professor Dumbledore... sir... before the night of the eclipse, Draco and I were talking... and he was worried that he... well... Draco was afraid that when we got back, he would be thrown into Azkaban, or that Voldemort would send someone to kill him. He... he was afraid that both sides would want him dead. Can you protect him?"

Dumbledore turned just enough so that he could look at Harry out the corner of his eye. "Draco was willing to make the ultimate sacrifice for you, Harry. Do you think I would ever allow one of your friends to come to harm?" For the first time since he'd seen Dumbledore enter the infirmary, Harry saw a hint of the familiar twinkle return to Dumbledore's eyes. A smile from the Headmaster confirmed Harry's wishes, then without further delay, Dumbledore strode out of the infirmary.

"Well," Madam Pomfrey said, drawing herself up smartly, "you heard the Headmaster. I shall call a house-elf to bring you some food, and then I'm giving you a full examination whether you like it or -"

The infirmary door flew open with a crash. "Blimey, Harry! Yer back!" Hagrid crossed the floor in no more than five strides. "They jus' told me! I was on me way ter find Professor Sprout, see, an' I ran inter Ron an' Hermione - they seemed awfully upset, Harry - an' -"

In one movement, Madam Pomfrey inserted herself between Hagrid and Harry. Although she was completely dwarfed by Hagrid's enormous bulk, Harry noted that she seemed larger than Hagrid just then. "Hagrid, like everyone else, I'm sure you're quite excited to see Mr. Potter, but he can't have any more visitors until I've given him a thorough examination, and he's eaten something and rested."

Even Hagrid's button-like eyes seemed to widen as he looked directly over the top of Madam Pomfrey's head at Harry. "Harry, are yeh alrigh'?"

"I'm fine, Hagrid. Thanks..."

"What happened ter the Malfoy boy? I know he... well... took yeh... but Dumbledore said he's all righ' - Harry?"

Harry could feel himself starting to break down again, and he shook his head in wide arcs back and forth. "Draco... he..."

"That's quite enough," Madam Pomfrey said sharply. "Hagrid, I need you to leave. I have two patients who require my attention, and your questions are not helping right now."

Hagrid had the good grace to look utterly chastised. Or maybe he actually was. "Er... righ'... sorry, Poppy... Harry..."

"It's not your fault, Hagrid," Harry said. "Maybe you can... er... do me a favour? If you see Hermione and Ron... tell them... er... tell them I'm fine... and I'm not angry at them. Just not feeling like myself, that's all."

Hagrid's beard drooped in a frown. "All righ', Harry. Yeh get some rest, promise?"

"I will. I'll see you soon, Hagrid. And... thanks for stopping by."

Hagrid seemed to perk up a bit, and he waved encouragingly as he walked out of the room and shut the door - a lot more quietly this time. Harry smiled weakly. Of all the people who had visited him, Hagrid seemed like the only one who was purely happy to see him, and didn't seem like he was going to hex Draco on the spot either. Simple friendship. That was all Hagrid had ever given him. A flash of guilt hit Harry as he realized that when he'd given messages to Draco to bring back, he'd forgotten Hagrid. Harry slumped back in his chair, feeling like he'd been kicked in the head.

Madam Pomfrey looked back down at Harry. "You look even worse now than you did five minutes ago."

"I'm fine."

She frowned at him disapprovingly. "Did you have any major injuries while you were out Merlin-knows-where?"

"I did, but Draco healed it."

"He did, did he? What was the diagnosis?"

"Broken ribs."

Not missing a beat, Madam Pomfrey flicked her wand at Harry, and he felt a wash of magic tingling through him. "How long ago was this?"

"A bit over a week. I lost track of the days."

She passed her wand over him again, then clicked her tongue. "It can't have been a bad break," she said. "There isn't a trace of it left, and I sincerely doubt that Draco has had the training necessary to heal a real fracture so perfectly in such a short time. It was probably just some nasty bone bruises. Those can be quite painful, too."

"Yeah," Harry said evasively, not wanting to mention how Draco had managed to heal him. If he did, he would surely have to explain it, and he just didn't have the energy for that. "I suppose it wasn't bad at all. I'm fine... but Draco had a concussion about two weeks ago... and then his ankle -"

"Yes, I've already found and healed the ankle injury. It was a proper mess of torn and twisted ligaments, with some cartilage damage, but by the time he's on his feet again, he won't even notice that it was ever sore."

"Oh. That's good."

"It is," Madam Pomfrey agreed. She looked at him for a moment, then her usual businesslike expression became softer. "I know that I can't possibly understand what you have been through, Harry, but I want you to know that you have my sympathies. I never thought I'd see the day when you two... well... you understand. But I know that the Headmaster will not rest until he's found a solution, and we will be able to remedy Mr. Malfoy's condition soon. He'll be fine, I'm sure, but starving yourself won't do anybody any good. So, if you'll excuse me while I call a house-elf, we'll have a proper meal here for you in short order. Then I'll check you over, and you can return to your friends."

Instantly, Harry stiffened. Right now, Gryffindor Tower was the last place he wanted to be, short of Voldemort's dungeons.

Madam Pomfrey sighed. "Of course, if you wish to rest here for a while before your housemates exhaust you with their interrogations, then that would be acceptable. Perhaps Hagrid will attenuate the situation. Now, try to relax for a minute while I summon a house-elf." She gathered up her apron and went to her office, leaving Harry alone with Draco.

The red light over Draco's chest was still pulsing softly, and for what must have been the hundredth time that day, Harry felt hot tears starting to well up. Slowly, Harry stood and walked on unsteady legs to Draco's bedside. For a long moment, he stared at Draco's face, the ghostly pallor of his skin, the slight parting of his grey-tinged lips as he breathed, and eyes that never opened. For two long days, Harry had seen that face, looking just like that. Even when he had closed his eyes, or when he had drifted off into uncomfortable, nightmare-ridden catnaps, he could still see that face. Each time was just as bad as the first.

When he'd awakened the morning after the eclipse, returning to consciousness had been like climbing an endlessly long ladder out of a deep, dark pit, or swimming up from the depths of Hogwarts' lake. His body had felt numb and prickly, almost like it had when he was recovering from Draco's Freezing Potion three weeks before. The sensation of pins and needles had assaulted every inch of his body, but it only meant that he was alive. By Merlin, he'd survived. He had opened his eyes as he felt the first rays of dawn touching his face, and he'd sucked in great gulps of air. It's morning! he'd cried aloud, too relieved to feel ridiculous for stating the obvious. Draco, you did it! But then he'd tried to sit up, and found that he couldn't. There was a heavy weight across his chest.

Draco had been lying there, face down, collapsed across Harry. His head had been tilted just enough to the side that Harry could see his closed eyes. Draco? He'd poked Draco, but the blond head didn't move. Grey eyes didn't open. Smirking mouth didn't grumble about being woken up too early. Harry had panicked and grabbed Draco hard. Shook him. Screamed. And screamed.

Harry shook his head, trying to clear the echoes of his own screaming from his brain. On some level, part of him was so proud of Draco, recognizing how profound his sacrifice had been and how far Draco must have come to be able to do such a thing. However, a far greater part of him was still screaming.

Stupid, stupid, selfless, courageous, stupid... Harry thought to himself like a mantra as he fought back the urge to cry.

The initial shock might have worn off but it had only been replaced by a much deeper ache, and a sense of loss unlike anything he'd ever felt before. With nothing else to think about for two days, looking down at that pale face that never so much as twitched, understanding had finally come to him. He hadn't realized just how much their ordeal had affected him while he was still in the thick of it, but now it was over, he could look back on it. Now, he could see what had happened. Now, he could feel what had changed. He knew what Draco had come to mean to him; the painfully hollow spot in his chest - unavoidable, impossible to ignore - was testimony to that. He couldn't say it out loud, but he knew.

Finally, he reached down to the end of the bed, unfolded the blanket that lay there, and covered Draco with it. With painstaking gentleness, he tucked the blanket smoothly up to Draco's chest, carefully avoiding the charm hovering above. The red light was still pulsing slowly. Much too slowly.

*********

By late afternoon, Harry couldn't delay anymore. He'd picked at the food the house-elf had left until Madam Pomfrey was satisfied that he wasn't starving, and had then pushed the plate aside. For a long time, he'd sat in rapt attention at Draco's bedside, holding his unresponsive hand, looking for any sign of movement... even the twitch of an eye. Of course, there was nothing. Eventually, Madam Pomfrey had directed him to a small bathroom off to the side of the infirmary, where a shower was waiting for him along with some of his clean clothes that another house-elf had brought down. The warm water had felt good on his skin, and it was wonderful to be truly clean for the first time in weeks, but it almost didn't matter. He had dried off, changed into the clean clothes, and returned immediately to Draco's bedside.

By then, the light rain that had begun that morning had become a steady downpour. Water was spattering against the windows, and Harry could hear the wind whistling angrily. At some point, he had fallen asleep in his chair, head resting on the side of Draco's mattress. When he'd awoken, he found he'd been moved to a nearby bed. Physically, he felt much better, but waking up to find Draco still unconscious only added guilt to the list of emotions weighing heavily on his chest. He vaguely recognized it as survivor's guilt, something with which he'd become intimately familiar over recent years, but that didn't make it any better.

Another person, dead because of me. Or almost dead. Harry rolled out of his bed, and crossed to Draco's side. He didn't hesitate to grab Draco's hand, which, to his dismay, was dreadfully cold. He quickly began kneading it between his own hands, trying to improve circulation to the clammy fingers, wishing he could just feel Draco squeeze his hand back, but knowing it wouldn't happen. Every good thing that I have, Voldemort taints or destroys. Everything.

Footsteps approached slowly from behind him, and he quickly dropped Draco's hand and whipped his head around to see Madam Pomfrey.

"Potter," she said softly, "I understand your hesitation, but really, you need to go back to your house. You've had no less than a few dozen visitors enquiring about your health while you were asleep, including several visits by Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley."

"Has anyone else asked about Draco?" Harry asked, looking back down at Draco.

"Miss Parkinson came back once, but I told her that Mr. Malfoy was still in an unstable condition and that nobody was being allowed to visit him until he was stabilized. You seemed adamant that she was to be kept away from Mr. Malfoy, and I'm assuming there was a reason for it."

"I don't trust her," Harry said simply. "Draco told me... he told me that because he betrayed the Dark Lord, his housemates who have parents loyal to Voldemort would be just as likely to kill him as to welcome him home. Something in the way she was talking... it didn't seem right." He finally turned around fully to look at Madam Pomfrey. "I won't let anyone hurt him. He's given so much... I can't let anything worse happen to him. Promise me you'll keep the Slytherins away from him? He's right. They might try something."

Madam Pomfrey seemed sceptical, but after a momentary staring contest, she looked up at the ceiling in defeat. "Mr. Potter, nobody has ever been killed in this infirmary, and I don't intend to let it begin now." She looked back down at him and planted her fists on her hips. "I won't allow any unsupervised visits with Mr. Malfoy, and if it makes you feel better, no visits at all until the Headmaster returns."

Harry nodded slowly. "Thank you. Er... Madam Pomfrey?"

"Yes?"

"Draco... doesn't want to be called by his surname anymore. I think he'd want me to tell you that."

The Nurse gave him a businesslike nod. "Draco, then. And he had one other visitor, in case you were wondering."

"Who?"

"Vincent Crabbe."

Harry frowned. "But not Goyle? Those two are inseparable."

"Now that you mention it, that does seem just a bit odd," Madam Pomfrey said. "He also asked if anyone else had come to see Draco."

"Strange..." Harry pondered. "Was he doing anything that seemed shifty? Anything that made it seem like he... well..."

Madam Pomfrey gave him a critical look. "Now, Mr. Potter, we don't suspect you of evil-doing each time you're spotted without Mr. Weasley joined to your hip."

"I suppose not," Harry mumbled. If the Slytherins were going to try something against Draco, he doubted Crabbe was going to be the one to spearhead the effort, but still, it was troubling. "Did you let him see -"

"No, I didn't, Mr. Potter. Nobody has seen Draco. Or you. But it's high time you saw some people. If you hurry you should be able to catch your friends in the Great Hall for supper. Merlin knows you need to eat more."

"Not hungry," Harry mumbled, staring at the floor.

"Of course you're not. I doubt you've had a decent meal in weeks, and your digestive system is completely out of balance. However, you won't recover until you begin to feed yourself properly. If you don't promise me that you'll eat, I'll send that house-elf, Dobby, to pester you until you've eaten a proper dinner. He was another one of your adoring public that made several return trips to my office door."

Harry balked. "If you tell him to make sure I eat enough, he won't let me alone until I'm as wide as Hagrid!"

Madam Pomfrey smiled sweetly at him. "Then I suppose you'd best eat a healthy supper."

Harry grumbled, made one last adjustment to Draco's blanket, and reluctantly began to walk towards the door, but then paused. "Madam Pomfrey?"

"Yes?"

"Can I come back... after supper? Just to... well... to say goodnight or something?"

She smiled sadly at him. "I suppose it can't hurt. A brief visit. Now, run along."

Harry nodded, grabbed Draco's travel pack which had been left underneath the bedside table, and finally left the infirmary. The corridors were empty, and he supposed that was because everyone was at supper already. It was dead quiet, and he liked it that way. Now that he had rested a bit, his memories of the past three weeks, and particularly the last two days, were much clearer than they'd been before he'd fallen asleep. The thoughts bouncing around inside his skull were more than enough to make up for the lack of outside noise.

What's Crabbe up to? What about Pansy? Where did Dumbledore go? Is Draco going to be okay? Draco... I can't lose him. What's Ron going to say when I get there? Hermione? Hermione won't like it, but she'll be rational about it, but I don't know what I'm going to say to Ron. He's my friend, and Draco's my friend. How can I ever explain to him... what I've been through with Draco... what Draco means to me...

Harry was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he was almost at his destination before he realized it. As he approached the foyer at the entrance of the Great Hall, two familiar hulking bulks emerged, letting the doors swing shut behind them. Harry's heart jumped, and he dove behind a banister post, then cautiously peeked around it.

Crabbe and Goyle were talking. Or at least, Crabbe was talking, while Goyle continued to stuff the remains of a tart into his mouth. There were two more whole tarts in his other hand. Crabbe, however, didn't have any food, and seemed to be midway through a long argument.

"- not listening to her, and I'm not listening to you. You people have it all backwards. You know what we should do, Greg."

"An' she tol' you to stay out of it," Goyle said around a mouthful. "An' to stay away from him."

"She wanted him, you know." Crabbe almost sounded sullen. "And now... you saw the look on her face when she came back from the infirmary."

"Damn Pomfrey," Goyle grunted. He crammed the last bite of tart into the side of his mouth, and swallowed. "Pansy'll get in. Never seen her so furious."

"I'm gonna get in."

Suddenly, Goyle rounded on Crabbe. "Don't do it, Vince. I swear I'll stop you."

"What're ya gonna do to me, Greg? You really gonna fight me?"

Fists were clenching on both sides, and Goyle leaned over Crabbe menacingly. "If you go and do something stupid, you know I will. I saw the letter your father sent you. I know what you're supposed to do to him. You're gonna fuck up everything!"

For a moment, it almost seemed as if it were going to come to blows, but suddenly, Crabbe pushed past Goyle, bumping hard into his shoulder. Goyle spun around and called after him, "Don't do it, Vince!"

Crabbe didn't even turn around, but gave a clear response with one succinct hand gesture as he stormed off. Harry ducked completely behind the post again as Crabbe stomped by. The sound of the doors to the Great Hall opening again obscured the foul language Harry was sure was coming from Goyle's mouth. He waited until Goyle followed Crabbe's retreat towards the dungeons before peeking out again. A small group of Hufflepuffs made their way past, and when they were halfway up the stairs, Harry cautiously came out from his hiding place.

His mind was reeling. Crabbe was going to kill Draco. It had to be him. Maybe Pansy really had just been frantic over her friend, who had been missing for weeks. Draco had said that Pansy had wanted him for a long time. She might have simply been furious at not being allowed to see Draco, which almost made Harry second guess his reasons for having forced her out. She wasn't the threat, just damned annoying. But Crabbe? Were it not for his menacing stature, he'd seem completely harmless. But then again, maybe Crabbe was taking his chance at glory by assassinating Draco, displacing his former ringleader, and gaining influence amongst the Death Eaters. It made sense. It was damned disconcerting, but it fit.

Feeling nervous all over again from his near miss with Draco's former henchmen, the last thing Harry wanted to do was to face an entire hall full of people. He had even less interest in eating than before. The doors of the Great Hall loomed in front of him, and Harry was sorely tempted to turn around and run back up to the infirmary. What if Crabbe was going to attempt to kill Draco now? Granted, he'd gone towards the Slytherin dungeons, but that didn't mean he wasn't just going there to get some sort of gruesome weapon, and then to go after Draco. Madam Pomfrey had sworn that she'd keep everyone away from Draco, but what if Crabbe was really determined? He might even kill the Nurse to get to Draco!

Harry was about to turn on his heel when the doors swung open again, and a towheaded house-elf burst through.

No, not a house-elf... it was Colin Creevey.

"HARRY! You're out of the hospital wing!"

It was too late to run, and Harry grimaced. "Hullo, Colin."

"Everyone's been going mad waiting for you! They're all in there!" Before Harry could protest, Colin grabbed his wrist and hauled him through the doors. "Everybody! Harry's back!"

The Great Hall was a blur of faces and hands as Colin dragged him through the crowd to where the Gryffindor sixth years were sitting. All around him, people were shouting questions at him.

"Harry! We heard Malfoy was dead, and you killed him!" "Were you really in You-Know-Who's dungeons?" "Did you fight You-Know-Who?" "How did you escape, Harry?" "Harry, did you really pick Malfoy over Ron?" "Is Malfoy dead, Harry?"

Harry kept his eyes downcast so he didn't have to meet anyone's gaze. Suddenly, arms wrapped around him so fiercely that he feared his ribs might crack again, and his face was buried in a pile of bushy brown hair.

"Harry! We went back, but Madam Pomfrey still wouldn't let us in to see you! Hagrid found us and said that you're not angry at us. You just aren't yourself right now - and of course you're not yourself, you've been through hell these past weeks. He said we should let you rest, and he's right, but we missed you so terribly! We should have realized... but Harry..." Hermione finally loosened her death-grip on him. "You'll tell us now, right? What's going on? Oh! You have to be starved! Quick, move over, Seamus. Have something to eat, Harry, and tell us what happened."

Harry was abruptly shoved into a seat, and Parvati began filling a plate for him. "I'm not hungry," Harry muttered.

"But Harry, how can you not be hungry?" Hermione pushed. "How long have you been walking? And even if you used a Weightlessness Charm on Malfoy - you did, didn't you? Oh, you must be exhausted!"

Harry was about to protest again, but he was interrupted. "Malfoy." Ron's choked voice finally broke through the noise of the crowd around him.

Harry turned around in his seat to see his best mate, staring at him guardedly.

"Harry... explain to me... just what the hell is going on with Malfoy... you, and Malfoy."

That was what Harry had been avoiding. "I don't want to talk about this, Ron. Not right now."

If anything, Ron only became more agitated. "I'm not going to let you dodge out of this again! You disappear one night, and all we can find is the Marauder's Map with your blood on it, down in the dungeons, and Malfoy was missing too. A week later, a house-elf shows up, telling us that You-Know-Who has your blood for some Dark magic potion he's going to use to kill you. And that you and Malfoy are travelling together through the forest - you, alone with Malfoy! And then, you show up carrying Draco-Bloody-Malfoy's comatose body as if he were your best mate. You're so fixated on him that you won't even look at us. And you kicked us out!"

"Ron, stop it!" Hermione had put a hand on his arm, but Ron yanked his arm away.

Harry didn't pay any attention to Hermione either. "Draco is my friend, Ron!"

There was a collective gasp from the crowd, which caused Harry's blood to boil. "And I suppose you have a problem with that?" Harry shot at the crowd in general, and Ron in particular.

"What do you think?" Ron snapped back. "Of course I have a problem with it! Especially when you croon over him while brushing us off! How can you call that bastard your friend?"

"Let's just say I learned a few things while I was away," Harry said darkly.

"Oh, and what's that? Got a peek inside the mind of Malfoy? What's in there, Harry? A textbook rendition of 'One Hundred Ways to Kill Muggles'? This is Malfoy we're talking about."

Harry didn't even remember getting to his feet, but suddenly, he was looking up at Ron's face from inches away. "No, Ron. You're talking about Malfoy. I'm talking about Draco."

Stunned, whether by the vehemence in Harry's voice or Harry's actual words, Ron didn't move as Harry turned on his heel and made a break for the door. Harry was stomping along so angrily that Gryffindors hurried to clear a path, rather than be bowled over. He was nearing the door when Ron finally yelled from behind him.

"Oh, so it's Draco, now? Why don't you just tell me you're in love with him or something? Harry!"

The sound of the door slamming behind him was the most satisfying thing Harry had heard since arriving back at Hogwarts. He was already halfway up the first flight of stairs before he heard the doors opening again, and the distinctive sound of a crowd following him. He picked up his pace.

Several flights of stairs later, breathing hard, Harry arrived at the portrait of the Fat Lady. He hoped desperately that the password hadn't been changed. "Woollywuthers," Harry said flatly.

"Not hardly," the Fat Lady replied.

"Shit."

"That's not it either," she said, sounding even less amused. "And I'd say it's good to see you again, but with a sour expression like that - thank goodness you weren't painted that way!"

Harry squashed an impulse to put his fist through the canvas. "You know this is my house! Just let me in!"

"Doesn't work that way, my dear. You've been here long enough to know. And besides, your friends are coming along now. I'm sure they can give you the password."

Harry looked back over his shoulder and groaned. It seemed every sixth year Gryffindor had followed him - no, it was more like every Gryffindor - with Ron in the lead, followed a step behind by Hermione. Harry looked right past Ron as if he wasn't there. "What's the password, Hermione?"

"Poppycock," she said automatically. "Harry, I don't think -"

But he'd already turned and was climbing through the portrait hole, ignoring her.

"Harry! Wait a minute!" A hand landed on Harry's shoulder, and he was spun around to face Hermione. "You can't keep ignoring us."

"If he's going to be a prat -" Harry pointed over Hermione's shoulder at Ron. "- then I sure as hell can ignore him!"

"What?!" Ron barked.

"Well, Harry, what is he supposed to think? What am I supposed to think? You get back, and you can't even be bothered to say hello. We've been worried sick! Ron hardly ate for a week, if you can imagine what it took to push him that far. I couldn't even focus enough to study half the time! And then when you finally come back, you're completely fixated on the person who abducted you in the first place, you kick us out of the infirmary, we don't see another hair of you for hours, and we have no idea what to make of all this! Haven't you missed us?"

Harry stood there, silently fuming. Yes, he missed them. But he was exhausted, worried, upset, and thoroughly sick of people pestering him, as if by virtue of his being Harry Potter, everyone had the right to know what was going on in his brain. Sure, Ron and Hermione were his friends, but right now, they were just two more people in a world of vultures. Always demanding. Always wanting a piece of him. Never letting him alone.

He was ready to turn and storm up to his bed, but Hermione shook his arm once more. "Harry... even if you haven't missed us... we've missed you..."

He was about to shake her off, but then he stopped and finally took a good look at her.

She looked more exhausted than when she'd been using the Time Turner in third year, and had circles under her eyes to rival a raccoon. Her face was pale and drawn, and it seemed like she'd aged at least five years since the start of the school year. Harry swallowed nervously. He didn't want to talk right now. He wanted to be left alone. But Hermione had been nothing but a loyal friend as long as he'd known her, and he'd been so wrapped up in his worry over Draco that he'd treated her terribly. And Ron.

Harry took a slow step to the side, and faced Ron. Ron looked utterly miserable. Harry found he was beginning to feel the same way. He'd been desperate to see his friends for weeks, and now that he had the chance, he'd turned them away. As much as he just wanted everyone to leave him alone, Dumbledore was right. He needed to be with his friends, and he had to face this. But not in front of everyone else in Gryffindor.

"We need to go somewhere," Harry said slowly, "so we can talk."

"We'll rearrange the armchairs!" Lavender Brown squeaked. "Parvati, help me out, and Harry can -"

"No!" Harry said, realizing what she intended. "I need to talk to Hermione and Ron. ALONE." He ignored the disappointed murmur amongst the crowd gathered in the common room, and made a sudden break for the portrait hole with Hermione still clinging to his arm. On the way past, he grabbed Ron, who let out a surprised yelp.

They hurried out the portrait hole, with Harry leading the way. He heard the Fat Lady complain loudly behind him, "Oh, and after all that fuss to get in, there you go, right back out again, no consideration at all. Nice to see you too!" Harry just shook his head as he rounded the corner. There was only one place he'd have the privacy he needed, and that place was on the seventh floor corridor.

Harry rushed down the hall, not looking back. His friends' footsteps followed close behind him. Finally they arrived in the proper corridor. "Oh!" Ron said, apparently just realizing what Harry was doing, as Harry began pacing back and forth in front of the wall. After three quick passes, a door appeared, and Harry let himself in.

The Room of Requirement was vastly different from the last time Harry had entered it. Instead of the large open area for duelling, the room was small and cosy, lit by several dozen floating candles. It was furnished with three plump beanbag chairs arranged in a triangle on a thick plush carpet, with smaller cushions strewn about amongst everything, softening the corners and making the entire room look like the top of an oversized bed. A large tray of snacks with a pitcher of pumpkin juice sat in the corner. Harry pursed his lips. "Even the school itself is determined to feed me," he said dryly.

"Well, somebody has to," Hermione admonished, and she pushed her way past him and settled herself into one of the beanbag chairs. "Seeing as you seem bent on starving yourself, as if it would bring Malfoy back."

Harry winced and followed her into the room. Ron closed the door behind them.

Harry took his time pouring himself a drink, trying to delay just a few more minutes. He sat down heavily with the frosty goblet of juice in his hands, staring down into the liquid as he swirled it. He found himself wishing it were a glass of Firewhiskey, and that he could nurse it slowly and hold off questions until he was drunk. He really didn't want to talk, but he supposed he had to, even if he couldn't tell them everything. There were some things he knew he'd just never be able to share. He could feel his friends staring at him, waiting. "I guess I should start at the beginning."

"Might be nice," Ron said grumpily.

Harry couldn't bring himself to look up as he began his tale, starting with the night he was abducted. It was hard at first, but soon the words began rolling off his tongue, and he felt more like another listener than the actual person telling the story. Waking up in the Malfoy dungeons. His early arguments with Draco. The odd shifts in Draco's attitude. The verbal truce. Draco's audience with Voldemort. And that was when Harry's tale faltered for the first time.

"He was so afraid, Ron," Harry said, finally looking Ron in the face. "He was terrified. And when he came back..." His voice trailed off.

Ron didn't look like he was sure he wanted to hear what Harry might say yet, but Hermione put a hand on Harry's knee. "Go on, Harry."

"I wasn't aware of exactly when he came back down to the dungeon... because... because his father was practising the Cruciatus on me."

Hermione gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. Ron, on the other hand, looked even angrier. "Oh, and I suppose the junior bastard joined right in."

Harry sat back sharply. "Haven't you been listening to a damn thing I've been saying?"

"Every word, Harry. So, did he join in?"

The accusation embedded in Ron's voice made Harry want to run from the room, especially knowing the answer to the charge, but he had to tell the truth. "Draco had no choice."

"Bollocks!" As Harry had feared, Ron didn't seem surprised whatsoever.

"That's what I thought at first, too! But think about it. It was a test. He was having reservations about Voldemort, and was thinking about leaving. If he had hesitated when his father practically forced him to do it, he would have been pulled from guard duty, and I never would have escaped."

"He used an Unforgivable Curse on you, and still you're defending him! I still don't understand why you're taking his side, Harry! So you'd better come up with an explanation - a good explanation - fast, or I might have to find a way to revive him just so he can feel it when I beat him to a bloody pulp." By now, Ron had edged his way forward in his seat and looked like he was ready to get up.

Harry leaned forward too. "I can't even begin to explain everything Draco has done. I would never have escaped if Draco hadn't helped me. He planned the whole escape. If it weren't for him, I'd be a corpse back in Voldemort's dungeons!"

"If it weren't for him, none of this would have happened anyway!"

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but nothing came out; he couldn't argue with that, as much as he wanted to. For several long seconds, he held his stare locked with Ron's, silently fuming.

Hermione finally cut in. "Ron, sit back and calm down. You're not making this any better."

"I could think of a few ways to make it better," Ron grumbled, but Hermione gave him a tug and he let her pull him back into his seat. He sat there shaking his head for a minute before he looked back up at Harry. "Harry, what did Malfoy do to you out there? What could he have done or said to make you actually defend him?"

"A whole hell of a lot, that's what! When he gave me back my wand, he gave up his entire life. You saw me carrying him, but when we first escaped... he had to carry me out of there."

Ron looked away, still scowling.

Harry sighed and leaned his forehead into his hand. He was getting a headache. "I told you, at first, I was trying to manipulate him, hoping to get a chance to escape... but then I started to learn about how he grew up - did you know his father practically brainwashed him?" He glanced up at Ron again. "If you'd grown up the way he did, listening to the same things over and over, you'd be just the same."

Ron looked like he'd suddenly bitten into something disgusting, and was trying not to spit it out. "How could you say that?"

"Easily," Harry said darkly. "You two aren't all that different -"

"WHAT?!"

"- and that's probably a big part of why you hate each other so much."

For a long, tense moment, Ron seemed to be fighting with himself over what to do, say, or punch next. Finally, he seemed to compose himself a bit. "Harry, we've been friends for over five years. You know me. We've lived together, fought side-by-side, barely escaped death together -"

"And in case you haven't figured it out yet," Harry cut in, "Draco and I did the exact same things! We travelled together, ate together, slept back to back -"

"For a couple of weeks! You can't possibly get to know somebody like that in a couple of weeks, especially when you've hated him - with good reason - for years! Or have you forgotten about the past five years?"

Harry dropped his head heavily into his hands. This wasn't getting anywhere. Hermione was listening quietly, and Harry had no idea what she was really thinking, but Ron wasn't about to budge anytime soon. Well, he's going to have to, Harry thought bitterly. "Listen, Ron, this is probably just going to make you angrier, but we - Draco and I - shared things over the past two weeks that I can't even begin to explain. After what we went through... Draco is just as important to me as the two of you."

It was definitely not the right thing to say. Ron's eyes went wide, and he stared at Harry as if he had sprouted the head of Medusa out of the side of his neck. "You've got to be hoodwinked or something! What did Malfoy do to you out there?"

"He almost died for me, Ron!" The words were out of Harry's mouth before he even realized it. As soon as he heard what he'd said, however, the hot pain that had been pulsing in his chest for the past two days flared up again. "He saved my life," Harry said, softer this time. "More than once. I saved him once, or at least, cured him from a snakebite. He healed me more than once. And then... I had told him... if our plan to counteract Voldemort's potion didn't work, I told him to kill me, so that Voldemort wouldn't win." He coughed once, and forced himself to take a slow breath before he continued. "He couldn't do it. Even though I'd made him promise... he couldn't kill me. And so he gave himself instead."

By now, tears were starting to blur the edges of Harry's vision, but he didn't care. "I never wanted him to do that. I hadn't even considered that it could have ended that way. While I was... carrying him back... I thought about everything he's really done... what all this must have been like for him. He's already given so much, Ron. He left his home, his family, his future... everything. He gave it all up. His father has disowned him, so he's poor now. The only things he has left are the clothes on his back, his school supplies, and his school robes. He doesn't even have a home to go back to! Voldemort wants him dead, his own housemates want him dead, and you're not helping!"

At least Ron had the good grace to look stunned. "What do you want me to do, Harry? Accept him with open arms?"

"It might be a fair start!"

Ron stared at him, open-mouthed, for several long seconds, then shook his head. "You've got to be crazy! He may have done all that, but he's still the bastard who kidnapped you in the first place!"

"Draco has more than made up for his mistakes!" Harry snapped, getting to his feet. "And this isn't getting us anywhere. Come find me when you're ready to listen - and I mean listen!" With that, he turned and let himself out the door, leaving two speechless friends in his wake.

The door slammed behind him with a satisfying echo. He was already halfway down the hall when he heard the door open. He turned, expecting to see Ron running after him, either wanting to continue the argument, or to restart it with fists, but it was Hermione, alone.

"Harry, wait." She caught up with him, and he waited silently for her to speak. She gave him a disapproving look that was eerily reminiscent of Professor McGonagall. "You can't deny that Ron has a good point."

"So you're taking his side," he said coldly. He took a step backwards, ready to turn and walk away again, but she caught him by the sleeve.

"No, I'm not! And if you'd listen for a moment, and just hear what I have to say..."

With a grunt of irritation, Harry turned his body squarely towards her, and she let go of his shirt. He didn't say anything, but folded his arms defensively across his chest.

Hermione rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Ron may have a good point, but I'll admit, we weren't there. We have no idea what the two of you went through. And I may despise Malfoy as much as anybody, but I care about you, Harry, and I trust your judgment. Well, most of the time. I know you wouldn't make this up. I do have to wonder if your perception may be a bit skewed... I mean, after all, you've just been through a terrible ordeal, and who knows what sort of psychological impact this might have had on you?"

Harry merely snorted.

Hermione sighed. "Harry, when Malfoy's house-elf arrived and told us what had happened, and that the two of you had escaped together, it took Ron more than a week to accept that it even might be true. I didn't really want to believe it either. I mean, Harry, it's Malfoy. Who could have known? And then, you arrive back, and you're so fixed on Malfoy that you won't even look at us! Ron was trying, he really was, but then you brushed him - and me - aside. First in the infirmary, and then in the Great Hall. And... it's as if you care about Malfoy more than us right now."

"I don't," Harry said hoarsely.

Hermione gave him a patronizing look. "You wanted us to leave back in the infirmary. I can try to understand, but Ron... well... he's Ron. And this is Malfoy we're talking about. And frankly, despite everything you've said about him, it's still Malfoy. The idea of the two of you being friends... it's not an easy thing to swallow."

"So you're going to write him off, too, right?"

Hermione shook her head. "As much as I want to hold him responsible for what he did in the first place... what I'm saying is that - for you - I'll give Malfoy a chance. If he really did sacrifice himself... well... that says it all, doesn't it?" She still seemed hesitant, but her eyes were sincere.

Harry found himself dropping his arms to his side. "You mean that?"

She nodded.

Harry could feel the tension in his shoulders ease as gratitude flooded through him and he smiled. "Thanks, Hermione."

She gave a tentative smile in return. "I can't promise much... but I can try. If there's anything else... just let me know."

Harry cocked his head, thinking, then looked her square in the eye. "There's one more thing, then. Draco... well, he doesn't use his surname anymore. I'm not sure what he's going to do, but... his father disowned him, and he left anyway. Can you call him by his first name?"

Hermione frowned. "We'll see about that, Harry. When he wakes up."

Harry felt the hot spot of pain in his chest turn cold, and he looked down. "If he wakes up. Dumbledore said he was going to see if a theory of his was correct... and maybe he'll bring back something that can save Draco, but if he can't... I don't know what's going to happen." He looked up at Hermione again. "I don't know what I'll do if he dies, Hermione. I don't know if I can take that."

"You really care about him, don't you?" she asked softly.

Harry nodded. "I do."

Hermione studied him for a moment, and then threw her arms around Harry in a tight hug. "I missed you, Harry. And so did Ron."

Awkwardly, Harry returned the hug. "Thanks, Hermione. I missed you, too."

After a moment, Hermione broke the hug, and she quickly wiped her eyes. Harry pretended not to notice. "I'm going to go back and talk to Ron. I told him to stay there. I might be able to talk some sense into him. I doubt he'll ever want to become buddies with Mal - er... Draco, but hopefully I can convince him not to curse him on sight. You go on, Harry. I'll meet you back up in Gryffindor Tower."

Harry nodded. "Thanks, Hermione. I don't think I want to go to Gryffindor Tower quite yet. I might go down to the kitchens and pinch some snacks. I should probably say 'hi' to Dobby and Biddy while I'm down there. Hopefully, by the time I get back to Gryffindor Tower, you'll have diverted some of the crowd... please?" He gave her a hopeful look.

Hermione rolled her eyes at him. "I'll handle it, Harry. Now, go eat something."

Harry laughed lightly. "Okay, okay."

He watched her as she disappeared back into the Room of Requirement, and felt a bit of the earlier sense of hollowness return to his gut. No, it was just his stomach rumbling; he really did need to eat something. Resignedly, he pulled his Invisibility Cloak out of the pack, covered himself with it, and made his way towards the kitchens.

*********

Biddy wasn't in the kitchens, which Harry supposed was just as well. He was more than thoroughly occupied with Dobby, plus a dozen other house-elves who wouldn't let him leave until he'd eaten enough to feed the entire Weasley household. By the time he had satisfied Dobby's questions and had eaten enough to placate the other house-elves, he was exhausted and painfully stuffed. For a brief moment, he simply wanted to return to Gryffindor Tower, climb the stairs to the sixth year boys' room, and collapse into his four-poster. He'd sincerely thought that he would never see it again. Just to feel the cushiony mattress, the soft blankets, and the plump pillows would be like heaven after using the cold ground as a bed for two weeks, and a dungeon floor for the week before that. However, he couldn't go there yet.

Halfway up the main staircase, Harry took a turn down the third floor corridor and made his way to the hospital wing.

There was a soft light still glowing in the infirmary, and Harry entered to find Madam Pomfrey sitting in a chair by Draco's bedside, reading a book. She looked like a cross between a sentry guard and a mother keeping vigil over her ailing child. It was an odd combination. She looked up sharply when she heard Harry's footsteps, and for an instant, Harry swore he saw her hand go for her wand. She relaxed when she recognized who he was.

"Mr. Potter, I trust you've had an adequate supper."

Harry gave her a chagrined expression. "The way those house-elves made me eat, I'm amazed I can walk."

"Good. I told them to be on the lookout for you, and to make sure you'd eaten enough." She put her book aside, and took a good look at him. "You look a little less peaky than you did when you arrived, but you should be up in your house by now. A brief nap in the afternoon is not enough to compensate for the ordeal you just went through."

"Curfew isn't for another fifteen minutes," Harry pointed out as he moved to stand by Draco's bedside, "and I wanted to come and see how he's doing."

Madam Pomfrey stood beside him. "The same, but we didn't expect anything else."

"Yeah, I know," Harry whispered hoarsely.

"He's no worse, though."

"Has anyone else come to see him?" Harry asked, trying to change the subject, hoping that he was keeping the nervousness out of his voice.

"No, Harry. There has been no suspicious activity, I promise. Nobody has visited. Wait, I take that back. He had one visitor: a very distraught house-elf who called herself Biddy."

"So that's where she was," Harry said absently. He took one of Draco's hands and automatically began kneading it, trying to look casual. "His hands are cold. Is there anything you can do for that?"

"A warming charm, I suppose, and perhaps something to aid circulation. Here, move back for a moment."

Harry stepped back as the Nurse made a complex set of motions with her wand over each of Draco's hands and then again over his whole body. She tucked her wand in her apron and reached out to touch Draco's hands again. "Yes, that should do nicely for now."

Harry gave Draco's fingers a quick squeeze. "It's better. How long will the charms last?"

"They're supposed to last twenty-four hours, but I'll check them again in the morning." She paused for a moment. "You're really worried about him, aren't you?"

"I am. Any word from Professor Dumbledore?"

"Not yet, but somehow, I suspect that you'll be the first person he notifies when he returns."

Harry considered this for a moment. "What about Snape - er, Professor Snape? He's Draco's Head of House. Where's he? You said he wasn't here."

"Professor Snape has been gone since about a week after you left." She sounded distressed over the fact.

Harry was surprised by this news for all of two seconds. He was pretty sure he knew exactly where Snape had gone. Of course, if Snape were really loyal to Dumbledore, why wasn't he back yet? And thinking of that, what had happened to Voldemort? But that was another matter. "What about Potions classes?" Harry asked, trying to edge deeper into the topic.

"Professor Dumbledore found a temporary replacement, but we're all quite anxious about Professor Snape's absence."

"Do you know where he -"

"Harry, that's quite enough of that," Madam Pomfrey said shortly, effectively cutting him off. "We can only hope that Professor Snape is still alive and well, and that he will be returning to us shortly. Hopefully with good news."

"Oh, yeah. That would be good," Harry said sullenly. Where was Snape the one time in his life that Harry wanted to see him? If he was loyal to Dumbledore, he would probably be able to help Draco better than anyone. Perhaps he had been able to leave Voldemort's little party after things went wrong. But then why wouldn't he have come back already? Harry shook his head to himself and looked back down at Draco.

"I think you had probably best be getting back to Gryffindor now. It's late and I'm sure the curfew will be quite strict tonight, considering your arrival."

"But Draco -"

"I promise, Draco will be fine. There's nothing that you can do to help him tonight, and you certainly need a good night's sleep. Shall I give you a potion for dreamless sleep to take back with you? You might need it."

"No, thank you," Harry said quickly. Knowing that further delays would be useless, Harry looked at Draco's face one last time for the evening. He appeared so peaceful, really. All the lines of stress and worry were gone from his face and he looked almost angelic. If Harry didn't think about it, he could almost convince himself that Draco was just enjoying a very good nap. But he wasn't, and Harry couldn't stop thinking about it. He knew exactly how bad the situation really was.

Finally, Harry turned and walked out of the infirmary without another word.

*********

Hermione had kept her promise, and by the time Harry arrived in the Gryffindor common room, it was almost empty. It was also obvious that his housemates were exercising very tenuous restraint by not mobbing him at the door. Most of the younger students had, apparently, already gone to bed. A few fifth years remained, and some of the seventh years, but it appeared that every sixth year student, except Ron, was waiting by the fireplace. Ginny was sitting with them, next to Dean. One large armchair was conspicuously empty, and Harry knew they were waiting for him. He walked to the chair without making eye contact, perched on the edge of the cushion, and finally faced his friends.

"Hi, everyone." Nobody said a word. Harry gritted his teeth. This wasn't going to be as easy as he'd wanted. "Er... where's Ron?"

"He went upstairs," Dean answered. "Said he had a lot to think about."

"Oh, yeah. He might," Harry said. He looked wistfully at the stairs to the dormitories, wishing he could escape. He didn't want to do this. Yes, it was better than dealing with the entire school, and yes, he should probably tell them a bit of what was going on, but -

"Harry, are you even going to look at us?" Ginny demanded, pulling Harry back to reality.

"Yes," Harry said, but it came out like a protest. "It's just that -"

"It's just that what? Ron and Hermione weren't the only two people worried about you, in case you'd forgotten. There's a reason everyone was trying to ask you a million questions!"

"I know, but -"

"So are you going to talk to us, or are you going to go up to your bed and sulk over Malfoy?"

Ginny's words felt like a slap across the face, and Harry found himself unintentionally edging away from her. She continued to glare at him, and finally, he let his shoulders slump and he looked down at the floor. "Go ahead. Ask. I'm too tired to argue anyway." He glanced up at Ginny, who was now giving him an encouraging smile, although he detected a hint of smugness in it. She's going to be a scary witch someday, he thought to himself.

"How did you get back here, Harry?" Lavender blurted out, wide-eyed. "They said you were at least a hundred miles to the north! You didn't really walk all that way, did you?"

It was all Harry could do not to snort at the ridiculous question. "Why do you think it took so long to get back?"

If anything, Lavender's eyes only got bigger. "But weren't there monsters in the woods? It must have been terrible!"

"The Forbidden Forest is south of the school grounds. Where Draco and I travelled was all just normal woods. Nothing really dangerous."

"Muggle beasts, then?" Parvati jumped in.

"Well, we had a problem with a snake -"

"Did it bite you?" Lavender squeaked.

"No, it bit Draco. But don't worry, we took care of that."

"Oh, well... I'm glad, you know, that -"

"Harry, I hate to cut in, but I've got to know, how did you manage to travel that far with Malfoy without killing each other?" That was Seamus.

Harry cocked his head at him in irritation. "Didn't Hermione explain it to you?"

"Well, she did, but I have a hard time believing -"

"Well, believe it," Harry said coldly.

"Harry...?" Neville this time.

"Yes, Neville?"

"Did Malfoy really save your life?"

In a heartbeat, the guilt and hollowness came flooding back, and Harry let his head droop forward. "Yes, he did. More than once."

For a long time the room was silent, save for the warm crackle of the fireplace. It felt dreadfully incongruous with how Harry was feeling. When the questions finally began again, Harry answered them blankly, dutifully, but he hardly felt like he was present. When he finally felt he'd been there long enough, he was glad to escape to his dormitory room until he remembered that Ron was waiting up there for him. He reached the top of the stairs, gritted his teeth, and pushed the door open.

Ron was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling where he'd stuck a Chudley Cannons poster on the first day of the year. Seven orange-clad figures zoomed around on the large piece of parchment, and Harry was amused to notice that they didn't seem as disoriented as they'd been when the poster had first been flipped horizontally. At least, they didn't keep crashing into each other anymore.

"You going to come in, or just stand there staring at my poster?" Ron said, snapping Harry from his thoughts.

"Oh, yeah, sorry. Er, hi, Ron."

"Hullo, Harry," Ron replied neutrally, still staring at the ceiling. "Everybody still downstairs?"

"They are." Harry sat down on the edge of his bed, as gingerly as he'd sat on the armchair. I had planned to run up to my bed and take a flying leap onto the mattress when I got here, he thought ruefully. "So," he said slowly, "what do you think?"

It took Ron a minute to answer. "I think... I'm still thinking about it." He sighed. "I don't know, Harry. I'm not saying that I could never get used to the idea, but right now, I don't know how to just accept Malfoy. It's too sudden. Maybe you had some life-altering bonding experience with him, but in case you forgot, I wasn't there to witness it. And then... you wouldn't talk to us. I guess I don't know what to think quite yet."

"I suppose that's as much as I can expect right now."

Ron finally rolled on his side to face Harry. "You're my best mate, Harry. I might not be able to change my opinion of Malfoy overnight, but I'll work on it. For you, not for him. Just so you're aware of it."

Harry ventured a small smile. "Does that mean you're not going to hex him?"

"Oh, I didn't promise that," Ron said with a wave of his hand, "but I promise it won't be anything too deadly."

Immediately, Harry's smile fell. "He doesn't need much help in that department."

Ron had the courtesy to look a bit concerned. "Wait, is he actually dying? Or is he recovering?"

"He's still alive, but he's not... not quite here, somehow. I can't explain it." Harry found he had a hard time getting the words out. "But if Dumbledore doesn't find an answer, which is why he left, then... Draco will die anyway."

Ron thought about it for a moment. "Hermione and I have survived five full years as your friends. I'm sure a couple of weeks won't kill off Malfoy."

Harry looked at Ron with a strange combination of surprise and amusement. "You know, somehow, that actually makes me feel better."

"Good."

"But probably not the way you wanted."

Ron furrowed his eyebrows. "Why's that?"

"Because you admitted that he was my friend."

Ron made a face. "I did say that, didn't I?"

"You did." Harry smiled. "Oh, and Ron... I know this is trivial, but did anyone happen to find and save the Marauder's Map for me?"

Ron didn't answer immediately, but instead, he rolled to the other side of his bed, reached over the side of the mattress, and began digging around beneath the bed. He spoke as he dug. "You know, after Snape had this, it was one hell of a trick trying to get it back. He must have seen you with it before or something, because when I tried to ask for it, he raved on and on about it being an obvious piece of Dark magic, and how it shouldn't be left in the wrong hands... which is when Dumbledore agreed with him and took it. Later that night - ah, here we go." He heaved himself fully back onto the mattress and handed the parchment across to Harry. "Later that night, it mysteriously appeared, folded neatly, under my pillow. I almost crushed it."

Harry accepted the map gratefully. "Dumbledore's pretty good, isn't he?"

"That's not what you were saying early this summer."

Harry shrugged. "He said he'd protect Draco, even after... well... everything."

Ron merely grunted.

"Ron..." Harry started, but then he finally sagged back against the mattress. "I guess we'll talk more later."

"We will. And I'm sure you could use some sleep."

"I probably could, but I don't think I could fall asleep right now, even if I wanted to."

Ron frowned. "Didn't Madam Pomfrey give you something?"

"She tried."

Ron chuckled. "Should have known. Well," he said, gathering himself up and pulling back the sheets. "I'm ready for bed, and you should at least try to get some sleep."

"Really, Ron, since when did you start sounding like Hermione?" Harry was rewarded with a pillow hitting him in the face. "Good aim! Maybe you should play Chaser this year!" He threw the pillow back and Ron caught it easily.

"Goodnight, Harry."

"Goodnight, Ron."

Harry was just pulling the curtains of his four-poster shut when Ron spoke again, softer this time. "I missed you, Harry."

Harry closed his eyes. "I missed you too, Ron." He pulled the curtains the rest of the way shut and flopped back on his bed. After a moment, he heard the door open, faint whispering, and the shuffle of feet. Dean, Seamus, and Neville. I'll bet they were waiting right outside the door until Ron and I stopped talking. Harry supposed he should have felt irritated at them for listening in, but instead, he was just grateful that they hadn't interrupted. He didn't have the energy left to be irritated.

After a few minutes, the lights went out, and Harry lay staring at the ceiling through the darkness. It was the most physically comfortable he'd been in three weeks. His own pillow, clean blankets. He still had his day clothes on, but he didn't care. He wasn't going to sleep quite yet. He was still exhausted, and the bed was wonderfully comfortable. After sleeping on the ground or on a dungeon floor for three weeks, he'd never take a pillow for granted again. The bed felt so good, and his body was screaming for sleep, but he couldn't. Something was definitely missing. Draco.

When he finally heard Seamus snoring, he knew that everyone else had already fallen asleep, and he could move. A quick check of the Marauder's Map showed Filch and Mrs. Norris down in the dungeons, on their way to the Potions classroom, where Peeves seemed to be bouncing around the supplies storeroom. Harry couldn't help but snicker as he imagined the damage being inflicted. At least Filch would be busy for a while. There was no other activity on the map. Madam Pomfrey was in her personal room, adjacent to the infirmary, and Draco was still in his bed, where he had been all day. And where Harry was going.

Harry pulled back the curtains slowly, making sure he didn't awaken anyone. He quietly snuck out of the room, pulled his Invisibility Cloak out of the pack which he was still carrying, and wrapped it around himself. Taking care over the squeaky spots in the floor, he moved through the common room. The only person left down there was Hermione, sitting by the fireplace with her nose stuck in a book. Harry was briefly tempted to stop and talk to her, but if he did, she'd never let him out of Gryffindor Tower. Feeling almost guilty for using such a cheap diversion to sneak past his friend, Harry pulled out his wand, aimed it at the far window, and whispered almost inaudibly, "Alohomora!"

With the assistance of the driving wind and rain outside, the window swung open. Rain blew in, spattering Hermione and her book, and extinguishing some of the candles. "Oh!" Hermione cried, and hurried to shut the window. Using the temporary distraction, Harry hurried out the portrait hole. The Fat Lady snorted once in her sleep and resumed snoring contentedly.

It seemed to take forever to reach the hospital wing, and even longer to cross the floor to Draco's bed, but as Harry took the last few steps, time seemed to slow down and almost stop. Out of the vague shadows appeared the details of a face that was now so familiar Harry thought he might be able to recognize it by touch alone. There was something about the way the school glowed at night that turned Draco's face into a porcelain carving. The image, highlighted by the soft blues of residual magic, reminded Harry with painful clarity of the way Draco had looked in the fairy ring. He'd felt so close to Draco that night. Of course, he'd assumed it to be the effects of the fairy magic. But here and now, there were no fairies to cause the surge of heat in his chest, or the tightness in his throat, but they were there all the same.

After standing there for a long moment, Harry pointed his wand towards the door of Madam Pomfrey's private chambers and whispered a muffling spell. He pulled up the chair close to Draco's bedside and sat down. It wasn't really as if his being there could do anything to help Draco, but it helped ease Harry's mind a bit to sit beside him, knowing Draco was still breathing. And maybe, on some level, Draco could tell he was there. Maybe he'd appreciate the company. In the very least, Harry wanted to think Draco wouldn't mind.

"I don't know," Harry said aloud, slouching deep into his chair. "Would it bother you if you were to wake up now, and here I was, sitting here staring at you?"

Draco, of course, didn't reply, although some part of Harry's imagination painted a picture of Draco sitting up and smirking at him, saying something like, Everyone loves to stare at me, Harry. I'm like a sculpture on a dais. These fine, chiselled features, this incredible body, this immaculate hair -

"You've got a pointy chin," Harry answered his own thoughts. "And you're as thin as I am. But you're right about the hair."

Of course. Prat.

"I miss that, you know."

What, my gorgeous hair?

"Your obnoxious sense of humour."

You're no better.

"I know. It was fun though. Going back and forth like that, without... without wanting to... to fight each other."

It was entertaining. I wouldn't have traded it for the world.

Harry choked at his mental dialogue. "But you did trade it for the world. You shouldn't have, Draco."

Of course I should have! Don't be so selfish!

Harry sat up. "Selfish? How the fuck am I being selfish?"

You wanted me to kill you - don't you know that would have killed me? How awful it would have been?

"And this isn't awful for me now?" Harry blurted out. "To see you like this?"

I never said Slytherins weren't self-serving.

"How is it self-serving to sacrifice your own life? Why'd you do it, Draco?" Harry felt himself starting to lose control. "Tell me why!"

You know why. We both do.

"But why the hell does it have to be you? I was supposed to die! Why you?" Harry slammed his hands onto the side of Draco's mattress in frustration. "After everything we went through! Why did it happen like that? Why can't everything just be simple! And why -" Harry choked and squeezed his eyes shut. "Why did I figure it out too late?"

He waited for the silent response from his mind's image of Draco, but there was silence. He opened one eye, then the other. Draco was still laying there, eyes closed, motionless as a statue, not that Harry had expected anything different. He'd just hoped. He tried to imagine Draco sitting up again, looking at him, but the image was lost. His chest constricted at the loss. "Draco?" Nothing. "Answer me, damn it! Please... Draco..."

"PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!"

In a heartbeat, Harry's body froze around him. If it could have moved, his heart would have leapt into his throat. He tried to cry out, even though he knew he couldn't. But Madam Pomfrey will have heard the hex! Harry thought to himself. She'll come running in any second! Then Harry remembered that he'd placed the muffling spell on the door. Shit.

He didn't have time for any more thoughts before his attacker walked into view. Pansy Parkinson.

"So, if it isn't the Potty Potter, crooning over the comatose body of his rescuer. How romantic." She pushed his frozen body back into his chair and leaned in close over him. "You wouldn't let me in to see Draco before, but you can't stop me now. Oh, I'm sure you want to talk to me, and say some very rude things. It's much more pleasant this way."

Pansy's hand lashed out suddenly and struck him across the cheek. Had Harry not been Petrified, he was sure his head would have snapped clear around backwards.

"It's because of you that Draco destroyed his entire future. Draco was so wonderful." She sounded almost wistful. "He was smart, and handsome, and everyone just knew he was going to be great. He had so much promise."

She was pacing in front of the bed, not really looking at Draco. "The Dark Lord wanted him before he was even of age. Think of the honour, Potter! You can't begin to understand... your type could never understand. To be chosen so young, for such a great honour... even the Dark Lord knew he would be great! One of the most powerful Death Eaters, even greater than his father! Draco deserved so much more. He deserved me. And you ruined him."

Harry wanted to struggle, but he couldn't even move enough to do that. All he could do was sit back and listen to Pansy prattle on. It seemed like all her anger was directed at Harry. She sounded more like she wanted to kill Harry, and to snog Draco rather than to hurt him.

That's disgusting.

"I was going to marry him, you know."

Fat chance of that, you pug-faced cow, Harry thought to himself, but the thought came through in Draco's voice.

"But not any more," she continued. "A Parkinson could never marry a blood-traitor. It would be a disgrace. I can't believe that it's come to this. He was my Draco. He was supposed to be mine! And that's why I have to be the one to kill him."

NO! Harry was stunned. After all that, she was planning to kill Draco. Harry had reported his suspicions. So why wasn't Madam Pomfrey standing guard? She'd promised she wouldn't let anyone near Draco! Where was Dumbledore? Where was anybody?

"I don't want to, of course, but there's no other way it could be. And even Draco would understand, if he were in his right mind... but he's not. Not anymore." Pansy held up a phial. "But this isn't my fault, Potter. You did it to him." She turned towards Draco.

Merlin, please stop her! Anybody, stop her!

"Oh, and Potter," she said over her shoulder, "I think there's enough in here for two. That can be your last thought... Draco died because of you, and his sacrifice was in vain anyway. But you can watch him die first. Enjoy." She turned back, and reached to uncap the phial.

"STUPEFY!"

Harry wasn't even sure if he'd thought or heard it, but in the next second, Pansy toppled to the floor, and there was the sound of breaking glass as the phial shattered. An instant later, a dark hulk moved into view and bent low over Pansy. The person turned around holding Pansy's wand and muttered, "Finite Incantatem."

Harry's body felt like water bursting out of a dam, and he almost fell out of his chair as the charm was removed. Through his shock and the shadows, he finally managed to focus on the face of his, and Draco's, rescuer.

"Crabbe?"

"Potter," came the grunt-like reply.

"But I thought... weren't you supposed... what's going on here?"

"Yeah, I was supposed to kill him," Crabbe said. He didn't sound happy about it. "My dad told me to do it before Pansy could, so I could take credit. But I couldn't."

"Couldn't... you weren't going to kill him? But... why?"

"He was good to me. He was the only person who ever was. I couldn't just forget."

"But what about Goyle?"

"Greg was more... in it for himself. Hung out with Draco mostly because he figured Draco would be in tight with the Dark Lord someday. When we heard what Draco had done, we both knew we were gonna take different sides."

"You wanted to stop Pansy... and he wanted to keep you from interfering," Harry said, suddenly understanding.

"You shoulda seen him when he read the letter my dad sent, telling me to kill Draco first. He swore he'd either use the Imperius to make me do it, or he'd stop me from getting in Pansy's way. He didn't want to curse me though, if he could help it. Been friends too long. Huh. You would think being friends with Draco woulda meant something too."

Harry shook his head to himself. This was all coming too fast. "Wait... where's Goyle, then?"

"I knocked him out. Put a Sleeping Draught in the tart he brought back from dinner for his bedtime snack. He eats too much."

The abrupt release of tension combined with the memory of the Sleeping Draught incident from his second year, and suddenly Harry started laughing. Insanely. Crabbe just stared at him dumbly until he caught his breath. "I'm sorry... I didn't mean to laugh... not at you. It was just -"

"Nerves. I get it. I'm not as dumb as people think."

Harry sat up a little straighter and took a good look at Vincent Crabbe. "No, you're not," Harry said softly.

"Besides, that was cunning - not just anyone would think of putting a Sleeping Draught in a dessert."

It was all Harry could do not to burst out laughing all over again. "No, they wouldn't." He looked down at Pansy. "What are we going to do with her?"

Crabbe shrugged. "Hadn't thought that far ahead. Dumbledore ain't here, is he?"

"No," Harry said anxiously. "He left, and I don't think he's back yet."

"Unfounded speculation, I assure you both," came a man's voice from the doorway.

Harry jumped out of his chair and spun around to see Dumbledore walking swiftly towards them. "Professor!"

The Headmaster waved his hand in the air, and the torches flared to life, bathing the entire scene in a yellow glow. He looked down at Pansy's slumped body on the floor, and at the broken glass over a small wet patch near her right hand. "I shall call Kingsley Shacklebolt at once. Harry, if you would so kindly remove your excellent muffling spell from Madam Pomfrey's doorway and call her in?"

"Er, yes, sir," Harry said, feeling embarrassed, even as he obliged. A moment later, he came back from the door with a dishevelled but alert Madam Pomfrey trailing behind.

"Albus! You're back - good heavens! What happened to -"

"She's not injured, Poppy, merely Stunned. And I would suggest she remain that way until the Aurors arrive."

"Aurors?!"

"She was going to murder Draco!" Harry announced, feeling a surge of fury at the school Nurse. "You said you were going to keep people away from him!"

"But I had an alarm rigged," she said in dismay. "It should have told me if anyone entered the infirmary."

"Oh, brilliant wandwork!" Harry snapped.

"Harry, you will refrain from addressing members of my staff in such a manner." Dumbledore looked at him severely.

Harry was too angry to be cowed. "Her faulty alarm almost got Draco killed!"

Dumbledore frowned, then furrowed his eyebrows. "Her alarm was perfectly functional. Harry... what is hanging from that chain around your neck?"

Harry's jaw fell open. His fingers were almost numb as he reached inside his collar and pulled the Mislocator into plain view. "I... I forgot I had it. I've been wearing it for so long... I just forgot it was there." He looked pitifully towards Madam Pomfrey. "I'm sorry... I had no idea..."

Madam Pomfrey was fluttering one hand against her chest - a look very incongruous with her usual demeanour. "Quite all right, Potter. I'm as stunned as you are. Albus?"

Silently, Dumbledore reached out, and without taking the Mislocator from Harry, he twisted the dial until the red mark realigned with the "N". Instantaneously, a terrible wailing sound filled the infirmary. Madam Pomfrey took out her wand and yelled something barely audible over the noise. A second later, the room was silent again.

"Well," Dumbledore said, sounding falsely cheerful, "we now know Madam Pomfrey's Alarm Charm is exemplary."

"Did you say something?" Crabbe said loudly, twisting his index finger in his right ear.

Dumbledore smiled. "Mr. Crabbe, while I didn't see everything, I daresay my powers of speculation are excellent. I wish to commend you for your actions tonight."

Crabbe looked confused, cocking his head one way, then the other, as if he couldn't quite hear Dumbledore. "No, I don't have a cat."

Harry couldn't quite suppress a snicker. Apparently Crabbe's ears were still ringing from the alarm. He clapped Crabbe on the shoulder and said loudly in his ear, "He means, good job!"

"Oh! Thank you, sir." Crabbe puffed out his chest proudly, and Harry suddenly remembered just how seldom he'd been praised in his life, according to Draco.

Dumbledore nodded. "I would like you to stay with Madam Pomfrey and guard Miss Parkinson until the Aurors arrive."

Crabbe turned his ear towards Dumbledore, and Harry translated again. "Stay here and guard the bitch!" He pointed down at Pansy.

Crabbe grinned, and for a moment, Harry swore he was about to salute the Headmaster. "Yes, sir!"

"Very good. And now, Harry, if you'll follow me to my office."

"But... but what about Draco? You said you were looking for a way to bring him back! Did you find -"

"I did find something, and for that, you will need to follow me to my office. If you wish to save Draco, you must trust me."

Harry was going to protest again, but he couldn't. He couldn't put Draco at risk. "Yes, Professor."

"Good. Poppy, don't move Miss Parkinson or the broken glass until the Aurors arrive." And with that, Dumbledore turned and walked away so fast that he was almost to the door before Harry started following after him.

Harry was always taken a bit by surprise at the speed and strength with which Dumbledore moved. A man of his age shouldn't be able to move so well, but then, Dumbledore was no ordinary man. Harry was hard-pressed to keep up. Before he knew it, they had arrived at the old gargoyle.

"Pineapple," Dumbledore said, and the gargoyle jumped aside.

"Pineapple?" Harry repeated.

"Ah yes, I decided that too many sweets were unhealthy for a man of my age," Dumbledore answered offhandedly as he climbed the spiralling staircase. "It wouldn't do for me to slow down now, would it?"

"No, I guess not."

The door to the Headmaster's office opened, and Harry followed Dumbledore in. First, the Headmaster went straight to the fireplace, threw in a pinch of powder, and stuck his head in the flames. Harry assumed he was calling Kingsley Shacklebolt. The conversation was brief, and Dumbledore smartly brushed himself off and walked to his desk. Before he had even settled into his chair, however, Harry's impatience got the best of him and he jumped out of his seat. "What did you find, sir? Can we save Draco? What's wrong with him? If he's still alive, why won't he wake up?"

"Harry, Harry!" Dumbledore raised his hands, giving Harry a disturbing flash of déjà vu. "Sit down, and listen. What I'm about to discuss with you is some very profound magic, and I need your full attention... if we are to save Draco."

"Oh." Harry dropped heavily back down into his chair.

"First, I should tell you that we are not sure what has become of Lord Voldemort."

"What does that mean?"

For a moment, Dumbledore looked very tired. "It means that since the night of the eclipse, and Voldemort's failed attempt to take your life, I have been unable to detect any sign of him. It was reported to me that he had a rather nasty reaction to Draco's efforts, and was taken somewhere by his closest followers. Since then, he has been completely inactive, or shielded from detection more fully than ever before."

"He's gone into hiding?"

"We do not know, Harry. But those are questions for another time. At the moment, we cannot do anything regarding Voldemort. I merely felt that you had the right to know. Right now, our priority is Draco's life."

Harry nodded emphatically. "What did you find, sir? You said you had a theory... was it correct?"

"My theory must be correct, for there is no other explanation that would account for all I have seen. However, before I venture further, I must be absolutely certain. Otherwise, any attempt that we make to save Draco may put both of you at further risk."

Harry sat up a little straighter in his seat. "Both of us? You mean me, too? At risk? For what?"

Dumbledore didn't answer for a moment, but instead rose slowly from his chair and walked around to stand in front of Harry. "Although this may be an uncomfortable thing for you, with your permission, I would like to perform Legilimency on you."

Instantly, Harry's heart began thudding faster in his chest. "Why?" he asked edgily.

"Because in order to ascertain exactly what happened, I must look at the events leading up to Draco's sacrifice. A retelling of the tale, especially from a person so emotionally entrenched in the situation, might leave out vital clues."

"But... why can't... is there any other way?"

"We could use the Pensieve," Dumbledore said evenly, "but that could take hours. Draco does not have the luxury of that time."

"Won't Legilimency take time, too?" Harry challenged.

"When Professor Snape cast Legilimens on you, what did you experience?"

Harry thought back. "It was like I was trapped inside my head for a moment, and there was a rush of memories, just swirling by so fast I could barely - oh. It goes quickly, doesn't it?"

"It can."

Harry squirmed. The last thing he ever wanted to do was to have his mind flayed open again as Snape had done. But then, this wasn't Snape. And he was doing it to help Draco. "All right, go ahead. I'm ready."

He shut his eyes and braced himself for the spell to come. Instead, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He opened his eyes to find himself looking into a pair of sparkling blue eyes behind half-moon spectacles. Dumbledore was crouched down in front of him. "No. Keep your eyes open. This is rather different than Professor Snape's method. Relax."

In the next instant, Harry felt something move through his mind like a crisp breeze though the dry leaves of late autumn. As it brushed through, it seemed to catch little snippets of memories, causing them to surface ever so briefly. Hints of emotions, familiar sights he couldn't quite see clearly. The perspective was strange, almost as if he were experiencing his memories from the point of view of an external observer. There he and Draco were, arguing in the dungeons. Voldemort. Pain. Draco crying. Running along the riverbed, trying to escape the Death Eaters. Then came the leaf-fight. An ugly teddy bear. Draco's torturous visions. Wading into the river together. Glowing balls of light. Fairy rings. The fight. Desperation. Elation. Tenderness, sleepiness, and mumbled words. Distress. Moonrise. Dancing. Clinging desperately. Fading away.

The last hint of a memory was of Draco telling him something, but the words were muffled. He was sure that he needed to know what Draco had said, but he had been losing consciousness in that memory, and it was too hazy, and it went by too fast. Then it was over. Harry blinked his eyes to find a watery view of the Headmaster looking back at him with deep concern. "Are you all right, Harry?"

"I... yeah, just let me..." He pulled his glasses off and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. He was shaking slightly, and his limbs seemed heavier than they'd been only moments before. "I feel like I just relived the entire last three weeks."

"In a way, you just did." Dumbledore stood and leaned back against his desk. "Harry, as you were falling asleep the night before the eclipse, do you actively remember saying anything peculiar?"

"No... I... Draco said I was talking in my sleep. He'd used a sleep-aid charm on me. I don't remember much of anything from that night. Or... I didn't. Now I feel like there's something I should remember from that, but I don't. What did you see, sir?"

Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully, but he completely ignored Harry's question. "And on the night of the eclipse itself, do you remember anything Draco might have said? Anything unusual while you were starting to lose consciousness?"

Once again, Dumbledore must have seen something in one of those hazy memories; Harry was sure of it. Perhaps, if he was vague enough, Dumbledore would tell him what he'd seen. "It was all really fuzzy. He had tried something through the link the potion had made between us. I could feel him through it, although I'm not sure that makes much sense. Does it?"

"It does," Dumbledore said neutrally. "Go on."

Harry stifled his frustration. "I told him not to bother with whatever he was trying, because I could tell it wasn't going to work. And then... I said that I wanted him to keep his promise to me that... this is going to sound awful, but -"

"Harry, I am aware that you asked Draco to kill you himself if it seemed Voldemort was going to be successful."

"Oh, yeah." He gave a weak laugh. "You would know, wouldn't you?"

"I would. But do you remember anything after that point?"

"Not really," Harry admitted, carefully avoiding Dumbledore's eyes, "but while you were looking through my memories... I thought I saw something there. It's like the answer for an exam that you know you should remember, but the harder you try, the more it slips away... you know what I mean. You didn't do anything to the memory, did you?"

"I would never alter your memories, Harry. I was merely an observer."

Harry could feel the frustration grinding at him from the inside. "Well, Professor, what did you observe?"

Dumbledore was still for a moment, then moved back around the desk to his chair and sat down heavily. He leaned his elbows on the desk and steepled his hands in front of his face. "Do you remember what I told you about the sacrifice your mother made for you?"

In an instant, Harry's heart stuck in his throat. Torn between irritation at not having his question answered, and surprise at the sudden reference to his mother's death, Harry couldn't even nod, but Dumbledore simply continued.

"Your mother was willing to put your life before her own. At the time, you were too young to even be aware of her sacrifice. A baby is unable to knowingly return love to its parents in the same way an adult or even a self-aware child is. Also, the sacrifice was simple, and pure. It was facilitated by a spell, but not directed by that spell." His voice dropped a notch. "What Draco did for you was the same in general principle, but the magic facilitating his sacrifice... was different."

Just then, the fireplace flared up, and Professor McGonagall's face appeared. "Albus!"

Dumbledore spun around in his chair to face the fire. "Yes, Minerva?"

"Ronald Weasley has just burst into my office, claiming that Potter is missing again!"

"Harry is not missing. He is, in fact, right here."

"HE IS?" came a muffled voice through the fire. An instant later, Ron's head appeared in the fireplace next to McGonagall's.

"Mr. Weasley! If you will kindly get your head out of my fireplace, I am trying to speak with the Headmaster!"

Ron ignored her. "Harry, what the hell is going on? Are you okay? I woke up and you weren't there, and with everything that's happened -"

"I'm fine, Ron. We're trying to figure out how to save Draco."

Ron's eyes narrowed. "Oh, Draco again, is it?"

"Mr. Weasley!"

"Yes, it's Draco!"

Ron opened his mouth again, but before he could say anything, it appeared that somebody behind him had pulled him sharply backwards and out of the fire. Coughing and sputtering could be heard, and Harry thought he could distantly hear Hermione scolding Ron.

McGonagall sniffed. "Then if Harry is safe... Professor Dumbledore, will you need my assistance with anything?"

Dumbledore considered this for a moment, then nodded. "Actually, if you would meet me in about ten minutes in the hospital wing, it would probably be prudent for you to know what is about to transpire. There is little time to explain."

Without another word, McGonagall nodded, and disappeared from the fireplace.

Harry was still staring at the fireplace, picturing Ron's furious expression, when Dumbledore caught him lightly by the sleeve. "Harry, I believe that Mr. Weasley will be perfectly fine. Right now, you must focus on the issue at hand."

"Yeah," Harry said, casting one last anxious glance at the fireplace. He didn't like leaving Ron so blatantly angry at him, and then just shutting him off again. But Dumbledore was right. Ron could wait.

"As I was about to explain, Harry, your memories confirmed my theory, both as to how Draco saved you, and... why Draco is still alive. And here, through Draco's ingenuity, we have a solid foundation on which to build our rescue effort." He reached into his pocket, pulled out a scroll of parchment and smoothed it on his desktop.

Even from upside down, Harry recognized it immediately. "Draco's spell diagram."

"Actually, this is a copy. The original is being used to aid the preparations for Draco's rescue."

"Oh," Harry said. Knowing what was on the other side of the original parchment, he was a bit uncomfortable not knowing who had it, but Dumbledore called his attention back to the present situation before he could think on it too hard.

"This is a very well-constructed spell diagram, but from what I could see, it was incomplete. No discredit to Draco, of course. The spell he was trying to diagram was far beyond his years and experience. With the help of two experts in the field, we were able to speculate about the missing pieces. What I have learned from you tonight gives me great confidence that we were correct. Do feel free to read over my shoulder, Harry."

Harry quickly came around the desk and stood beside Dumbledore's chair. There, over Draco's elegant hand, were a few bold, clear lines of blue ink. Now, a direction of energy flow between the "anchor" and "victim" was indicated. A shield was depicted around the victim, and also a connection between the shield and the victim. Several more convoluted lines and a few extra symbols that Hermione was sure to understand graced the parchment. Harry stared at it, letting it tickle his brain until he felt he needed to reach under his scalp and scratch the itch. "What does it mean?"

"From what I can see, Draco had intended to act as an anchor of sorts for you. Am I correct?"

"Wha... yes, sir."

"You must understand, Harry... it is impossible to anchor magical energy in the way Draco had intended. You can direct it, ground it, manifest it, or shield it. Draco should have known this. I wonder what might have inspired this 'tug of war' scenario."

Harry bit down on his tongue. Hard.

Dumbledore gave him a knowing look, then continued. "Essentially, Draco created the same sort of conduit that Voldemort created with you, except his intent was the exact opposite."

Harry nodded. "Voldemort wanted to kill me, and Draco wanted to save me."

"Perhaps I used the wrong word." Dumbledore finally spun sideways in his chair to look at Harry. "Yes, his intent was opposite, but so was the emotional component that he was putting into the spell."

"Draco mentioned something about 'emotional components'," Harry said slowly. "He said that it was vital to the outcome of the spell."

"And Draco was certainly correct in that assessment. It was the most important component of the spell. Indeed, it was the only thing Draco did differently than Voldemort."

Harry took a small step back as understanding sank in. "The potion was the same?"

"Down to the very last physical ingredient," Dumbledore said with a nod.

"Then... what was different... was... it was only -"

"The basic concept is simple, Harry, but the magic involved is profound. The potion itself only functioned to create the link through which the transfer of energy and magic could occur. Hatred alone was the driving element of this spell - the element that Voldemort was going to use to kill you. The only force in the world strong enough to counteract such a powerful hatred... is love." Dumbledore gave a sad smile, and his voice became softer. "Draco had to have cared for you so deeply that his own instinct of self-preservation paled in comparison to his need to save you. In essence, Draco used himself as a shield. He put himself between you and Voldemort... much like your mother."

Harry took another awkward step backwards. Half of his brain refused to process this; it was too unbelievable, but the rest of him knew it was the only explanation. In fact, that part of him had known all along. He turned away from Dumbledore and stumbled to the nearest armchair. He flopped into it heavily, staring off into space. "He used himself as a shield... he gave himself..."

"For you. Yes, Harry. And the only way he could have done it, given this piece of magic -"

"He loved me."

Dumbledore closed his eyes. "I was forced to make that assumption, as I did not wish to interrogate you in front of Madam Pomfrey, but there was no other explanation." Eyes opened behind half-moon spectacles, and Dumbledore peered over the rims. "This does not surprise you nearly as much as it might have."

Harry shook his head. "I knew," he croaked, then coughed once to clear his throat. "I knew all along. I just... didn't want to say... you know -"

"Perfectly understandable, Harry."

"But... if he sacrificed himself... then why... why isn't he dead?"

Dumbledore's smile became even more pained. "This is what my colleagues and I theorized... and you were able to confirm for me through your memories. You see, even though you were unconscious, and barely alive... you were still there, lending him strength, fighting with him through the connection created by the potion. In essence, the only way for him to have survived was for you to love him enough not to let him die."

Around him, Harry felt the entire world had somehow separated itself from him in a blur. The only things that were real were the breath in his chest, the pulse rushing in his ears, and the ghost of Draco's voice whispering in the back of his mind.

"I must ask you directly, Harry," Dumbledore said gently, "What are your feelings for Draco Malfoy?"

Harry blinked and focused on the Headmaster's face. Even though he knew what he would say, he didn't want to say it. He'd never talked about anything like this in his life, and for Dumbledore to be asking him outright made him very uncomfortable. Besides, if he ever managed to drum up the courage to say it aloud, Draco should be the first to hear it. Still, he had to say something.

For a moment, he tried to think of something else to say, but nothing came to him. The same words kept screaming over and over again in his mind. He looked down at his hands and his eyes fell on the back of his right hand. As always, the infuriating scars, carved there in his own messy handwriting, stared back at him.

I must not tell lies.

I won't tell lies.

This isn't a lie.

Harry swallowed once. "I think... I think you know exactly what I would say."

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "Then, I think you may be able to save Draco."

Harry's head snapped up. "I... save Draco?"

Dumbledore said nothing. He didn't need to.

Harry's mouth fell open as understanding dawned on him. "That's why you said both of us would be at risk... isn't it?"

This time, Dumbledore nodded and indicated the piece of parchment with a wave of his hand. Harry looked down at the complex diagram and studied it. The symbol representing the victim, the shield around the victim, and the bonds still connecting them both. It was all too obvious. He was the only one who could bring Draco back. His mouth went dry at the thought.

"What do I have to do?" Harry whispered.

Dumbledore's eyes were dreadfully solemn. "The solution I have found requires an enormous commitment on the part of the 'rescuer'. Draco exists in a state between life and death. In essence, when he used himself as a shield, he became trapped there. Magical space is not the same as physical space, but in essence, he is tethered to you as a magical entity, shielding you from a danger that no longer exists. To retrieve him... you must go there yourself."

Harry would have said, How? but speech was evading him, so he nodded, trusting that Dumbledore would explain.

Dumbledore picked up the parchment and held it so that Harry could see more clearly. "As you must be aware, the Soul's Eclipse potion creates a link between the person who consumes the potion and the person whose blood is used. If the potion had been used as it was designed, you would have died, and the link would have closed immediately. As we can see, you are not dead, and neither is Draco; therefore, the link remained open in a transmuted state. While Madam Pomfrey was working on Draco, I was making my own assessment, and was able to detect these traces of magic. When you presented me with this diagram, the pieces fell into place.

"I had never seen a diagram of the Soul's Eclipse. In fact, in my extensive experience, I have encountered mention of the spell less than half a dozen times. However, I have seen several magical procedures with some similar properties. There is an old technique, used long ago by forsaken lovers, which follows a similar design." He indicated the spell diagram with a wave of his hand. "The jilted or forsaken partner would consume a potion containing a drop of the blood of the other person, which would simultaneously bond them together, and act as a poison for the person who had consumed it. Some reports of the use of this potion spin tales of one partner kissing the other with the poison still on his lips to kill the other, but that would have been unnecessary. As the poisoned individual died, it would drag the partner into death with him through the bond it forged."

"Sounds like Romeo and Juliet," Harry mumbled.

"Well, you don't think Shakespeare was a Muggle, do you?"

Harry's eyes widened. "Er... I guess not."

"Regardless, that is where I recognized this schematic, and how I came to the idea for a solution. The complete explanation for this would take far too long, as our time is short, and the potion we need should nearly be ready now. Suffice it to say, with the help of a dear friend from Beauxbatons who is an expert in the Old Arts, and one of my own colleagues here at Hogwarts who has just returned to us, we have devised a plan using elements of the Lover's Vengeance poison, and the Soul's Eclipse."

"And you're sure it will work?"

"It should."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Harry said as he got to his feet. "Tell me what to do on the way to the infirmary."

"Slow down, Harry!"

"But you keep saying that we're running out - Draco's running out of time. Every minute we waste -"

"Harry, stop, and sit back down," Dumbledore said with such force that Harry flopped into his chair with a thud. Dumbledore nodded. "The potion is still being prepared, and thus, we can not do anything until it is completed. We still have a moment. You must understand that this has never been done. It is an untested theory, and may not work."

"Draco tried an 'untested theory'," Harry snapped, "and that's the only reason I'm still alive. I'm going to do it!"

"As I said before, there are risks to you as well as to Draco, and you must be aware of these risks going in."

"I don't care about the risks! Draco was willing to die for me!" Harry could feel himself becoming slightly hysterical, but he didn't care. He couldn't wait one second longer. "If I can do something to bring him back, I'm going to try it!"

"You might die, too." Dumbledore said it with such simplicity that Harry wasn't sure he'd heard him correctly, until he saw the look in Dumbledore's eyes.

Harry's stomach dropped to his knees. "Wha... how?"

"As I said, this potion is based on the poison I explained to you a moment ago. The original would bring death within seconds. The modified version is not a fast-acting poison, but a slow one. Once you consume it, your body will fall into a near-death state, but your mind will remain lucid. In that state, you should be able to cross over, following the bond between you and Draco to the plane on which Draco exists. I cannot tell you what that place will be like. It will likely be a mental construct of Draco's own mind. He may be hiding, or confused. I do not know what sorts of barriers there may be between you. Still, if you wish to save him, you must find him, and bring him back."

"I'll do it," Harry heard himself say, although his mind was reeling.

"Harry... after you consume the potion, we will only have ten minutes during which we will be able to successfully administer the antidote. After those ten minutes have passed, the poison will have worked itself so deeply into your body that nothing can be done to reverse the damage. You would die, despite our best efforts. If we attempt to neutralize the poison before your consciousness has returned to your body, your mind would be trapped and your body would weaken and die, just as Draco's is doing now. Knowing all this, do you still wish to help?"

Harry could feel his heart beating in his throat, threatening to choke him. He swallowed it back and took a deep breath. "Draco risked everything to save me... and I can't lose him. You can't give me a way to save him, only to talk me out of it. I'm going to do it."

Dumbledore smiled faintly at him. "Most people would consider this very foolish, irrational, and reckless."

"And how is that anything new for me?" Harry asked flatly, but he found himself becoming more impatient with every second wasted. His skin was itching all around him, his stomach was spinning circles, and he couldn't sit still a minute longer. He lurched to his feet. "I can't wait here anymore. I'll be in the infirmary when the potion is ready."

"I will meet you in a few minutes, Harry," Dumbledore called from behind him. "I have to make some final preparations."

Harry didn't even waste enough breath to reply. He barged out of Dumbledore's office and raced down the stairs, heart pounding. Everything was moving so fast now, and he could barely keep up, and barely catch his own breath. It seemed surreal, yet at the same time, more real than anything else he'd ever done.

Draco loved me. That's how he did it. It was right there in front of me. And I... I... Oh Merlin. I knew it all along.

The image of Draco's face, still and pale as death, ghosted across his mind. Slowly dying. Slipping away. The sense of loss Harry had felt before redoubled.

I never told him. I never told him how I felt. Not really. How could I? I wouldn't even admit it to myself. And now, I might never tell him. He might die... I can't let him die...

Harry reached the bottom of the stairs, the gargoyle jumped to the side, and he ran headlong into a lanky redhead.

"Ron, get out of my way."

Ron folded his arms across his chest. "I don't think so."

*********

(To be continued...)

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