Nine Days Till Christmas

DAY FIVE: December 20^th

Step 13: Nostalgia is the best tonic

Hogwarts grounds, 10:30 AM

Harry stood outside Hagrid's hut with the rest of the Care of Magical Creatures class, shifting his feet in the snow and slapping his arms to keep warm. It was actually rather good that the air was so cold because Harry was having a hard time keeping his eyes open. But did it have to feel as if his eyeballs were freezing right there in his skull?

He'd plopped right down on his bed after returning from dinner the night before and haltingly read the three Transfiguration chapters, his eyes constantly skittering to the simmering cauldron at the foot of his bed. He began timing himself after finishing the first chapter, and from that point on his watch went off every ten minutes, and Harry leapt out of bed and gave the cauldron exactly five stirs with a long wooden spoon Hermione had loaned him. The potion was turning a weird yellowish color now as a result of the added powdered tusk of Carpathian pygmy boar, but Harry had checked the directions through and through, and apparently this was to be expected.

After each stirring episode, it was back to the textbook, and by the time eleven o'clock rolled around, Harry's head was swimming with visions of pygmy boars with fennel headdresses transfigured to look like velvet settees and octopus-armed coat-racks. It struck him as so funny during one instance of stirring that he sat down on the floor and laughed hard enough to draw Seamus from the bathroom where he'd been brushing his teeth. His roommate stood there, toothbrush jutting out of the side of his mouth like a cigar, and demanded to know what joke he had missed out on. Harry kept trying to get coherent sentences out about boars wearing velvet, and that was what finally convinced him that it was way past his bedtime.

Unfortunately, his homework said otherwise.

He snapped his Transfiguration text shut for good just before half-midnight and fell to adding the clumps of Tunguskan Fireweed the mixture called for. Dean came in from the bathroom in pajama pants and crouched down next to him.

"What are you making, anyway?"

Harry sighed and leafed through his notes. "Bellefleur's Cathexis Catalyst. It's supposed to make the person who takes it able to concentrate better for days at a time without sleep. In large doses, it can make the drinker extremely persuasive, even able to nudge others in certain directions ideologically."

"Neat. Sounds sort of like Imperius."

"Mild form," Harry said, yawning. "Bellefleur lived about... 500 years ago. Her studies were what the Imperius Curse was based on. But that particular usage is outlawed now. They catalogue every one of the more rare ingredients extensively, so they know exactly how much every person has bought. I had to get a permit from Dumbledore in October. My name's on a list somewhere. I only have enough to make the mild doses."

Dean grinned. "Bet you wish it was done now, huh?"

Harry snorted. "Yeah, maybe then I'd be able to stay awake long enough to finish brewing it. Kind of a circular thing."

Dean went to bed, but it wasn't until an hour later that Harry put up his notes, doused the fire under the cauldron, and fell into his own bed. Ron and Neville came up from playing chess in the Common Room in time for Harry to wave feebly at them, but he was asleep long before their quiet joking subsided.

Needless to say, Harry had woken in a right state of sleepiness early that morning... and had proceeded to have the worst day in Potions in a long while. Snape had them working on a simple hiccup cure - whatever the hell that had to do with anything - and Harry had been so tired he'd accidentally added the ingredients in the wrong order and caused his mixture to froth so heavily it splattered all over his desk and the three desks around him. It had splattered on him. It had splattered on Hermione, Hannah Abbott, and Pansy Parkinson.

It had splattered on Snape.

Snape was not amused. He gave Harry detention despite his protests about having his project to work on, and now Harry was scheduled to be cleaning every cauldron in the dungeons at nine the next night.

"Regrettably, I will not be able to attend to your detention myself, Mr. Potter," Snape had hissed. "But believe me, I will know if you have neglected your punishment. Mr. Zabini will be overseeing your duties, and I assure you, by no means will magical cleansing methods be made available to you."

Harry had nearly lost his temper. Luckily for him, Snape walked away before he could. Draco looked over at him silently from his seat next to a now-grumbling Blaise, and Harry saw sympathy in his eyes.

At first, Harry had just fumed over the annoyance of having ever met Severus Snape. Now, standing in the snow waiting for his next class, he was feeling a vague knot of dread forming in his gut. His potion was temperamental; it would require his utmost attention the night before it was due. He didn't know how he was going to scrub every one of Snape's cauldrons and add the delicate finishing touches to his mixture.

But he had two days. And he was dead tired of thinking about that bloody git Snape. He'd manage somehow, he figured, and pushed it wearily from his mind. Maybe he could add some of the ingredients a bit earlier than he'd planned. Some potions allowed for that.

Hagrid finally came out of his hut wrapped in his huge coat and carrying a longish saw. He waved the seventh years over to him with a gloved hand. "Alrigh', we're not goin' to be dealin' with any large animals today. Dumbledore has asked me t' cut down the Christmas tree, and yer goin' to help me find it. Now, who remembers the segment we covered on tree sprites?"

Hands shot up and within moments, Hagrid was outlining the exact type of sprite the students should be looking for.

"Now, it's goin' to be delicate work, but the firs' student to successfully talk a tree sprite into givin' us a tree gets extra credit on his or her midterm grade. They can be excellent debaters, tree sprites, but if yeh flatter em enough they're like to give yeh whatever yeh want and p'raps a little somethin' extra." Hagrid wiggled his eyebrows.

The girls giggled, and Harry belatedly realized they were talking about mistletoe sprigs. He rolled his eyes, sighed, heard an answering impatient huff behind him, and shared a smirk with Draco.

"Alrigh'! On yer way now." Hagrid clapped his huge hands and slung his saw over his shoulder. "Come back here if yeh find anythin'. I'll be cuttin' logs an' feedin' the Hippogriffs."

The class broke into groups, chattering excitedly and heading for the small copses of trees on the very edges of the Forbidden Forest. Harry glanced around for his friends, but Hermione was already dragging Ron away with her in the direction of the taller trees on the other side of the castle. As he watched, she glanced back under her arm. Harry could have sworn he saw a mischievous grin on her face.

"Well, let's go, Potter, I don't have all day."

Harry whirled at the sound of Draco's voice behind him and was surprised to see that the Slytherin was the only one left of his classmates. He stood there with his arms crossed over that long green coat of his, hat tucked into the crook of one elbow. Harry blinked at him. "Where did everyone go?"

"How the hell should I know? Come on, or the damn tree sprites will boycott Hogwarts."

Harry followed Draco along the edge of the forest. He was beginning to feel more awake now; the cold air was cutting into his cheeks, making his eyes water. He shook himself and caught up with his companion. Draco was not even pretending to look at trees. He was walking along steadily, his hands deep in his coat pockets, gazing passively around at the glittering white blanket of snow covering everything. Harry looked back and forth from Draco to the landscape, and grinned. "Well. That's certainly a first."

"What is?" Draco asked, turning to look at him curiously.

"Never seen anything whiter than your hair before. Amazing."

"Oh, shut up, Potter." But Harry saw him hide a smile as he turned away.

They walked for some time, and Harry entertained himself by shading his eyes and pinpointing the tallest pines. He pointed them out to Draco and they headed over to a few behemoths, stumping through the thick snow. When they got to the nearest one, Draco halted and peered up at it, hands on his hips.

"I've bloody well forgotten how to call a tree sprite. Don't they not like boys anyway?"

"No, that's unicorns. Tree sprites don't like anyone. Unless you can argue ostensibly."

Draco smiled confidently. "Then we're set, aren't we?" He walked over to a tree and beat on the trunk with one fist, then cupped his hands around his mouth and leaned back. "Alright, you bloody sprite, I need this tree. Or the top of it at least. I'm prepared to provide numerous facts and details about Christmas culture, as well as throw a few insults at you if debating is not your forte."

Harry bent over, clutching his stomach as he laughed. There was no answer from the supposedly listening tree sprite, and Draco shrugged, glaring at Harry indignantly. "What? I've done my part. Let some Hufflepuff earn his or her keep and whinge until a sprite kills itself out of boredom. Then Hogwarts will have its bloody tree."

Harry shook his head and struggled to control his laughter. "And I used to wonder how you ever got your way all the time."

Draco sniffed and leaned against the tree trunk. "At least we don't have to sit there and deal with those damned hippogriffs." He shuddered. "Never did like those things."

Harry chose to let that one go. He wandered around the stand of trees, scuffing the snow into piles and watching the sunlight glimmer across the top of it. Finally he found what he was looking for: a snow bank about knee deep. With a sigh, he stretched his arms to the sides and fell over backward into the white fluff.

"What in Salazar's name are you doing?"

Harry began moving his arms up and down in long strokes at his sides. He made the same sweeping motion with his legs. "You are entirely too uptight, Draco, you know that?"

"Excuse me, but you are the only one I see acting like a human windmill in the middle of a snow bank."

Harry heaved himself out of the snow again with some difficulty and turned to look at his handiwork. "Haven't you ever made a snow angel, Draco?"

The Slytherin waded over to Harry's side and crossed his arms, glancing disinterestedly down at the misshapen design. "Please. That's for little children."

Harry groaned and looked skyward. "Well, maybe you need to learn a little bit about being a child again!"

With that, he reached out with one hand and gave Draco a firm shove. The Slytherin let out a yell and toppled into the snow waving both arms. Harry grinned and stepped a little to the right, turned around, then let himself fall again. He immediately began another angel.

Draco was struggling and cursing. "Potter, you arsehole! What the fuck did you do that for?"

The sky was so blue overhead. Harry breathed deeply and closed his eyes, still moving his limbs. "Just stop your whining and make a damn snow angel, Draco. You're already there, you might as well."

"I am not making a bloody snow angel! It's ridiculous!"

Harry opened his eyes and looked over at Draco between the tufts of white. "Then be ridiculous for once! No one's here but me, and we've already established that I take the cake in that department. Come on, Draco. You must have done this as a kid. You live north of York, right? Just... pretend."

For a long moment the only sound was the soft shift and swish of Harry's arms and legs. Then... almost an echo of it... the same sound began to his right. He looked over and saw Draco gingerly moving his arms. Long slow sweeps, as if he were remembering the muscle movements. As Harry watched, the other boy rolled his head to look back. His eyes were slightly wider than usual, his face open and... nervous? Contemplative. Harry met his gaze and held it, and the quiet flowed around them.

Finally, Harry rolled to the side and got to his feet again. He brushed off his jacket as best he could and ran a hand through his hair, pushing the clumps of ice away. He pulled his hat out of his pocket and tugged it on. Draco was lying on his back in the snow, limbs now motionless, looking up at the sky with a dreamy passive expression. His cheeks were flushed again, his hair spread out over the snow like a golden fan. Harry felt a smile stealing over his face at the sight. Draco's eyes flicked to his.

"What the hell are you smiling at?"

Harry shook his head. "Just looking at how precious you are."

Draco gave an outraged cry and began to sit up. "I am most certainly not precious, you Gryffindor arse, how dare y--" He suddenly shut his mouth and struggled more violently. "Bloody fucking hell, Potter, get me out of this damn snow bank!"

Laughing, Harry reached down and took hold of Draco's outstretched hands, pulling him to his feet and stumbling a bit as he did. Draco brushed his coat off primly, glaring at Harry before looking down at the snowdrift that had just relinquished him. He cocked his head, hands stilling. "Well. I suppose it does look rather--"

"Cute?" Harry broke in, snickering.

Draco frowned. "Angelic. But of course," he said, shrugging nonchalantly and smirking, "it was made by me, after all. Naturally, it would be perfect."

"The hell it would! You've left boot prints in the middle of the skirt!"

Draco sniffed. "Wouldn't have happened if you'd pulled me up with a little more strength. Besides, your angel looks like it's been flattened by a clumsy Gryffindor. Oh, hang on... it was."

Harry had launched the snowball before Draco finished his haughty tirade. It smacked into Draco's neck just below his chin and dribbled down over the woolen collar of his coat. The Slytherin's mouth dropped open and he raised his eyes to Harry's incredulously. Neither of them moved. Harry knew he should be vaguely worried. But really, this was as much a test as it was a game. He needed to know about this side of Draco Malfoy, no matter how disappointing it might be.

Abruptly, Draco clenched his jaw. He bent down, grabbed a heaping handful of snow, and lunged at Harry. Harry yelped and tried to run but Draco latched onto his collar and dumped the snow down the front of his jacket. It slithered against his skin, achingly cold. Harry gasped and jerked away from the Slytherin, scrambling over the snow. He dropped, gathering a tuft and shaping it, and launched it at Draco, who only just managed to dive out of the way. And then another snowball smacked into Harry's chest and the blond's righteous "Ha!" rang out.

Harry hurled another snowball at the other boy, landing a direct hit to his shoulder. Draco responded in kind, and soon missiles were whizzing back and forth, the sound of their thumps against bodies augmented by gasping laughter from both opponents. Harry turned to get more snow and Draco took the chance to run at him and tackle him onto his back, rolling away before the Gryffindor had a chance to shove snow in his face. But Harry grabbed his arm and hauled him back, heaping the cold fluff onto his chest as he struggled. Finally Harry was laughing so hard it only took a weak push from Draco to roll him off. He sprawled in the snow catching his breath, and listened to Draco breathing hard beside him.

"Wow, you're a much better opponent than my cousin," Harry wheezed. "The one time we went to the snow he kept shoving my face in it until I nearly had frostbite."

"When was that?"

"I was..." Harry counted mentally. "Seven. I think."

Draco propped himself up on his elbows and looked at Harry. "And he shoved your face into the snow?"

Harry shrugged. "He's always been bigger than me. Let me tell you, it's been a relief not having to go back to my aunt and uncle's house over vacations. Christmases especially. Now the season actually means something to me."

"You're not going back for hols?"

Harry furrowed his brow and looked back at Draco curiously. "No way. I'm staying here."

"Is this normal?"

Harry nodded. "No different than any other Christmas. Well, no, there was one I spent with the Weasleys at... at Sirius' house. That was nice."

Draco's face looked perplexed. "But you're not going there this time."

Harry sat up and leaned on his arms, crossing his ankles. "Actually, I think there are a lot of people staying. Dumbledore is sort of... holding a Christmas for the Order, I guess. The Weasleys are coming here, along with a bunch of others. To celebrate the end of the war."

Draco's frown deepened. "I heard about that."

Harry smiled encouragingly. "Actually, I only found out from Ron when he got a letter from his parents telling him to stay put over break. But I know a lot of people are leaving, too, like you." He looked out over the snowy grounds, at the dark blue-green pines sugarcoated white. Draco gave a sigh and sat up, pulling his knees to his chest.

"Actually..." He pursed his lips. "I'm not going home for Christmas either."

Harry looked at him for a moment, and then nodded. "Your mum."

Draco shifted suddenly. "What would be the fucking point anyway? She wouldn't care, and I sure as hell don't want to spend a week in that mansion with only her stiff self for company. But... I didn't know so many other people were staying."

Harry nodded wordlessly. A dark-feathered owl winged its way across his vision, making for the Owlery from the forest. Draco sighed again. "Hell, what have I got to lose anyway? Maybe the season will come to mean something to me, too."

Harry nodded again. He could feel the relaxation rolling off Draco in waves, the tension leaving him. His blond hair was mussed, and Harry suspected that if he knew, he would have pitched a fit right there in the snow. But he didn't seem to notice, and so Harry committed the frizzled spiky outline of it to memory for a later day.

"Or..." he said conversationally, "maybe you'll actually learn how a real snowball fight is won."

Draco's head snapped around, his eyes flicking over Harry's face beneath dark brows. Harry smirked and kicked a clump of snow at him. Draco's face broke into a determined grin and he shoved Harry's shoulder, flinging a handful of snow at his head. Harry rolled out of the way hastily and the snowball fight began anew.

* * *

When they made it back to Hagrid's hut, the sun was low in the sky. Hagrid was sitting outside cleaning his saw. A massive pine stood braced upright near the wall of the little house, casting a huge shadow over the man. He looked up as they came, taking them in with one long glance, and lifted his eyebrows.

Draco's hair was plastered wetly to his head, his cap perched at a lopsided angle over one ear. His jacket was deeply soaked, and there was snow caked all down his back. Harry knew he did not look much better. He ran a hand through his hair and scruffed through the ice-stiff spikes of it, noting the glimmer of amusement in Draco's eyes as he did. Hagrid stood.

"So, I don' suppose yeh have another tree picked out fer me, then?" At their twin head-shakes, the man sighed exaggeratedly. "No, no I thought not."

Harry grinned. There was the smallest of smiles on Draco's face in the weak sunlight.

* * *

Step 14: Back to the basics

Outside the one-eyed humpbacked witch, 6:24 PM

Harry peered down the hall carefully before sliding out of the tunnel and pushing the statue closed behind him again. His legs ached fiercely, but that was to be expected after no sleep and a running trip to Hogsmeade and back. He was freezing again. The tunnel must have been coated in ice, and despite being underground, the air inside had chilled him to the bone.

But. He had it.

It had taken a good hour. He'd gone to just about every shop in Hogsmeade that was still open, dashing in and running out again. It was in the Quidditch supply store that he finally found what he was looking for. It was small, small enough to hide in his robes. A golden Snitch, solid and cold in his palm, its wings folded tightly against it. Harry had been caught and held by the engraving on it: an intricate dragon with wings unfurled, carved directly into the Snitch's surface in delicate bronze. The lines gleamed green when turned to the light, and the gold tone glowed warmly around the dragon. He purchased the Snitch, had it gift wrapped, and made it to the tunnel in Honeydukes without being noticed. Then he'd run nearly all the way back down the tunnel itself, his breath frosting the air, arm stretched out holding his illuminated wand. He jerked to a halt at the end of the tunnel and sat gasping for breath and checking his watch. It wouldn't do to be heaving and blowing when he was supposed to be coming back from a nap in his room. Draco would undoubtedly suspect something.

As it was, he was going to be late. As soon as his body began succumbing to the cold again, his breathing fairly close to normal, Harry eased out of the tunnel and began the walk to Gryffindor tower to get his Potions notes. He had to write eight inches of parchment on the brewing process, and Draco had offered to coach him in the tedious knitpicky grading methods of Professor Snape. Harry was practically sleepwalking already, but he wasn't about to get docked for some stupid mistake on his write-up when he'd worked so damn hard assembling and brewing the ingredients so precisely.

Once in his dormitory, he took off his coat and put on a much more indoorsy sweater, dropped the parcel from Hogsmeade into his trunk, and went back downstairs with his notes and a quill. He slipped into the Great Hall and grabbed a pasty, then met Ron on the way out.

"Harry! We're going to play some Exploding Snap. Neville got a new deck from his cousin, but it looks scarily similar to one of Fred and George's trick decks. Ought to be funny. I don't think anyone's told him yet."

"I can't actually. Have to do that write-up for Snape."

"Ah... yes, that." Ron grimaced. "Really should be doing that too." Then he grinned and shrugged. "Oh well. There's always tomorrow."

Harry said his good-byes and headed for the library. Draco was sitting at one of the tables in the back, reading an Advanced Astronomy text. He looked up briefly when Harry sat down.

"You know, Harry, some of us have other homework to do tonight."

"I'm sorry. Didn't hear my watch go off."

Draco closed his textbook and scrutinized him more intently. He frowned. "Are you certain you slept?"

Harry snorted, feeling his face begin to get hot. "Of course I slept. What else would I have been doing?"

Draco murmured something suspiciously, but let it go. He directed Harry to get to work on his essay and resumed his reading as he began to write. Harry went at it steadily for an hour, poring over his notes, intent on including everything. He felt energized by the memory of brewing the potion and his quill flew back and forth over the paper, describing the smells, textures, lengths of time spent stirring, the permit application process... It wasn't until he sighed and sat up straight again that his weariness caught up with him. He grimaced and rubbed his neck, dropping his quill.

"Here. I'm done."

Draco pulled the parchment over the table without a word. Harry felt a little uneasy about all the ink splots and cross-outs, but it was just a draft after all. He would rewrite it when Draco was done checking it over.

"You've missed a step here. Professor Snape will nail you for that one... Oh, wait, I see. That's what this arrow means... Good Lord, they checked your family background for the permit?... Alright, but don't go over the margins, he's pretty strict about that..."

Harry laid his head down on his arms and listened to Draco's low murmuring, the scritch of his quill as he checked and circled certain things. He was so tired. Maybe if he just rested his eyes for a minute...

* * *

Step 15: Breathe

???

The air smelled of blood. It was all around him, dripping, sliding, damp against his skin. He could hear sounds, thick hoarse cries, but there was no one, just a soupy reddish mist. He stretched his hand out, and there was a wand between his fingers, long and familiar. His wand. It tugged at his arm, pulling him forward. He followed and his legs felt heavy. The ground was soft, squelching underfoot, but he did not look down. He only looked forward at the faint shapes moving through the mist. He could feel him somewhere ahead, or behind, all around, but he could not see him. Slit eyes, redder than the fog, he knew they were there. And when he found him he would say the words, his mouth was forming them already even though he tried to silence himself, and the red mist shrouded him in muffled moans, and he kept moving. He had no control, the eyes were everywhere, a wand just like his pointed at his chest, he could sense it, hear the building pulse of magic, and he was draped in blood and he was right there right there breathing--

"Harry! Harry, open your eyes!"

Harry shot up, falling from his chair. Arms caught him, wrapped around him and pulled him upright, and Harry pushed out instinctively, shoving with all his might. The arms only tightened, and a voice cut through the haze filling his brain. "Harry! Stop it. Just hold still!"

Harry froze, clamping his mouth shut so tightly his jaw ached. He blinked rapidly. Draco. Something inside told him it was Draco holding him, though he had no idea how he knew. The other boy was murmuring softly, and Harry became aware of the warmth of his body. He gave a shuddering gasp and Draco's arms loosened. "Harry, are you--"

"What's going on here?"

Harry looked up and saw Madame Pince peering hawkishly over her spectacles at them. Draco responded quickly, rising to his feet. "Everything's alright. Sorry, he just fell asleep."

Madame Pince's lips pressed into a thin line, echoing the tight creases over the rest of her face. "You have rooms of your own for sleeping. You must keep quiet in the library, both of you, or I will have to ask you to leave."

Draco nodded, apologized again, and the librarian left, shaking her head. Harry held his breath until she had disappeared among the rows of books. Then his body shuddered so violently he felt ill. He let out a strangled gasp and covered his face with one hand. Draco knelt next to him once more. His hands touched Harry's shoulders, but it was too much and he jumped, hissing. Draco snatched his hands away.

"Harry, it was a dream. You were dreaming. What--"

Harry hunched forward, clenching his free hand, digging the fingers of the other into his forehead. "Oh God..."

Draco made a strange sound and grappled with Harry's fist, trying to pull his hand open. "Harry, stop it, what's the matter with you? You're hurting yourself!"

He finally succeeded in wrenching his fingers up and Harry saw blood pooling in his palm. It jolted him back into the dream, the seeking slithering red mist, and his heart began to race. "Oh God, not again..."

Draco put his hands firmly on Harry's shoulders and squeezed. "Harry, you were yelling. I had to wake you. What happened, what did you dream about?"

Grey eyes searched his face, and Harry tried to steady himself in them but all he could see were the same grey eyes squeezing shut in agony, the body belonging to them writhing, arching off the ground. He tried to breathe and found he could not.

Draco's eyes widened.

"The battle. You were... dreaming about the battle. Weren't you?"

Harry didn't answer, but Draco knew, he could see it in his face. He lifted one pale hand to his head, ran his fingers through his hair. Harry watched, chewing his lip to pieces.

"Harry... you're not there. You're here in the library. With me. The war's over. He's dead."

Harry jerked away from the hands trying to steady him, his face twisting. "You think I don't know that? Of course he's dead! I made sure of that, didn't I?"

Draco's brow furrowed. "Of course you did. He's not coming back, there's no way he--"

Harry laughed, a harsh sound that startled even him. "No, they don't come back after that, do they? None of them."

Draco's frown deepened, but there was no anger, just concern. "Harry... it's not your fault."

"You weren't there, you don't know a damn thing about it!"

"No, I wasn't there with you. I didn't see what you saw. I didn't do what you did. But Harry, it's over. You have to let it go."

"I can't fucking let it go!" he hissed, right into Draco's face. "I killed him. Deliberately pointed this wand at his chest and killed him!" He shook his wand in front of the Slytherin's nose. "That's what the last battle was to me. I took someone else's life."

Draco's expression soured into something ugly. He gave Harry's shoulders a sharp shake, his voice hissing furiously. "Stop it! You don't get to give his life worth. It didn't have any. It was necessary, and you did it, and you saved everyone! Don't you dare feel guilty about killing that.... thing."

Harry blinked, sobering slightly. Draco's eyes were full of ice, rage flickering in their depths. His entire face was tightened, drawn into the haggard pinch Harry recognized from that night when he had knelt over him trying to rid his body of the dark magic flooding through it. He took a deep shaky breath and Draco's eyes unclouded a bit. His fingers tensed on Harry's shoulders and loosened again.

"I don't... ever want to hear that again. He was nothing, do you understand me? And you... you are..."

He trailed off and looked away, down at Harry's hands settled limply in his lap. Draco released his shoulders and took the wand from his fingers, setting it carefully on the table top. The Slytherin got to his feet and walked back around the table dazedly, resuming his seat in his chair. Harry watched him.

They didn't speak again. Draco went back to checking Harry's essay, but his face was white, the shadows under his eyes prominent. Harry gathered the rest of his things into a stack and when Draco handed him back his essay, he took it and rose to go. Draco's eyes caught his in a long look. He smiled sadly, hopefully.

It was difficult, so difficult. But Harry returned the smile and felt something release and warm him through the ice caking his innards. Relief passed over the Slytherin's face. Harry turned and left, walking unsteadily, feeling Draco's eyes on him the entire way out of the library.