Nine Days Till Christmas

DAY SIX: December 21^st

Step 16: Get your bearings

Great Hall, 12:30 PM

Harry was still a bit dazed. Part of him thought he had dreamed the previous day up, fashioned it out of some sleepless hallucination. At times, images of Draco lying on his back in the snow drove him to certainty on that point. When had the stuck up Slytherin ever played in the snow after all? But immediately, the term "stuck up" felt wrong to Harry, and his thoughts swung to the late evening quiet of the library, of Draco's worried face, his arms holding Harry against running from the nightmare that had not plagued him for months. Draco's words. They had convinced him last night, and they remained crystal clear in his mind.

He was sitting at the Gryffindor table, ensconced comfortably between the warm bodies of Ron and Hermione, nibbling on a piece of bread. Hermione was subdued, watching him carefully in between her responses to Ginny's animated chatter. But the unnerving thing was that Ron kept looking his way as well, brows knit in vague concern.

Harry knew his friend was reacting to the previous night. He'd kept himself awake, sitting in bed staring up at the ceiling, even when the redhead had tried to get him to sleep. All he could do was shake his head at Ron's increasingly worried entreaties for him to "forget about your damn potion and lie down." He knew he looked a wreck: the mirror had practically cried out in horror when he'd passed it on his way to the bathroom sometime around eleven, and Ron jumped from his bed when he looked up and saw his face.

"Harry! What's happened, are you alright?"

Harry could only shrug and mutter noncommittally, and then hole up in the bathroom in an attempt to evade further questions. Ron had demanded answers, even gotten angry enough to threaten Harry with the silent treatment until he came clean, but Harry had been too nervous, too miserable to care. Finally he had to pretend to sleep in order to get Ron off his back, and even then his friend did not go willingly. The redhead constantly glanced at him from his own bed, whispering questions until Harry remained quiet long enough to convince him he'd drifted off. After Ron shut his own eyes, he sat up and fixed his gaze on the wall.

He'd been terrified he would have nightmares again.

Now at the table eating lunch, Harry noticed the beginnings of a frown on Hermione's face and quickly downed a glass of orange juice to placate her. Thankfully, the nightmares had remained absent through the night, even when he finally tumbled from sheer exhaustion and slept. In fact, Harry could not remember a single dream he might have had. Just the blank darkness of deep slumber. He was waking up again to bright morning sunshine through the window before he knew it.

A long drawn-out screech sounded and all over the hall students turned their eyes upward. It was Draco's eagle owl, soaring gracefully through the arch, winging its way to the Slytherin table. Harry followed the magnificent bird until it settled onto its owner's shoulder. The Slytherin smoothed the owl's feathers and Harry saw his lips move as he spoke. Draco untied the small white envelope from his bird's outstretched talons and tossed it a bit of meat from his sandwich. The owl darted its head up, snapping the food from the air, then took wing again and flew from the hall.

Draco turned the letter over in his hand. A frown crossed his features and he looked up, sighing. His eyes met Harry's. For a moment, his gaze was blank, uncertainly so. But then he offered Harry a tiny smile.

Harry smiled back.

When he had finished his lunch - what little of it he felt inclined to eat - Harry rose and, making the excuse of getting his books for Charms, left the hall. He yawned, walking across the atrium to the steps leading up to Gryffindor tower. His mind was still on the night before, but now his thoughts flashed with Draco's face in the dim glow of the library lights. It felt unreal again, and he was not quite sure if he had really been there, if the other boy had actually shaken him awake, held him up, defended him against Madame Pince. Uttered the words still echoing in his mind.

Someone came up from behind and fell into step at his side. Harry turned and suddenly he was faced with the object of his thoughts. Draco shoved his hands into his pockets and looked straight ahead, flicking his hair from his eyes with a jerk of his chin.

"You didn't sleep, did you?"

Harry looked at him for a second, and then shook his head, glancing at his feet. Draco nodded.

"I can understand that."

"Can you?" Harry asked softly. Draco pursed his lips, his brow creasing, but didn't answer. They walked in silence for two flights of steps before Harry sighed fitfully and rubbed at his face with one hand. "Charms in a bit."

Draco chuckled lightly. "Perhaps Flitwick will manage to let Longbottom suspend him in mid-air again like last week, and we can all get some much needed shut-eye."

Harry smiled in spite of himself. "I really should just skip it. Going to be up late tonight dealing with that Potion and Snape's detention."

"He might let you go early to clean the cauldrons."

Harry sighed. "No, he made it very clear I wouldn't be able to get into the dungeons until nine o'clock exactly. At least I'll get to sleep the next night... Oh, damn, no I won't."

"You know, if you don't want to go to the Yule Ball, then don't. The Weas--Ginny can handle a little disappointment."

Harry shook his head wordlessly. They ambled on in silence again. Harry broke it a moment later, changing the subject. "Your owl is looking good."

Draco laughed. "He should. He's a Malfoy through and through. Couldn't misplace a feather if he tried."

Harry smiled indulgently, even though he did not feel the humor he pretended to. "Letter from home?"

A scowl crossed Draco's face. "Yes. My bi-monthly waste of time, courtesy of my very own owl. I have no idea how she got him back to the mansion without my knowing. He just... flocks to her. It's ridiculous."

Harry glanced at him, taking in the flush creeping up his throat. "Have you read it yet?"

"No, and I don't intend to. I'm just going to throw it away anyway."

"Then why is it in your pocket?"

For a moment Draco looked vaguely angry, and Harry wondered if he was about to be yelled at in the middle of the empty Transfiguration hallway. But the Slytherin only muttered something unintelligible and looked away.

Harry chewed his lip. He had something to say but he was afraid of how Draco would respond. In the end it was the impatience caused by his lack of sleep that drove him to open his mouth. "You are going to read it, aren't you?"

Draco stopped in the middle of the hallway and stared at him. His jaw stiffened and he looked around with an arrogant sweep of his head before turning back to Harry, his eyes glinting coldly. "What do you care?"

Harry shrugged wearily. He was too tired to argue this. Really, he was. "She's your mother. You care what she thinks, even if you say you don't."

"Shut up, Potter! Why the hell do you always think you know everything about me?"

"I don't know," he answered softly. "The same way you knew exactly what to say last night?"

Draco's mouth was open. He looked at Harry for a long wordless instant, then hitched his shoulders fitfully and licked his lips. His arms came up around his torso. Harry watched, feeling as if he were standing outside himself.

"Thank you for last night, Draco." His voice shook a tiny bit on the boy's name.

Draco's eyes met his, filled once again with the concern that had flooded them in the library. He scrutinized Harry intently. "Did... did the dream come back?"

"No."

Draco licked his lips again. Harry shifted his feet uncertainly and waited. Finally the blond sighed in frustration and pulled the letter from his pocket. He looked it over, his face twisting in momentary disgust, and then turned a thoughtful gaze to Harry. "I think I'd better find a quiet corner."

"What?"

The Slytherin rolled his eyes and the easy careless smirk was back, making Harry shiver with relief. "Bound to be long. I have to finish the damn thing before Charms, don't I?"

He turned and walked off down the corridor, clenching the letter in one hand. Harry watched him as he reached the next hallway, and Draco turned back and gave him a half-smile before disappearing around the corner.

* * *

Step 17: Learn what you are dealing with

Charms classroom, 1:30 PM

Professor Flitwick was indeed floating high above the students' desks, squeaking out harried directions to a fretting Hermione and a blushing Neville, but Harry had long since stopped paying attention to what he was saying. He knew Hermione would get the teacher down; she always managed to fix everything, especially when it concerned Harry's rather clumsy roommate. Harry was eyeing the teacher and the rest of the class carefully, and looking for the best moment to escape the room.

When class started, Harry had noticed right away that Draco's desk was empty. He'd expected the blond to come swaggering in late, a cocky smile on his lips, his letter safely read and done away with. But his spot remained empty for the entire first half hour of class and Harry was beginning to get worried. Neville had managed to raise the teacher to the ceiling while practicing an advanced form of Wingardium Leviosa, and it was then that Harry began thinking he might actually manage to sneak away unnoticed.

Ron, Seamus, Blaise Zabini, and Justin Finch-Fletchley were laughing uproariously from their seats. Pansy Parkinson looked utterly bored, and the rest of the students seemed uncertain what to do with themselves. Some were reading, some doodling, others chatting quietly. No one was paying attention to him. When Hermione began calling placating words up to the floating professor and ordering a sweating Neville to search every page of his Charms text, Harry finally saw his chance. Easing from his chair and lifting his book bag gingerly to his shoulder, he edged to the door, opened it - so slowly he nearly bit his lip off in frustration - and backed through into the hallway. Once out, he took off jogging for Gryffindor tower, bag bumping against his shoulder.

He knew he was being ridiculous. Draco was probably just kicking things around in his room, gleefully ripping the letter and its envelope into tiny shreds. He'd as much as said he was planning to do that, hadn't he? But Harry felt guilty. He'd pressured Draco into reading it, no matter which way he angled his actions, and he felt slightly responsible. If Draco was furious, he might as well be furious at Harry and actually work off some of his frustration toward his mother instead of bottling it all up as he had been doing.

And there was the nagging thought that perhaps... Draco was not furious. Perhaps the letter had induced an entirely different emotion. Harry reached the portrait hole grimacing, and shouted the password, surprising the Fat Lady. He walked briskly up to his dorm, threw his bag on the bed, and fell to his knees beside his trunk. He dug with both hands until he unearthed the Marauder's Map.

Draco had sounded so broken that day up on the battlements. There had been a catch to his voice when he had spoken of his mother that Harry had never heard before. Harry had dismissed it as anger then, but now he wasn't so sure. He still didn't know what it was, but... he'd seen an echoing gleam in the boy's eyes in the library and it had stilled his own chaotic fury with its frightening vulnerability.

Harry took out his wand and tapped the map. "I solemnly swear I am up to no good." Lines snaked out from the tip of his wand, threading over the parchment. Harry waited impatiently as Hogwarts came into view, then searched quickly through the rooms, growing even more unsettled as he went over hallway after hallway without seeing Draco's name.

He finally found him in the Astronomy tower, quite close to the Charms classroom itself. His name was moving back and forth across the room, as if he were pacing, and Harry sighed and got to his feet. He tapped the map again - Mischief managed - and shoved it into his pocket, walking determinedly out of his dorm and down the stairs.

It took him a few minutes to get back to the Charms hallway, and Harry hurried past the classroom he had left earlier to the winding staircase at the end of the hall. He'd gone two flights and was starting the final spiral when Draco's voice floated down to him. It was muffled and echoing but tinged with anger, and Harry halted, frowning. Was someone up there with him? He continued slowly, trailing one hand along the stone wall. He hadn't seen anyone else on the map, but then, it had been a few minutes since he'd put it away.

Who could Draco be talking to?

When he reached the door to the topmost tower room, he knocked lightly, three quick taps, but Draco's voice continued in clipped jarring tones, unbroken. Harry hesitated on the landing, biting his lip. He really shouldn't go in. He had no idea what was going on in there. But Draco sounded so... angry. Even through the heavy oak door, his voice was the deadly hiss of a snake's. Harry's chest constricted at the thought that he had prompted this with his pressure to read the letter, and he steeled himself to enter to fray. If Draco wanted someone to yell at, he would be that person. He probably deserved it anyway: the Slytherin had helped him last night, much more than Harry could possibly thank him for, and he'd seen fit to return the favor by practically ordering Draco to relive whatever twisted pain existed between his mother and himself. Harry closed his eyes and cursed himself for being such an arse, then pushed the door open resolutely and stuck his head in, opening his mouth to call to the boy.

Draco's name died on his lips and he stared at the scene before him. The tall blond was pacing back and forth with hasty, enraged steps, one hand tugging at his hair... and he was spitting words at no one. There was nobody else there. Two pieces of white paper lay on the floor, the envelope several feet away from either of them, and Draco held a third sheet tightly in his hand. Harry squinted and saw lines and lines of scrawled writing on the nearest discarded sheet.

"I should be at home, she says." Draco laughed harshly and shook the paper. "Well, surprise, I'm not coming home, you bony hag, not to you or your stupid dead ideals!"

It took Harry a moment to realize that Draco was not addressing him. Indeed, the Slytherin did not even seem to know he was there. His fury was apparent, butting against Harry in hot waves. He swallowed, frozen halfway through the door. Draco did not speak for a moment, pacing and pacing as he read, never quite turning enough to see Harry.

"Oh, that's so easy for you to say, isn't it?" Draco's voice was laced heavily with a sarcasm that made Harry wince. "It wasn't your argument, no, not ever, who the fuck cared whether or not Dad was going to die? You didn't even know he'd received the bloody Kiss until I told you!"

All of a sudden, a new guilt seized Harry. He shouldn't be hearing this. Horror crept up inside him as he realized what he was violating here. He knew, just knew that Draco would rather throw himself from the top of the tower than admit to any of this, especially to him, Harry Potter. He wondered if anyone had ever known the things that were flowing from Draco's mouth like scalding oil and knew without a doubt that he was the first. He shivered convulsively.

"She wants to know why I dishonor her. Oh, that's fucking rich. What the hell did honor ever mean to you? You weren't even proud enough to call me your son in public, or maybe you were too damn proud, that was it, wasn't it? Well, guess what, you don't ever have to worry about that again because I'm never going to connect my name to yours, you can bet on that!"

Harry tasted blood and found that he was biting his lip again. But he could not look away, could not force himself to stop listening. All the pain he had begun to suspect the existence of was now flooding from Draco... but Harry had never even guessed there was so much. That it cut so deep. The Slytherin's body convulsed so suddenly Harry was certain he'd been noticed, but Draco was staring hard at the sheet in front of him, jaw clenched so tightly he was shaking.

"You want to know what I'm thankful for? I'll tell you what I'm bloody thankful for, you damn bitch! I'm thankful that Harry sat there and kept me from bleeding out into the fucking mud when you didn't give a shit about me at all!"

The words hit Harry like a battering ram. His heart slammed into his ribs so suddenly he gasped. Draco froze, his hand closing reflexively on the paper. He spun around, fist raised, and Harry gaped. The Slytherin's eyes were red-rimmed, tear tracks drying on his cheeks. His face was flushed an ugly crimson and he stared aghast at Harry where he clutched onto the door. His mouth worked silently and something akin to horror flooded his features. The Slytherin's body seized in another shiver. The paper fell from his fingers, drifting in slow sweeps to the floor.

Harry's mind was a mist. The only thing he could comprehend was that Draco knew. He knew, and he had known, and... he'd said nothing. Harry sought for words, something, anything to break through the pain in Draco's face, the shattered desperation showing in his eyes. "Oh my God, Draco..."

The boy suddenly breathed in, the inhalation rocking his entire frame. He squeezed his eyes shut. Harry saw his throat bob and a single tear slide down his cheek. When he opened his eyes again, they were full of weariness. Defeat. Draco shook his head, swallowing once more.

"Not today, Harry. Please, just... don't. Not today."

Harry couldn't answer. He watched as the other boy bent stiffly and gathered the fallen sheets of paper in trembling hands. He straightened again, eyes fixed on something just past Harry's head, and walked toward him. Harry did not move as he passed through the door and retreated down the stairs. Each step grew fainter and fainter, and still Harry remained where he was, listening until the sound faded away completely.

* * *

Step 18: To hell with what he wants

Dungeon hallway, 3:22 PM

Harry should have been up in his room attending to his potion. He should have been in Transfiguration class. But he didn't give a fuck. He strode down the hallway toward Snape's classroom, past the passage leading to the Slytherin portrait hole without even sparing it a glance. His stomach was jumping madly, but he was going on adrenaline now and there was nothing else for it.

He'd gone back to his room and sat there for a full hour and a half stirring his simmering cauldron before realizing that he couldn't do this anymore. Before he could think about it in more detail, he went to his closet and jerked his coat out, shrugging it on quickly. He grabbed another off the rack, a tattered black one that had belonged to Dudley once upon a time, pocketed his hat and gloves, and marched from the empty dorm.

Following the map again was no trouble. His target was not moving this time, and Harry felt as though he did not even need the map. He was being drawn there, his steps surer than he felt, the thick black coat slapping against his legs. Classes were in session and Harry barely saw anyone except for a ghost or two, who passed him with a nod and disappeared through the nearest wall. Harry paid them no heed, just walked forward, heading deep into the bowels of the castle.

The main dungeon hallway was long and dark, the blue flame torches casting long flickering shadows on the stones. He rounded one corner, then another, and saw him sitting against a dingy wall, his head resting on bent knees. Harry walked up and stopped right in front of him, so close he could feel the body heat emanating from the boy.

"Draco."

The Slytherin looked up wearily. His eyes widened in surprise when he saw who was addressing him and then his entire body sagged. "Harry, please go away. I don't want you here right now."

Harry waved a hand. "Shut up, Draco. Get up, we're going."

Draco squinted at him, and Harry could see that his eyes were still red. His voice was lifeless. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Harry held the black coat forward. Draco eyed it silently before frowning at him. Before he could speak, Harry bent and jerked him to his feet by both arms. He took him by the elbow and tugged him down the hall. "Come on."

Surprisingly, Draco did not struggle. He followed sluggishly, allowing Harry to move his body forward. Harry's chest clenched at the despondent look on his face.

"Where are we going?" he asked softly.

Harry didn't answer, only pulled Draco along, out of the dungeon and up several flights of stairs. He led him to the one-eyed humpbacked witch, then spun around and shoved the coat into Draco's arms. "Put it on. You'll be cold if you don't."

Draco sighed. "Harry--" ...and stuttered into silence as Harry opened the statue. The Gryffindor shoved until the opening was wide enough for two, then looked at Draco. The Slytherin's eyes were wide, very unguarded. Cold air rushed from the gaping black hole in the stones, kissing Harry's cheeks. He tugged his hat out and put it on. Draco's lips moved but no sound came. He tried again. "What is this?"

Harry only nodded to the coat clutched in Draco's hand. "Put it on. Please."

Wordlessly, Draco pulled the worn coat over his arms, adjusting it gingerly so the buttons lined up. Harry reached into his pocket, drew out his gloves, and tossed them to the other boy. Draco caught them one-handed, staring at him. Without a word, Harry turned and ducked into the tunnel. After a moment the Slytherin followed, and Harry spelled the statue closed.

The walk seemed shorter than Harry remembered. He could not see Draco in the darkness, but he could hear his cautious steps beside him growing more sure as they went along. The light from his wand bobbed brightly in front of them, and Harry concentrated on the toes of his boots entering and leaving the small circle of luminescence. Eventually the tunnel sloped upward, and he slowed down and put out a hand to stop Draco. He extinguished his wand and reached forward, feeling for the trapdoor. His fingers found the hinges, then the small space between panels, and with a light push he had it open. After checking to make sure the coast was clear, he went up and gestured for Draco to follow. The blond climbed out, a bewildered frown on his face. "Where--"

Harry grabbed his arm, putting a finger to his own lips, and Draco quieted. He led the Slytherin up the stairs and eased out through the door into Honeydukes. There was barely anyone in the shop; Harry didn't think he'd ever seen it so empty. Luckily, everyone had their backs to the cellar door. The two boys exited and Harry watched with a vague sense of amusement as Draco's eyes widened in shock.

The Slytherin kept silent, however, and soon they were outside in the chill wind, walking down the street away from the main line of stores. Harry hesitated ever so briefly passing the Three Broomsticks, and Draco grabbed his arm with one hand. "I don't--"

He fell into silence again and Harry looked at him calmly, watching the play of emotions around his eyes. He'd never seen it before, not in Draco's face, and it was like learning a new spell, feeling the magic shiver through his limbs.

"I know," he said quietly. Draco's eyes searched his face. Harry merely turned, signaling the Slytherin to follow, and continued up the street. The sun was sinking low on the horizon, bathing what was still left un-shadowed in burnished gold-orange. The wind whipped at them once they came out from between the stores, and the Shrieking Shack came into view. Draco stood stock still, his mouth open slightly, and Harry touched his arm.

"Come on."

They walked past the tottering house over the frozen earth, and it was hesitantly that Draco stepped onto the brittle frosted grass of the fields behind it. There were patches of snow here and there, but the fields were mostly uncovered, gleaming with a false warmth under the sunlight. The grass itself was long dead from all the snow of the last two days. It crackled underfoot. Draco turned to look at Harry mutely, but he chose to ignore the haunted expression in those grey eyes and gave him a faint smile instead. "I figure we have about an hour and a half before Honeydukes closes."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "Harry, you..."

He waved it away, shaking his head. "No, be quiet. You need this."

They picked their way across the crunching icy surface until the Shrieking Shack was over the nearest rise and Hogsmeade itself seemed a tiny village made of gingerbread, tufty white smoke rising from various chimneys. Harry breathed out into the cold air and watched the steam flutter into nothingness in the biting wind. Draco walked beside him looking at the ground.

At last the Slytherin spoke. His voice was soft, placid. "Shouldn't you be in Transfiguration right now?"

Harry shrugged. "Doesn't matter." He glanced at Draco out of the corner of his eye. "How do you know about that anyway?"

Draco huffed a breath into the frosty air. "I'm observant is all."

"Well." Harry cupped his hands around his mouth and blew, rubbing them together. "I can afford to miss. Bloody well haven't missed a class of McGonagall's in seven years."

Draco said nothing and they walked on. Eventually they reached the next small hill and turned without verbally agreeing, walking the crest of the rise. Draco suddenly made a frustrated sound and shook himself. "Why the hell didn't I know about that passageway?"

"Well, you never were very keen on knowing the Weasleys, were you?" Harry responded.

Draco glanced at him, then turned away and shrugged. "Didn't seem terribly important."

"Hmm."

Several minutes went by without either of them speaking. Harry could feel his companion relaxing little by little. His face was passive, body no longer tensed against the cold. He walked unhurriedly, his steps natural and unconcerned. Harry shoved his hands into the pockets of his threadbare coat and took a deep breath, letting the icy air cool his lungs and flow through him.

"You knew," he said softly.

Draco's shoulders hitched a tiny bit at Harry's words. He inclined his head just a little. Harry nodded and bit his lip. "Why did you pretend you'd forgotten?"

The Slytherin's sigh sounded exasperated. An annoyed frown marred his features. "If you hadn't been eavesdropping like a bloody spy, it wouldn't fucking matter."

Harry pursed his lips. "I'm sorry, alright? It wasn't like I was trying to hear you."

"Then why the hell were you there?" Draco stopped abruptly and scowled at Harry. "How did you find me anyway?"

He ignored the last bit, meeting Draco's eyes tiredly. "Look, I was a complete bastard. You... helped me last night and I practically forced your mum's letter on you. Some repayment, yeah? I was just--"

He stopped and looked away. Draco's eyes narrowed. "You were just what?"

"Worried about you. Okay? There. I was worried because I had no business getting into something that wasn't my problem, and I did, and then I fucking did it again trying to correct it. I'm sorry, okay?"

He turned and began to walk again, more quickly. After a moment Draco crunched up beside him with swift steps. "Why do you always do this?"

"What?"

Draco sighed. "Try to solve everything. All these years you've been doing it, a damn kid diving head first into things you shouldn't even be involved in."

"Well, actually, Draco, I think I was rather involved."

"I'm not just talking about Voldemort!"

Harry stopped and looked at him, and Draco shifted on his feet, gaze skittering away to the distant mountains as if his answer lay there instead of with the boy in front of him. "You shouldn't even have stopped that night. He could have gotten away, hidden again. But no, the great Harry Potter had to sit down and heal an injured kid instead."

"What, you just wanted me to let you die? Please, Draco, that's complete bullshit. You don't want to be dead, even I can see that."

Draco shrugged, grimacing, not looking at him. Harry watched him and realized belatedly that the other boy did not know how to respond. He stepped a little closer. "What do you remember, Draco?"

The Slytherin did not look at him for a long time. "It hurt," he whispered. Harry just watched. Draco glanced toward the sky, then suddenly he crossed his arms over his chest in a flurry of movement.

"What's your worst memory, Harry? The most terrifying one." The blond was looked at him steadily, eyes hard and narrow. Harry blinked and considered.

"There was a time in third year... when I thought Sirius was going to die. There were..." He shuddered. "Dementors all around us. I'd only just found him, and then he was dying right there in front of me and I couldn't... I thought..." He took a moment to breathe. "I can also sort of remember the night my parents were killed. I hear them screaming. That's what I heard when the Dementors were trying to kill us."

Draco looked at him piercingly. He sighed. "The last battle is my worst memory. And I don't remember much of it... except how much it hurt. My whole body felt like it was burning, and I knew I was going to die, right there in the mud with no one around to see. Or care. Just bleeding out like that, slowly. I'd never been so..."

He stopped and shifted uneasily. His hair fell across his forehead obscuring his eyes. Harry looked at a patch of glistening snow a few feet away. "And then what happened?"

Draco looked at him sharply. He snorted. "That doesn't count."

"What?"

"It doesn't count as my worst memory."

Harry frowned, confused. "Why not?"

Draco clenched his jaw and studied him. He looked away again and took a deep breath. "Well, then you were there. So, obviously I wasn't scared anymore."

Harry's mouth fell open. Draco laughed shortly. "What, surprised? I remember you. I even remember what you said. You grabbed my hand and you told me to trust you. And I thought, how stupid. What reason had you ever given me to trust you? But I did. And you were right."

He looked straight at Harry, met his eyes and held them. Harry could only stare back. After a moment Draco hunched his shoulders and began walking again, and Harry forced himself to follow.

"I knew you were dreaming about it in the library. When you finally woke up I could see it in your eyes. As if you were burning too. And I didn't... I didn't want you feeling that, and it suddenly made perfect sense that you had felt it and were still feeling it, even half a year later, and it brought it all back."

Harry looked down. He didn't trust himself to speak. Draco went on. "And then you said what you did and I couldn't let you feel that burn over killing him. He deserved to die. You don't. You never did. I like it much better when you are alive, and when I can see that you know it."

Harry swallowed. He didn't know what to say. Draco perused him with a glance and nodded once, almost to himself. They moved over the grass slowly. Harry found his bearings in the craggy outcroppings of the nearby mountains. They jutted haphazardly into the sky, their edges frosted white. He fixated on them and whispered," Your mother's not worth it, Draco."

There was no answer, but he could feel the other's eyes on him.

The sun was sinking lower, dousing the landscape in red. The very foot of the mountains was turning a dusky purple color, shadowed by the angle of the hills. Draco rolled his head back on his shoulders, letting out a contented sigh. Harry smiled at the sound and closed his eyes.

"Did you finish your potion?" Draco asked.

Harry's good mood slipped a bit and he frowned. "Not yet. But I can do that tonight. I can't even touch it until around 8:30, and then I'll just be constantly adding an ingredient for the next three hours. It's really fragile at this stage."

"You can't do it earlier?"

Harry shook his head. "Checked the book this morning. Even asked Hermione about fifty times. It has to be done precisely or it'll go wrong. At least I've already written the final draft of my essay."

Draco nodded. "What are you going to do about Snape's detention?"

Harry sighed and clenched the insides of his coat pockets. "I'm going to have to skip it and hope he understands."

Draco didn't even need to make the soft disbelieving sound he did. They both knew how unlikely that was.

When the sun had set fully and the air cooled so quickly Harry began to shiver, they made their way back to Honeydukes. Draco charmed the storekeeper into heading into the back room to check her inventory of Ice Mice for him, and the two of them slipped through the door to the basement and entered the tunnel.

"This could be very useful, this tunnel," Draco commented as they walked along through the cold dark silence. "Maybe you could hide from Snape in Hogsmeade."

Harry chuckled. "Now there's an idea."

The Slytherin grinned, his teeth glimmering faintly in the light from Harry's wand. "Wish I'd known about this sooner. Think of all the chocolate I could have bought."

This time Harry laughed full out. Draco sighed and then glanced at him.

"But how did you know where to find me? The Astronomy tower I could have believed. But twice in two hours?"

Harry smiled and stopped, pulling the Marauder's Map from his pocket. He tapped it, spoke the words, and watched Draco's incredulous stare as the inner workings of Hogwarts slithered into existence.

"Good Lord..."

"Yeah."

Draco perused the tiny moving names for a few moments. The he squinted at him over the map. "Explains a lot though, you know."

Harry laughed again, feeling warm in spite of the frozen tunnel air. "Yes, I expect it does."

* * *

Step 19: Commit to what you've started

Gryffindor boys' dormitory, 8:30 PM

Harry began adding the last ingredient in small sifting pinches at exactly 8:30. His own patience with the tedious task surprised him, and he carefully stirred and dropped the finely ground Night Blooming Fernunculus Root into the cauldron. The potion went silvery red at the very first touch of the rare plant, threads of color drifting gradually out until the mixture was a deep burgundy, glittering with each frothing roil. Harry smiled. It was his favorite shade of red.

When he looked up a while later and saw that the clock read 9:13, something in his gut clenched uneasily. He sighed. He could just picture Blaise Zabini standing there in the Potions classroom tapping his foot, arms crossed over his chest. And he could practically hear the angry explanation the dark-haired Slytherin would give Snape. It would not be pretty, not at all. But there was nothing else for it. Detention was something he felt he could make up if he had to, even if it included an embarrassing dressing down in front of the whole class the next morning. But his project... no, that was worth much more than any extra points he could have gained in Snape's book by cleaning cauldrons until they sparkled. And it was not as if he would be earning extra anything for that anyway.

Hell, look at the bright side, Harry told himself as he added another pinch of Fernunculus Root. Maybe he'll schedule a make-up detention that very night and I'll have a real excuse for missing the Yule Ball.

But the idea of Snape's displeasure nagged at him over the next two hours until he was nearly beside himself with nervousness. He could barely concentrate on the slow monotonous procedure for his potion. His mind kept flying to possibilities for managing to deal with the cauldrons tonight and therefore avoiding Snape's wrath in the morning. When the last little bit of Fernunculus Root had dissolved in the cauldron, Harry gave it a quick couple of stirs and covered it. He double-checked his notes and set the fire a bit higher until he could hear the broth bubbling lightly inside. It was 11:22 by his watch. Harry pulled his shoes on and grabbed his Invisibility Cloak from his trunk, thanking whatever god was on his side that night that his roommates were all down in the Common Room or out at the late Astronomy session on the grounds with Firenze. He hurried down the stairs and crept unnoticed through the room. Ron and Hermione were playing cards and they were arguing, Dean and Ginny looking back and forth between them a little apprehensively.

"Well, I just think it would be good if you actually talked to him about what's bothering him, because he's obviously upset!"

Ron scowled. "Oh, please, Hermione, I think we both know what's bothering him! Or rather, who."

Harry reddened as Hermione began her retort to that, and eased through the portrait hole before Ginny could voice the questions she was so obviously dying to ask. He hoped his friends would be discreet if they really did know, and way off-base if they didn't. But it didn't really matter anymore. The problem Ron and Hermione were so sure about was no longer an issue. He smiled a little, remembering the events of the afternoon, and then skirted down the corridor.

By the time he got to the ground floor, he was practically running. He managed to miss a Prefect coming out of the Great Hall and dashed down to the dungeons, hoping that maybe, just maybe, the door to Snape's classroom would still be...

But the heavy door was locked tightly, the room deserted. He peered through the keyhole and was met with darkness. His heart plummeted into his stomach and he slid down the door, trying to catch his breath. He was too late. However long Blaise had stayed, he was obviously gone now. There was no way Harry could get in.

After about ten minutes, Harry pulled himself wearily to his feet, tried the handle one last time just in case, and began the slow trudge back to Gryffindor tower. It was out of his hands now, he reasoned, but the thought didn't make him feel any better. He passed his friends silently - they were in the middle of a rather raucous game of Exploding Snap - and went back to his room. His heart feeling heavier than ever, Harry lowered the fire under his potion. It would need to simmer all night before he could cool and bottle it for class. He got his essay together and pushed his books into his pack, and then fell into bed without brushing his teeth or even changing. The last thought that ran through his mind as he drifted off to sleep was, Wonderful. Just wonderful.

He was really going to catch it tomorrow.