The Spaces Between Shadows & Night

by: Silver Prophet
the combined talents of:
silverphoenix & poetic licence

Draco, on the third attempt, managed to open one eye and immediately wished he hadn't. The harsh light hit the back of his skull in force and he groaned as the hundred little men wearing steal boots began their line-dancing lessons on his brain.

The last two weeks had been nothing short of gruelling for Draco.

Dumbledore, crazy old coot, had seen it fit and well within his power as Headmaster to split the four houses up and mix the students together. He probably drew their names out of his pointed hat himself, sneered Inner-Draco; the little voice getting more cocky and confident with every passing day that Draco was away from his father and the Manors influences and guests.

Draco, for the most part, was without his support group of Crabbe and Goyle; and on a definite up-side had lost the annoying presence of his 'second shadow', Pansy. He was mostly in the company of Blaise Zabini and Alena Rhyson for the best part; Blaise, although a gossip, knew when to keep her mouth shut; and Alena, who was a quietly cunning black-haired Slytherin girl whom was much passed over. She was highly underrated by everyone, both in and out of the green and silver decorated common room. She was in fact an extremely intelligent girl, much to Draco's delight, charming and witty company, who could rival Draco in his need-to-know basis. Her motto was: Be Good, And If You Can't Be Good, Don't Be Stupid Enough To Get Caught.

Draco agreed with this whole-heartedly.

One thing he found most amusing was that he, Potter and Granger had somehow landed in nearly every class together, apart from one, where it was just Granger and himself for Arithmancy. It seemed that the 'Tosser Trio' was splitting apart at the seams, and he wondered just how long it would take for Weasley to crack under the pressure of being apart for such long periods of time from The Hero and The Brain.

By Day two the entire school was in a complete uproar about the Boy Wonder, news of his refusal for Prefecture was high on the list of 'to discuss' list. This was conducted with great enthusiasm by all; with the girls gossiping behind their mirrors in the hallways; with the boys having a running topical and heated discussion on the wall of the third level bathroom. Draco, on the other hand, was revelling in his role of Prefect: roaming the corridors at night, pretending not to see any Slytherin couples out-and-about; and giving Detentions to everyone else.

The only one he didn't bother was Potter.

He would often catch a glimpse of the too-slender-for-slender frame as it slid between the shadows and out the front door, striding around the dark recesses of the lake, climbing the winding stairs bound for the top of the West Tower to look out at the sky. Draco became obsessed with hunting out Potter and trying to guess where he would go tonight.

Draco preferred the night; it blended into his tastes perfectly, and in the first few weeks of the school year he would always have to break his nocturnal walks that he would adopt at the Manor over the summer, resting in the heat of the day. He suspected Snape was aware of his habits over the summer and would never stop the blonde haired Slytherin from moving around the castle in the cool of the night; and now that he was a prefect, the other teachers left him alone as well.

The night belonged to him...and Potter.

Potter...hey, wait a minute...Potter!

Draco scrambled his memories together slowly as he forced himself first into a sitting position, then onto his feet, holding on to one of the window sills for balance. Potter...out after curfew...said something about...sheepdog...too mature...Granger...fist...

Goddamn it! I let a girl flatten me!

Somewhere between being very pissed off at himself for stopping to talk to Potter in the first place and angry at Granger for having the cheek to punch him, Draco forgot about his complaining head. So when a wave of self-pity hit him, he slammed his palm against his forehead and regretted it instantly, the world swimming and dancing out of focus around him.

~~ ~~~ ~~

Madam Pomfrey exclaimed in horror when Draco stumbled through the door nearly half an hour later.

"Mister Malfoy! What on earth happened to you?" The nurse fussed around him busily, guiding him sternly with steady hands to a bed and forcing him on to it, peering into his eyes worriedly.

"Something...hit me...didn't see who...woke up on floor...hurts pretty...badly."

"Probably that horrible Peeves. I have more cases in here because of that horrible poltergeist than I care to think about." Sniffed Madam Pomfrey. "Well, a lumps already come up and that's a good sign, it means there is no internal damage, but you'll have a nasty headache or two for the next couple of days. I'd like to keep you in until at least tomorrow night in case you have a concussion."

"Fine," groaned Draco.

Madam Pomfrey marched over to the other side of the room and returned holding some pyjamas, which she forced into his hands. "You get changes and straight into bed with you Mister Malfoy, I'll go get something to ease the pain of your headache and help you sleep tonight." With that, the efficient nurse clipped back to her office, the lights dimming with a wave of her wand.

Draco grunted a reply and began changing out of his robes sluggishly, each movement hard to coordinate through his unusually clumsy fingers. He had just pulled his pyjama pants up when a cool voice broke through the silence on the left side of him.

"You didn't see who hit you then, Malfoy? Well, if I were in your position I wouldn't admit to being flattened by a girl either."

Draco groaned as he fumbled with his shirt buttons as the curtain by his side being pushed back by translucent fingers. "Potter,"

"Potter," assented Harry, as he grinned mockingly. "How's the head, Malfoy?"

"Fuck. Off. I have a splintering headache thanks to your so-called friend and a lump on my head the size of the Golden Snitch. I am not...in...the...mood." Draco ground out his statement as his shirt was pushed off his slender shoulders, hands trailing after silk with well-practiced grace.

"Come now Malfoy, no need to be nasty. I was only being polite," sniffed Harry.

"Well don't. It doesn't suit you. What the fuck are you doing in here anyway? Break a nail?" Draco fumbled with the unfamiliar cotton top; it was one of those, half pull-on, half buttons contraptions, loose and baggy in all the wrong places; turning it this way and that and trying to decide what was the best way to approach it. Harry watched on with unguarded amusement at the sight of this unnaturally clumsy Malfoy.

"How the fuck are you meant to get these stupid things on?" grumbled Draco, more to himself than anything else, puzzlement pushing the pain in his head away for a second. He was so absorbed in his single-minded task of trying to dress himself, he barely heard the whisper of sheets being pulled back, nor did he barely hear the soft pad of naked feet drawing near. He did not miss the cool of Harry's shadow as it passed over him, or the cool of his fingers as they extracted the cotton softness away from Draco's fumbling digits. Draco gave in almost immediately, surrendering himself to the helplessness of having been knocked out. By a Mudblood, no less, squeaked Inner-Draco.

Harry shook out the material and undid the buttons at the top efficiently, before turning to Draco. "Arms up," he commanded.

Draco complied, his brain thick and fuzzy around the edges. Harry pulled the grey shirt over his head and pulled it down a trifle gently, doing the buttons up almost all the way to Draco's throat with a practiced air, only leaving the very top one undone. There was no evidence of the surprisingly weak Potter that had stumbled against Draco's light punch over an hour before. Maybe it was just a figment of my imagination, Inner-Draco shrugged and went back to sleep.

"There," Harry's tone was quiet as he turned and fled back to the warmth of his own bed, his footsteps quiet.

Draco looked down at himself bemused, raising a hand to look at as if he'd never seen it before in his life. He turned it over in front of his face, marvelling in the warmth of the skin and clean fingernails. "Thanks, Potter," He let the hand fall from his line of sight, pulling the sheets back from his bead. "I suppose that's your one good deed for the year."

Even when he was sick, Draco could still insult with the best of them.

"Like I'd waste my one good deed on you, Malfoy."

"Then what was it? Guilty conscience, Potter?"

Harry snorted. "What could I possibly have to be guilty about, Malfoy?"

"Knocking me out," Draco spat back, settling down on his bed and laying his complaining skill down on the pillow.

Harry laughed bitterly. "Wasn't me. It was Hermione."

"Stupid Mudblood," ground out Draco.

Harry turned to him, face set like marble. "Try calling her that to her face, Malfoy, and see what she turns you into," he smirked as he rolled onto his back again, before quietly adding. "Or do you fancy being a ferret again."

Draco glowered at the ceiling. "She wouldn't dare."

"Don't be too sure, Malfoy. Hermione's changed a lot over the summer. She's pretty powerful, especially when she wants to be." Harry's tone was serious.

"Granger couldn't have changed that much." scoffed Draco.

"She knocked you out, didn't she?" reasoned Harry, his face impassive as he stared at the cracked ceiling.

Draco remained silent for a moment before starting to fidget with his top, foregoing the previous conversation for safer topic. "God. How does anyone managed to sleep in these things?"

"You get used to them."

"I'll bet you're really used to them, Potter. I mean, you're in here at least once a term without fail by my count."

Harry shrugged. "Can't help it if some rank out-of-date Over Lord wants me dead and tries to do away with me on a semi-regular basis. Although it is a worry when you find out that a pair of school infirmary pyjamas are set aside for your specific use, as well as a bed." Harry shuddered.

Draco sniggered at this revelation.

"Next they'll be naming a ward after you."

"God forbid." Harry's tone lightened with amusement, making his face glow for the briefest of times.

Madam Pomfrey chose that moment to march back into the room. "Right, that's enough chattering you two. Draco, here's a Pain-Killing Potion for your headache. It will take care of the pain, but you'll feel a bit woozy and sluggish for a couple of days, but at least you won't be in pain. Harry, here's a simple eight-hour Dreamless Sleep Potion. Drink it all and it should take effect in ten minutes or so. Sleep well you two and I'll see you both in the morning."

With that, the nurse bustled back into her office, closing the door firmly behind her.

Draco sniffed suspiciously at his pain-killing potion, pulling a face in disgust. It smelled rancid, and probably doesn't taste any better either I'll bet. By the look on Harry's face, Draco judged that his potion wasn't too much better.

"Oh well," sighed Harry, resigned. "Bottoms up."

He swallowed his potion quickly, tipping it back like it was a shot, Draco quickly following suit, not wishing to be outdone, by a Potter of all people.

They both blanched.

"Not as bad as Skel-Gro," muttered Harry, settling back into his pillows, as Draco continued to pull faces.

They lay there for several minutes before Draco realised that Potter hadn't answered one of his earlier questions.

"What are you doing here anyway, Potter?"

Harry sighed deeply. "Hermione,"

"Granger taking you by the horns again, Potter? Trying to nag you into an early grave?"

"I'm sure Voldemort would just love that," scoffed Harry, refusing to elaborate on Draco's questions. "Death by Nagging...that would look great on a morgue report." He suddenly mused out loud. Trying to change the subject, Draco thought to himself.

"Well?" Draco persisted, wondering why he was bothering.

"You're not going to give up, are you Malfoy?"

"Not a chance, Potter. Malfoy's are not known for giving up."

"No, they're known for being Gigantic Gits who attend Evil Over-Lords whenever the fancy takes them." countered Harry tiredly.

"Come now Potter, there's no need to be immature and resort to name calling. I am simply concerned for your well being." Harry turned his face to him, eyebrows raided and Draco hastily added, "Obviously."

"Bullshit. You don't care about anything except your reflection."

Draco shrugged and he forced his tone to remain nonchalant. "Can't argue with logic like that. But I also happen to like the odd midnight walk for your information. Prefects privilege."

Harry shifted uneasily.

"And speaking of Prefects..." Draco grinned evilly.

"Drop it, Malfoy."

"Oh come on, Potter. The whole school is dying to know why their favourite Hero turned down Prefecture Glory."

"It's none of their business. And none of yours either." Harry's tone left no room for arguments.

"Suit yourself," shrugged Draco. "Although I can't help but wonder how many of them would love to know about your little strolls in the middle of the night? Very illicit midnight walks if you ask me."

Harry stiffened in his bed considerably. "How do you know about that?" he hissed at Draco.

"I've seen you around. I'm not completely adverse to the odd midnight walk myself. The nights can be so...relaxing." Draco preened, sweeping his blonde hair out of his line of sight on Harry. "Prefects get so much more free range. You'll regret not taking Dumbledore up on his offer one of these days, Potter."

"Not bloody likely," sniffed Harry. "If you had seen me around though, why didn't you stop me? After all, I'm sure you'd jump at the chance to take some more points off Gryffindor. You've taken more off than Snape has the last two weeks, and that's saying something."

Draco shrugged. "Why not? Watching you Gryffindor's squirm every time I sweep by is worth every single second."

"We do that because you're a Git-With-A-Capital-G, Malfoy, not because we're scared."

"Whatever," Draco tried one last time. "So, why did Granger make you come here to the infirmary, Potter? Break a nail? Stub one of your precious toes?"

"Points for persistency, Malfoy." Silence lapped over them again.

"Answer the question, Potter," rumbled Draco, impatiently.

Harry sighed. "I haven't been sleeping well, that's all."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "That's it? You haven't been sleeping well? God, Granger must be getting paranoid in her old age."

"Probably," agreed Harry, sleepily, his eyes starting to shift closed. "She's a worry wart."

Draco's fine drifter back to Platform 9¾ where a flickering memory was jumping up and down impatiently, trying to get his attention. "Anything to do with cupboards, Potter? Can't sleep without one?"

Nothing but silence ensued.

"Potter? Are you falling asleep, Potter?" queried Draco, as he watched Harry's eyes fall closed.

All he got was a sleepy murmur in reply. "Night Malfoy."

"Night Potter," Draco replied quietly, and a few moments later, he was alone in the dark, the ceiling a dark expanse over his head, with his own muddled thoughts and the sound of Harry's breathing echoing loudly in his ears.

Soon though, the darkness covered him and carried him away.

~~ ~~~ ~~

Draco checked his timetable, tuning out Pansy while Blaise had her 'I'm pretending to listen, but I'm really thinking about how much I'd love to gag you right now' expression on her face; her patience wearing, as it were, extremely thin. His Inner-Draco smirked, Double Potions and Double DADA, this should be terrific fun. He cast his eye over towards the Gryffindor table and watched as Weasley thumped his head against the table in despair, Dean Thomas patting his shoulder in mock-sympathy. Potter shook his head with amusement at something Granger had just said to him and resumed a heated discussion with Finnigan, the Gryffindors new Quidditch Keeper.

It was Draco's first day back in classes after he had been discharged from his two-day stint in the Infirmary. He had woken up from sleep on that first morning to find Potter had already risen and gone to class, leaving Draco to question whether he had simply invented the whole conversation with the Gryffindor. But when Harry returned that evening with Draco's homework forced into his care by Snape and Binns, for another portion of Dreamless Sleep Potion and another sparing match besides, Draco was starting to feel like himself again. This, he remembered, this, fighting and snide comments was bliss, this he could do standing on his head, pain or no pain...me and Potter, at each others throats and egos, he glowered comfortably, as they settled into their respective beds.

But now, it was back to classes, back to the Dungeons and Snape's foul temper. Friday morning was certainly not his best day, and he took it out on everyone.

Draco sauntered into the classroom some ten minutes later, his eyes cool as he slid into the seat next to Potter with indifference just as Snape swept into the room, the door slamming shut behind him. He glared around the classroom and smirked; which resulted in a very unpleasant sight for all involved.

"Continue working on your potions. I want them all finished by lunch," Snape barked, his eyes falling on Draco who was looking helplessly at his notes. "You're back Mister Malfoy, how pleasant." Snape sneered at his favourite student's discomfort. "Mister Potter, fill Mister Malfoy on everything that he needs to know."

"Professor," assented Harry, quietly before turning to Draco, "did you read the notes I brought up to you, Malfoy?"

"Yes, of course I did, Potter, but notes are no match for practical work, especially in Potions. You know that."

Harry nodded. "I've already gotten over half-way through the practical things, and most of the ingredients are ready for the next part. There are two or three raw ingredients that have to remain in a safe state right up until we add them, so I'll get them ready as well go. If you want, we could run through what I've done so far just to give you an idea on what we've been doing while you weren't here." Harry's tone remained impassive and professional throughout.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Okay, Potter, what's with you? Why are you being so irritatingly nice? I was enjoying the arguments."

Harry shot him a look of mock horror. "It's Friday, Malfoy. It's Friday morning, Malfoy. We're in Double Potions, Malfoy. With Snape in a fool mood, Malfoy."

Draco raised his eyebrow as if to say 'So?'

"Have you really got that much of a death wish?" asked Harry, straight faced.

Draco chuckled slightly as they bent over Harry's notes, trying to keep out of Snape's wrath. Snape was in a foul mood, even by his standards, jibbing all the students, Slytherin or otherwise, at one time or another. Only Potter seemed immune, his brittle hands carefully measuring out ingredients with precision, all his answers to Snape's firing-line questions were clear and correct. He talked like a textbook in Draco's best subject, his face jaunt and impassive; and worse still, he failed to react to any of his jibes and comments, remaining silent throughout.

It was unnerving to say the very least.

Draco had gotten used to the casual taunts and underlying criticisms that they had become accustomed to in the past few days, while Draco was stuck in the hospital wing, head aching through the day and the sound of Harry's breathing at night. It was a pattern that Draco found to be extremely comforting, or at least, as comforting as life could be with a concussion and Madam Pomfrey fussing over you twenty-four-seven.

The two finished early, packing their books up silently and sitting side-by-side as Snape tried to find some fault with Potter's part of the assignment and getting angrier and angrier when he couldn't find any.

"So...how's the head? Madam Pomfrey give you a clean bill of health?" asked Harry, casually.

Draco shrugged. "What do you care, Potter?"

"Just wondering, Malfoy, no harm with that."

"Now who's getting points for persistence?" Draco raised his eyebrows at the black-haired Gryffindor sitting next to him.

"Giving points to Gryffindor, Malfoy? Moving up in the world?" cracked Harry.

"Nope, scraping the bottom of the barrel more like," he absently traced a carved line in the desk with a finger. "And my head is fine."

"Good to hear."

They spent the last few minutes in comfortable silence, their packed up books stowed safely in their bags, Harry drumming a little tune with his thumb against the desk, Draco scribbling some nonsense verses on the back of one of his scrolls.

"See you in Defense, Potter," muttered Draco under his breath as Snape dismissed the class, storming out of the classroom, cloak flying. Harry gave him a slight nod in reply, falling into step next to Hermione, Weasley scampering off in a pretence of conversation with his Potions partner. Trouble in Paradise. I was wondering how long the Weasel was going to take to feel left out of the loop. After all, I have more classes with Potter and Granger than he does. Harry looked dejectedly after the redhead and sighed slightly, his spine straight and tall next to Granger as they walked out together, talking in low voices.

Alena was at Draco's elbow, saving him from Pansy, and as the two walked comfortably to lunch, Draco realised that he hadn't asked Harry how he was sleeping, not bothering to wonder why he would have asked it, and cared about getting an answer, in the first place.

~~ ~~~ ~~

The night stretched to its full extent for as far as Draco could see. It swept away from him, masked walls, hid trees, climbed towers with long fingers; it barred him in. He prowled the corridors, hunting, scrounging, and clambering up his mind's eye with absolute faith in the system.

The letter lay unread and unattended on his bed back in the dorm.

He denied its existence, denied the sheer exhilarant feel of velvet and night-air clinging to his footsteps. He denied the almost non-existent crunch of his feet against the stone and dry leaves. He was elevated, knighted, and throned; gazing down with heart-wrenching wonder at his own command. This was better than flying...this feeling was better than anything.

He was shadow-veiled and stealthy, cat-like grace and adolescent glory. It swept around his shoulders like a cloak of absolute darkness and beauty, his Inner-Draco holding his tongue in fear of the wild ones creeping out to find him. He was a Prince here, with no one to compete against but his own faults, he was Lord; he would feast on the flesh of mortals; no bars would hold back his will.

Nothing.

No one.

"Never," his voice was husky, melting into the night.

"Never what, Malfoy?"

He was reassured.

~~ ~~~ ~~
TBC
~~ ~~~ ~~

Yet another set of "Amy's Notes" to be written out and subsequently ignored by anyone who drops by to read this fic (apart from Val - who has been known to quote me on occasion).

Huge thanks to all our reviewers so far:- Val, Anne Phoenix, Avalon Princess, JadeDragon, chrisseee667, beautiful disaster, bwaybaby79, JaneyLane, AkkiNeko, LanaMariah

The general consensus so far is that Natasha and I are doing an okay job with this:- not murdering the characters too much in the process of...well, what ever it is we're doing. Shadows!Draco is still saying things that I never mean for him to be saying, and he's being quite rude so I might go buddy up to Shadows!Harry just to make him mad. Maybe not (he'll probably hex me).

Stay tuned for the next Draco chapter though: I'm going to be having some serious fun with some of the characters, including Hermione, Seamus and new-arrived OCC Alena. Fireworks may be in store for all concerned. And hopefully it won't take me as long to write as this chapter...after all...Hermione did knock Draco unconscious for goodness sakes...!

Hermione had a 'crisis of heart'; Harry finds himself in some unusual predicaments; Ron continues to be paranoid; Matilda continues to be secretive; something is revelled from someone unexpectedly. Stay tuned!

Please R&R