Bridging the Gap

Chapter Three

The Secrets

~*~

Potions passed without incident, much to Harry's relief. Neville's potion only exploded once, Snape only took twenty points off of Gryffindor, and Harry and Malfoy avoided any arguments by simply not speaking to each other. It wasn't as easy as it sounded. Harry had been the one to lose the game of exploding snap the night before - his mind on other things - and the loser of their now nightly games was chosen to pair with a Slytherin. The odd numbers in the houses were really grating the two houses' nerves as a result; tensions were thicker than Dudley was round.

Unfortunately enough, Harry's parnter just so happened to be the one and only Draco Malfoy. Truth be told, Malfoy had been the odd man out from Slytherin house almost since the beginning of the term. On the rare occasion Blaise Zabini would partner him, but for the most part he was on his own. That was, well, rather odd. Harry had thought that the blonde would think himself too good to be paired with someone of an opposing house, and the fact that the rest of Slytherin practically adored the rich boy made the situation even stranger.

In all honesty, Harry was jealous. While Draco Malfoy's house worshipped the blonde god, they also left him alone when he wanted. Harry's friends nearly smothered him when they thought that something was wrong. There had been many nights where he found himself sitting in front of the common room fire while he answered questions he really didn't want to answer.

None of these observations were new to Harry. He had been given plenty of time to himself at the Dursleys, and had been able to think on his situation and his own, personal feelings on said situation. He had grown used to spending time alone once more. After all, he really wasn't really expecting to live through school, and even if he did, there probably wasn't much of a life that would be offered to him; why bother making friends?

But then there were the times that he wanted - needed - the companionship. He wouldn't give his friends up for anything, unless it was their own lives.

Harry absently made his way to Advanced Charms, a class that was being taken with Ravenclaw this year. His feet knew the way, and his friends unconsciously guided his path away from any unfamiliar obstacles. This allowed his mind to wander once more. He felt a little sorry for ignoring his friends as he had for the past week and then some. Despite having spent the last few weeks before term in the Burrow - where his friends had been able to harp on him constantly, and, much worse, constantly pity him - he was getting tired of the company. He could only take so much pity. Besides, it wasn't like anything horrible was happening. Cedric had died, yes, and he was sorry, and sad, and felt guilty. He couldn't change the past no matter what anyone thought, and their pity only served to make him feel even worse about the whole thing.

Whatever he had been dreaming of lately had made him feel better, if only he could remember what he dreamt! The pleasant feelings he woke with left a warm afterglow in their wake, but the sleepy happiness was quick to dissipate as the day wore on. These dreams had only started within the past few days, but, secretly, he hoped that they lasted.

Still, he felt that he was missing something important, if only he could think of what it was. It was on the tip of his tongue...

But people often forget dreams, and 'people' included the famous Harry Potter; so what was missing remained missing.

His thoughts drifted back to Potions, despite his efforts to focus on what his two best friends were saying. The class hadn't been as horrible as he had been expecting the night before, even if the gray-eyed boy had spent most of the class ignoring him. They had been civil to each other, a rare event indeed, and Harry blamed it on the summer's lingering heat. After all, there was no chance that he and Malfoy would act as, if not friends, something more than enemies...was there? Harry hoped not. After all, if that constant changed, what could he depend on? The sky was blue, Hermione studied, Snape was a cruel professor, and Harry Potter fought with Draco Malfoy. It was one of those Facts of Life. If Draco and Harry were civil to each other...Snape might actually be nice! Which wasn't exactly a bad thing, but that wasn't the issue at hand.

Harry sat down at a bench in Charms, Hermione and Ron bracketing him as they patiently waited for the Professor to show himself from behind the desk. The green-eyed boy forced himself to concentrate on seventh-year charms as the class began.

~*~

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Studying, what's it look like?"

"Why don't you go study someplace a little more alone, you sleezeball, we're kinda busy here."

"Just in case you didn't notice, I was here first."

"What was that, shrimp?"

"I said SHOVE OFF."

"Oh...cheeky. I think someone needs a lesson in respect."

"*Sigh.* Never mind. I'll leave. It's not worth it."

"We changed our minds. We want you here for a while."

"I don't."

"Too bad."

*CRACK!*

"OW! Dammit - "

"Oh, don't worry, Draco-babe, we're just getting started..."

~*~

Draco knew that lunch was going to be painful, as he couldn't cast a healing spell on himself. He drifted away from his Slytherins...no, they weren't 'his' Slytherins anymore. They were the Slytherins.

"Where are you going?" Crabbe demanded.

"To the bathroom. Is that a crime, or did you want to watch?" Draco snapped shortly.

"Whatever," Crabbe answered, waving him off as he and Goyle strode into the Great Hall, already intent on food. Draco wasn't pleased with the spine they had grown when they had realized that his father wouldn't retaliate, and it was really too bad that he couldn't hex the fat pig in the middle of a hallway with lingering students. He would have resorted to their full names as a warning, but he had forgotten what they were; not that it mattered. All that mattered to him at the moment was to avoid the Hall for as long as possible. He was hoping to avoid it for the whole of the lunch period, but he doubted that _that_ would happen. Draco made his way to the bathroom, not wanting to be made a liar. More often than not, that only served to deliver more curses to his already beaten self. It was a slow journey, and not one he cared all that much to shorten. Anything that kept him away from those who caused him pain for even a moment longer was all right with him.

It was odd, though; Draco wondered what rumors were now circulating the Slytherin's house for any of them to resort to physical violence, or even casting spells that caused similar results. The later happened more, and it did not take much to see that not only were Slytherins spiteful, but lazy as well. And weak.

Even Pansy, who had tried to gain his attention over and over again, was now looking upon him with disgust. Blaise, the last of his so-called friends to leave, no longer looked him in the eye, and no one spoke to him anymore with anything short of anger. Draco knew that seventh year was going to be hard, but he had never expected it to be so physically brutal, nor so lonely.

Deep down, he knew that it was the loneliness that hurt the most. Slytherins looked after their own, but apparently even they could turn on each other. He knew that he probably should have gone to Snape when this first started, but he didn't feel that he could bother his head of house with such a small thing as being lonely. After all, he was a Malfoy, he could handle it, and it wasn't like he couldn't handle a few bruises, either. Of course, if Snape asked, he wouldn't hold back the information, either. He couldn't do that to his own head of house, that was like lying. Snape was the one person that Draco absolutely refused to lie to. He would lie to anyone else to save his own skin, but not Snape. The professor had this way of knowing when a student was lying. Snape was also one of the few professors Draco actually _trusted_, and he didn't want the Potions Master not to trust him because he lied over some trivial matter.

At least none of his bruises were visible. Neither the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher nor Hagrid would notice, and he doubted that they would notice the stiffness in his muscles and body.

He really should have stretched out after that last beating, loosened them up so that they wouldn't be so sore, but that would mean work, and sweat. Malfoys, or, at least, his image of a Malfoy, didn't sweat. Not where others might see it. Not even during Quidditch, although an exception could be made if it won the game for his house. It was in the rulebook that he had never seen, but his father swore existed. The rulebook that contained the ways to be a proper gentleman, what to say and do when and where; it was all quite boring and ritualistic. That was all he knew though, and, quite honestly, all he wanted to know. He didn't want to learn anything different, because that would mean admitting that his father was wrong, and he was already in for it as it was. Draco, under normal circumstances, was an expert at avoiding pain.

Why his common sense had left him when...that...happened, he had no idea. You did not openly break one of the Rules laid down for you in the Malfoy handbook and not get hurt. He was just glad that his father thought that he could be coerced into behaving, instead of disowning him. That would have been...awkward. But then again, he could have gone to the Slytherins for help, instead of having those two bloody slugs whose families blindly followed his father turn the house against him.

Draco leaned heavily on the porcelain sink and tried to keep from collapsing. Blacking out, passing out, and screaming in pain in frustration were not feasible options at the moment.

Blaise entered, the only Slytherin who dared even comfort Draco in secret anymore. The only one who could see right through the act. The pale boy immediately stood straighter, hiding a wince. "Blaise," he greeted hoarsely.

"Draco..." the other replied in obvious disapproval. "You can't let this keep happening." Blaise pulled out his wand and muttered a quick healing charm. "Please," he begged as Draco leaned against the wall to catch his breath, "talk to Snape, Dumbledore, hell, you could even tell Potter, but talk to someone. Talk to me. Tell me you need help, Draco. No one will be able to help you unless you ask."

"I don't need help, Blaise. And isn't it a bit dangerous for you to be here? What if Pansy caught you?"

"She's screwing Nero, she doesn't care who I talk to at the moment," Blaise answered.

"You'd be surprised," Draco muttered under his breath. Blaise acted as if he hadn't heard, since it was obvious that he wasn't meant to, but made a mental note to check up on Pansy. She had been acting rather odd lately, come to think of it... "I'm heading to the Great Hall," Draco said, interrupting the other's thoughts. "This never happened. But Blaise?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

Blaise smiled. "Draco, you know you can always count on me. I'm your loyal spy. Heck, I'm so loyal, the sorting hat nearly put me in Hufflepuff! Just, don't tell anyone. I'd rather not be mince-meat."

"Really?" Draco drawled, and for a moment he almost sounded like his old self, ready to use the information for his own gain.

"Yep, but I told that piece of scrap that I was never going to go into a house named 'Hufflepuff' of all things. I mean, I'd be forever shamed! And what about my Slytherin wit? It'd fade away! Replaced by," and here Blaise gave a timely shudder, "morals!"

Draco laughed slightly. "Bye Blaise. I hope I don't see you around."

"Bye Draco," Blaise answered, and then whispered, "good luck."

Draco walked on, not hearing Blaise's muttered words as he focused on what he was going to do to avoid Parkinson and her new toy from now on. No one crossed a Malfoy; he would get his revenge, but not when the wound was so fresh...literally. He would find a sweet, slow, painful, utterly horrific way to wreck vengeance upon her, but he would wait.

After all, good things came to those who waited.

~*~

Harry absently rubbed at his stomach, which had begun to ache dully during Advanced Charms. The pain was there, and yet not, which confused Harry horribly, but he didn't mention this to any of his friends. He simply nibbled at his food.

And then, just like that, the ache was gone. Vanished. Healed.

Something altogether not normal. Harry decided to join in the conversation around him, feeling guilty for cutting off the other Gryffindors during class. Hermione was just recounting the uses of the healing charm the professor had been explaining to Seamus, who hadn't quite understood.

"Hermione," he asked, "do you think that there's a spell that can make a person feel someone else's pain?" Okay, that was not what he had meant to ask. His conversations with himself were overlapping with his conversations with the people around him. That couldn't be good. Hermione and Ron were looking at him oddly, but at least he'd get an answer to his question.

"I don't think so, Harry," Hermione began, and then something clicked into place inside her mind. "Oh, you mean like - ? Well, the only cases heard of are with twins, and they say that the reasoning behind it is that they've grown together from the exact same cell, and have spent so much time together while young. Muggles and wizards alike have claimed to feel the death of a loved one from miles away, but that's thought to be more of a mental thing than something that actually happens.

"Veela have been known to sense the pain of their mates, as well as several other magical creatures, but, as in the case of Veela, that's done by scent. A werewolf can smell fear, hunger, lust, love, and pain, as well, but in both cases the creature needs to be in the nearby area of whoever it's...sniffing.

"And I know that there isn't a shred of Veela blood in you, nor werewolf, so you shouldn't worry. The only case might be if even a partial Veela chose you as her mate, but even then you would only sense her presence, not...you know."

Hermione had spoken as if he had been referring to Voldemort, which he had not been. It didn't matter though. As always, her information was useful just the same. "Thanks," he whispered. "What do we have next?" he asked, partially to change the subject, and partially because he needed to check and make sure he had the right books with him.

"History of Magic," Ron answered, pulling a face. "Elch! But after that it's Care of Magical Creatures. I think that Hagrid's got a half-dragon to come and talk to us this time."

"Some dragons can change their appearance, like an animagus, and have taken advantage of that...skill, mating with various witches and wizards," trusty Hermione spoke up.

"The result is kinda neat. You know those images of the devils and angels that the muggles keep coming up with?" Ron asked, glad to know something. Harry nodded. "Well, if the kid isn't an animagus, that's what they usually end up looking like. Isn't it neat? That's got to be bloody cool to have wings like that."

"But you'd always have to hide," Hermione protested. "You couldn't go out in case muggles spotted you, and wizards in general don't tend to accept half-breeds or their offspring."

Ron pulled a face. "You always have to look on the down side, don't you?"

"No, I'm being realistic."

"Well, it's a downer, for sure."

"I'm just grateful that she knows so much, Ron," Harry piped up. He didn't like to see his friends fight so much, mostly because he had been so distant as of late, and so he usually tried to think of ways to head off their arguments before they ever began. "Just think, where would we be without her?"

"Up the creek without a paddle, that's a given," Hermione answered.

"What's a paddle got to do with a creek?" someone asked from Ron's other side; Harry didn't bother to see who it was.

"Muggles use them to make their canoes, boats, and other water transportation move because they don't have magic to help them," Hermione explained.

The conversation continued around Harry, who had quieted now that he had spoken to his friends and successfully avoided another round of being the middle man while they gave each other the silent treatment. His eyes drifted around the Great Hall, and he noticed Malfoy walking in considerably late. His house ignored the blonde as he took his plate - filled magically with food at his touch - and went to sit down on the floor, leaning heavily against the wall. No one made room for him, and no one spoke to him. In fact, the Slytherin house as a whole seemed to be ignoring him, but that had to be Harry's imagination. After all, Draco Malfoy was the pride of Slytherin, why would he be shunned? No, it must have been some ploy that the rich boy was planning to once more shame Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived. Although there wasn't anything really dangerous about eating on the floor by the nasty Slytherins, he really couldn't see anything to be gained by it, either.

It drifted to the back of his mind when he saw Blaise enter the Hall, a much quieter entrance than Malfoy's, if that was possible. He didn't even spare a glance for Draco as he sat down; the fifth years at the table immediately made room for him. He entered the conversation easily, quite the opposite of Malfoy, who looked so lonely by the far wall.

The bell for classes to resume rang shrilly throughout the hall, and Draco stood, leaving before his classmates had placed their forks down.

"Ugh," Ron muttered, breaking Harry's train of thought. "History. Yuck! And then another class with Slytherin. Rotten luck, that. At least it's with Hagrid. Maybe we could convince whatever Hagrid's got to flame Malfoy's arse? Or at least Crabbe and Goyle's, he'd be tolerable without them around."

Harry's head snapped around. Something about that last sentence sounded familiar... "Say that again?"

"Huh?" Ron asked. "I said that Malfoy'd be tolerable without Crabbe and Goyle following him around all the time. Where've you been, Harry? Feeling all right, there?" There was concern in Ron's voice, but Harry didn't register it; he mumbled out a 'fine' and walked to class. Ron followed behind, already speaking about something concerning Quidditch, but Harry tuned him out. Something had clicked into place when Ron had spoken, and Harry didn't know what was wrong. He had a strong feeling that something was, though, and that it involved Malfoy, and the other two tag-alongs. But, oddly enough, Harry didn't think that Malfoy was the one causing the problems. No, that felt...wrong, somehow.

Maybe he shouldn't put off thinking about such things until later.

-End Chapter Three-