ALONG A RAZOR'S EDGE

Summary: HP/DM. In which the Malfoys wage war, Harry Potter gains a much-feared ability, and Draco corrects Harry's assumptions about the differences, or lack-thereof, between good and evil.

Warnings: Slash, HP/DM. Violence, Angst. Not epilogue compliant.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related characters belong to the wonderfully talented J.K. Rowling. Anything you do not recognize belongs to me.

A/N: This has to be the third time I've re-posted this chapter in two days, but I am officially done correcting it. Enjoy! Review!

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"Are you sure you're alright, Harry?" Hermione asked, her tone tinted with worry.

Harry Potter looked up, startled, from where he had been staring emptily into space, a plate of untouched food in front of him. "I'm fine," he snapped, then quickly apologized when he saw the stricken look on Hermione's face.

He was fine, though. Except he wasn't. Truthfully, he had been feeling strange ever since they had returned to Hogwarts to complete their missed Seventh Year. At first, he had attributed the feelings, including a lack of appetite for normal food coupled with an unexplained craving for another, unknown, type of substance, as some bizarre aftershock of finally defeating Voldemort. The severity of the symptoms had been escalating, though, and now he barely ate, despite a raging appetite. His lack of any genuine hunger was coupled with an unforgiving pain of mounting proportions. Between the lack of food and pain, Harry had become paler and paler, until his black hair contrasted severely with his white skin, and his green eyes gleamed wildly.

There were other peculiarities, as well, other than his sudden non-loss of appetite. Harry always had a fairly impressive ability to resist curses, evidenced by his ability to throw off the Imperious Curse. Now, though, Harry's resilience exceeded any known precedent. Barely any curse, hex or charm affected him in any way. Ron thought it was terribly cool, but Harry, having a bit more experience with unexplained magical occurrences, found the whole affair exceedingly worrisome.

Madam Pomphrey had run several diagnostic tests, and cast countless charms, but could not determine what was ailing him. Then, about a month ago, Pomphrey had asked Harry, in an anxious, helpful tone, if he needed to talk to anyone about his experiences in the war. Harry had not returned to the Hospital Wing since.

Ron and Hermione did not know the extent of his illness, either. Harry told them he was simply was not hungry, when they asked why he never ate. Ron and Hermione had suffered through enough in the war; they deserved their happily-ever-after, free from pointless worry.

Harry looked up from his silent contemplation to see Hermione still eyeing him doubtfully. "Honestly, Hermione, I'm fine," he repeated, gently, this time. To his relief, Hermione nodded, although she still looked a touch worried. "You should eat, before Ron comes back wanting some private time," Harry teased, desperate for her to stop examining him, and was pleased when Hermione blushed.

Hermione and Ron were finally dating, and frequently snuck off to spend time alone. They rarely ever separated, but today Ron was serving detention for setting a rare Ninuna vine on fire in Herbology. Apparently, Ron had been startled when he found the vine suddenly wrapped around his torso, and he had shrieked ("screamed," Ron insisted) and set the vine on fire. At the time, Harry had been feeling so ill he barely noticed the blaze sweep through Greenhouse Five.

Fortunately, though, the Christmas holiday started tomorrow. Harry and Hermione both had been invited to the Weasley's for Christmas. Hopefully, Harry thought, the time away from Hogwarts would help him feel better. Maybe it was just the pressures of Seventh Year affecting him, but he thought the stress of fighting Voldemort would have been far worse.

A shout of laughter from the Slytherin table jerked Harry out of his reverie. He looked over, through a blur of hunger and pain, to see Draco Malfoy smirking gleefully as Pansy Parkinson batted red sparks away from her hair, which was steadily turning orange. Harry followed the progress of the red sparks slowly, as if captivated, while his unnatural hunger roared to life, a fierce desire to consume, to devour… It was only when he encountered Draco Malfoy's strangely triumphant stare that his trance was broken.

Harry had personally testified at all of the Malfoys' trials, in order to fulfill the life debt he owed to Narcissa Malfoy, who had saved his life during the final battle with Voldemort. He would have much rather seen Lucius Malfoy's sneering face locked deep inside Azkaban, but Narcissa Malfoy had invoked the life debts, in a tone at once demanding and pleading, and Harry had to acquiesce. He had not considered, though, that his testimony would result in Draco Malfoy's annoying presence being shoved back into his life.

Draco's normally acidic barbs, however, although still present, were tempered, as if Draco was waiting for the opportune time to strike. Harry shoved the thought out of his mind as another wave of hunger, this one accompanied by intense pain, swept through his body, blurring his view of the red sparks dancing over the Slytherin table.

"I'm going to go work on the Potion's essay," he announced, abruptly standing up.

"We'll join you later, Harry, after Ron eats," Hermione said distractedly, watching her boyfriend, who apparently had finished his detention, stride toward the Gryffindor table.

Harry nodded, Hermione's goodbye barely registering through the haze of pain. He greeted Ron on his way out of the Great Hall, but two seconds after the doors closed behind Harry, the pain became so great he could not remember what he had said, or how Ron had responded.

A few more stumbling paces, and Harry emerged outside, breathing in the cool winter air with relief as he felt the pain recede slightly. For some unexplainable reason, Harry had discovered that going outside, away from the chaotic mass of students casting spells, always helped lessen the pain.

Harry trudged through the snow, his path an ugly scar across the pristine white Hogwarts grounds, until he finally reached the lake. The lake's edges were frozen over with a glistening layer of ice, and for a moment Harry was struck with the insane desire to walk out onto the lake, to see the ice crack, and finally break under his feet. Harry wondered if the cold water would numb the pain currently lancing his body with hot pokers, then shook his head as he realized exactly what idiocy he was contemplating.

The pain was becoming uncontrollable, Harry knew. If he did not find a solution soon… Harry had just decided to ask Hermione for help researching his illness when the pace of someone's footsteps, muffled because of the snow, sounded behind him. Closing his eyes, Harry wished the intruder away. Already, the other person's presence was making the pain come back in angry waves, unmercifully pounding on his body.

Harry continued to ignore the person, but the person did not leave. In fact, the footsteps seemed to be coming ever closer, and the pain increased exponentially as the person neared. Harry turned slowly to face the person, but he had barely begun to move when he heard a soft chuckle, then the whistle of an object swung quickly through the air.

A sharp pain exploded in the back of his head, and black dots swam in his vision, dancing with the white snowflakes that had just begun to fall. Harry crumpled to the ground, fighting to hold onto his consciousness, but the winter world was steadily becoming more black than white. Then, though, Harry was unconscious, and nothing mattered anymore.

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Draco Malfoy stood above the prone form of Harry Potter, a bloody Beater's bat held loosely in his hand. "Too easy, Potter," he drawled, bending down and wrapping Potter's hand around a small stone. Draco straightened, and admired the crimson blood staining the snow around Potter's head.

In five minutes, the Portkey Draco had placed in Potter's hand would transport the other boy into a cell in Malfoy Manor's dungeons. Tomorrow, Narcissa Malfoy would arrive to pick her son up for the Christmas holiday. Potter's absence would not be noted until they were long gone.

The swiftly falling snow obscured Draco's footprints as he strode back towards Hogwarts, spelling the Beater's bat clean of Potter's blood. As he reached the entrance to the warmly lit Entrance Hall, Potter's body vanished from the Hogwart's grounds.

Everything was going according to plan.

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