Disclaimer: I don't own anything from Harry Potter. Also, any themes that are similar to those in other fanfictions is purely coincidental.

A/N: Save for the first bit, which is from my last story, this entire fanfiction is told from Draco's perspective. Each chapter begins where the other left off, so you may need to re-read the end of the previous chapter to remember what's going on. It's still set in the fourth year, naturally. I tried to balance the hurt/comfort element pretty evenly between Draco and Harry. I fully intend to continue writing chapters for this.

Thanks so much for reading!


You can pass this section if you've already read it in my last fanfic. Basically, the gist of this is that Harry has overheard Ron saying really cold, hurtful things about him and their friendship. Ron only said these things out of anger, but Harry still takes it very seriously.

Harry stumbled through the dense forest, scraping himself along the way, not caring what kind of mythical hellspawn he might happen across. Though he had originally intended to head to the library, on his way there, it occurred to him that the library would be filled with other students, especially since it was Saturday. Harry had no desire to be around other people at the moment. Even in other quiet spots in the castle, Harry was sure there would be passersby who would look at him like he was an idiot for studying in that location. Thus, Harry had ended up trekking through the Forbidden Forest, dodging hanging plants and fallen trees. Now he felt like an idiot for studying in the Forbidden Forest, but at least no one could see him.

Finally, he came upon a clearing. A beautiful, secluded pond brimmed out before him, stagnant and cold. A phoenix sang from a nearby tree. Harry placed his bag on the ground and sat next to it. His tears had long since evaporated, but he still felt miserable.

Harry was perfectly capable of dealing with arguing with Ron and he could cope fine with Ron being angry at him. By now, he was used to Ron bitterly declaring how conceited he was. Whatever, Harry had thought. He'll get over it.

Now, Harry felt like he had no stability. He felt unsure of everything he had ever experienced with Ron. I had fun with him, he thought solemnly. The concept that Ron had never enjoyed being with Harry, that he had only felt sorry for him, that Ron had wanted to end his friendship with him for years, weighed on Harry like nothing he had ever felt before. Ron was probably the most important person in Harry's life and the idea that he had never really wanted Harry around tore at his heart. Ron had meant everthing to him.

Part of Harry knew Ron had been speaking out of anger, but at the moment, Harry couldn't think rationally. "You don't just say that shit out of the blue," he whispered bitterly to himself.

Harry had been so sure that Ron was missing him as much as he missed Ron. He had been sure that Ron would eventually forgive him and that they could resume being friends. Instead, Ron was relieved to be rid of him.

Ron was the only person Harry had truly trusted. He loved Hermione, but she could be so clinical and serious. Though she was a terrific friend, she had a tendency to look at things purely from a logical standpoint, forgetting about the more emotional aspects of life. His Godfather, Sirius, was always sweet to him, as was Remus Lupin, but Harry knew he couldn't actually rely on them. They both had hectic lives and their own problems. They didn't need Harry cluttering things up with his problems too. Ron was the only one with which Harry had even remotely felt like he could be himself. Ron always cheered him up, made him laugh, and generally made him enjoy life. Harry didn't feel like there was anyone who could ever provide something even close to what Ron gave him.

Though he didn't put his name in the Goblet of Fire, recently, Harry had begun to think that he should swallow his pride and apologize. It hadn't really occurred to him at first because he knew that he hadn't done what Ron was accusing him of. He didn't want to lie and confess to something that he didn't do, but he still thought about saying he was sorry for something. He had just been so taken aback and hurt at first by Ron's sudden resentment. Maybe there was something else Ron was angry with him about, he had thought. The concept that Ron was jealous of him wasn't lost on him. Perhaps, Harry had been too cocky. When Ron become angry with him, perhaps he was too immediately defensive. He should've listened to Ron and tried to explain his side of things. Instead, Harry had snapped back at him. Then he proceeded to put up his walls and pretend that he didn't care.

Now, none of that mattered. Harry didn't need to apologize. There was no way to make amends, and no reason to attempt to. Ron hated Harry and apparently, had always hated being around him. It made sense. Harry was quiet and boring and no fun to be with. Ron deserved to be with exciting, happy people, who weren't constantly dragging him down into a spiral of dispair, let alone forcing him to risk his life for them. Harry felt tears well up in his eyes. He wiped them away angrily.

Well, fuck him. Who needs him anyway?, Harry thought. Guess I'd better try and get some homework done. He reached into his bookbag. His hands grazed against what felt like a thick, wide stack of papers in the front compartment of his bag. Confused, he unzipped the compartment and pulled the papers out. There, in his hands, were photographs. He'd forgotten that he'd stuffed his pictures in his school bag for safe keeping. Some of them were of Hermione, Fred and George, and others, but most of them were of Ron. Harry cautiously examined the pictures. At first glance, Ron looked happy. Still, Harry found himself examining his eyes, the corners of his mouth, and his body language. It was clear to Harry now that Ron hated being with him. All Harry could see in Ron's eyes were loathing and disgust.

Once, these pictures would have brought comfort to him. Looking at Ron's smile had been like looking at pure, undiluted sunshine (except that it didn't hurt your eyes). Now when he looked at these pictures, all he could do was scrutinize every one of Ron's smiles, wondering if Ron had ever wanted to be there with him at all.

Harry tried, but he couldn't prevent himself from bursting into tears. He buried his face in his arms and sobbed softly to himself, feeling more alone than he ever had in his life.

This is the end of the bit from my last story. You can continue reading the new story from here :)


Draco trampled through the forest aggressively. He was not in a particularly good mood, even for him.

"Stupid Pansy," Draco ranted to himself. "Who does that bitch think she is? I don't have to put up with that shit." Pansy had had the audacity to call Draco's father a "fair weather" Death Eater.

"How dare you!" Draco had cried, aghast. "My father is one of the most loyal Death Eaters you'll ever meet and I'll have no one say otherwise!"

"Dude, keep your voice down," Blaise warned. They were in a somewhat occupied diner in Hogsmeade. Your father being a Death Eater was obviously something you needed to keep on the down-low.

"I'm sorry, Draco, darling," Pansy said in that smarmy, yet flirtatious manner of hers. She rested her hand on his thigh under the table, batting her eyelashes seductively. "I simply think your father would just as soon buy his way out of his position before he would sacrifice his own life for our..." Pansy lowered her voice and smiled secretively, "Dark Lord. I simply don't think your father has what it takes to truly serve him. I didn't intend it as an insult, but I've seen much more loyal members. My father is practically his right-hand-man."

Draco could never understand why Pansy always seemed to take so much pleasure in making him mad. It practically seemed to turn her on or something. Maybe it was her way of flirting? Either way, it always succeeded in its goal. It always pissed Draco off.

Draco stood dramatically, Pansy's hand falling off of his thigh. "You shut your whore mouth! My father is brave and loyal! I won't sit here and listen to you besmirch my father's good name, you... you harlot of no virtue!"

Pansy smirked, looking smug and satisfied. "Oh, don't be such a drama queen, arsehole. I was only playing around."

Draco growled and stormed out of the diner. Now, he was violently stomping through the Forbidden Forest to return to Hogwarts.

Suddenly, Draco heard what sounded like someone softly crying. At first, it frightened him. "Who- who's there?" He demanded. The sound didn't cease. "Show yourself!" When the sound still didn't stop, Draco muttered to himself, "Why did I come this way? I hate this fucking forest." Courage wasn't his strong suit. He wasn't some stupid Gryffindor after all.

He cautiously proceeded onward, ready to strike at the first sign of danger. However, instead, he simply came upon a clearing with a pond. Sitting by the pond was a black-haired boy, who appeared to be crying. Oh, Draco thought, in realization. Sometimes the most obvious answer is the last one you think of, I guess. A devilish smirk crossed his face. This looks like fun.

As Draco neared the teen, he could make out the initials printed at the top of the boy's bag. "H.P.". Hmm, Draco thought. Then it hit him. His smirk turned into a devious smile. This was the best day ever.

"Well, well, well," he snidely remarked, feeling like the proverbial cat that swallowed the canary. "Aw, is Hawwy Pottew cwying? What's wrong, did me and Crabbe and Goyle's buttons make you sad, Potter?" Draco laughed sinisterly. He was referring to the extremely clever "Potter stinks" buttons the Slytherin boys had magicked up together. "How pathetic. Just wait until I tell everyone that I found you crying! Everyone will hate you even more!"

Potter quickly wiped his eyes and stuffed some papers back into his bookbag. He then snorted derisively, turning to face Draco. "First of all, I wasn't crying. Second, are you kidding? Those buttons are the least of my worries. If you want some constructive criticism from me, I'd say you need to work on your insults, but the magical effect is great," Potter said, rolling his eyes. He stood, grabbed his bag, and began walking away.

Draco frowned, disappointed. Shit. He hadn't gotten to him at all. If anything, he'd made him stop crying. That wasn't what he'd wanted. He shrugged and jogged to catch up to Potter. "Oh, whatever, Potter. Admit it. Our buttons hurt you at least a little." Draco blushed slightly. That was lame.

Potter burst out laughing. "Gee, I didn't realize it was so important to you, Malfoy. If it'll make you feel better, sure. Your buttons really got to me. I mean, 'Potter stinks'? Oh, the pain."

Draco wasn't sure how to respond to that. He really wanted to threaten him, to tell him that he would do so much worse next time, but he couldn't keep himself from laughing along with him. "Hey, fuck you, Potter. Anyway, I doubt you could come up with any better."

"Oh, I could," Potter answered, sounding confident, but not boastful. "I've heard it all, but I don't wanna give you any ideas. I like it when you're comically evil."

Draco paused. Had Potter really just said he liked something about him? Potter stopped walking and turned to face him. He was now blushing, having realized his slip of the tongue.

"Well, that is, I mean, as opposed to when you're just evil," he clarified, straightening his glasses.

Draco smiled deviously again. "Whatever, Potter. As far as I'm concerned, you just said you like something about me."

"Whatever," Potter said, rolling his eyes, seeming tired of the bantering. He hurried ahead of Draco.

Draco frowned. He worriedly realized that he had actually been enjoying his time with Potter. He hesitated, then jogged again to catch up with him. Draco tripped over a tree trunk that was laying on the ground, camouflaged by the foliage. His knee collided painfully with a sharp tree branch upon impact, scraping against the dirt afterwards. His forehead thudded against the ground. "Ow! Mother fuck!" Draco whined, holding his knee. Coping with physical pain wasn't Draco's strong suit either.