The snow filled Harry's gaze with a blinding white glare when he stepped out the front doors of the castle. He crossed his arms over his chest underneath his cloak, hugging his own body warmth to himself. No one else seemed to be venturing outside, besides the obligatory trough of footprints through the snow leading back and forth from the greenhouses. Classes must go on, even with Winter Holiday so close approaching. The rest of the fresh snow remained untouched, and Harry sunk in almost to his thighs as he made his way through the drifts to Hagrid's cabin.

The red and gold of his Gryffindor scarf hung about his neck, and he tensed his shoulders, trying to keep his ears from freezing off. His messy hair did little to keep his head warm, and he made a note to steal one of Hermione's house-elf hats later that evening. It was just too cold to be acceptable this winter. Harry glanced over the grounds as he trudged through the snow, surveying the frozen lake, the ice-laden Forbidden Forest. It was then that he saw a disturbance in the snow.

He hesitated for half a moment before his curiosity got the better of him. He broke off from the straight path he had been forming in the snow towards Hagrid's friendly hut, and pushed instead parallel to the tree line of the Forest. He reached the spot that had before caught his eye.

The snow was disturbed in a weaving pattern from the edge of the dark forest up to where Harry stood. Sometimes there were merely footsteps, but at other points it looked as through whoever had made the path was crawling or being dragged through the snow. The pure whiteness of the powder was marred with a dark crimson that could only be blood. Harry stood staring into the trees, wondering whether whatever it was that had made these marks had been dragged inside or walked in on their own accord. He glanced back along the path to see where the tracks had their origin.

His heart caught in his throat.

A dark patch marred the snow: a body in black robes. How had he missed it before?

Without consulting his mind, suddenly his body was sprinting toward the body; knees raised high, running footsteps falling through the powdery snow. He fell once, coating himself with the tiny ice crystals, racing alongside the path that was becoming more consistently stained red.

The figure was farther from Harry's initial position than he had realized. His lungs were burning with breathing the frigid air by the time he reached whoever it was. Harry took a moment to wipe the condensation from his glasses before looking down at the fallen student. Pale skin tinged with blue, white-blond hair stained with blood in disarray against the snow…

No…

Harry was on his knees in the snow, rolling Draco Malfoy onto his back. His school robes were soaked with blood, his skin even whiter than normal. "Ennerverate," Harry mumbled, pointing his wand at Draco's chest. The blond made no motion. "No," Harry said aloud this time, his heart pounding painfully. He pressed his ear to Draco's chest, desperate. The other's boy's pulse was weak but constant, his breathing ragged.

Harry glanced about himself, eyes searching for any living soul. Finding no one in the snowy landscape, he hoisted Draco's tall frame into his arms and took a few steps toward the castle, promising warmth and help.

But after a few paces, he stumbled and dropped Draco's dead weight. "I'm a bloody wizard," he muttered to himself after a helpless minute. He remembered last year when Kingsley had used his patronus as a messenger.

He raised his wand, and cried, "Expecto Patronum!" A thin silvery mist shot out the end of his wand, quickly dispersing in the freezing air surrounding him. He let out an exasperated breath, forming a cloud of mist around his head. He reached for a happy memory, hands stinging from the cold. He glanced down at the seemingly lifeless body by his side. He imagined the blond safe, healthy, warm, sitting beside a fire. Harry walked up behind him, sliding his arms around his chest, kissing him on the silvery temple…

"Expecto Patronum!" he yelled again, and this time his usual stag burst forth. "Get to the Hospital Wing! Find help!" Harry instructed the shining animal, and it galloped off to do his bidding.

Harry was still on his knees beside the unconscious Draco. He skin was turning a terrifying grey, and the snow beneath them was soaking up blood. Harry quickly stripped off his cloak, leaving only muggle jeans and a sweater beneath. He wrapped the thick black fabric around Draco's body, hoping to give him some semblance of comfort.

When an icy wind burst over the grounds, though, Harry was reduced to a shuddering mess, wrapping his hands in his scarf. He huddled in the snow alone for a minute, before hoisting Draco's body into his lap, holding onto the young man to keep both Draco and himself warm. The former's blood was warm and sticky beneath his fingers, and he tried to ignore the metallic smell stinging at his nose when he pulled the blond even closer.

Heart still pounding in his ears, Harry thought for a second about the hundreds of situations he'd dreamed of which included him holding the Slytherin as closely as he was now. None of them involved freezing in the snow, holding an unconscious and bleeding Draco.

"He'll be ok. He'll be ok. He'll be ok," Harry kept repeating to himself. The body in his arms was disturbingly still, without echo of shiver or breath. Harry closed his eyes, cold air burning against his throat as he took in quick breaths.

He'll be ok. He'll be ok. He'll be ok…

A clattering of footsteps, echoes of yells across the grounds. Madame Pomfrey, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Dumbledore were all upon him in a moment. A magical stretcher was summoned, and Draco's still form was pried from his arms. Dumbledore's bright eyes were staring earnestly into Harry's, as a warming spell allowed him to snap of his reverie.

"Harry, what happened?" McGonagall's concerned voice sounded in his ears. He pried his eyes away from Madame Pomfrey and the stretcher baring Draco away across the snowy drifts to look at his Head of House.

"I dunno," he managed to stammer, feeling Dumbledore's strong hand on his shoulder. "I was going to visit Hagrid, and I saw some blood in the snow, and there was Malfoy. I dunno what happened to him. He came out of the forest. I just found him, and sent my patronus. I didn't know what to do." He was quickly losing his train of thought.

"Harry, it's all right," Dumbledore's low voice was calm. "You did the right thing. Mr. Malfoy is in good hands. I believe now would be a lovely time for a cup of tea in my office. Will you join us, Minerva?"

The Transfiguration professor hesitated, before politely declining. The trio headed back toward the castle doors together. As the initial warming spell began to fade, Harry wrapped his arms around his chest, shaking with the damp that had seeped into his clothes. Walking up the stone steps of the castle's entry way, Harry's feet were numb, imagining the still unconscious Draco being rushed to the Hospital Wing.

Dumbledore's hand was gripping his elbow so Harry didn't have to think about which direction he was walking. He willingly followed the headmaster to his office, allowing himself to be pushed into a chair.

Only when a large steaming cup of tea was in front of the raven-haired lad did Dumbledore move to question him again.

"Harry," he prodded gently. The boy's eyes focused on Dumbledore's face, and he shook his head, focusing on the room around him. "You're sure you don't know what happened to Mr. Malfoy? There was not, perhaps, a friendly duel that went awry?"

"What?" Harry questioned after swallowing a mouthful of tea. "No." He shook his head resolutely. "No, Professor, we weren't fighting. I didn't hurt him. Like I said, I was on my way to Hagrid's and found him in the snow. His footsteps led out of the forest." Harry cupped the teacup in his hands, holding it close to his chest. "I didn't hurt him," he repeated, almost to himself. "I would never hurt him."

"As you know, Harry," the headmaster went on, folding his long fingers together atop his desk, "you yourself were the one bringing suspicions to my attention about young Draco earlier this year. You seemed to believe, quite strongly I might add, that he was a Death Eater and should be closely monitored. Do you believe this incident has anything to do with his supposed interaction with this certain gang of dark wizards and witches?"

Harry had not thought that far. His mind was frozen on the image of Draco's limp for in his arms. "I dunno, Professor." He was shocked to feel hot tears burning at the corners of his eyes. With voice tight, he continued. "I really know nothing. But please, Professor, can I go now?"

"Of course, Harry. I believe Snape is expecting you in Defense against the Dark Arts in twenty minutes."

Harry nodded, not making eye contact. He set his half empty teacup back on Dumbledore's desk, and rose to leave.

"And Harry?" The boy turned back. "If for any reason you learn any more about Mr. Malfoy, please do not hesitate to tell me. My door is always open to you."

"I will, Professor. Thank you." Harry descended the turning staircase in a haze. He stood in the hallway outside Dumbledore's office for a moment, staring at the floor, listening to the buzz of conversation filling the halls as students wandered about, preparing to go to lessons. He shivered when a draft blew through the stone hallway, and realized his clothes were still wet. Glancing down, he noticed for the first time that he was also stained with Draco's blood. With this concrete problem in mind, he set out toward the Gryffindor tower to change into something clean and dry.

His fingers unconsciously worked the edge of his red and gold scarf as he took a shortcut back to his dormitory. His eyes were on the stairs before him, but his mind was three floors up, in the Hospital Wing. What could be happening? Was Draco alright? Harry habitually jumped the trick stair and pushed through the tapestry at the top of the stairs.

Dodging glances and gasps from other students, Harry made his way toward the Fat Lady; murmuring the password, he sped through the common room, heading up the tower steps to the sixth years' dormitory room.

Bursting through the door, pulling the scarf from his neck, Harry was stuck fast by the sight before him: Ron and Lavender were in the middle of an intense batch of snogging in the midst of Ron's mussed bed clothes.

Tossing the scarf onto his own made bed, Harry cleared his voice loudly. With a smack, the couple disconnected from each others' faces and looked over at Harry. Lavender gasped, while Ron said in surprise, "What happened to you?"

"Get out," Harry said, voice low. Lavender immediately jumped off the bed and left, edging past Harry as she did so. Ron stood, coming a few steps closer to his best friend and roommate.

"Is this your blood?" he said, wrinkling his nose as he got a closer look at Harry.

"Ron, I don't want to talk about it," he said, pulling the stained sweater over his head.

"Ok, mate." He left the room, following his girlfriend, shutting the door gently behind him.

Harry stood in the middle of the room, hands balled into fists, nails cutting into his palms. Two warm tears worked their way down his cheeks as he stared out the window onto the blindingly white grounds. What was he supposed to say? Well, you see Ron, I found Malfoy out in the snow bleeding to death and I think I might be in love with him. It was just a tad traumatic. Ok? He drew a deep breath through his nose, and wiped his face, steeling himself.

He stripped off the rest of his dirty clothing, changing into school robes. He began absent-mindedly packing his bag for Defense against the Dark Arts, scheduled to commence in about eight minutes according to his watch. But he paused: Snape was probably the last person on earth he wanted to see at the moment. So he wouldn't go. Was that such a hard decision to make. He shoved his bag onto the floor, and sat slumped on his bed.

A hesitant tap came at the door. Hermione's voice came through the wood: "Harry?"

Harry sat still for half a moment, before standing a pulling open the door. "What?" he said darkly.

Hermione cowered at the anger in his voice. "Er… Ron just said, I don't know really he was mumbling. But something about you being covered with blood. He was with Lavender, and nothing he says is ever intelligible these days." Her voice was rushed and all of this was said in one breath while looking at the floor. She finally looked up at his face, "Are you ok, Harry? Did something happen?"

"I'm fine," he said curtly, and pushed past her, sweeping down the staircase. He paused outside the portrait hole, thinking of where he wanted to go. The Room of Requirement flitted across his mind, but instead he let his feet lead him through the familiar hallways toward the Hospital Wing.

His hands were shaking as he pushed open the solid door leading into the infirmary. Madam Pomfrey looked up from her station, and smiled gently when she saw it was Harry.

"Hello, Mr. Potter," she said, walking up to him, her long robes brushing the floor. "Are you feeling well?"

"Yes, I'm fine, thanks." His heart caught in his throat a little as he stammered out, "Actually, I was wondering if… if I could… if I could see Malfoy?"

Poppy glanced at the bed at the end of the hall, partially blocked from view by long curtains. "I suppose there's no harm in that. He's resting comfortably. He's probably a titch woozy from the potion I gave him for the pain, but you can see him. Try not to exhaust him, though, alright Harry?"

"Of course," Harry said, nodding in relief that the blond was all right. He strode to the end of the row of beds, disappearing behind the curtain.

He sank into the chair already at the side of Draco's bed. The Slytherin was curled on his side, blankets resting over his legs, hips, waist. He was clad in the traditional Hospital Wing pajamas. His blond hair was clean, no longer matted in blood, and brushed back from his face; his eyes were closed, his skin still pale, but no longer the grey it has acquired out in the snow. The first few buttons of his pajama top were open, and beneath, his chest was coated almost entirely in bandages, the same white as his skin.

Harry just sat, watching him sleep, for a long couple of minutes. Harry's hands were folded and pressed against his mouth, elbows propped on his knees, eyesight going bleary with tears that kept forming and fading.

Eventually, Harry built up the courage to touch Draco's hand. His flesh was graciously warm. The injured boy stirred at the touch, his eyes flitting open to find his sworn enemy sitting a foot away, touching his hand.

Draco's fingers twitched under Harry's. "Potter?" Draco questioned.

"Hi," Harry said, emotion swelling within him. "How do you feel?"

"Weak," Draco answered honestly. Harry was relieved to see him with his façade dropped. The blond was even more beautiful without the coldness of disdain held in his eyes, without that ever present smirk plastered across his face. Harry wanted nothing more than to lean down and press his lips again Draco's…

"Potter, what are you doing here?" Draco's voice broke through Harry's thoughts. The latter's cheeks suddenly blazed red as he realized what he had been so close to almost doing, glowing with shame when he imagined how Draco would react to such an action.

"I…I…" Harry struggled to find an answer. I love you and had to know you were alright or else I was going to die; my heart felt like it was exploding every moment I thought of you in pain.

"Well?" Draco asked, raising one eyebrow.

"I… was the one who found you. In the snow. I wanted to see how you were."

Draco's lips parted in surprise. "You found me?"

Harry nodded in ascent.

"What were you doing outside?"

"Going to visit Hagrid."

"How did you… what made you…" Draco took a breath, some of the coldness creeping back into his eyes, and asked, "Why didn't you just leave me to die?"

Harry was taken aback by this question. He physically recoiled, taking his hand back from where it lay on Draco's, feeling sick. "You think I would do something like that?"

"You hate me," Draco stated, no question in his tone.

No, I don't! I love you, you imbecile! "Yeah, but I still wouldn't leave you to bleed or freeze to death. You deserve more dignity than that."

"I deserve nothing," he said suddenly, and Harry was shocked to see his perfect blue eyes flooding with tears.

Harry tried to soothe him, and the slighter boy's tears rushed down his cheeks. "Shh, Draco, it's ok," he kept repeating, taking a firm hold of his hand. He knelt by the side of the blond's bed in order to be closer to him. In a strike of boldness, Harry reached forward and stroked Draco's cheek, tucking his hair behind his ear, drying his tears. There was a soaring feeling in the pit of his stomach and the tips of his fingers dwelt on the perfect softness of Draco's cheek.

Draco took one deep shuddering breath in, and shook off Harry's hand. He wiped his tears, sniffing hard, blowing his breath out in a huff. He tried to shift on the bed into a different position, but winced, drawing in a sharp gasp through gritted teeth, squeezing his eyes closed. He froze where he was, breathing hard, one arm wrapped across his stomach.

Harry covered his mouth, watching Draco in pain. He scooted back into his chair, and they sat in silence for a moment, the only noise Draco's labored breathing, until he had calmed. Then Harry tentatively asked, "Draco, what happened to you?"

Draco looked at him with red-rimmed eyes. "What is it to you, Potter?"

"Harry, please."

"Fine. What is it to you, Harry?"

Harry closed his eyes as the blond muttered his name; he suppressed a moan growing in his throat. "I just… hate seeing you hurt," he finally said, cheeks blazing red as soon the words were out of his mouth.

Draco's eyes narrowed, "Hate? I'd have thought you'd love it."

Harry chewed his bottom lip, and shook his head.

"Harry, I thought that…" Draco tried to scoot closer to where Harry was sitting, but he cried out in pain, falling onto his back. He screamed as his body weight pressed his back into the mattress. Red suddenly exploded through the bandages on his chest. He gripped the edge of the bed, arching his back.

Harry jumped up, ripping back the curtain. "Madam Pomfrey!" he yelled, before turning back to see Draco collapse, shaking violently. Poppy came running, bustling Harry out of her way, holding a potion bottle. She pulled the curtains back around Draco's bed, leaving Harry outside of them. He sank onto an empty bed, tears rolling unnoticed down his cheeks.

"Please be ok. Please be ok. Don't die on me. Don't leave me here all alone. Please…" he whispered to himself, eyes boring into the curtains separating him from the Slytherin. His hands shook as he wiped his tears as Madam Pomfrey came back around the curtain. She was smoothing the front of her robes, looking upset.

"Is he ok?" Harry asked, jumping off the bed.

Poppy ignored Harry, walking hurriedly out of the Hospital Wing. Harry followed her, half jogging. "Is Draco ok?" he asked again. At no answer, he asked, "Where are you going?" desperation creeping into his voice.

She turned to him, not slowing her pace. "I'm going, Mr. Potter, to alert to Headmaster that Mr. Malfoy needs to be transferred to St. Mungo's immediately."

Harry froze where he was, as the witch hurried away from him down the hall. St. Mungo's… that means this is bad. He went racing back to the Hospital Wing. He pulled back the curtain hiding Draco from view.

His eyes met a sight eerily similar to that he had found in the snow. Draco was sprawled on the bed, soaked in his own blood. Harry dropped to his knees beside the bed, pulling Draco's hand into his own. The raven haired boy made no effort to conceal the sobs wracking his frame.

"Please, Dray, please. Don't die on me," he whispered into the perfect skin of the back of his hand.

"What…the hell…are you muttering…down there, Potter?" Draco's voice came unexpectedly.

Harry's head popped up, his cheeks traced with tears. He hadn't realized Draco was conscious. The blond's breathing was heavily labored. His hand suddenly gripped Harry's very tightly. Harry scooted closer to Draco's head, still holding onto his hand.

The injured boy's eyes focused on Harry's face, taking in his tears. "Why…are you so upset… Harry?"

A fresh wave of tears overflowed down his cheeks. "It kills me to see you this way," he said, and in a move of reckless boldness he kissed the pale fingers gripped in his hand.

Draco's eyes widened, his lips parting, as Harry kissed his fingers. Draco reached up weakly to wipe the tears off Harry's face.

Harry swallowed, heart jumping into his throat at the touch. He took a breath and asked, "Draco, what happened to you?" The blond closed his eyes, shaking his head slowly. "What happened to you in the woods?"

"I-" He was cut off as Madam Pomfrey came bustling into sight, accompanied by Dumbledore and Professor Snape. A stretcher was pulled from thin air, and Draco was magicked onto it. He was rushed out of Harry's sight before he could say another word, accompanied by Snape and the Headmaster. Left alone with Poppy, Harry leaned his head against the recently vacated mattress, still kneeling on the floor.

"Please tell me he'll be ok," he begged Madam Pomfrey, not looking up.

"I can't promise you that, Mr. Potter," she said gently, and left him alone.

Harry stared at Draco's empty, blood stained mattress with tears shaking in his eyes. His heart felt like it was expanding, and he swallowed painfully, trying to breathe. What would happen if he died? Harry squeezed his eyes closed, trying to push that thought as far back into the recesses of his mind as possible.

"He's not going to die," he said aloud, as though trying to convince himself. He rose shakily to his feet, looked down at the bed once more, before leaving the Hospital Wing.