All credits for the Harry Potter characters and Wizarding World go to J.K Rowling

Chapter One

It was pitch black. It was always pitch black. Checked three times that his eyes were open, but everything was still dark. He walked further; feeling around him but the air was choking him. Everything felt hot and heavy atop his shoulders, pushing against his lungs and his entire body. He could feel his hands shaking, looking for a way out where there was none.

He heard a hissing sound by his ear and jumped. Wherever he ran, it was still there, the hissing. He tried hitting around, tried hexing, shining some kind of light; but nothing happened. He could touch nothing, just hear. He couldn't distinguish the words; just feel them brush against the nap of his neck.

Suddenly something grabbed his leg, digging claws into his calf, pulling him down. His face hit the ground, his wrists cracked beneath his weight. It dragged him on the stony ground, hitting him and hissing. Then it all stopped.

He got up and started running desperately through the dark, tripping madly. The hissing went on behind him, to the right, to the left, everywhere he went. The words were forming in his mind. He hit some form of gate and tried reaching for it.

"Follow, follow" The voice continued and suddenly a loud growl was emitted. He tried to climb faster but as he went further, they got closer together. Claws grabbed at his jeans, jabbed his knees. The blood was pearling down his legs. And he started to scream.

He screamed so much that he woke himself up.

Harry was panting in his bed. He looked around him and there was a dim moonlight. No one else had been awoken by his screams of course; he was regular on the silencing spells. He passed a hand through his hair, trying to calm himself down. The dream was recurring really; it comes and goes. For the past months he'd had it regularly, once a week, on Friday. It was routine. He grabbed his glasses and put them on his nose. A quick look at his clock told him it was three o'clock in the morning. That too, was routine. He got out of bed, put some woolly slippers on, slipped into his evening wear and left.

It was routine even for the fat lady; who'd taken to leaving the portrait open on Fridays. And without the fear of Voldemort crashing through the doors, there really was no problem. Actually everything about Friday nights was mundane. Dobby had taken to leaving a small bag of snacks outside the fat lady's portrait - who every morning would complain that she hadn't had any - sometimes it was chocolate, sometimes it was cookies and sometimes it was entirely something else. Tonight it was a mix of mini cauldron cakes, small biscuits and dried fruits. There was dried fruit almost every time, and Harry didn't quite understand why. He didn't even like dried fruit, and Dobby knew that. In any case, he continued his road to his usual spot; during the warmer days he'd go outside on the front steps, and during colder periods he'd go to the astronomy tower – which is not clever, considering the freezing temperature up there - so this time, he went up there.

He sat down against the door, a few feet away from a bundle of clothes that were there every time. He always hesitated to take some of them, but he felt like it would break the unspoken truth: This is Routine. So he sat there, not actually doing anything. He just stared at the sky. Underneath his glasses, he sometimes saw the bundle of clothes move; he didn't think it was odd though. It made him feel like he wasn't alone. Those clothes were just part of this. So he stared for some time more and at four thirty o'clock, he fell asleep. No nightmares.

"""""""""

"Honestly Ronald!" Started Hermione's usual morning tantrum. Harry actually didn't know what it was about; probably something to do with homework or relationships. Hermione and Ron had been literally glued together since the end of the war. Harry himself had told Ginny that he didn't love her and she had replied likewise; so all was well.

Saturday was Quidditch practice with the lads. Not for the team of course. Eight years had written permission from the new Headmistress McGonagall to play on the pitch, but they were not authorized to play in the team. So it was Quidditch with the lads, who were disqualified from playing. Harry was bored even during that. There was not a single player that could match him.

When he walked back to the portrait to spend the rest of the day playing chess and exploding snaps, his footsteps were rhythmic. Exactly ten feet and two toes from the portrait was a large pothole that Peeves had created and then transformed so that no one could see it. And every time Harry passed it, the rhythm in his pace would make him miss it. Sometimes he'd walk just next to it, and sometimes over it but he'd never fall through it.

Life was like that.

Life had been like that since the end of the war. The second that Voldemort died, all the excitement had simply faded. Harry had occupied himself for a while by rebuilding Hogwarts and attending social gatherings. And that's what life was at that time: one long long social gathering. There were parties everywhere, celebrating the end of terror and the return to normality; Harry was starting to wonder if he was really cut out for a normal life.

So when the letter from McGonagall arrived, inviting him to attend school for the last year to redo the NEWT exams, Harry snatched it up like a shot. There weren't many of the so called Eight Years though. To name a few, there was Harry, Hermione, Ron, Luna, Susan Bones, Astoria Greengrass, Cho chang, Lee Jordan, Blaise Zabini and Draco Malfoy. They all had particular lessons, all together, and for the special options they joined the seven years. As far as accommodation was concerned, it was all a bit unorganized. A selected group, that accepted the terms and conditions, could sleep in the ordinary dormitories. And for those who remained, a hall on the sixth floor had been liberated and turned into separate rooms for two and a joined bathroom. Ron and Hermione shared, so did Susan and Cho, as well as Draco and Blaise. Harry had the privilege of keeping the room all to himself.

So, to amuse himself probably, Harry took to changing beds. The uneven numbers of the month, he'd sleep on the bed closer to the door; and on the even numbers he'd sleep on the bed closer to the window. Why he did that exactly, he didn't know. He also got up before all the others to go to the showers he shared with the boys; because he had heard some odd rumours about Draco Malfoy's, Blaise Zabini's and other's sexuality.

Harry had nothing against gays. Harry himself was sexually too inactive and too inexperienced to give any sort of judgement on sexuality. He didn't care one way or the other. He just wasn't overly keen on the idea of being groped in the showers.

Now Harry wasn't technically unattractive. Over the years he had grown into quite a lad. Not a tall lad mind you; he stayed small according to English standards; but he had lost his boyish features and his face became that of a man. A handsome man I must say. The Harry Potter Fan Club (Or HPFC to be cool), had grown bigger than the chess club. Naturally the club was filled with giggling girls who only knew his name and penis size (Vital Information you understand); but there were also a few more discreet, guys in fact. Harry did not know who those guys were; but the fact alone that they were guys, surprised him. Still; it meant nothing much to him.

His feet fell in tune to the rhythm of the day; just like bird's droppings dry throughout the day; quite naturally. He was heading to the Gryffindor common room to join the youngsters in 'Saturday, game night'. Not that it was much to write home about; some, the usual ones, roguish and happy to be alive, would drink till the early hours; but most, so concerned about their studies and general welfare, didn't. Harry himself didn't drink much, enough to join the games, but not quite enough to change attitude. It was nice, cosy even; but week after week it was the same thing; same subjects, same people, same games.

Friday nightmare, Saturday games, Sunday working; same old same old. Monday was waking up and going to class, Potions to be exact. He sat at the back, just in front of Ron and Hermione. Their numbers being small, there was no need for Harry to be paired up with anyone; so he failed all his potions; without the aid of a competent student or of the Half Blood Prince's book, he did not know what to do. Slughorn never mentioned his ineptitude but his disappointment was clear in his eyes. Harry did try but he only managed to do something reasonably good when Hermione whispered instructions or when he discreetly copied on Malfoy.

Malfoy, who seemed to be a fairly interesting case incidentally, sat right in front of him. Every time someone would pass in front of him, he'd get hit or insulted. Sometimes someone would throw a rogue ingredient into his cauldron; but he handled it like a professional, keeping a cool head and 'fixing' his potion without another word. He kept his O. Harry almost missed his retaliations, at least those had some variations to them; but he knew that Malfoy was on probation, every one of his steps was guarded.

Harry had been there of course, at his trial, as he had been to Narcissa's. He had testified honestly to the best of his ability. Malfoy had been sentenced to Azkaban for the couple of months before the start of the new term, 'Eighth year', which he was forced to attend. The teachers kept his wand, which he could only use in class. The Malfoy name stripped of its prestige, he lost everything. Harry wondered how he remained so proud. Zabini had returned but all his other friends were doing time, as was his father. He quite simply had nothing left of who he used to represent, except his dignity apparently.

Dignity that he kept when Harry found him on the fifth floor, surrounded by three seventh year Ravenclaws. He was being pushed down, hit in the guts as he doubled over; they towered over him as if he was vermin, words of ridicule edged into their tongues. Harry couldn't look away; even as he was being dominated, Malfoy's face stayed proud and conveyed nothing of the degrading position he was in. He let it all happen to him, but even as a victim he seemed to control it. A cough sounded in his throat and Harry's instinct kicked in. He ran towards them and grabbed the first he could get, pulling him to the floor.

"Stop it!" He shouted "What the hell are you doing?"

The other two stopped and turned a shocked eye to him.

"Harry!" One of them exclaimed "We-we..."

"No, you know what?" Harry interrupted "I don't fucking care" He sighed "He's paid his price; what you're doing is wrong, now go away; and if I ever catch one of you again, you'll understand why Voldemort died"

"But Har-"

"Out!"

They left, whispering amongst themselves in hush voices. When Harry turned round, Malfoy was already up; he had wiped his face with the back of his sleeve and stood once more as if nothing had happened, as if he wasn't in pain at all. He looked up towards Harry, his gaze was so empty it nearly shocked him; where had it all gone to? Harry approached him, wanting to check the injuries but Malfoy straightened up and faced him truly. Harry saw how uncomfortable the position seemed to him.

"Are you okay Malfoy?" He asked, crossing his arms defensively. Malfoy nodded curtly, brushing invisible dust off his shoulder. He walked away silently. Harry realised idly that since the beginning of school, three months earlier, not once had he heard Malfoy speak. Harry waited till he was gone to join his private room and grab the map. He found and followed Malfoy's steps; he had simply rounded the corner, and stayed there.

For a moment Harry wondered why he was back there again, observing Malfoy, following his moves. In truth, he already knew. It was sixth year over again, and that's exactly the point. Back then nothing was routine, stuff happened. He'd take the time to question his sanity but he was far too satisfied at having found a new occupation. Part of him did think there was something fishy there, that Malfoy was up to something; but mostly he was just fascinated – not a good sign – by him.

He put the map down and opened his bedside draw. Inside there it was, forgotten in the back, Malfoy's Hawthorn wand; he had kept it all these months. Malfoy had a new wand while Harry yielded his. He followed his steps once more; Malfoy was moving slowly towards the hospital wing. Harry looked next door to him and noticed that Zabini was there; he wasn't sure what pushed him to go but he went.

He knocked on the door and waited till he heard:

"Hang on, I'm not decent!" He heard shuffling behind the door, and when it opened he found Zabini with a flimsy towel around his waist.

"Oh it's you Potter" He said "I thought it was... no never mind that"

It made him feel more uncomfortable than he cared to admit. Zabini crossed his arms, making the towel drop just a little over his hip.

"What can I do for you?" He asked. Harry looked at the hip bone for a second before looking up at his face.

"It's about Malfoy" He said without hesitation. Zabini frowned.

"What about him?"

"What's wrong with him?"

Zabini rolled his eyes and signalled for Harry to get in. As he turned round Harry could see that the towel was too small round his backside; he looked away to the best of his ability. Zabini grabbed some clothes from his cupboard and got dressed non-chalently.

"Since when are you interested Potter?" He wondered.

"I'm not, specifically. I just saw some guys treating him badly"

"Then you also know what's up with him" Zabini replied, pulling a shirt over his head. Harry took a second to assess the situation.

"They're beating him up?"

"Sometimes yeah" He threw his towel away, like it all meant nothing "Broken nose, ribs, wrist, you name it" He looked Harry deep in the eye "But if you tell him I said that I will kill you, probation or not"

"Well then why are you telling me?"

"You asked" He shrugged "Plus you're mister goody two shoes; even if you hate him, you'll just have to help him now"

"What's that suppose to mean?"

"You'll figure it out"

Harry observed him a moment but shrugged it off as unimportant; he wasn't looking for psychoanalysis. Malfoy was being beaten up and probably spent more time in the hospital wing than he did saying 'My father will hear about this'. Zabini turned to him and rolled his eyes:

"Don't over think it Potter. Hate will always be here you know; nothing much you can do about that"

"I could tell them to stop"

"Oh seriously" He sighed "You might be the hero but you're not the Queen of hearts. Get out now, I'm busy"

Harry had more questions but he knew it was inappropriate; after all, had he not been the better part of Malfoy's demise? He left, still firmly believing that there had to be something he could do; but not tonight.

""""""""""

It was lunch time the next day when Harry thought of Malfoy again. He noticed that the Slytherin wasn't eating; or at least not a healthy portion. Zabini talked to him, Malfoy did reply and it reassured Harry to know that he could still talk. He just looked so dejected; proud but dejected. Hermione prodded him and whispered:

"Will you stop looking at Malfoy for a second Harry? There is more to Hogwarts than him"

"Yeah but the rest is boring"

Hermione frowned, looking at him like she was figuring him out, and she probably was. An emotion passed within her eyes and she leaned closer to him so that no one could hear:

"You miss Voldemort" She stated more than asked "Harry Potter, you have got to be kidding me"

He smiled at how well she knew him. Yes, he did miss Voldemort, in some strange sick way; he missed the excitement, at least it made him feel alive. Hermione sighed by his side.

"Okay okay, I get it" She said "But Malfoy is not Voldemort, he's not even doing anything"

No he isn't, Harry thought, but something is happening around him, and I want in. Hero complex, maybe - he did hate knowing that someone was being hurt - but he knew instinctively that there were other people being bullied, and he had no urge to do anything for them. It was a Malfoy thing; he wanted him to come back as his bully; as strange as it may sound.

So when he bumped into Malfoy in the hall by their respective rooms that night, he couldn't not say anything. They faced each other head on, Malfoy eyed him with boredom. Harry had seen many emotions on Malfoy's face; anger, irritation, shame, sadness, fear, even relief; but never boredom when looking at him. He crossed his arms and asked:

"Why don't you push them away? Self defence is not a crime"

"You are a fool Potter" He said. The emptiness in his voice, the detached way he spoke was odd for Harry. He didn't recognize him "Self defence does not exist for a death eater. Whatever I do, it will be an attack. Play the hero, but even you cannot change that"

Harry couldn't argue against that; he knew they were right; Zabini, Malfoy, they spoke the truth. Malfoy turned towards his room and Harry moved forward, grabbing him by the arm. They looked into each other's eyes, a tingling heat mixed between their skins. They were so close that Harry felt Malfoy's air on his lips; his own breath moving a strand of blond hair.

"Attack me" He whispered. Malfoy inched closer and Harry felt his heart beating faster when he got a whiff of his scent, undecipherable. He came closer still, inches away from his ear, their shoulders bumping slightly, and murmured slowly:

"No" As he walked away Harry breathed out, as if he'd held it in. Malfoy was gone as soon as he looked up, leaving a lingering cold around him. His heart went down slowly but his breathing refused to be light. It was intense. He could find no other word for it. It was as intense as it had always been between them. It was alive, right there between their bodies. He walked back to his room in slow motion; but part of him wanted to run back. Something rambled inside his stomach, aching for whatever that was.

He found himself lying in bed, feeling his skin shiver with cold but his body shake with heat. He dreamt no images, just feelings, and it was the most he'd gotten in a while. His own version of a drug was feeling, and he was hooked to that.

"""""""""

It was Friday; worst day of the week as far as Harry was concerned. For many it was a good day, it meant the start of the weekend; a time to rest, to take a break; to Harry it meant nightmares and a routine he was so used to that even if he wanted to, he couldn't let it go. At breakfast his eyes wandered over to the Slytherin table; this time he tried to be a little more discreet. Malfoy pushed his food away tiredly and looked up to him. Harry looked away first and gazed at the people around him; funny how little he felt for all of them.

Hermione talked next to him but her words were without meaning. She said something and leaned over to kiss Ron on the cheek; Lee Jordan exclaimed something obscene and Ginny glanced at some random guy. Just the usual. Harry sighed and turned back to Malfoy, he was the usual as well, not doing anything. He was just there, and it was enough to remind Harry that not everything had been destroyed during this war.

He bumped into him again, as he was heading to his extra Potion's class and Malfoy presumably to join the Slytherin common room for a moment. Malfoy walked next to him, close enough so that Harry could feel the heat from his body. Before they separated ways, an elbow hit him squarely in the ribs and he jumped. He was ready to respond but the blond was already turning round the corner. Harry saw just the ghost of a smile on his lips. Attack me, he had said, after all. He went into class feeling just that much lighter. Hermione noticed and went to sit next to him between adding ingredients:

"You look better" She said "Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah I guess"

She regarded him curiously but let it slip. They continued brewing their batch of potions; Harry knew that Hermione had seen something in his eyes and he knew deep down that it was there. He didn't sleep well, he never did; but funny, how a push could change a little in him.

Boy I have missed writing! I had this in my head, thought I might as well write it down. I have no idea where I'm going but I quite like where it is now. Any ideas or suggestions are welcome! I won't be quick on updating (really not); I don't have a lot of time to write and inspiration is not always on my side. Hopefully it will come back to me! Like and review xx