You're waiting for someone to put you together

You're waiting for someone to push you away

There's always another wound to discover

There's always something more you wish he'd say

But you'll just sit tight, and watch it unwind

It's only what you're asking for

And you'll be just fine with all of your time

It's only what you're waiting for

-Vertical Horizon

~4 August 1999~

"Good morning, Malfoy," Harry said timidly.

The only sign that Malfoy had heard him was a small twitch in his jaw. He was sitting the same way he had been every other time Harry had come into this room—on the edge of his bed, staring out the window. "Leave," Malfoy said.

Harry sighed, walking farther into the small white room as Tenneal closed the door behind him. "Look, Malfoy…about yesterday…"

"And get your hearing checked on the way out."

Harry stepped forward, his gaze falling to the ground. He pushed his hands into his pockets to keep his nerves from showing. His publicist would have a fit if he knew that Harry had come back—they'd already had to hand over half a fortune to keep his past two visits with Malfoy out of the papers—but Harry hadn't been able to stay away. The end of yesterday's visit hadn't sat well with him. Not one bit. He'd stayed up for half of the night obsessing over what he could have said or done differently. The way Malfoy had looked at him, his eyes angry and pained, had haunted Harry from the moment he'd left St. Mungo's to the moment he'd come back. "I didn't mean to…upset you."

Malfoy's head turned so that he could see Harry out of the corner of his peripheral. His profile was bathed in sun, a soft white line softening the edges of his features. "Is that your version of an apology?"

"Malfoy," Harry said, exasperated.

"Well you should have saved your breath and spared yourself the trip. Now go and stop annoying me with your presence."

Heat flared in Harry's chest, but unlike yesterday he managed to reign it in. "Look," he stepped forward once more, closing in on the glass. "I get that you don't want me here, but I don't care. I'm not going to leave. So you're going to have to figure out a way to be okay with that."

That was enough to earn Harry the full weight of Malfoy's gaze. His eyes were a bright and unbridled shade of silver. "You're joking."

"Do I look like I'm joking?"

Malfoy gave him a deadpan stare. "I don't appreciate trick questions."

"What?"

"It's impossible for you to look anything other than ridiculous to me, so I have no way of telling if you're joking or not." Malfoy grinned sardonically.

Harry frowned, his hands balling so forcefully that he could feel the skin stretch painfully over his knuckles. Malfoy's eyes flicked down to Harry's hands and his smile broadened, which only served to kindle the heat growing in Harry's chest. Harry took several deep breaths, and forced his hands to relax. Malfoy wasn't going to get the best of him. Not today. "Malfoy, you're not going to get rid of me until we figure this out."

Malfoy's smiled dropped. "Until we figure what out?"

"Why I saw you in my dream!" Harry replied tersely. He didn't understand why Malfoy kept playing dumb with him. They'd been over this.

"Merlin…still on about that are you? You're wasting your time, Potter. I don't know anything about it."

Harry shook his head. "You're lying."

Grey eyes widened ever so slightly, and pale brows lifted to crinkle Malfoy's forehead. Slowly, he rose from the edge of the bed, a dark foreboding tightening the lines of his body. "Lying?" he said, and the word sounded like a pulse of thunder.

An undeniable shudder traveled down the back of Harry's neck, making the hairs stand on end. Somehow, he felt much smaller now that he wasn't the only one standing. Sheer determination was the only thing that kept his feet rooted to the spot. "I think you do know something about it." Harry tried to swallow the nervousness that had dried out his mouth. "But you're too scared to tell me."

"First I'm lying, and now I'm too scared to tell you?" A warning was embedded deep in the scathing scrape of Malfoy's tone.

"Or you're too—something. I don't know. Maybe you just don't trust me enough."

"I believe the lack of trust is mutual," Malfoy sneered.

"Then maybe that's it," Harry said desperately. "Maybe we just have to find a way…to trust each other."

Malfoy looked as if Harry had just thrown a curse at him. His pale face lit up with a bright shade of red, and the skin around his brows went tight. "Potter, how many times do you have to be told something before it finally sinks into that thick skull of yours? It's not going to work! I hate you! You hate me! End of story!"

"I don't hate yo—" Harry snapped his mouth shut, his eyes going wide. "I…I mean…" He trailed off, his heart pounding like a drum in his ears. How those words had even formed in his mouth he didn't know.

Malfoy took one ominous step towards the glass. He was the very picture of a snake stalking it's prey. "Do you remember, at the very end of our sixth year, how you followed me into the Prefect's bathroom after Lavender Brown had been let out of the infirmary?" he asked, his voice like the hiss of dry leaves caught in the wind. "All I'd wanted was a moment to myself—a second to feel separated from the hell my life had become. And then I looked up, and saw your face staring back at me in the mirror."

Harry pressed his eyes shut for a long moment before he found the strength to meet Malfoy's gaze once more. "Malfoy, please don't—"

"Even back then you couldn't help yourself could you?" Malfoy took another step forward, his eyes alive with fury. "You were so determined to interfere."

"Malfoy, that's not—you were trying to kill Dumbledore for Merlin's sake! What did you expect?"

"No!" Malfoy snarled. "You don't know anything about what I was trying to do! All you knew was what you wanted to see—just like always! Just like now! So what price are you going to make me pay this time? What else are you going to take from me without—"

"STOP IT!" Harry thundered so forcefully his vision blurred. His throat burned in the aftermath of the scream, the heat of his breath making the tissue swell. Pressing a cool hand to his forehead, Harry averted his gaze to the wall, not understanding why he was so close to tears. "Christ…"

"Potter…" Malfoy's voice was noticeably gentler than it had been just moments before. "Please. Just go."

Harry managed to wipe the wetness from his eyes before it fell. "Did you ever read about what happened to me last summer?"

Something about the following silence felt unbearably thick.

"What does it matter?" Malfoy asked.

"It just…" Harry struggled, his throat tightening in against his vocal chords. "It matters."

Malfoy took in a deep breath, the crease between his brows growing deep. His gaze dropped to the ground. "Are you asking if I heard about…how you fell?"

Harry nodded, somehow relieved. He could feel the words drudging up from some murky place inside of him. If he could just make Malfoy understand… "It was so stupid. I fell down some stairs and hit my head, and…" The muscles in Harry's neck tensed. "And now nearly three months of my life are just gone. There's just…blank. Ginny, Ron, and Hermione told me what they could about the time I lost but…"

"Potter…I don't want to hear—"

"Everyone seemed to have already moved past the war by the time we started back up at Hogwarts, but for me it still felt like only a couple of weeks had passed. And it was like—it was like I was the only one without this hope that everyone else had gotten over the summer. Everything had changed, and no matter how I tried I couldn't seem to settle into the rhythm of the new world I'd never seen grow. But then you…I saw you," Harry looked at Malfoy then, and every inch of him trembled. The words were gathering speed now, and their current was growing too strong to stop. "And I thought that in the midst of everything else, at least you and I could be the same. I thought that we could go back to how we were before and that I would—I don't know—be able to feel like I was a part of something again. Something familiar. I wanted something—just one thing—to be the same as it was. But then that day at Quidditch tryouts…I knew, the moment I talked to you, that something had changed between us too."

Malfoy simply stared at him, looking as cold and unmovable as a statue.

Harry let out a shaky breath. "And then I saw you at the Christmas Ball."

"I don't want to talk about the Christmas Ball," Malfoy replied sharply.

"Well I'm not asking you to talk about it am I," Harry returned with equal vehemence. "But I need to say this, because—God, I just need to know that I'm not out of my bloody mind!"

"Potter, don't!"

But Harry couldn't stop. This had been building up inside of him for far too long. "Malfoy that night was the first time since I woke up from the fall that I actually felt like I belonged somewhere again!"

Malfoy flinched back as if Harry's words had physically struck him.

Harry rushed forward, aching to cross the unbridgeable distance between them. Now that he'd finally said the words out loud, they felt alive inside of him. He remembered that night so vividly—and whatever heat had grown inside of him back then was boiling now. It was a restless force in his chest, making his heart quake and his blood rush. He didn't understand why he could never control himself around Malfoy—why this magnetic pull that he felt between them was a thirst that he could never quench.

"Malfoy," Harry said desperately. "Say something!"

A raw, unfiltered pain filled Malfoy's gaze. He looked as if he was about to be sick. "I was high that night."

That wasn't at all what Harry had been expecting. Somehow it felt like an excuse. "I know that."

"Potter," Malfoy's mouth grew taut around the edges. "I don't remember…"

Something inside of Harry shattered. He spun away from Malfoy, his knees rattling as he slid down the glass wall. Tears fell down his cheeks, unbidden, but this time, no matter how hard Harry pressed his hands into his eyes they wouldn't go away. He tangled his hands in his hair, trying to keep his breathing even, but somehow knowing that Malfoy could hear how it shook.

"Potter…" Malfoy's voice sounded soft and very far away.

"I've never told anyone about that night," Harry said, the words coming out wet and cracked. "But…I thought that maybe you'd…" That maybe he'd what? Tell Harry that he'd felt it too? That they'd be able to exchange some sort of olive branch that could bring those feelings back? He needed to quit fooling himself—he was alone now, and that was never going to change. The dream about Malfoy had meant nothing, and there was no sense in torturing himself by—

"I've always thought that you were very brave."

Harry's breath caught in his throat. He stared down at the floor, blinking through a veil of tears. "W—what?"

Behind him, Malfoy gave a perturbed huff. "Did I stutter?"

Wiping his nose with the back of his sleeve, Harry sniffled and turned his head. He was somewhat surprised to see Malfoy sitting on the ground only a few feet away, his lips pursed in a peculiar frown. "You didn't stutter, that was just…really random."

The odd frown Malfoy was wearing deepened. "You told me something you'd never told anyone, so I thought that it was only fair that I return the favor."

Harry grappled for words, but his tongue battled him every step of the way. "You really thought I was brave?"

"I never said that I didn't think it stemmed from your extreme stupidity."

Decidedly ignoring Malfoy's comment, Harry replied, "I don't think you've ever given me a compliment before."

"It wasn't a compliment," Malfoy said, as if Harry's words affronted him. "It was a thought."

"It was nice."

Again, Malfoy huffed.

Harry readjusted himself so that he was fully facing Malfoy. Sunlight was streaming through the window, bright and unfiltered, illuminating Malfoy's silhouette with a faint dusting of gold. It made the exposed skin of Malfoy's neck look incredibly warm.

This. This feeling. This was what he remembered. Weightless and burning and uncontained. Alive.

"I've always wished that I was blonde," Harry said, somewhat breathlessly.

Malfoy blinked. "You what?"

"I'm returning the favor, as you put it. Your turn?"

"Potter, you can't just turn this into some sort of game!"

The first inklings of hope pulled at the corners of Harry's mouth. "Why not?"

"Because—just because!"

"That's not a reason."

Wrinkling his nose, Malfoy straightened one of his sleeves. "Very well. Let's pretend for a moment that I'm going to humor you. What's the endgame?"

Harry shrugged. "Do we need one?"

Malfoy didn't respond, but the weight of his gaze told Harry enough.

"I don't know," Harry said, sighing through his thoughts. "Maybe I just need…"

"Need what?"

Embarrassment rose in Harry's cheeks, warming them. "Maybe I just need to keep feeling the way I'm feeling right now. Just for awhile."

Malfoy looked down, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. Harry watched as his eyes flicked back and forth in silent contemplation. When Malfoy's eyes lifted, they were a dazzling array of steel and silver. After some time, he took a deep breath and said, "I used to be afraid of heights."

Harry couldn't help the small sigh of relief that escaped him. It was almost unnerving how quickly the reminiscing ease overcame him, pulling him back in time and anchoring him in a reality he'd started to fear had never existed. As he looked at Malfoy he began to feel a warm tingling trickle into his stomach. "Used to be?"

Malfoy nodded, the corners of his mouth seeming unsure which direction to pull. "I hated flying when I was young, but my father hired a trainer for me and made me fly anyway. Predictably, the man was more of a glorified slave-driver than a trainer—he made me do drills that were well beyond my skill level and made me do them until they were perfect. Then one day, I fell off of my broom. I broke my arm, my clavicle, and two ribs." Amusement brightened Malfoy's expression, as if the memory was one of his fonder ones. "And after that I wasn't afraid anymore."

For a long while, Harry just stared at him, unsure of what to say or how to feel.

Malfoy's eyes didn't move from Harry's. Not once. "It's your turn now."

"Oh…right." Harry nodded, desperately trying to calm the frenzied nerves that were buzzing just beneath his skin. "Erm—I've always wanted to learn how to ride a bike."

"Ride a…what?"

"A bike," Harry replied. "It's a Muggle device used for transportation. It's usually made of metal, and it has two wheels—one in the front and one in the back—that you have to use pedals to turn."

"Pedals?"

"Yeah. You put your feet on these pikes attached to gears and then you move your legs in circles to make the wheels spin."

"Sounds," Malfoy cleared his throat with the hint of a smirk, "intricate. Is it fast?"

Harry thought about it. "Well, no not really. Not compared to a broom."

"Can it fly?"

"No."

"Then what's the point?" Malfoy asked.

"I don't know—it's fun, I guess?"

Malfoy hummed, clearly unimpressed.

Another silence passed between them. Harry shifted where he sat, the hard floor starting to wear at his muscles. Idly, he wondered if Malfoy was starting to feel the burden of their positions as well, but if he was, he certainly wasn't showing it. He looked as cool and picturesque as a portrait—all softly laid lines and long, folded limbs. Somehow this didn't surprise Harry in the slightest. His eyes traced the loose form of Malfoy's frame and found notes of familiarity in it. Memories of hard knuckles splitting the skin along his forehead and sharp elbows sinking into his stomach in the dark corridors of Hogwarts filled Harry's mind, and he was surprised to find an odd sort of fondness attached to them. Harry had never considered himself a masochist, but there was something to be said about the passion that had existed between them back then, even if that passion had been fueled by anger. It had been so heart-achingly pure.

Despondently, Harry sighed.

When their gazes met again, Malfoy's expression was noticeably darker. It was somehow simultaneously exhilarating and terrifying.

"I've always wanted to learn an instrument," Malfoy said, his voice low and rough around the edges.

"An instrument?" Harry repeated, his brain dropping a beat behind his heart.

Malfoy nodded. "The clarinet, I think."

"And you never told anyone this?"

"No one ever asked," Malfoy replied without pause.

Harry glowered at him.

"There are a lot of things I've never told anyone. Slytherins generally like to keep to themselves. And besides that, what would anyone else care if I wanted to learn how to play an instrument?"

"I don't know," Harry said, wringing his hands together in his lap. "Aren't those the kinds of things you tell your friends?"

A strange grimace broke across Malfoy's lips, and he looked at Harry as if he was looking at a small and particularly dimwitted child. It made Harry's heart thud dully against his ribcage. "We were rarely permitted time to discuss such frivolous subjects."

Harry stared at him, overly aware that his expression was openly vacant.

"We were the children of Death Eaters, Potter—and after our fourth year we were rarely allowed to forget it."

"Allowed?"

Something in Malfoy's expression grew sour. "Never mind. Forget I said anything."

"Malfoy…" Harry said softly. "Whatever happened, you can tell me about it."

"No. I can't."

"Why not?"

Malfoy's upper lip curled. "I'm not going to get into a political discussion with you here. So either get on with the game or get out."

The words stung Harry like a slap, brutally jarring him from the easy calm he'd somehow slipped into. He felt himself reel, a coldness overcoming all of the hollow spaces inside of him. It took him a long moment to regain his bearings. "Whose turn is it?"

"Yours."

"Right." Harry swallowed against the dry lump that had grown in his throat. "I…uh…" But he couldn't think of anything—his mind was a useless tumble of scattered thoughts.

Malfoy's shoulders rose and fell with a heavy sigh. "Look…Potter…I didn't mean to—I just still can't wrap my head around all of this, alright?"

"Around what?"

"Around you being here."

Frustration grabbed Harry by the shoulders and shook. He felt himself tremble with it. "I already told you—"

"Not the dream," Malfoy interrupted tersely. "What you said earlier, about the ball, and how you—it just doesn't make any sense."

"What about it doesn't make sense?"

For the first time since he sat down, Malfoy shifted uneasily. Harry saw several thoughts pass through his crystalline gaze that never breached the surface, held tight under a mangled sneer. "I don't get why it's me."

Harry's stomach did a small, nauseating flip. "I don't either." And he vehemently wished that it could've been someone else—anyone else. It would have made this so much easier.

"And you saying that you feel…what you said you feel around me—you understand that it sounds…odd."

Somehow, Harry felt the blow of the accusation even though Malfoy had not actually thrown one. "I know."

"I mean…you're engaged, aren't you?"

Heart throbbing, Harry nodded.

"Then why—"

"I don't know, Malfoy!" Harry said, more sharply than he'd meant to. Malfoy's only reaction was to go inhumanly still. "What does it matter if I'm engaged anyway? This doesn't have anything to do with my relationship with Ginny. I'm…I'm not…"

Malfoy held his gaze, a brutally hard foundation of stone under the tumultuous waves of Harry's unease.

"Malfoy," Harry continued uneasily. "That's not what this is."

"Okay."

"It's not," Harry insisted, unsure whether he was trying to convince Malfoy or himself.

"So you're happy then?" Malfoy asked. "You're happy with her?"

Fear latched onto Harry's heart and held tight. Beneath his skin, his blood began to rush, and an uncomfortable heat spread through his core. Suddenly, the room felt overwhelmingly small.

"Potter?"

The sound of Malfoy's voice had Harry jerking to his feet. "I have to go."

Malfoy didn't move, but something irrevocable seemed to pass over his features, cementing itself into the creases around his eyes.

"I…" Harry backed away, his hand reaching for the door behind him. "I'm…sorry."

Without another word, Harry fled.