Disclaimer: Do not own Harry Potter (obviously); written only for fun!

A/N: Hope you are enjoying it so far. The support has been really awesome and makes my first long story so much better. The ending of this chapter is genius in my opinion and my favourite part of the whole story- written by my co-writer, 606! Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 8

Harry was awake, staring up at the canopy of his bed, when Zabini and Malfoy sneaked into the boy's dormitory, their breaths heavy, as though they'd been running. Or perhaps doing some other rigorous activity, the dark shadows of Harry's mind whispered, flashing images of dark and light skin twisted together. Harry frowned, pushing the thought away as he strained his ears for more information.

"You're still completely wrong," Draco hissed, the sounds of fabric rustling as the boys undressed for the night.

"Whatever you say, Draco," Blaise muttered wryly, the sounds of clicking trunk locks in the background.

"But, um, Blaise, what did you mean when you said Potter seems to…" Draco's voice lowered, inaudible to Harry on the other side of the room. Harry glowered at the darkness, wondering what the two Slytherins were talking about. Harry seems to… what?

Blaise's ironic chuckle floated to Harry's ear. "Look, Dray-Dray, I'm just saying that you and Potter deserve each other in your obliviousness. I can't wait to hear what it is you two see when you take the Draught this weekend."

"I honestly have no idea what you mean, but call me 'Dray-Dray' one more time and I'll kill you in your sleep… Painfully."

"Whatever, Draco. Goodnight."

"'Night."

Harry heard the two close their bed curtains.

What the hell had that been all about?

"'What do you enjoy doing in your free time?'"

"These are stupid."

"That's been established multiple times, Potter. Just share something. And pass me the beetle juice."

"Fine. Quidditch, I guess. And losing to Ron at chess."

"Weasel can really play chess? Wow, who would've expected that? I just figured he just sat around mooning over Granger all day."

"Hey! Don't talk about Ron like that! He's smart! Well, definitely smart than those goons you call your friends – do the names Crabbe and Goyle ring any – oh, um…"

"…Good job, Potter - you've actually succeeded in making this even more awkward than it already was. Give me that spoon."

"…"

"…"

"… Look, Malfoy, I'm sorry about Crabbe, y'know? He might've been into some bad stuff, but I doubt he was really evil like Voldemort."

"…Well, thanks for the thought, Potter, but it's not me you should be apologising to – his mother and baby sister, the only remaining Crabbe descendants, have to deal with societal-inflicted shame and verbal, with perhaps sometimes the addition of physical, abuse every day for their family's actions, all the while trying to just scrape together enough money, most of which was taken by the Ministry, to feed themselves. Oh, and not to mention they weren't even given the dignity of being allowed to mark tombstones at a wizarding cemetery for their deceased family members – no, apparently Death Eaters and their bastard children don't even have the right to be remembered after they were victimized and sacrificed for the same war your side fought on! Now why the fuck haven't you handed me that spoon yet?"

"… I'm sorry, Malfoy."

"I just told you that you shouldn't be apologising to me–"

"It seemed like you were talking about more than just Crabbe, Draco."

"…Give me the goddamn spoon, Potter… Thank you."

"… You're welcome."

"'What hurts have you experienced?'"

"Um, what does that mean, exactly?"

"I dunno, things that've made you upset in the past, I suppose."

"Well, the obvious answer is just the sheer magnitude of death and loss from the War."

"That's not a very personal answer, Potter… Don't glare at me like that! You make me be all 'open' all the time! Now I'm returning the favour!"

"Well, then, this might take a long while, Malfoy, considering the list could start as early as when I was five years old and told that I was too much of a bastard to get to sleep in the old crib my cousin had broken, and was instead shoved under the stairs to sleep for the rest of my childhood. And that list could continue all through my years here, with the school constantly thinking I'm scum – like when they thought I was the Heir of Slytherin in second year, then that I was some cheater in fourth year – oh, and, of course, you helped with those feelings, Malfoy. How could we possibly forget our little spats? Oh, then my godfather dying, and the countless others I thought of as family in the next few years, let's not forget them. Is that personal enough for you now, Malfoy?"

"…I'm sorry, Potter."

"…It's alright, you don't have apologise for everything."

"Yeah, maybe, but someone should."

"'What fears do you have?'"

"Isn't this question a little…personal?"

"That's sort-of the whole point, Malfoy. Now, come on, answer the question."

"…Fine, I'm afraid of dogs. Happy?"

"Seriously? You're afraid of dogs? Out of everything in the whole world – all of the horrors we dealt with in the war – you're scared of dogs? Malfoy, are you blushing?"

"Shut the fuck up! Yes, dogs just bother me, okay? They're too big, and have too many teeth. What, and you think you're so tough, Potter? What about your whole dementor kink?"

"Hey, I never said I didn't have things that freaked me out – I just really didn't expect dogs."

"Fine! What did you want me to admit, Potter? That the mere idea of my death can cause me to have a panic attack? That I'm so bloody petrified of the dark that I just don't sleep anymore? That I'm utterly terrified of my family and friends dying and leaving me to rot away by myself? That I have to live with the soul-crushing realization that I'm so completely alone, and that I can't share it with anyone else? Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"...You're not alone, Draco. You're never alone."

"Yeah, right, Potter. I might not be physically alone, but there really is no one who knows all of the awful shit I carry around all the time… And no one who knew would stay around, anyways. I alone have to keep all these thoughts and fears kept inside, so as not to burden anybody else. You of all people should be familiar with the whole martyr routine, Potter."

"Draco, if your alone with all your dark thoughts, than we're alone together."

"…Thanks."

"'Do you ever wonder why you were born?'"

"Yes."

"…Care to elaborate, Malfoy?"

"Not particularly."

"Come on, Malfoy, you got to open up a little. We've already shared a good amount – what's the big deal about this question?"

"Easy for you to say, Potter – everyone knows why you were born: to save the British wizarding world from 'the Darkest wizard to have been seen in centuries', or however they describe old Voldy these days."

"…"

"Fine. Merlin, just don't look at me like that. I sometimes think the world would just be better off if my mother had just had a miscarriage with me too, like she did with the two babies before me. Maybe if my parents had never had children, they would've gotten out of the Dark Lord's clutches sooner, since he wouldn't have had anything to threaten them with. And, y'know, no one would've bothered you at school all the time – so you could've maybe converted more people to your side before they died – hell, I'm sure Greg, Vince, Pans, and Blaise would've followed you without a doubt if you'd just asked back then… And, well, that whole mess with the cabinet and Dumbledore back in sixth year would've never happened…. Everyone would just be better off if Draco Abraxas Malfoy had just been another one of those rose bushes my mother planted as memorials for the would-have-been Malfoy heirs."

"…I think we both know that's not true, Malfoy."

"No, we both don't know that! Everything would just be so much simpler if I just disappeared or died! No one would even give a fuck! Hell, why don't I just drink some of the Draught now? In its preliminary stages it's similar to the Draught of Living Death, after all."

"…I'd give a fuck if you were suddenly gone, Draco."

"…Really?"

"Really."

"'Is there anything you're afraid to talk about?'"

"My death. The one already passed, and the one that'll come one day… Really anything that happened the day of the Battle."

"…Potter, did you really die?"

"…Yes."

"Have you ever told anyone about what you saw?"

"No… Why? Are you going to demand that I tell you now?"

"No. I respect that there are just some things that we want to take to the grave without sharing. It's our right to weigh down our souls with dark secrets - I won't ask you for yours, as long as you don't ask for mine."

"Huh."

"What's the chuckle for, Potter?"

"…It's just… it's funny how you seem to understand that so easily, while Ron and Hermione never get it."

"…You're right, that is funny… I guess we're more similar than we thought."

"Yeah, I guess you're right."

"'What things in your past do you wish you could change?'"

"…Everything."

"…Nothing."

End Chapter 8