Harry pulled a face and made a sound of disgust. "I shouldn't even be reading this."

Malfoy made a snort of amusement. "Why are you?"

Harry frowned and turned the page. The book was full of Dark Magic and horrible ideas, everything from creating an Inferius to trying to drag a soul back through the veil in order to communicate. Every word made Harry's skin crawl. "I dunno, trying to discover why you're still a prat even though you're dead."

"If you think to find the answer in there, you're dimmer than I thought," Malfoy said. "Page."

Harry absently reached over and turned the page of the book Malfoy was reading. They were both on Harry's bed, Harry propped against the pillows and Malfoy reclining on his stomach next to Harry. A book was braced against the other pillows and Harry would occasionally turn the page for him while reading from the book open on his own lap.

It had been two weeks since Harry had first read to Malfoy and they had fallen into a strange routine. Malfoy was always in Harry's room when Harry awoke and he would hang around while Harry shaved and dressed, mostly staying out of the shower unless Myrtle showed up, after which Malfoy would gleefully chase her away and then make snide comments regarding Harry's genitals off and on throughout the day.

Malfoy would disappear while Harry ate breakfast and then again during Harry's classes. After Nearly Headless Nick had made several suggestions regarding Harry's teaching methods, Harry had banished him politely but firmly. Even then Malfoy did not return to plague Harry's classes.

Harry would read essays and prepare lesson plans while Malfoy talked about random things, utilizing topics that ranged from Quidditch supplies to Ministry politics. When Harry finished, he would go have dinner in the Great Hall and then retire to his room to read aloud to Malfoy.

After their first argument over reading material—honestly, Malfoy preferred the most inane fiction—Harry came up with the idea of turning pages for him. It was brilliant and worked wonderfully, except that Malfoy read really fast and the command "Page!" was uttered far too frequently for Harry's comfort. When he got too annoyed with it, he simply picked up Malfoy's book and continued on, reading it out loud. Malfoy never complained, which Harry found slightly strange. He wondered if Malfoy really did like the sound of his voice.

"What is disturbing enough to result in that particular expression?" Malfoy asked.

"There is a recipe in here for a potion made with goats' blood. For ghosts to drink."

Malfoy's face mirrored his own. "What? Why?"

"To take on a temporary corporeal form."

"That's ridiculous! We can't drink anything. Not water, not butterbeer, not wine, not potions. I certainly doubt it would be possible to drink goat's blood. Who wrote that book?"

Harry flipped it closed to look at the cover. The name looked Latinized and was largely unpronounceable.

"Obviously a charlatan," Malfoy said and sniffed.

"Have you ever tried to drink blood?" Harry asked, turning back to the page he'd been skimming.

"Of course not. Why would I?"

"Yeah, good point. Besides, this is a blood-based potion, not blood itself."

"Still revolting," Malfoy said and went back to his reading.

Despite his disgust, Harry continued reading, reaching over every now and again to flip another page for his non-corporeal companion. The silence was comfortable enough now that Harry had (almost) stopped wondering at the oddity of it.

Harry gasped aloud when a gleaming Patronus appeared next to the bed. "Harry, come quick," said the silvery otter. "St Mungos—it's Ron."

Ice gripped Harry as the Patronus dissipated into mist. His book went flying as he left the bed, shucking his pyjamas as he went. He stepped into his jeans as fast as he could ever remember. The comfortable old t-shirt he slept in would do, and he stepped, sockless, into his slippers.

He glanced at Malfoy, who had rolled onto his side and was watching him.

"I'll…" Harry stopped, not certain what to say. He would be back, of course, but he had no idea when. "Can you tell Minerva where I've gone?"

Malfoy nodded.

Harry hurried to the fireplace and left in a flash of Floo Powder.

O….O

St Mungos was a madhouse. An abundance of blue and gold suggested some sort of themed accident, but the tired-looking Welcome Witch only said, "Puddlemere United tryouts today. Between Quidditch injuries, fan brawls, and drunken idiocy, we've got our hands full. How can I help you, dearie?"

"Ron Weasley," Harry said.

She cast a quick spell and then replied, "Second floor. Room 229."

Harry hurried to the lift and made his way to the designated room to find Hermione standing in the hallway twisting her wand in a way Harry hadn't seen since his Hogwarts days.

"What is it? What's happened?" he asked as soon as her gaze swung to him.

She bit her lip and shook her head. "They don't know. He collapsed during a routine training exercise. He's been so tired lately. I don't think he's eating properly and…" Her scolding words broke off and Harry recognized them as camouflage for worry.

He jerked his head toward the door. "We can't see him?"

"They won't let us see him. It hasn't that been long, I suppose." She twisted her wand and Harry leaned close and put an arm around her shoulders. She sighed heavily. "He'll be fine," she whispered.

"Where are the others?" Harry asked, curious that the place wasn't overrun with Weasleys, particularly Molly and Arthur, but also George and Bill. Ginny was still in Argentina.

"Romania," Hermione replied. "Visiting Charlie. I'm waiting to contact them until we know more. There is no sense having them come back if it's something silly, is there?" Her hand clutched at his and she squeezed. He mentally seconded her hope that it was something trivial. "Bill should be here soon."

As if called by her words, footsteps sounded in the corridor and Harry looked up to see Bill Weasley approaching. Hermione abandoned Harry to hug him and then quickly filled him in, seeming grateful for the chance to do something other than silently wait.

By the time she finished, the door swung open and expelled two Healers in lime-green robes. "I'm his brother," Bill said authoritatively. "What's wrong with him?"

"We're still running tests, Mr Weasley. The diagnosis is inconclusive at the moment, although it is obvious that he is suffering from exhaustion and dehydration."

"I knew it," Hermione muttered. "Didn't I tell him to rest more and drink more water? Ale is not the same thing."

"Can we see him?" Harry asked.

One Healer started down the corridor and the other nodded. "I see no reason why not. We will keep him overnight for observation, but you may all go in. Please stay no more than fifteen minutes. He is very tired and needs to rest."

The others nodded agreement and then Hermione pushed quickly into the room. Harry and Bill followed.

Ron lay back against the pillows, eyes closed. He looked paler than Harry had ever seen and his freckles stood out like dots of blood on his skin. His eyes snapped open when the door closed and a wan smile twisted his lips.

Hermione threw herself forward and hugged him. "You complete idiot!" she said.

Ron chuckled. "You need to work on that bedside manner, Hermione. I'm a very sick man, you know. I need coddling."

"You need a thump on the head!" she said hotly. "You've not been sleeping or eating properly, or getting enough liquid and—well, just look at you!"

"Sorry, mum," Ron said and laughed.

Harry smiled, relieved, but he had to admit that Ron looked terrible. His eyes seemed embedded in dark pools that left him looking wide-eyed and somewhat skeletal, an image not helped by the fact that he seemed far thinner than normal.

"Harry, Bill, what are you doing here?"

"When your best friend ends up in hospital, it's a bit of bad form not to show up, don't you think?" Harry asked.

"And I'm here to decide whether or not to call Mum," Bill said.

"Merlin, please don't," Ron said with a groan. "Honestly, I'm sorry to have worried everyone. I just let myself get worn down from training. I'll be more careful."

"You certainly will once Mum hears about this," Bill warned.

"Come on, Bill. Don't do that. This is nothing."

"It'd better not be. We'll see what the Healers say tomorrow when they decide whether or not to release you."

"They'll release me. I'm fine. And this will get me a couple of days away from training, so I'll be able to rest instead of running. Bloody Thompson hates me and thinks running is the greatest training tool ever made. Sodding sadist."

Hermione hugged him again. "Well, I'll be back in the morning."

"To make sure the Healers are doing it right?" Ron asked with a snicker.

Hermione stabbed him with a finger.

"I'll be back, too," Bill said. "Just to be sure."

"I have class in the morning," Harry said with a frown. "You two will call if anything is awry, yeah?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Nothing will be awry. I'm just tired!"

"All right, then. I'll come see you tomorrow when I'm done with my classes. Get some rest."

The door opened and the Healer gave them a pointed look.

"We're leaving," Hermione assured her. "Goodnight, Ron." She gave him a quick kiss and pushed away from the bed. Bill walked over and took his brother's hand in a hard squeeze.

"Don't do anything stupid," Bill warned.

"Yeah, not much chance of that," Ron said and grinned. Harry lifted a hand and waved and Ron raised his own hand in return. It seemed to Harry the movement was sluggish and took far too much effort. He hoped Ron was able to rest. From his experience, sleeping was next to impossible at the hospital, since they seemed to enjoy prodding and poking at the patients every few hours.

When Harry turned back to look before the door closed, Ron's eyes were already closed. Harry hoped to hell the diagnosis was accurate. After making worried small-talk with the others and promising to meet again the next day, Harry found a Floo and went back to Hogwarts.

He stopped off at McGonagall's quarters—it seemed strange that he had never had occasion in all his years at the school to even locate the Headmaster's personal chambers. It took a bit of questioning of house-elves for him to find it and finally one offered to personally escort him. When he stood before the portal and lifted his hand to knock, the door swung open to reveal Minerva, still fully dressed, thankfully, even though it was quite late.

"Is everything all right, Harry?" she asked. "Draco told me where you'd gone."

Harry nodded, relieved that Malfoy had done as he'd asked. He explained the situation with Ron and assured her he would teach the next day, and then he returned to his own quarters, suddenly feeling very tired. The adrenal rush of panic had dissipated, leaving him drained.

Malfoy was lurking near the window in his room and Harry watched as emotions flickered across his face. He was getting better at reading Malfoy now, he thought. Strange how two weeks of peace could change his perspective. Malfoy almost looked relieved for an instant, and then his features schooled into its usual haughty lines and Harry waited to see if something caustic was forthcoming. Finally, he settled on, "How is Weasley?"

"Fine, as far as the Healers can tell. Just exhausted. He's been in Auror training."

"Lucky Weasley," Malfoy murmured and turned away.

Harry frowned at the words as he kicked off his slippers and removed his jeans. He watched Malfoy as he did so and noticed something he'd only begun noticing since the romance novel incident. Malfoy liked watching him undress.

As expected, the rustle of cloth drew Malfoy's attention and the ghost swung around and drifted closer to the bed. Harry let his jeans slide to his feet before stepping out of them and then bending down to hook a finger in his pyjama pants. For the first time he felt a rush of something that was not discomfort at Malfoy's open interest. Malfoy's eyes lingered on Harry's thighs and moved to his crotch. Malfoy had seen his bits before, of course, even though his forays into Harry's shower were infrequent. For some reason, those incidences always seemed borderline slapstick, but this…

Harry swallowed hard and tugged on the soft pyjama bottoms, slightly mortified that his cock was beginning to take an interest in the path of his thoughts. He realized it had been weeks since he'd wanked, thanks to Malfoy's eternal presence. Obviously it was beginning to take a toll.

"What do you mean by 'lucky Weasley?" Harry asked and pulled back the blankets to hide inside the bed. "Lucky that he's fine or lucky that he's in Auror training?"

Malfoy's lips pursed. "The last one."

"Really?" Harry shifted, glad that he was fully concealed beneath the blankets, because his libido refused to go quietly. Malfoy moved to the bed and mimicked crawling onto it. For a moment Harry cursed Malfoy's need to act like a human instead of a ghost. The languid, careful movement made Harry's cock snap to attention as he noticed, not for the first time, that Malfoy had been a beautiful man. Harry lifted one knee to hide his arousal. Bloody hell, he needed to get laid.

"I thought about becoming an Auror," Malfoy said. The words jolted Harry into not thinking about his condition.

"What? You?"

Malfoy scowled at him. "Not good enough for the Auror Corp, am I?"

Harry shook his head. "It isn't that! I'm just surprised you would want to. Um… why did you want to?"

Malfoy rolled over and crossed his arms behind his head, gaze fixed as if studying the ceiling. "Why did you want to?" he countered.

"Well, for me it was expected, wasn't it? The Boy Who Lived defeats Voldemort and goes on to fight evil and champion justice. That sort of thing." Harry thought the bitterness in his voice was only barely detectable. "Your turn."

"Maybe I just wanted to be you." Malfoy's words were quiet. Harry couldn't help but stare at him in horror until Malfoy turned his head to fix a dark stare on him.

Harry shook his head. "You wouldn't. You wouldn't want that at all."

"Because you had the Dark Lord after you? I lived with him, Potter. He was in my house. Don't you think he was more of a threat to me than he ever was to you? At least you found an eventual means to defeat him. I was simply lucky."

"Not just because of that," Harry said. "My entire life, well it wasn't the picnic you seem to think it was, evil wizard aside." Harry was grateful for the gravity of the conversation. His erection began to recede and he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Enlighten me," Malfoy said and he seemed genuinely interested.

"Only if you tell me why you wanted to become an Auror."

"Fine." Harry waited, but if he expected Malfoy to divulge his answer first, he was quickly disabused of the notion when Malfoy said nothing.

Harry shook his head ruefully and took off his glasses before settling more comfortably into his pillows. He should sleep, but Malfoy's curious expression made him want to share something of himself, if only to encourage Malfoy to change a few misconceptions. He had to admit that having a friendly Malfoy dogging his footsteps was far nicer than having an irritated git reading potion ingredients all night long.

With that in mind, Harry began to talk about his life with the Dursleys, admitting to things he had not even confided to Ron and Hermione. Something about Malfoy's riveted attention kept him talking until his voice grew scratchy and his eyelids drooped. Somewhere along the way, Harry dropped off to sleep without ever hearing why Malfoy wanted to be an Auror.

O….O

Ron was released from St Mungo's with orders to take Dreamless Sleep for two days and drink as much liquid as possible. He was encamped on Hermione's sofa when Harry dropped in. She waited expectantly while Ron drained a glass of butterbeer, and then she took the mug and went to refill it.

"No weird complications, then?" Harry asked.

"Only that I'm turning into a liquid-filled balloon," Ron replied with a groan and patted his stomach lightly. He felt like he might burst at any moment.

Harry grinned. "I'm just glad you're out of the hospital, mate. Try to take better care of yourself."

"You know it. I don't want to go back there any time soon. Some of those medi-witches could have been Death Eaters. They seem to enjoy the poking and prodding a bit too much, if you know what I mean." Ron frowned when he remembered one old harridan. He rubbed a spot on his ribs he was sure was bruised from her diagnostic wand-jab.

Harry nodded, looking sympathetic. He had been in the hospital far more than Ron.

"How is Malfoy?" Ron asked.

Harry started. "Um… fine. Why?"

Ron's eyes narrowed, wondering at Harry's strange expression. "You were complaining bitterly about him a couple of weeks ago and then nothing. Did you find a way to hex him?"

Harry only shrugged. "We came to an agreement," he said simply.

Ron's brows went up in surprise. "An agreement? With Malfoy? What sort of agreement?"

Harry shrugged, obviously reluctant to discuss Malfoy. "He's not so bad as a ghost," he admitted.

Ron snorted. "Yeah, I imagine a dead Malfoy would be much better company than a living one."

Harry looked away, without a smile, nod of agreement, or anything resembling his normal behaviour. Something had changed, and Ron wasn't certain it was for the better. If Harry felt sympathetic towards Malfoy, it would require drastic alteration of Ron's world-view.

"Dreamless Sleep, then?" Harry asked, obviously changing the subject and pointing at the two vials lying atop the tea table.

Ron yawned and allowed the topic to drop, but he fully intended to keep his eyes open. "Yeah, I need to take one soon. No less than ten hours sleep a night, they said. I feel like an old man."

"You'll get to be an old man if you do what they say and stop acting invincible," Hermione said as she returned from the kitchen and thrust a full mug of water into his hands. "Now, drink."

Ron moaned. "I can't, Hermione. There's no room left in my stomach. Look at this." He raked his shirt up over his abdomen, hoping to distract her with his manly physique.

Hermione scowled. "Nice try, but you're drinking this anyway. And then you're taking your potion."

Ron opened his mouth to make a reference to nagging, but the sight of Hermione's face, obviously worried beneath the façade of badgering, had him closing his mouth and taking the mug.

Harry grinned and headed for the Floo. "G'night, Ron," he said. "Glad you're okay, you big git. 'Night, Hermione."

Ron flipped him an obscene gesture and Harry laughed as he stepped into the fireplace. Ron drank his water and pondered. Something was up with Harry and Ron intended to find out what it was.

O….O

Harry was thoughtful when he entered his room at Hogwarts. He had been curiously reluctant to discuss Malfoy with Ron. The time Harry spent with Malfoy had become something private and almost, though he hated to admit it, intimate. Harry now looked forward to reaching his chambers each night. Odd, considering he'd never really cared for reading all that much. Until now.

Ron's joke about a dead Malfoy being better than a living one had almost made him angry. Harry felt a flare of guilt that he would have gladly expressed the same sentiment merely a month ago. Now the name "Malfoy" conjured images of Draco sprawled casually on Harry's bed with his feet in the air and his stare fixed on a book as Harry languidly turned the pages. Either that or he thought of Narcissa Malfoy, sobbing heartbrokenly for her lost son. Neither was conducive to derision.

Harry sighed and suddenly realized his room was curiously ghost-free. He wondered where Malfoy had got to. As Harry stripped off his clothes and yawned, he realized it might be for the best. After the previous night, he was exhausted. Even so, a shower would not be remiss. Eva Cook had miscast a spell that had covered half the class in ink. Harry had erased it as best he could with Cleaning Charms, but he could still feel bits of it in his hair and clinging to random places on his skin.

The water automatically adjusted to his preferences—once again he spared a brief thought of love for the castle and for magic in general—and it felt wonderful sluicing down over his skin. He scrubbed his hair and then his skin, slowing his movements as he soaped his privates. It was a novelty taking a shower without wondering if Malfoy would barge in on him. Harry hadn't realized how rushed showers had become until now.

The thought of Malfoy made him remember how Malfoy normally looked sprawled out on Harry's bed. His casual elegance was beginning to have a serious affect on Harry's mental state. Harry's cock swelled immediately at the thought and Harry groaned. He supposed it wasn't just that Malfoy was attractive, but also that he had been somewhat nice lately. His sense of humour had been a surprising discovery, at least when it wasn't directed at Harry's misfortunes or delivered in tones of caustic criticism.

Harry smiled and then shook his head at the fact that he was actually grinning at the thought of Malfoy's condescending voice. Surely there was something wrong with him? He tipped his head back and let the water warm his hair as his hand gradually moved faster over his cock.

He thought about the way Malfoy watched him when he undressed and his blood quickened. It had been a long time since anyone had looked at him that way. After his epiphany with Ginny, even knowing he wasn't ready for a relationship, he hadn't exactly rushed out to experiment. At the time he had been in Auror training and helping to rebuild Hogwarts, and just trying to pick up the pieces after the war. He had always been too busy and it had seemed too difficult an endeavour to put himself out there. The thought of people lining up to shag the "Saviour" had not been a pleasant prospect.

Harry's nose wrinkled and he shook off his negative thoughts to concentrate on the feel of his hand stroking his cock and the building sensation of impending climax. He thought about the way Malfoy's hair sometimes fell over his eyes, making Harry's fingers itch to push it back.

Thinking about how Malfoy would react to that and ignoring a twinge of sadness that it could never be, Harry gasped and came. He shuddered blissfully and gave his cock a few finishing strokes before turning to rinse.

"God," he muttered. "I'm attracted to a ghost." As he turned, his blurry vision caught sight of something—Malfoy leaned against the bathroom door, casually watching him with arms crossed and expression unreadable. Time seemed to freeze as their gazes locked and held, and then Malfoy melted through the door and was gone.

Harry rinsed with shaking fingers and then rested his hand against the side of the tub to keep from collapsing in a mortified heap. Fuck.

O….O

Harry delayed his exit from the bathroom as long as possible, but finally his hair was nearly dry from frantic brushing and he could put it off no longer. He wrenched open the door and stalked out.

Malfoy hovered by the window in his usual contemplative spot.

"Ever hear of privacy?" Harry snapped as he wrenched the sheets back and slid into bed. He had thankfully taken his pyjamas into the bathroom with him, so at least he hadn't been forced to walk out in a towel and locate his clothing.

Without turning around, Malfoy said, "So, you have a crush on me, yeah?"

Harry made a sound of disgust and wrenched the blankets up to his chin. He glared at the ghost. "I knew you would be insufferable about this."

Malfoy left his post and glided closer. A tiny smile played about his lips and it was almost worse than his trademark smirk. "Of course, I am making assumptions. You could have been speaking of Moaning Myrtle or Mimsy de Porpington."

Harry's expression of pure horror made Malfoy laugh in delight, and damn it if he wasn't attractive as hell when he did that. It made something in Harry's chest tighten and he clenched his teeth with annoyance. "Fine. You can be somewhat attractive when you're not being an utter git like you are most of the time. It doesn't mean anything."

Malfoy climbed over him in a semi-crawling, semi-floating manner and stretched out on the bed in his usual place. "Potter, you were wanking while thinking about me."

Harry closed his eyes, refusing to see Malfoy's face. "You're going to be irritatingly smug about this, aren't you?"

"For eternity," Malfoy assured him.

Harry turned to look at him then, but instead of a self-satisfied smirk, Harry saw nothing but a soul-searing sadness. The breath seized up in Harry's chest and his heart thudded with sudden, wrenching pity. Oh god.

"Too bad, isn't it?" Malfoy whispered.

Harry nodded, suddenly needing to touch him, if only for comfort. Funny how he had always taken such small gestures for granted. Too bad Malfoy was a ghost. Too bad Harry had never known him well enough in life to find him attractive. Too bad it was too late. "I'm sorry."

A sad smile curved Malfoy's lips and he reached out to place an icy hand against Harry's cheek. "I never did have very good luck."

Harry forced a smile and then shifted down in the bed until his head rested more comfortably on the pillow. He shut his eyes, feeling an unwilling prick of wetness there that accompanied a strange tightness in his throat and made it difficult to speak. "Goodnight, Malfoy." He cast a wordless Nox and the room went dark.

"Goodnight, Potter."

Just before he fell asleep, Harry thought he felt something cold brush against his forehead. Something that might have been the light touch of a ghost's lips.