"Someone watches…"

Harry had his wand ready, whether to duel or run he did not get a chance to find out as Draco took his free hand and pulled. He was lost to the sensation of Draco's skin on his in those tense spare seconds that he hadn't noticed what kind of room he was in until Draco was locking the door and casting charms to hide their whereabouts. Small, cramped, tiny, dark… Not enough room for two full grown adult men let alone for a growing child to lay down…

"They'll see the light!" Draco's face was close to his and so, so angry. Harry had not realized he was in the middle of casting Lumos until Malfoy had stopped him. Something terrible was happening and it had nothing to do with the people in the corridor. It was altogether too hot and stuffy and just so fucking small—

Draco's hands felt painful on his shoulders. He was being handled—pushed into the cupboard—they're angry with him again. What did he do? Why was it always the small space under the stairs? Did other children live in cupboards? Harry struggled to get away. His chest felt constricted and his lungs hurt from taking shallow breathes. There wasn't enough air in the cupboard, he would use it all up soon and suffocate. He could hear someone that sounded strangely like himself mumbling in short choppy segments. Sweat ran into his eyes and his body was so stiff it ached.

Harry leaned against the shelving and squeezed his eyes shut. The darkness behind his lids was more comforting than the darkness of the small closet. He tried to focus. This wasn't his cupboard. These weren't the things he lived with and looked on every nightmarish day. He tried to zero in on those details, too afraid and ashamed to turn back and face Malfoy's anger. He would fight this on his own. He could do this. After all, he had survived much worse.

Then the person standing behind him took the choice of fighting this battle by himself out of his hands, and a flare of anger and embarrassment competed with the rising panic. Harry felt himself as if not entirely inside his own body get turned around, and instead of cold shelves he was pressed fully up against a hard, warm body. Draco's fingers slipped into his hair and he pushed Harry's ear to his chest… and that was an embrace Harry never knew he needed.

"You feel that?" Draco's voice was a soft whisper above him. A little tense, but gentle and without any of the heat from before. "You feel my breathing? I want you to focus on that, Harry. I want you to match your breath to mine." The hand in his hair moved minutely and Harry imagined he could feel Draco's lips barely graze the top of his forehead.

He closed his eyes and listened to the long inhales and exhales and the heart keeping them in time. Inhale 1-2-3-4, hold 1-2, exhale 1-2-3-4… Repeat. The body next to his felt like the only lifeline keeping him tethered to the world, so he reached out a shaking hand and took hold of Draco. He let those breaths continue to wash over him and replace every thought with a calm nothingness.

After several long minutes, Harry's breathing successfully started to mimic Draco's, and his thoughts also started to return to normal. Strong arms kept him in place, but it didn't feel as if he was being forced to stay still. Harry had never been held like this in his life. Not when he was tackled by Hermione, not when Mrs. Weasley greeted him at the Burrow, not by Ginny when she saw him after the battle. And maybe it was just an effect of coming down from the panic he had experienced, but Harry felt unwilling to let go. A shiver of residual panic ran through him and he clutched Draco tighter.

Too soon the hand on his head came down to rest on his shoulder, and just by a couple of inches they separated. Harry didn't look up at Draco, couldn't look up at him. He had almost gotten them in danger by panicking about being in a fucking closet. Instead, he let go of his hold on Draco's shirt and cleared his throat as he stepped away. "I—"

"They've moved on now," Draco said interrupting him. He conjured a light and activated the map. Harry didn't look at the parchment. He looked at Draco's unreasonably blank face broken only by a hint of worry around the eyes. Draco nodded. "It's clear. Let's go."

"Right," said Harry and he followed Draco into the dark hallway. They kept an eye to the out for others and when someone threatened to cross their path, Draco would detour them around until they were close to the eighth year dorms. He folded the map and held it out to Harry who took it in silence.

Harry tried to speak again but Draco cut him off. "I think you should tell Professor McGonagall about Brown. Did you recognize who she was with?"

"No… and I will tell her. But Dra—"

"Neither did I," Draco said and cast the charm and password combination to get through to the common room. He hesitated before going through and faced Harry looking him in the eye for the first time. Harry thought his heart might stop. "I'd appreciate it, Potter, if you didn't mention my family's relation to the curse until we can confirm it's the same one."

Harry nodded his head dumbly. The request seemed absurdly small compared to what Draco had just done for him. Malfoy returned the nod and headed straight up to his room without another word.

Without changing into his nightclothes, Harry fell into bed and cast a silencing charm as not to wake his roommate. He took off his glasses and pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes until he saw stars. The shame he felt warred with confusing feelings brought by Malfoy's comfort. How could it be that after all he had been through, after the war and the defeat of the wizarding world's most vile villain, he could still be so affected by memories of the damn cupboard? He knew he should not, but he couldn't help direct some of the anger he felt at himself for being reduced to a panicked wreck.

Then there was Malfoy. Draco might have only been trying to get him quiet and calmed down, but Harry had just felt so much in those minutes. He thought about his body pressed tight against Draco's and tried to hold onto the memory. How had they been standing? They had been so close their legs must have touched along with everything else, but frustratingly he couldn't remember exactly.

Out of all the ways Draco could have quieted Harry, he just wanted to know why it had been like that. A simple Petrificus Totalus would have been safer for Malfoy and more efficient in silencing Harry. A long time ago, Malfoy had petrified Harry once before. And wasn't that a surreal comparison between the old Malfoy on the train and the one from just now the closet? Malfoy had broken Harry's nose by stomping on his face and then stepped on his fingers while leaving him on the Hogwarts Express under the invisibility cloak. This was a memory Harry had not thought about for a long time, buried underneath all the other horrid things that had happened during the war. The hatred he had for Malfoy then had never been worse.

So, why wasn't that memory bringing back the same anger? Harry groaned and rolled over to his stomach. He tried most unsuccessfully to not think about Draco as he fell asleep.

…Draco…

Something pulled Malfoy from what felt like the edges of a nice dream into a cold, dark abyss. His entire body felt numb and his sense of balance shaken by a rhythmic rocking which pushed him in a suspended state. He noticed he held his breath and when he opened his eyes he found himself completely submerged in water. Panic rose in his throat and he fought back a scream that would no doubt end in drowning. Far below, he could make out giant tentacles in a writhing pile. He kicked out against the undercurrent and looked up to a grey lit surface meters above.

Draco had never been a strong swimmer, but in that moment he managed what he would later think of as an impressive pace to the surface. His lungs burned with the need for air and his field of vision grew steadily smaller. His progress came to a halt before he could emerge as his arm was caught from behind in a firm hold. He looked out in fear, his lungs begging for air, and what he saw would have taken his breath away if he had any to spare.

A woman with translucent blue skin, long dark hair, and large blue eyes stared at Draco in wonder. Her expression was not quite human, set apart with high cheekbones and long tipped ears. She appeared older than him, but not by much, and wore opaque white robes which outlined every curve of her body. The blue gauntlets on her hands looked like shimmering fish scales and her feet were bare.

The woman leaned in as if to kiss Draco and when her mouth touched his he felt a warmth chase off the numbness spreading from his lips down his neck and shoulders and all the way to his feet. His lungs relax and expanded as if he had taken a deep breath of fresh air. She gently pushed him to the surface, and after he broke through, she vanished.

Despite the gift of air, Draco coughed and sputtered as he tried to tread the choppy lake water. While rotating to see where he was, he noticed two black robed figures bobbing with the waves just outside his reach, one with long red hair floating on top of the water. He struggled and started to swim towards them but the closer he got the further they went out into the water until he was forced to make for the nearest shore. Whatever warming charm the mysterious lady had given him was starting to wear off and by the time Draco made it to the bank he was shaking from the cold.

"Hello again, Draco."

On his knees, he didn't bother looking up. Instead he held out his hand and asked, "Would you mind?" Once dry and on his feet he looked back out at the water where the two figures floated next to each other.

"You seem to remember this place," remarked the pale lady next to him. She was dressed exactly as he had seen her last with her broken crown, white robes, and a face which invoked dark memories. Even her sad smile remained the same.

"I should hope so," he said. "Though last time I was sure this was a dream and I only was partially submerged in the water."

She laughed and it sounded like a thousand bells breaking into song at once. "Last time? Last time you nearly drowned swimming to shore. But I suppose you don't remember that."

No, he did not… She started to walk along the shore and he followed like he had the before. Well, like the last time he could remember, that is. "Have I had this dream more than once?"

"I don't know if this is a dream, though this is a place one usually wakes up from." They continued in a measured silence before she spoke again. "I've called to you four times since the first."

"So, I've been here five times and only remember one?" Draco asked. A large part of him felt silly for even trying to reason inside a dream, but a small part of him was fearful of the implications if this were more than it seemed.

The lady shook her head. "No. You've come here on your own over a dozen different occasions."

He froze. "Over a dozen?" The lady in white turned to him with those consistently sad eyes.

"You never remember past the first," she said. The pity in her face and the sadness in her voice made Draco want to crumple to the ground.

There was something different now though, he was sure of it, and he needed her to be sure too. "I'll remember when I wake up this," he said with confidence. "I know it."

"How?" He watched as her brows knitted together and Draco had the strong feeling she had never heard him say that before.

"There was a woman, in the lake, when I woke. She gave me air. I don't think that's something one forgets too easily." For a heartbeat, the sun peaked through the wall of grey clouds and lit up the lake like it had that morning with Harry. The similarity was striking.

"You saw… her?" A flash of joy crossed the lady's face and Draco felt like a student who finally gets the answer right in class. "You saw her? In the lake? You must be much closer than we realized."

"Closer to what exactly?" He asked.

"I—look Draco, you need to remember your part of the prophecy," she replied and her words felt like the rehearsed lines from a well-worn argument. "You are important and most of all you are worthy. You cannot forget that, please. No matter how your family, or the world, or even yourself views you, you are worthy."

"And just who exactly are you to say such things?" Draco asked with more bite than he intended. The woman looked frustratingly close to tears and he could not stand it anymore. The riddles, the emotions she drew from him, the lake, the two bodies on the water who reminded him of Sully and Marie; it was all too much. "Who are you?"

The lady shook her head. "I can't tell you. The last time I tried to tell you my name you were ripped from this place before I could say."

"Are you Rosaline Malfoy?" Draco asked in near hysterics. "Creator of dark curses?"

"Don't you dare compare me to that witch!" As she yelled the ground shook and even the sound of waves lapping at the shore had gone quiet under her fury. Draco took a step away and watched as she breathed heavily and hot white lines of wild magic licked off her arms and shoulders. "Never. Not her. Not like her."

"But you are a witch?" He asked tentatively. He wondered if some of Harry's Gryffindor bravery had rubbed off on him, or worse, Gryffindor stupidity.

"I did not gain my magic until after I died," she said. The luster of her voice and the colors of her body faded until she looked like a black and white photograph on the edge of the Great Lake. "All in service to your family."

"The Malfoy family?" Draco felt as if he would be sick to his stomach. For generations the Malfoy tortured, enslaved, and killed muggles without restraint. If this lady was one such muggle, forced to serve the family in the afterlife, Draco wasn't sure how to help her.

"They are only one branch from the cursed tribe, and you are only one prince from many. The only one who can break this wretched curse."

He snorted despite knowing that laughter wasn't the right reaction for this particular conversation. "Prince? Despite the Malfoys' best attempts, no one in our family has ever married royalty."

For a second it looked as if the lady was going to laugh with him, but her eyes were wide and her smile didn't reach far enough. "You never had to." She rose one pale hand and cupped his cheek as if they were lovers reuniting from a great distance. "Sometimes, you look so much like him."

Draco closed his eyes and leaned into the touch more out of an instinct than actual want. Once again he was pulled from the place he had been and dropped into a new, violent dream. When he opened his eyes he found himself in the middle of a great battle. Everywhere he turned men lay dead while those who stood took frantic swings with their swords trying to stay alive by killing. It was the scene a great muggle battle, though occasional red and green flashes made men fall on the far edges of the skirmish. High above a raven cawed, circling the dead and dying.

Draco's body moved on its own accord when a dark haired boy approached with his weapon drawn. His own sword was heavy in his hand, and his arm and shoulders ached with the weariness of fighting. He knew he would have to fight this one man; that despite the blood of countless fallen soaking into the earth, the blood spilled now would be more important. Though he did not recognize the enemy, Draco looked upon him in a torrent of betrayal, anger, and love, not completely unlike the feelings conjured when thinking of Narcissa and Lucius.

The first strike came fast and he parried it with the reflexes of an experienced warrior. But the blows didn't stop and the boy's face twisted into a gleeful sneer as he continued to drive Draco backwards with each successive blow until…

Draco pulled out from the pale lady's touch and his hands automatically clutched his abdomen searching out the death wound. The sky above broke out in angry thunder and Draco felt the time with the pale lady growing short. His heart hammered. "What was that?"

"A memory," the lady answered smiling. Her eyes searched his as if trying to see what he had seen. "A memory that you carry in your blood."

"Who are you?! I can't—" Draco stumbled backward. He feared closing his eyes for being pulled back to the battle. Instead he looked to the pale lady and he felt the faint glimmer of a memory. He got his body under control and really looked. Her face with the water in the background. "I saw you at Hogwarts."

"Is that the magic training place?" She asked unconcern by his discomposure. "I've heard about it from others."

"Why would you be there if you were just a muggle?" His eyes were drying and he had to blink. When his lids fell close he heard the sound of metal on flesh and a man roaring in fury for a moment before coming back to the lake.

"No one is just a muggle, Draco. Now, I think it's time for you to go."

When Draco woke, he was not sweating, nor panicked. He simply rolled over in bed, summoned his journal, and wrote everything he could remember. He called upon his Occlumency skills to distance his feelings from seeing Sully and Marie's bodies on the water and wrote everything in an efficient and emotionless script. For this, he imagined himself as soldier in battle (the ground soaked in the blood of a thousand men). Yes, people close to him had become casualties, but he could not mourn while the battle was still going in full force.

Once done he allowed himself a minute of reflection. He knew he wasn't remembering half of what he needed. There were details lost to him upon waking. Certain things like who the pale lady was or how she was attached to him. He did remember that he reminded her of someone, and he vaguely recalled a woman in the lake who saved him from drowning.

His writing sounded like the recorded visions of a mad man and he turned back the pages of his journal in frustration. These dreams were too vivid to be just conjurations of his mind, but he had no idea what they could mean. Part of him wanted to find Potter and tell him that this was important, that it was connected to what they were researching. But a louder voice told him he needed to know more before saying anything unless he wanted to end up in St. Mungo's.

Draco's hands stilled over hastily scrawled lines in his journal just pages before his latest entry:

"She calls herself… I can't remember. She's important but not the key to all this. You can trust her, though. The pale lady is not the enemy… She's just as cursed as you are."

The entry had no date, but from its position in the book, he had recorded it sometime between the first dream and this one. An eerie sense of not being in total control fell over him. He did not recall writing those words.

Draco shut the book and threw it back on top of the pile of unsent letters in his desk, and slammed the drawer with a flick of his wand. Tossing himself back on the bed, he closed his eyes and just let himself think. Prophecies, battles, villains, these were all the worries of a hero. He growled. For years, Lucius and Narcissa, groomed him into the man they wanted him to be. It just so happened that the persona they wished to cultivate was to be a power hungry follower of the Dark Lord, all in the name of pure-blood status, and a person to keep the family on top of a shit pyramid they could rule over. Now something else, a prophecy and mysterious visions in all their bullshit glory, forced him into a new role he hadn't chosen. He wondered if he would ever be able to choose anything for himself in his lifetime. Didn't other more qualified individuals exist who could take this responsibility? Heroes like, oh he didn't know, Harry bloody Potter?

Harry. Draco startled up to sitting on his bed. He quelled an instinct to go check on Potter and closed his eyes. Heroes, it seemed, were not as flawless as made out to be in the stories. Last night hadn't been the first time he had caught Harry (quite literally the first time as Potter had fallen from his broom) in a moment of vulnerability. His hands twitched on the sheets as he recalled holding the other boy to calm him down. Harry had been panicked, scared, out of his mind mumbling something about his cupboard, whatever that meant; and Draco had been what? Concerned? Sure.

And while he was holding Harry?

Content. Harry had suffered and he had taken advantage of the moment to indulge in the selfish pleasure of having someone in his arms.

He sighed and pulled out his quill again with an envelope and a piece of parchment. He started another letter to add to his series of unsent apologies he kept in his desk.

Dear Harry…

Dear Harry,

Ron and I will be flooing into Hogsmeade the first day of the holidays. Ron wants to see Fred and I thought we could help you do some research before we go to the Burrow for Christmas.

Don't neglect your studies!

We'll see you soon.

Love,

Hermione

Harry tossed Hermione's letter next to his untouched breakfast as he looked around the Great Hall for the familiar angular face which had haunted him into a restless night's sleep. The pressure of another great villain, another battle in the near future, wore him down to a weary acceptance, but all his mind could do was focus on Malfoy.

This was not unusual. Great evil on the horizon and Harry watching Malfoy's every move. The familiarity was strangely comforting. What was unusual, and what would probably have Ron taking Harry straight to the Janus Thickey Ward in St. Mungo's, was how this obsession reminded him of his crush on Cho, or how he used to watch Ginny's name on the Marauder's Map. The difference was that where he used to be suspicious of Malfoy's absences, he now found himself concerned. The difference was he couldn't stand to be in Malfoy's presence when they were on opposite sides of a war, and now he was longing for a closeness that bordered on madness.

Harry thought Draco had changed much after the war. But was that really true? Malfoy still made jokes at his expense, still dressed like a fop, and still was quick to anger. He seemed to be trying harder to be a real person, but perhaps Harry was just now seeing the real Malfoy that was hidden from him all those years. Did Malfoy comfort his friends when they needed it? Harry's gut reaction was to vehemently disagree and say Malfoy would consider such acts of kindness as beneath him. The evidence, however, said contrary. Draco cared about the class he tutored enough to review their work before doing his own homework. Although he refused to talk about it, he did go visit Sully in the hospital right after she was admitted and had gone back since. And of course the most damning evidence that Draco bloody Malfoy might have a soul was in the ghost of an embrace Harry struggled to hold onto.

Enough. He shook himself from his ruminations and looked around the Great Hall. There was no sign of Malfoy, Professor Brown, or the headmistress. Pushing away his still untouched breakfast, Harry left to go make his report to Professor McGonagall.

Draco wasn't sure where he was going, he just knew he needed to go somewhere. Snow covered every inch of available space outside the castle, and the temperature had dropped considerably meaning very few students lingered outside. He used this to his advantage to find privacy from everything but his own thoughts, which he tried to block by surrounding himself in the sterile cleanliness of snow and ice.

Almost clean. One courtyard looked like it had been the epicenter for a massive snowball fight turned war. There was a suspiciously large spot of yellow snow that Draco did not know whether to be impressed of or disgusted by. He gave it wide berth either way as he wandered down to the Quidditch pitch idly noticing he was following a footpath someone else had made earlier.

Once down among the towering stands Draco realized he had missed the last match between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff at the end of November. No matter, he'd get the final scores from Bloom. He wasn't really interested in the other teams other than for strategic purposes and he had enough faith in his own team to take good notes. The thoughts of his team stung a little when he remembered he might have to hold a tryout after Christmas for a new beater.

Lost in thought, Draco barely realized the path he had been following ended abruptly and nearly let out an undignified yelp as he stumbled across a pale body in the snow. Luna Lovegood's eyes stared blankly up to the sky.

"Lovegood!" Draco dropped to his knees, heart hammering and wand out. Then—for the second time—he stifled a sound no Malfoy should ever make when her eyes gave a slow blink.

"Oh, hello Draco," Lovegood said and set up so quickly Malfoy had to lean back to avoid what would have been a painful collision of heads. "I'm sorry. Did I startle you?"

Startle would potentially be an understatement. For a moment there, the cold of the snow had turned into the cold stone of Malfoy Manor and Lovegood wasn't lying peacefully, she was— Draco shook off the memory. He donned a glare instead. "What in the name of Merlin's balls are you doing out here?"

"It's quite nice," she replied. She held out her hand and Malfoy looked at it a minute before gritting his teeth and helping her upright. "Not the snow. That's nice too. But that you're worried about me, Draco."

"Someone has to be," he muttered. Then he thought someone might very well be and looked around for Longbottom or Weasley to come accuse him of attacking Lovegood. "Are you going to answer me and tell me why you're trying to freeze to death?"

"I was just listening to the snow," she said and smiled. Draco dropped his head back and prayed to anyone listening to give him patience. He had learned not to underestimate her skill in dueling nor her intelligence, but he worried about her self-preservation at times. "If you lay still enough, you can hear the Gropsnakes tunneling. They only come out near untouched bodies of snow. But I can listen to you if you want."

"And why would I need you to listen to me?" The question was out before he could realize how horribly snide he sounded and, worse yet, that she would probably have a very good answer waiting.

"I used to listen to you at the mansion," Lovegood offered, and yes, there was that spear to the heart Draco had been missing. "I wouldn't mind doing that again, Draco." She spoke as if she had been on holiday and not being tortured and kept as a prisoner to control her father.

If possible, Draco felt colder. He avoided going to the dungeons when the Dark Lord or one of the inner circle brought in prisoners. This had been a necessary measure to keeping his sanity. He had once watched Narcissa go down with house-elves to tend to whoever was down there. The elves had come back with sacks that squelched when moved and dripped blood on the marble floor. Narcissa locked herself in her room for two days refusing to come out until the Dark Lord requested her presence at a dinner. Even after the war had ended, Narcissa refused to confess what exactly she did down there. It was one of the reasons Draco had yet to forgive her.

But, when Luna Lovegood had come in stunned and bruised, manhandled by a disgusting brute who had one greasy hand dangerously close to her—well, Draco had impulsively volunteered to take over the duties of caring for the prisoners. Bellatrix had cackled happily thinking he had finally shed the last of his humanity and wanted to engage in torturing people. Or…maybe she thought he wanted Lovegood for the same reasons as her initial captor. Either way, Draco found himself in charge of running food and doing headcounts until Harry and his lot showed up.

After the first day he dismissed the house-elves from coming with him. While he didn't think any of them were loyal to the Malfoy name outside of their servitude, he wasn't going to take the chance in case Bellatrix or Lucius asked about his behavior. On the third day of Lovegood's captivity, he had brought her tea. Looking back, he supposed it was a weak attempt at an apology. He spent the morning looking at his mother's tea cabinet before picking out a chamomile blend and brought with it a jar of honey and chocolate biscuits. The blond girl accepted the tea as politely as she does everything else and asked him how he was doing. He had fled.

The next day he ran into a problem. According to Lucius, he wasn't spending enough time in the dungeons and needed to make an effort to look like he was practicing the Dark Arts. "Just don't kill the little bitch," Bellatrix had cackled. So, when Luna asked him how he was doing that evening with a fresh pot of tea between them, Draco had stayed and told her. He thought she would not make it out of the house alive and part of him still insists that's the only reason he told her anything at all.

"Draco," Lovegood said. She placed a cold hand on his face and he flinched under the touch. "Why are you crying?"

"Why am I—oh, for fuck's sake, Lovegood." Draco drew away from her, and the hand touching him just fell to her side. "Why do you even talk to me?"

"Why wouldn't I talk to you?" She asked him with her wide eyes and breathy voice. Draco couldn't stand to look at her. It was similar to the regret and sadness he felt towards the pale lady of his dreams.

"Lov—Luna… you should hate me," he insisted. "For what I did."

"What I remember you doing is bringing me tea and biscuits." Luna put her hands in her coat pocket and hesitantly smiled at him. "I don't feel happy about being a prisoner, Draco. But I don't blame you. It was… nice you gave me the chance to get to know you. Made me happy to have a new friend."

"Well, you should hate me. And Potter should. And McGonagall. And Granger…" Draco realized he was starting to ramble and closed his mouth. His therapist at the detention center talked about this, about his guilt. His doctor had suggested he write apologies to the people he had hurt. He didn't have to send them. The point was for him to acknowledge he had regrets and to recognize the pain he had caused others. He must have over a hundred letters in that drawer in his room.

"Draco, I don't blame you. You're a really nice boy." Lovegood turned around and looked over the Quidditch field. Her eyes sparkled with an optimism that Draco couldn't help but envy. "I forgive you, if that's what you need to hear." She took out her wand, and as if she wanted to prove to him she was happy, cast her Patronus. A silver hare bounded around in the snow with a delight reflecting the wonder of its owner. "It's no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then."

"What?"

"Hmm. Oh. It's from a muggle novel. Alice says it," Luna said as if that were a clear answer. "So, how has your day been, Draco?"

Draco laughed. "Terrible actually." Luna shivered next to him seemingly oblivious to how cold she was as she looked up at him expectantly. Draco, still furious at Luna's lack of concern for her own health, decided it was time they go inside. He offered her his arm and was only slightly surprised when she linked hers around his. "Shall we go for tea?"

He walked with "Looney" Luna Lovegood back through the snow, wondering if this is what forgiveness felt like.

After failing to meet with Professor McGonagall who had left Hogwarts on an errand to the Ministry, Harry found himself roaming the castle with no clear sense of purpose. At one point he ran into a mildly concerned Neville asking after Luna, and another time he talked to Seamus who had stumbled out of an empty classroom blushing and sputtering when he saw Harry. Eventually, Harry recognized his sudden urge to explore the castle for what it was: an attempt to find Malfoy. He groaned and knocked his head against the wall when he also realized he could have just consulted his map. It was okay. As long as he didn't tell Draco he hadn't thought to check the map first, Draco couldn't make fun of him. He made his way to his dormitory.

Of course, he had no reason to consult the map when he entered and saw that sitting next to the fire in the common room was Draco, Luna, and a severely confused looking Neville with a pot of tea and a tray of biscuits. Neville noticed Harry and called him over in an unusually loud voice in an attempt to distract his fiancé from the handsome blond git sitting next to her on the overstuffed loveseat. Harry could empathize with Neville as he watched with a sting of jealousy as Draco laughed at something Luna had said.

"Harry!" Neville nearly knocked him down in pulling him over. Draco blinked up at Harry and then… the bastard smiled at him. Harry became totally wrong-footed at that and thanked Godric there was a chair nearby to fall into. Draco raised an eyebrow at him and it took every good bone in Potter's body not to flip him off. "Have you found out anything on Professor Trelawney's prophecy?"

The easy air of the room vanished. Harry watched Draco stiffen. Luna cast a quick composed glance at Draco and then to Neville. "Er, well not exactly. I've been doing research… but nothing's come up yet. But Hermione and Ron are coming before Christmas to help research it." He smiled. Draco frowned. Had he just suggested that Ron and Hermione would be better research partners? He felt like an arse.

"Oh, that's nice of them," Luna said easily and took a sip of tea.

"Yeah, I'm sorry I've been no help," Neville said and he did look apologetic. "I've been busy with Professor Sprout restocking the greenhouses. It hasn't been easy since this weather's taken a turn."

Luna placed her cup down gently on the table. "Harry's had plenty of help from Draco. Isn't that right?"

Harry watched as Malfoy shifted uncomfortably in his seat next to her keeping his eyes down on the tea in his hands. "Yeah, he's been a great help. I'm rubbish at research," Harry replied. Draco said nothing but a red blush had crept up his neck to his ears.

"It's probably the Wrackspurts in your head, Harry. They can make one feel very fuzzy," Luna said. Harry thought there was definitely something in his head making him feel fuzzy as he watched Draco's mouth threaten to twitch into a smile.

"Potter, you should get that checked out by Madam Pomfrey," Draco snickered. "A person like you can't afford to sacrifice too much of their thinking power. You'll end up in my remedial potions class."

Ha—fucking—ha. Harry glared at Draco who shot him a smirk over his teacup.

"Harry never was ideal at potions," Luna said absently and Draco snorted into his tea. Even Neville was attempting to politely hide a laugh. Harry considered hexing the lot of them. "Draco, you should tell Harry about the dreams you've been having."

"Dreams?" Harry asked and perked up. Draco look less inclined than ever to look anywhere other than his tea or the floor. He tried to ignore the second spark of jealousy at the thought Draco had shared something with Luna and not him. "What dreams?"

"It's probably nothing," said Draco waving his hand in dismissal.

"Neville, I think we should go," Luna said and stood. She gave Draco's shoulder a quick touch. "Harry and Draco need to talk."

It was a testament to the awkwardness of the moment that the usually polite Neville hopped to his feet and left with Luna without saying a proper goodbye. After a tense minute Draco finally looked up at Harry. Dark circles underscored his eyes and his face was drawn. If he had another nightmare in addition to their late night, he could not have gotten much sleep.

Harry's own sleep had come in restless fits, his dreams switching back and forth between nightmares of small dark spaces and pleasant ones of a warm body close to his. Luna had been right, they did need to talk, and the common room was not the place for it. Harry stood quick enough to startle Draco back an inch. He grabbed Malfoy's hand, yanking him upwards, and pulling him to the stairs.

"Potter, let go of my hand," Draco gritted out behind him. Harry kept a firm grip and continued. He opened the door to his room and let out a relieved breath at Zabini's absence, only just now thinking about how it would look to be caught holding hands with Malfoy and rushing in like the world was on fire. He drew Draco into the room and cast a silencing charm just in case. Draco shook free of his grip and stalked to the desk.

"We need to talk," Harry said. Malfoy looked pained and sat down in Harry's chair with his head in his hands. "Okay, I need to talk. You don't have to, but I need you to hear me."

"Potter, I don't really—"

"Harry," he interrupted. Draco blinked at him. "You called me 'Harry' last night. I'd—I'd like it if you did that more often." That wasn't what he had wanted to start with, but it was a good of place as any. He shoved his hands in his pockets and paced a small line in the middle of the floor while waiting for a response.

"Alright," Draco said and his voice sounded odd, a bit rougher than his usual smooth drawl.

"Right." Harry stopped. "Right. Then… I need to apologize."

"Apologize?" Draco appeared confused and a little ill at ease.

"For panicking. For almost getting us caught. I—," Harry stopped and could feel the blush of embarrassment on his face. He started to pace again, this time with his hands balled in fists at his sides. In all the battles he had faced, he had never had a moment of utter helplessness as that moment in the broom closet. "I don't know what happened," he lied. "But I compromised our situation. We could have been caught. So, I'm sorry. And thank you. For, you know, what you did."

Draco looked like he was about to bolt and Harry considered casting a locking charm on the door. If they did work this out now, it would be near impossible to approach the subject later. He felt like he was carrying too many conflicting emotions, and that if he didn't address at least a few of them, he would wind up not being use to anyone at all.

"You don't need to thank me, Po—Harry." Draco leaned back in the chair looking even worse than before. "I just did what I had to."

"You… Are you serious?" Harry stifled the urge to shake Draco. "What you did was—you could have left me in a body bind. Trust me, I had enough time to think about this. No!" He waved a hand as Draco opened his mouth to say something. "You should have cursed me. That would have been sensible and kept us, kept you, safe. So, before you start talking your nonsense about Slytherin sensibilities and just doing what you needed to save yourself, know that you've got my gratitude. Whether you want it or not, apparently." He finished with a huff and ran a hand through his hair. Only Draco could make him so irrationally irritated by refusing thanks. He wanted to hit him. He wanted to hold him. He wanted to kiss—Harry's stomach did a sudden, nasty flip. He wanted to kiss him…

"Are you done?" Draco's question startled him back to the present moment and he nodded. The other boy had both eyebrows raised and his mouth twitched between a smile and a frown. "My 'Slytherin sensibilities'?"

"Oh, shut it. You know what I mean." Harry said and gave a half laugh. His mind was still stuck on his last thought, and he sat on his bed before his legs could turn to liquid and give out on him. What the hell was his problem? He wondered what kind of hex Draco would use on him if he could read his thoughts. The curtain on his bed blocked his view of Draco and he took advantage of the position to close his eyes and smack his forehead. To his ever increasing horror, he could hear the chair move and then feel the mattress sink in next to him. He felt Draco's shoulder press up against his and he firmly resolved not to look over at him.

"I'll accept your apology. If…"

"If?" And, oh Merlin, Harry nearly looked over. He hadn't expected terms and conditions for Draco to accept his apology, though he guessed he should. Why not? He was asking for something. "If what?"

"If you tell me why you panicked," Draco said simply. Harry postured became rigid and he couldn't force himself to relax.

"I…" Harry finally turned to look at Draco and wasn't that a mistake. The stupidly handsome blond was looking at him and this put their faces close to touching. "I was scared." His reply sounded incredibly stupid and he tried not to wince.

"I couldn't tell." The sarcasm felt half-hearted at best. Draco's eyes drifted over Harry's face as if he were taking inventory of everything he saw there, and Harry couldn't help the goosebumps that broke out under that gaze. "Why?"

Caught between being reluctance to talk about his past and wondering what might happen if he leaned in just a little more, Harry struggled to come up with an answer.

Of course, with the way his day had been going, he should have realized what would happen next. The door to the room flew open with a bang and Zabini strutted in making a line for his trunk. Harry and Draco jumped apart; Draco scooting neatly to the edge of the bed while Harry nearly landed on the floor and only barely managed to save himself by grabbing the post. A surprised Blaise held up his hands in a placating manner with his eyebrows raised to his hairline. "Didn't mean to interrupt," he said sounding amused. He searched for something in his belongings and before he left he gave them a wink. "Nice silencing charm. Might I suggest locking the door next time? Malfoy. Potter."

Harry heard Draco groan as he watched the door swing shut.