Draco could not recall a week that had ever gone by as quickly as that past one. He had visited Potter in the hospital nearly every day, sitting at his bedside for at least an hour on each occasion. Initially he had been cautious, anxious about running into the Weasel or the Mudblood. He listened at the door for a moment each time, peering through a crack to ensure Potter didn't have "guests" before he would enter. He soon realized, though, both from the lack of confrontations and Potter's constantly lonely demeanor, that his side kicks had not been visiting often, if at all. It gave Draco an overwhelming sense of satisfaction knowing that he was replacing parts two and three of the Golden Trio, no matter how temporary it might have been. In fact, he would have personally loved nothing more than to rub it in the Weasel's ugly, freckled face that Harry apparently, for the moment at least, considered Draco a satisfactory substitute for his best mate. However, he knew such a boast would only lead to the annoying Gryffindors visiting Harry constantly, and Draco had somehow come to rather enjoy the long, aimless talks he shared with the dark haired boy and was not willing to give them up just to wound some Gryffindor pride.
In fact, Draco was beginning to feel he wouldn't willingly give up his afternoons with the Potter at all. Of course, it was only temporary, only until Potter was out of the hospital and back to his annoying self. This decently intelligent, surprisingly funny, disturbingly timid version of Potter was just a fluke, he knew, likely a result of one too many blows to the head. And yet, (completely against his will, he mentally reiterated), all week he had found himself anticipating his time with Potter, drifting off in thought during classes. He even managed to cause a small explosion in Potions and have five house points begrudgingly taken by Snape. The worst thing, though, had been the Quidditch match the previous day against Hufflepuff. Of course Slytherin had trounced them thoroughly: Draco had tracked down and captured the Snitch within five minutes. It just wasn't the same, though. The Hufflepuff seeker had been a useless twit, unable to even exchange some light banter or give a good chase. The whole match was total pants, in fact, and the entire time he'd found himself wishing fervently it had been Potter at his side racing, soaring, and diving madly in pursuit of the fluttering golden ball. Flying side by side with Potter like that gave him a rush, made Quidditch worth playing. Even if Potter did always ended up unfairly besting him.
It was already Sunday, though, and Halloween at that, hard as it was to believe, and the Hogwarts Masquerade Ball was in less than an hour. Thus, Draco found himself standing petulantly before the full length mirror in his room, hurriedly slicking back his hair and finally taking the time to properly conceal the dark circles under his eyes and the permanent crease down his forehead that had been developing since summer. He wore black- it was all he could convince himself to throw on, and he thought it rather fitting, considering he'd rather be attending a funeral. Despite all of Blaise and Pansy's excited planning Draco despised dances, hated social gatherings, and could think of an extensive list of things he'd rather be doing that evening. However, "legal adult" as Draco was at Hogwarts and "incarcerated" as his father was in Azkaban, as a Malfoy there were certain duties and responsibilities he simply could not weasel his way out of. "Ha, fitting term," he mused. However, pureblood duty being what it was Draco would be escorting Pansy for the evening, despite her quiet displeasure and his own distinct desire to simply be alone for the evening. But Draco did not try to delude himself; he knew the importance of bloodlines and producing a suitable heir in order to carry on the Malfoy name, and thankfully his father had never made any attempts to betroth him as a child. Pansy's father had been the one trying to nudge them together in recent years, and the fact that Pansy's parents were primary financial supporters for Voldemort's cause certainly hadn't hurt his own father's opinion of the match. As much as Draco valued her friendship, though, and certainly enjoyed her company, to be quite honest he would rather kiss a flobberworm. The thought of kissing either made him shudder as he secured a green and silver embroidered mask around his face, carefully avoiding mussing his perfectly slicked hair. He sighed bitterly as he looked at his reflection, longing for nothing more than to tear off the stupid mask and lob it at whoever inevitably came to collect him should he dawdle much longer.
As his dark mood clouded over further, Draco couldn't help his thoughts drifting back to his visit with Potter that afternoon. At the time he hadn't thought much of it, but Potter had been quiet, withdrawn. Something had obviously been troubling him, but Draco had been so absorbed by his own sour thoughts that he hadn't thought much of it at the time. Had he been sad about missing the Halloween celebrations, or had it been something else? Draco frowned, absentmindedly twisting and smoothing his hair until the mirror, slightly annoyed by his primping, reprimanded him in a high, shrill voice.
"Honestly, love. If you keep that up, you're going to pull it right out!"
The mirror's loud laughter made Draco's ears ring, and he glared angrily at it before storming down to the common room. A strange sense of foreboding was beginning to bubble in the pit of Draco's stomach, but he quickly pushed it away and joined his fellow masked Slytherins in the common room, assuring himself that no matter how badly he was dreading this it wasn't worthy of the bone-deep uneasiness creeping up on him.
~*~
Draco loved Pansy to death, he really did, but she proved to be decorated as gaudily as the Great Hall itself and he spent much of the evening nearly gagging on her overpoweringly sweet perfume. Her dress, too tight; her make-up, too much; her smile; too fake. Best friend or not, he had to suppress a shudder as he led her to the refreshment table to get some punch, hoping fervently that the fruity liquid had been laced with something very potent. An hour and five glasses later, it appeared it hadn't. Within the first hour of their arrival Draco had exhausted the list of activities deemed necessary of any proper pure blooded young man: he'd danced with Pansy, whose mood seemed as sour as his own, and then politely asked each female staff member for a dance as well. He'd then tormented the Gryffindors, danced with Pansy again, teased the Ravenclaws, danced with Pansy… again, and taunted the Hufflepuffs before dancing with Pansy, sadly, again. He had not the slightest clue who Vincent Davies was, nor did he wish to, but if Pansy mentioned him and his lovely blue eyes one more time he thought he might puke. His obligations filled and his sanity waning, Draco had been trying to devise a believable excuse for leaving so early. That was when he saw it: a spalsh of red above the crowd.
His curiosity piqued, Draco watched as a tall, red haired man wearing white wove his way through the mass of people filling the Great Hall. Charlie. He was sure of it, though the man's face was hidden behind a white mask embroidered with gold.
"I have to go, Pansy. I'll see you later…"
He pushed past her, missing the look of utter relief on her face as he cut across the dance floor, bumping annoyed couples out of his way. He reached the other side in time to see the man in white leaving through a door not far from where the staff table would usually be.
Draco felt the sense of dread that had been eating at him all night tighten and constrict into a heady ball of fear as he raced to follow. He abandoned his shoes immediately because of the loud clicking sounds the polished heels made against the stone floor, and his sock clad feet were freezing as he winced his way towards the uneven flagstone steps usually used by teachers on their way to the staff room. He'd lost the man in white almost immediately, rounding the first corner to find him nowhere in sight. However, he gingerly climbed the long, imposing flight of stairs up to the first floor, just to be sure. Empty. Empty, dark and silent. Draco sighed. He briefly considered hunting in earnest, but doubted the endeavor would be worth it- even if the masked man was Charlie, he doubted anything of interest was going to happen with nearly the entire school down in the Great Hall. That was when he'd heard a loud pop somewhere on the next floor up, almost immediately followed by another. It was a sound Draco had heard many times growing up, but one which he had never before heard at Hogwarts- was never supposed to hear at Hogwarts. Draco sprinted through several narrow corridors until he reached the main staircase, his sock clad fleet scrambling for purchase on the smooth marble as he ran up the next flight of stairs. He reached the top just in time to hear another pop, once again one floor up. To his utter annoyance the staircase he needed to take up to the third floor was being rather slow to return, but while he waited he listened- nothing. No second pop. He looked up and saw that thankfully both of the third floor staircases were currently detached. Whoever it was, they were still there. Bloody hell, that staircase was taking forever. And anyway, what on earth was there on the third floor that could be so-
"Oh Merlin... the hospital… Harry…"
Draco froze. Why hadn't it occurred to him before? Everyone was at the Masquerade Ball downstairs; he himself had asked Pomfrey for a dance. Harry was alone, unguarded, completely vulnerable. The staircase was still a few feet away when Draco leapt for it, grabbing the banister and using it to steady himself as the stairs beneath him reconnected with a deep resounding 'thud'. He took the remaining steps two at a time, sprinting into the open corridor and slamming to a dead halt. There was the man in white, peering through the same crack in the double doors that Draco had looked through all week to check for Gryffindor visitors. He was just standing there, back to Draco, watching through the tiny hole. Watching Harry. For a second Draco was too winded and taken aback by the strange scene he'd stumbled into to do anything other than stare, but he quickly managed to find his voice.
"Stop… right there…"
He panted breathlessly, drawing his wand. There was a long pause. Draco's heart was pounding so loudly in his ears it seemed deafening in the silent corridor, his fingers clammy where they tightened around his wand.
"Stop right here or what, Draco?"
The voice was deep, yet hollow sounding all at once, grainy and slightly shrill and it made the hairs along Draco's neck stand on end and quiver. The red haired man turned to face him, and Draco nearly gasped aloud. The white and gold mask hid the man's entire face except for his eyes and mouth; the afore mentioned being a deep, bottomless black, and the latter pale and smirking. The hair, though, was unmistakable: a Weasley. It had to be.
The next moment happened so quickly, it left Draco's head spinning. As the man in white drew his wand Draco flung his own out in front of himself like a sword, pointing it at the man as he yelled "Expelliarmus!" Draco felt the tingle of power itch at his inner arm as the spell shot forward, but there was another loud "pop" and the man was gone. Instead the spell hit the old oak doors of the hospital and bounced back at him; Draco dove out of the way but the loose spell caught his shoulder, ripping through his cloak, shirt and several layers of skin before sending him sprawling to the floor. When on earth had his balance gotten so bloody awful?
Looking around frantically, Draco tried to see where the man had gone, but it seemed he had completely vanished. He was alone. A cry from within the hospital had Draco on his feet instantly, throwing open the heavy doors and pushing the flimsy green screen around Harry aside. Draco looked around, but there was no sign of the man in white there, either. Only Harry, tangled and sweaty in the sheets, his scar burning and pulsing as a single pale tear trekked down his flushed cheek. Draco felt as if his lungs had been deflated.