Harry awoke in the awkward light of late afternoon as it began to sink slowly into evening. His head ached, his eyes ached, and a confused voice in the back of his head questioned why Draco hadn't woken him. He sat up, groaning, unable to decide whether Draco's absence was a good or a bad sign.

After a few moments of preparation, Harry stood - with considerable effort - from the bed. He shuffled first down the hallway to use the toilet, and then went to Draco's door, and knocked.

"Draco?" He called. "Are you here?" There wasn't an answer, but after a few seconds of silence, the door opened slowly with a creak. Draco's face appeared in the gap, seeming pale. Harry was startled to see that his eyes were lined in red.

"You've been crying." He said, surprise obvious on his voice. Draco simply stared.

"Did you have a good nap, then?" Harry's stomach flipped.

"Uhm…" He started, suddenly having a hard time finding the words. "Y-you're not mad at me are you?" Draco shook his head, and took a few steps backward to allow Harry into the room. "Are you okay?" Harry crossed the room and took a seat on Aunt Petunia's atrocious pink guest bed. Draco sat beside him and for awhile he just stared down at his knees. He was wearing the hoodie, and Harry's eyes were drawn immediately to the fact that his fingers were closed tightly around the sleeves.

"I'm fine." By the time Draco answered, Harry had nearly forgotten that he had asked the question. Harry shook his head.

"Uh uh." He said. "I"m not buying it. What's the matter?" Draco simply crossed his arms and held himself, tightly.

"Nothing." He insisted. "Just… the same old stuff, I guess." A look of pure disgust crossed Draco's face as he said this. "It's fine." Harry squirmed. It had been awhile since Draco had been so closed off about something that was upsetting him.

"It doesn't seem very fine," Harry pressed, in a manner that was nearly timid. "I told you you could wake me up…" Draco shook his head, and Harry saw his eyes narrow into a glare.

"No." Said Draco, aggressively. "It's not worth that kind of bother." Though he hadn't said so, Harry got the distinct feeling that when Draco said "it" he really meant that he wasn't worth the bother, and his insides sank sadly. He wished that he had gone to find Draco instead of taking a nap. Maybe he could have done something to prevent this. His eyes traveled again to Draco's sleeves.

"Draco… did you…?" Draco's pale, slender fingers closed tighter around the sleeves, causing his knuckles to turn completely white.

"No." Said Draco, too quickly for Harry's comfort. "T-that's why I took a walk. S-so I could get away." It was clear to Harry that Draco was hiding something, and he felt suddenly cold with the realization that he was being lied to. He thought that Draco had trusted him… He took a step nearer to Draco, trying to catch him in the eye.

"Get away from what, Draco?" He asked, calmly. "Do you have a razor blade in here?" Draco's gaze finally met his, and he could feel guilt as it radiated from the grey irises of his eyes. Slowly, he nodded.

"Yes." He whispered. He fought to keep his face impassive. His fingers, trembling slightly, gave away his inner turmoil.

"Give it to me, please." He requested. Draco did not argue. Without another word he walked over to the dresser, and placed a small metal object in Harry's palm. He closed his fingers around it, and deposited the blade in his pocket. Then he reached out both arms, and took Draco by the shoulders. "It's going to be okay." Draco's eyes shone with tears, and Harry again had the sensation that he been punched in the gut. This was his fault.

"I believe you," answered Draco in voice that suggested nothing of the sort. Harry stood in the silence for a moment, trying to decide what to do. He did not by any stretch of the imagination believe that Draco was okay, yet at the same time he worried that pressing him too hard would only make the situation worse. He frowned.

"Listen, Draco." He said gently. "If there's ever anything that you want to talk about, please come to me." He forced the paler boy to make eye contact and Draco nodded once. He still had a distant reluctant quality to him that made him feel as though he were trying to pull away. Suddenly, Draco froze, and met Harry's gaze with his own.

"You know," he said hesitantly. "Y-you can always come to me, too. If… if you're ever… you know…" He flushed and looked away, and Harry felt a ball of lead drop into his stomach. So he had noticed.

"Draco, I…" He stopped. He wasn't sure what to say. "It's not you…" Draco face looked as though he severely doubted this, and Harry pressed onward. "I just… I need to be alone sometimes, that's all. You… you understand, right?" Draco stood in contemplation for a long while, his expression unreadable. His features set.

"Y-yeah." He answered, with a half-convincing nod. "I understand. It's okay."

Downstairs, Aunt Petunia called for dinner.

Five minutes later, each seated around the Dursley's cramped and frilly dining room table, Harry watched Draco with immense scrutiny as he worked to tune out the shrill drawl of Aunt Petunia blabbering on about the day. Draco - not unusually - kept his eyes resolutely on his plate, shoving his food about in an effort to make a show of eating. Harry cleared his throat, meaningfully, and catching Harry's eye, Draco began cutting his dinner into dime-sized pieces and spearing them one by one into his mouth. Something uneasy twisted inside of Harry's stomach, though he couldn't quite place the cause.

Across the table, Dudley - abandoning all table manners - was shoving an entire dinner roll into his mouth at once. His rat eyes flitted around the kitchen, stopping here and there, before landing on Draco and fixing, meanly, on his fork as he lifted it toward his mouth. Draco noticed this and stopped moving at once, his fork frozen midway between the plate and his mouth.

Aggression rose up within Harry, who locked his own gaze onto Dudley, and narrowed his eyes as if issuing a silent threat. Dudley merely smirked, cottoning on to Draco's discomfort and said,

"Hungry tonight, are you, blondie?" Draco acted as though he hadn't heard, though from Harry's position, he could see his body tense up.

"Mind your business, Diddykins." Said Harry, loudly. "You aren't one to talk about appetites. I can hardly imagine how your mother can cook enough to feed you." Dudley's eyes narrowed and turned his posture to place his focus on Harry. Tension sat sparking on the air.

"That's enough!" Barked Uncle Vernon. Beside Harry, Draco jumped. Mumbling beneath his breath, Harry returned to his dinner. Dudley, much to Harry's irritation, resumed staring at Draco, who slowed his eating pace to the point where - were it not for Harry's prodding - he would not be eating at all.

After an agonizingly drawn out meal, dinner at Number 4 finally drew to a close. Harry, who had been quite concerned that Dudley's staring would upset Draco, was pleased to see that that he stuck around to help with dishes, and had not run to the bathroom. Draco remained quiet in the 20 minutes that they stayed in the kitchen, and responded only barely to Harry's feeble attempts to start a conversation.

With each short and distant response, Harry's anxiety grew. He could not bring himself to say this to Draco, but he had avoided him this morning because he had spent much of it crying. The raw reality of loss had finally begun to hit him; he was truly feeling the absence of Sirius, and it was unfair of him to saddle Draco - who was already so fragile - with the knowledge that he, Harry, was barely hanging on. And yet, it seemed that in his attempts to protect him, he was beginning to cause him pain.

The kitchen clean, Harry led the way back upstairs. He was on the point of inviting Draco into his room when Draco stopped to use the bathroom. Interpreting this as an effort to avoid conversation, Harry nodded in acceptance, and returned to his bedroom.

Harry sighed and - with a slight smile - noticed that Hedwig had returned through the open window and was waiting dutifully for him to take the letter that had been tied neatly to her leg. Harry did so, shaking the letter open eagerly.

Harry,

I know it must be hard for you to spend summer so far removed from the rest of the Order. I know nothing can alleviate your loss, but perhaps being surrounded by others who have felt his loss could have been a comfort. I've written to Dumbledore about the possibility of you coming to stay with Ron and I at the Burrow, but it seems Draco being there has really put a damper on things. I do hope he is treating you well, Harry, because if he hasn't I'll be happy to give him another slap for you. For what it's worth, I'd suggest you start to write down your feelings in journal or something. Say the things you wish you could have said to Sirius. And it will do well to remember that he would not have wanted to sacrifice his life just for you to go off and put yourself in danger, so stay safe!

Ron and I miss you very much; Fred and George have been a nightmare since their shop's been a success. You can't go two steps around here without something exploding or turning into a rubber chicken, or god knows what else. Mrs. Weasley pretends to be annoyed but it's obvious she's just proud of them for doing well. It's really shame you aren't here, Harry, because Ron's been making me practice Quidditch with him and I'm a right awful seeker. Plus I expect you've been getting it from Malfoy about the season next year, so I can imagine you'd like to practice. Maybe you can use some of it to help you prepare against Slytherin.

I've got to go and help with breakfast now, but I'll write you again soon. Your last letter was a little short; maybe some detail next time?

Hope to see you soon,

Hermione

A heavy, restrictive sense of loneliness settled over Harry as his eyes scanned over the final sentence of the letter. Live continued at the Burrow without him, without Sirius, as though nothing were different in the world. He sat down on the edge of the bed.

Of course they were sad, Harry reasoned. They too had known and cared for Sirius. He could imagine things were hard even on Mrs. Weasley, despite how often she and Sirius had quarrelled. And yet, here he was; far away at Privet Drive, kept away from anyone who might understand.

Harry reread the bits about Draco and frowned. He couldn't fault Hermione for not knowing that Quidditch was the last thing for which Draco would be concerned, but he couldn't help but feel protective over him in a way he couldn't understand. Whether she would like it or not, Draco had been there for him more this summer than she or Ron had, and he wasn't even fully aware of what was going on. Somehow, this made him feel guilty, and wondered - for the third time that day - whether he was doing the right thing in keeping his misery a secret.

To Harry's dismay, Draco's distant attitude had not dissolved by the following morning, or - in fact - by the end of the week. He avoided eye contact wherever possible and, whenever Harry tried, he rebuffed all invitations to go out for ice cream or even to just spend time with Harry in his room. More than once, Harry found himself on the edge of straight up demanding that Draco roll up his sleeves and show him his wrists, but each time he had lost the courage, worried that taking a demanding approach would only push him further away.

After lunch on Saturday afternoon, Harry was on his was back to his bedroom when he was stopped by the sounds of retching coming from the other side of the bathroom door. He froze, his entire body slowly becoming enveloped by a combination of sadness and dread. He had thought - foolishly, it seemed - that Draco had gotten over his stress sickness. He leaned up against the wall outside, and waited for the bathroom door to open.

Draco caught sight of Harry straight away and jumped.

"H-how long have you been standing there?" He stammered. Harry noticed a pinkish tinge to Draco's cheeks, as though he were embarrassed by the situation. Harry frowned.

"Long enough," he answered. "What's going on? I thought you'd gotten past all that." Draco shifted uncomfortably, and keeping his eyes on the floor he muttered,

"Guess not." He shuffled across the carpeted hallway into his bedroom, and Harry followed. From the furtive glances cast in his direction, he wondered privately whether he was welcome. Draco sat down on the edge of frilly bed and began flipping through the copy of Quidditch Through the Ages that Harry had lent him, though it was clear that he wasn't actually taking anything in. Harry sat on the desk chair and watched him awkwardly.

Something didn't feel right, though Harry couldn't place whether his unease was stemming from his own troubles over Sirius or if came from Draco's recent behavior. He had been quieter lately; more withdrawn and a lot less confident. Yet despite Harry's constant reassurance and attempts to speak with him about, Draco remained stubborn. A heaviness sat inside of Harry, and he began to wonder whether he had done something wrong. Summer had started off rocky, sure, but the future had held so much promise. He was unsure where that promise had gone to, now.

The sound of rustled paper broke into his thoughts, and his vision came to focus again. He glanced toward Draco and then back again something red captured his attention. He was across the room in seconds.

"Draco, you're bleeding." The other boy looked up in alarm, and scrambled to check that his hoodie sleeves were pulled completely over his wrists. It did no good. The blood that Harry had seen did not come from his wrists. It was - more disturbingly - coming from a wound on the back of Draco's index finger, just above his knuckle. Harry's insides disappeared and he grabbed Draco's hand and pulled it in front of his face before the other had a chance to resist.

"L-let go!" Draco protested weakly, and tried to pull his hand back. Harry set his face into a look of determination and he forced eye contact.

"Look at me, Draco." He said firmly. "No, stop. Look at me." Recognizing that he had no other option, Draco did.

"Is your hand bleeding because you've been making yourself throw up?" Draco didn't answer, but looked away, which Harry took as all the confirmation that he need. "How long have you been doing this, Draco?" His voice rose, slightly. "Have you been doing this the whole time?" Draco shook his head.

"N-no. Not the whole time."

"How long?" Harry repeated, firmly. "Tell me." Draco bit down on his lower lip.

"S-since last week." Draco finally answered him. "It's only been a week." Harry let go of his hand, knowing that if he followed his instinct and rolled up Draco's sleeve, he wasn't going to like the result. He felt a certain tightness in his throat that had grown familiar to him over the previous month.

"Why, Draco?" He asked, pleadingly. "And why wouldn't you tell me?" Draco shrugged, and wrapped his arms around himself.

"I dunno." He mumbled. Harry swallowed hard.

"Have I done something?" He asked, finally. "Did I do something to make you mad? I don't know why you're avoiding me all of the sudden but I don't like it." Draco's head snapped up and Harry was startled to see that his eyes were narrowed in a glare.

"You're one to talk about avoiding people!" He snapped. His voice broke slightly and Harry could tell that he was on the edge of tears. "You want me to dump all my secrets on you but you won't even tell me why you're upset!" His voice began to raise in volume. "Why is that, Harry, huh? You don't trust me? You're planning on dumping me as soon as we get back to school?" The biting accusation in Draco's tone was painful. Harry had to blink a few times to clear his vision.

"Draco, that's… that's ridiculous…" Draco glared harder.

"Is it?" He asked. "Do you even care about me or are you just putting up with me because I'm the last resort you've got?" When Harry said nothing, Draco continued talking, tears beginning to spill over and run down his cheeks. "I'm not even good enough for you, am I?" He asked miserably. "Even locked up in a house full of horrible people, you won't even trust me!" He sniffed, rubbing impatiently at his face. "I guess I deserve it all. I never did anything to earn it." He broke off into crying for a moment and Harry sat frozen on the bed.

Around him, the air began to crash and fall. In all his effort to protect Draco, he had only succeeded in adding to his misery. He was only pulled from his own self-deprecating rampage when Draco said, though sobs,

"Maybe I should have just killed myself." He shook himself out of it, and - wiping tears from his own eyes - he grabbed Draco firmly by the shoulders.

"Draco, stop it. Do not talk like that." Draco glared at him.

"Why not? It's true." Suppressing a growl, Harry took a few deep breaths before he answered.

"You want to know why I've been so distant, Draco?" He asked. "Fine, I'll tell you. At the department of Mysteries last month, with the prophecy and Voldemort and all the Death Eaters? My godfather was killed. Murdered. By your Aunt Bellatrix, and I watched the whole thing happen and couldn't save him. I miss him. He's the only person I can think of that would understand what I'm going through and I can't talk to him because he's dead." Harry didn't realize when he had started crying. "I didn't want to tell you because I didn't want to add any more stress to you."

Draco's expression changed instantly and he reached out and pulled Harry into a hug.

"I'm sorry." He whispered. They sat like that, crying, and Harry took a moment to think about how stupid they both must look. When Draco pulled away, and Harry began to wipe his eyes on his shirt, it occurred to him that his stomach and run off somewhere during the exchange, and had been replaced by an odd, flighty emptiness that he had felt before but could not remember where.

Draco sighed and stared down at the bedspread, fingering the cuff of his hoodie as he did so.

"I lied to you," he said into the silence. "I'm sorry." Harry pushed his glasses onto his face.

"What do you mean, Draco?" He asked. Draco shook his sleeve down so that his arm was exposed. Harry's stomach returned, much heavier than it had been before it had gone. In the past week, Draco had torn his arm to shreds. "Draco!" He gasped. "What? What happened?" Draco kept his eyes on the sheets.

"I guess it started last week." He mumbled. "I met Dudley in the park."