A/N: I'm back, as I promised! I'm really sorry for the short chapters, but I'm pretty sure its beyond my physical capabilities to write long chapters. Seriously. Anyway, please enjoy, and (as I've gotten the impression from people) please don't stop reading just because Draco is being a prat! It's all part of the story, and one mustn't follow silly book!Harry and make immediate assumptions on the boy so quickly. Lastly: sldfjhshgdkfjkdjfsd I loved writing this chapter! So much!

Five Months Later

Quidditch.

Quidditch was in essence as important to Harry's life as books were to Hermione's. Harry was gripping his knife and fork at the breakfast table with the utmost enthusiasm, still careful that his sleeve draped over the painfully etched lettering on his hand. The first game of this year's season was later that day, and Harry couldn't have been gladder. He had almost lost Quidditch again at the hands of Umbridge, which would have been devastating considering the sport had been canceled the previous year due to the Tournament. Ron was another story. The red-headed boy was frightened out of his wits, due partially to the Slytherin's attempt at frightening him with their "Weasley is Our King" program.

As he often did in times of stress, Harry felt his fingers trail along his collarbone to excavate the locket that had hung around his neck for nearly a year now. He brought the elegant silver pendulum up to his lips, and felt the delicate lettering against his sensitive skin.

True friends will always be together in spirit.

If only those words weren't lies. Harry hadn't the foggiest idea on why the locket had never left his neck since last December. Maybe it reminded him of the old Draco; the Draco he loved. He quickly changed his train of thought and let the locket fall back down against his pale chest. He couldn't think about the old Draco. The old Draco was dead; gone forever, replaced by a cold, mocking beast that invaded his body. Harry felt nothing but hate for the new Draco, but could not squelch his feelings for the former boy. The prince had been slaughtered, his body controlled by the forces of evil that seemed to be penetrating everything. Harry was ready to face new Draco today. No, Harry was ready to beat him today.

Sometime later, the team found themselves walking down towards the Quidditch pitch to prepare. Ron was gripping the side of his robes, his face pasty and his eyes unfocused. Harry couldn't help but smile as he had most likely looked the same during his first Quidditch game in first year.

"C'mon mate, don't get scared or anything," Harry joked.

Ron looked at him seethingly, "Shut it, Harry. You have no idea –"

"Oh calm down, Ron. It'll be okay, I promise. It's just Malfoy and his friends. You always talk about beating them to death; maybe you could, you know, accidentally knock one of them off their broom."

Grinning, Ron replied, "Accidentally."

"Of course," Harry assured innocently, the amusing image of several green-clad figures smacking into each other and falling to the ground comically.

Changed and ready, minutes later, the group stood on the field facing Angelina, the captain. Angelina propped her hands onto her hips, smiling back at her team.

"Well, then. Are we ready?" The group nodded, "Ron, have you gotten your tactics down?"

Ron shifted awkwardly, "I, erm –"

"Good." Angelina said as snickers – probably belonging to the twins – were heard from behind.

Angelina craned her neck to see the other team emerge just as students had begun filing into their seats. Several comments from the Gryffindor team were heard amidst the shuffle in the stands including, "Slimey Slytherins," and something about the annoying "Weasley is Our King" badges they sported. Harry's eyes automatically darted towards the single shining blonde head in the group. Draco was determinately staring at his hand clasped over his broomstick handle, a bit of hair flopping onto his forehead. As he was far away, Harry could make nothing of his face except that it looked terrified.

Draco was terrified of playing Harry face to face.

Good.

Harry caught himself grinning evilly to himself, and quickly wiped the expression from his face. His alertness was cleared as the shuffling noises in the stands silenced, meaning the students had settled and the game could begin. After a few comments, both teams moved forward. Even as the captains shook hands, Draco continued to examine his knuckles.

And they were off.

Harry shot up into the sky, circling just above where Ron was Keeping, in an attempt to spot the gold against the green grass below. He brought his head up, wanting to keep an eye on Draco, who Harry found to be only about twenty feet away. The blond was bent low, chest nearly parallel to his broom, staring ferociously at the ground below. As Harry observed him, Draco turned his head a few inches to look back at Harry, and snapped it back as soon as he noticed Harry was watching him. It was so strange – he looked so vulnerable.

Draco never looked vulnerable. Not old Draco; not new Draco. Draco was not a vulnerable person, Harry thought. He could be arrogant and mean, or he could be witty and smooth, but he had never seemed vulnerable before.

No, that was a lie. There were two times Draco had looked vulnerable prior to the current moment. First, he was vulnerable on the first day they'd met, when Harry had seen a streak of panic cross his perfectly sculpted features when he'd thought Harry would reject his hand. Second, he was vulnerable on that warm day when they'd overheard Snape and Karkaroff discussing their Death Eater endeavors, and Draco had turned porcelain white, his eyes alit with fear. And now again, because of Harry, the prince's armor was stripped and he was vulnerable.

"Oh, and that'll be another missed save by Ron Weasley," Harry heard from the commentation box, "Good thing Gryffindor's got a couple of real fast players on their side to make up for losses."

Suddenly, Draco's shoulders jerked up, and as Harry followed his frantic gaze, he too spotted the golden dot on the opposite end of the pitch. The golden snitch was hovering pleasantly a few feet from the Slytherin's goal posts. Draco darted forward, and Harry, cursing himself, would be damned if he allowed Draco anywhere near that snitch. Harry jerked himself forward, following Draco as closely as he could manage.

They were half-way to the snitch, Draco in the lead, when Harry yelled, "I'll die before I let you get that snitch, Malfoy!"

Draco looked back, the wind furiously whipping blond hair into his face as they raced onwards, "Good, Potter because you could really do me a favor and –" His eyes dropped to Harry's chest, widening as he flicked his gaze back up to Harry's eyes, his own grey ones filled with an inexplicable emotion. Harry was about to look at his own chest and ask what Draco was looking at when -

Thunk.

Draco had slammed shoulder-first into the goal post, missing the snitch as he was yelling at Harry, and the golden ball found its way into the other boy's hand. Draco was blown off of his broom, which sailed to the ground, pirouetting violently downward, his limbs spewn out in every direction, and hit the ground harshly, being tossed and rolled forward an extra fifteen or so feet before he came to a halt, and his body lay limply in the grass, slightly hidden behind one of the Quidditch structures.

Harry, snitch in hand, stared wide-eyed at the spectacle that he was sure only he could see from this angle. Draco was lying face down, his arm bent under him in a way that look especially painful, and a visible amount of blood beginning to pool from under his head. He felt the snitch fall out of his grasp and flutter in place as he drove himself down to where Draco lay. He ran to the motionless figure, positioning himself so that he could see his face.

"Help!" He called out. Surely someone had seen!

He gingerly brushed a bit of sweaty hair from Draco's face, which was mostly in the dry ground. He gently took his shoulders in his hands, and turned him over so that he lay there face up. What he saw horrified him, though from his experiences he knew it probably looked worse than it was.

Draco's nose was broken into a twisted and gory shape, blood flowing out of it rapidly, mingling with the blood from what was most likely a rather nasty gash on his head, under his hair. Harry cursed to himself, putting his arm under Draco's neck, propping him up in his arms, cradling him with one arm and brushing his hair from his face with the other.

"Oh my God, I – HELP ME!" He called out again.

Finally, by the mercy of Merlin, a group of players, led by Ron, found the two. Ron looked shocked and confused in his own way, and a Slytherin boy began to run towards them, aiming to shove Harry away from Draco.

Harry protectively held Draco tighter. "Don't," he warned. The boy backed off, and Harry looked up to Ron and the other Quidditch players helplessly, "Teachers?"

"McGonnigal's probably just about here. It's a bit of a walk from the commentator's stand without a broom," Ron answered cautiously.

Harry nodded, "Help me – help me move him."

"Maybe you shouldn't, Harry," Angelina said, "If he's really hurt it might mess him up."

"Right," Harry agreed.

Suddenly, a two voices emerged, owned by Professor McGonnigal, George Weasley, and Madam Pomfrey. "Move, all of you," McGonnigal directed, "Not you, Harry. Hold him – Poppy look at the state of him!"

Madam Pomfrey bustled over to the two boys, muttering a charm at Draco's face. A sick crack emitted from his nose as it snapped back into place and Harry's stomach jolted.

"Did he hit his head?" The healer asked.

Harry looked up at her, "I – I don't know, probably!"

She nodded, "Well, boy, give him to me – gently!" she looked back at Ron as Harry transferred Draco's weight into her arms, "You, take Mr. Potter and the other students back to the field. Minerva, we'll have him up in the hospital wing, of course."

Harry stood up, glancing once more at Draco's unconscious face, and went to put his hand on Ron's shoulder, when the boy leaned away.

"You are not touching me with your bloody arm, Harry," He said sternly.

Harry looked at his arm and it indeed had a fair amount of Draco's blood on it, so Harry held it away from him as to not get any more on his robes than there already was.

"Oh, sorry," Harry apologized, and looked down at the ground as they came to a stop in the field. Most of the students that were in the stands had gone back inside, and the ones that were left were in the process of doing so. Harry looked up and saw Umbridge annoyedly rapping her wand against her other hand, staring at Harry. Uncomfortable, Harry looked away and saw a rather calm looking Professor Flitwick approach the group of Quidditch players.

As he saw the blood on Harry's arm and the minor smudges of it on his robes, his eyebrows lifted, "Well, Mr. Potter! My, you and the other Gryffindors must of course go to wash yourselves! You know your way, of course, so get along!"

"Thank you, Professor," Harry answered, and motioned Ron to walk with him ahead of the others.

Harry sighed and Ron nodded thoughtfully, "So."

Harry's lips twitched, "So what?"

"I saw you, Harry," Ron said, still looking down.

Harry forced a laugh, "Obviously."

Ron looked up, making eye contact, "That's not what I mean. I saw – I saw the way you were holding… him."

Harry thinned his lips as he felt a heavy feeling flow throughout him, "It was nothing. I just didn't want him to like – choke on his own blood or anything."

"No," Ron shook his head, "It wasn't just that."

"Talk about it later?" Harry asked.

Ron agreed, "Hermione or no?"

Harry heaved a sigh with a large shrug, "Yeah, yeah."

The rest of their walk was silent, though the heard the laughter and conversation of their fellow team-mates behind them. Once they reached the common room, they parted from their other team-mates and found that it was relatively empty, as most people would rather meander outside and around the castle on a nice afternoon such as this one.

Hermione jumped up from where she was sitting by the window and came to them, "Harry! Ron! What –"

"Not now, Hermione," Ron said gently.

Harry ignored them both and walked up the stairs to the boys dormitories, leaving behind a simple, "Shower."

Harry exhaled loudly, removing the layers of sweaty Quidditch robes and stepping into the lukewarm shower. After he was sufficiently washed, he stepped out, avoiding the mirrors, and wrapped one towel around his waist and another around his head. Walking clumsily to his bedroom, he opened the door and walked to his area. Harry picked a set of comfortable clothes and put them on slowly.

Ron was right. He wasn't just supporting Draco so that he wouldn't "like, choke on his own blood or anything." He was holding him. He was holding him close and brushing the hair away from his bloody face, wanting to do anything to comfort the soul and the body. As much as it pained him to admit it, he was still completely, whole-heartedly, and immensely in love with Draco. He hated the new Draco; the one who didn't accept him, had turned on him, but he knew that as he held his motionless body, he couldn't bear to lose him.

Except he had already lost him, that was the problem. Draco was gone, and Harry had to remind himself of it every day. Somehow, the vulnerable boy he'd seen out there on the pitch didn't match up with the harsh and taunting little devil that Draco had become.

There was vulnerability, fear, and… guilt.

Was Draco guilty for what he had done? Was that why he couldn't look Harry in the eye unless he was taunting him, as he did seconds before the terrible fall?

Harry shook his head, standing up and making his way through the door and down the stairs. Ron and Hermione were sitting on one of the couches, somehow now alone in the common room. Harry walked up to them unseen, and cleared his throat.

Hermione jumped, and Harry grinned at her, "Oh, Harry, you scared me," she said with a soft giggle.

"Sorry," he said, "Dinner?"

Ron was first to stand, "Sounds good to me."

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Harry lifted a hand, "We'll talk later, okay?"

"Okay," she answered with a sigh.

The three walked to dinner discussing the match. Hermione didn't provide much to the conversation other than she saw how miserable Ron played, and the three purposefully avoided Draco's fall. The discussion carried on throughout dinner, and the other players were kind enough not to badger Harry with questions. Actually, they likely just hadn't noticed the strangeness of Harry's hold on Draco, which seemed like a much more valid reason for their silence.

They stayed at dinner long, as they were getting better and better at ignoring the rude and disbelieving attitudes towards Harry that had been displayed this year. Last year, everyone hated him because he kissed a boy and they thought he was an attention hog, and this year it was because they thought he was a liar. What next?

After dinner, Hermione dragged the three to the library to study for about an hour, when they decided it was late enough to go back to the common room, as it was already dark outside.

They talked on the sofa, and were surprisingly alone. Hermione and Harry sat opposite each other and Ron plopped down between them.

Silence followed, until Harry felt a hand on his shoulder, and he turned to see Hermione's troubled face as she reached over Ron. "Harry," she began, "Ron told me about…"

"Yeah, I know. Er, I don't know," He said, "Honestly I'm probably more confused than you are right now."

Ron tapped him on the shoulder, "But, Harry, I thought you hated Malfoy now."

Harry shook his head, "I do, I do, but… you weren't there." He shifted position, "Like, he wouldn't look at me the entire game, did you see that?" Ron nodded and Harry continued, "he looked so… scared? Like, almost guilty, you know, mate?"

"Not at all," Ron answered.

Harry saw Hermione shake her head, "I do, Harry. Do you think he's, you know, feeling guilty?"

"I have no idea but…" Harry was about to delve deeper into his feelings, when his natural instincts screamed for him to haul. He pursed his lips and released, "did you know he fell because he wasn't paying attention while telling me to do him a favor and die?"

Hermione crossed her arms, "What a snot!"

"Yeah!" Ron agreed, punching Harry in the shoulder playfully.

Harry laughed, "I guess he can't be too guilty then."

"Well," Hermione said, "you aren't going to be visiting him in the hospital wing or anything, are you?"

Harry shook his head, "No."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said sympathetically.

Ron smiled at him, "It's okay, you'll figure it out. Or end up dueling him, whichever comes first. It's all good."

Harry laughed, "Alright, alright. I'm exhausted, are you two going to bed too?"

Ron stood, exhaling largely, "Yeah, I think so." Harry looked over at Hermione, who nodded in agreement.

Harry and Ron bade her goodbye and walked up to their dormitories. As Harry had dressed comfortably and did not have the motivation necessary to change clothes, he simply removed his shoes and shirt and slid under his covers.

"G'nite, Harry," He heard Ron say.

"Good night," he replied.

Within ten or so minutes, Harry heard the slow, deep breathing that indicated his friend was asleep. As Harry was on the verge himself, he didn't dare let his thoughts travel. As he felt the cold metal against his chest, one got the best of him.

He took the metal object in his hands, trying half-heartedly to open it for the millionth time to no avail. Why did Harry keep wearing the locket? What was the point? It was a lie, wasn't it? A bit of anger spiked through Harry, and he brought his hands up to unclasp the locket, but as he felt the chain in his fingers he was hit with an overwhelming longing.

He wanted his old friend back. He thought of all the laughs and jokes, and the way Draco could never admit to being wrong, or the way his smile was always sculpted unless he was alone with Harry, laughing over some stupid joke for which his smile would become natural and warm.

He couldn't bring himself to undo the clasp. He closed his fist around the chain and ran his hand down it to the pendulum. He picked it up off of his chest and pressed his lips to it, rolling over. The cold metal still brushing his lips as his hand relaxed against the pillow, he drifted off to sleep.