Draco stalked around just outside of Harry's room as he was accustomed to doing. The night was heavy and dark and rather uncomfortable. The cold gray flagstones caused his booted feet to ache; some thoughtful House Elf had decided it wise to remove the rich Persian rug to save it from wearing out as a result of his pacing.
No sound came from inside the room, no whimpers or moans or screams of absolute terror torn forth from a broken throat in guttural fright. Perhaps this would be a good night. Perhaps there would be no nightmares.
Draco shook his head indignantly. Harry always had nightmares, every night without fail. He wondered silently how his dorm mates at Hogwarts had ever gotten any sleep. Perhaps he was just exceptionally good at silencing charms, or one of his room mates was.
Or, a snide voice whispered in the back of his head, the nightmares are new.
Whichever way it went, Draco could not even begin to imagine the horrors that Harry witnessed over and over again, night after night in his dreams.
What could be so horrible that he could not forget about it, even in the blissful peace of sweet repose? Everyone had nightmares, of course, but Harry's seemed to be more terrible than most. They were at an almost primal level, insane fear and hunger and an overpowering sense of loss and the urge to flee.
A whimper floated out from underneath the small crack beneath the door. Draco paused, pushing one ear up against the wood surface and listening intently. It was soon followed by another groan.
Soon the moans rose in pitch and volume until they were full-fledged shrieks. Even had he been halfway down the corridor and not paying attention, Draco was sure he still would have heard them.
Frustrated, he yanked open the door, hurrying inside and dropping to his knees beside the wide bed. Never before had he dared to enter during the midst of the screams and what he saw shocked him.
Harry was curled in one corner of the gigantic bed, knees pressed sharply to his chest and arms wrapped tightly around them. He was shivering uncontrollably, and scratching at his arms with his nails.
Tears were running freely down his cheeks and his lips were dry and chapped. Draco stared on in horror, watching the slight boy tremble in irrepressible fright.
"Shh, Harry, it's alright," he whispered gently, though his voice cracked. "Nothing's wrong, no one can hurt you here." If anything, however, his pleas only made Harry worse. He began to thrash about, whipping from one end of the bed to the other in wretched agony.
"Harry, you're safe," Draco tried again, hesitantly laying a hand on Harry's arm to still it. "It'ls okay now, everything will be just fine."
Harry jerked away from his touch, scrambling to the other side of the bed and almost falling off. His eyes were still closed and his breathing was heavy. "Don't touch me!" he hollered piteously. "I didn't do anything, I swear! It wasn't me! Please!" His voice broke into dry sobs and he collapsed in a quivering ball.
"Harry, there's nothing to be afraid of, I promise. No thing can get you, no one can touch you. You're perfectly safe." Slowly, so as not to upset Harry anymore, Draco crawled on to the bed and picked a careful path over to the other boy. With halting arms he wrapped himself around Harry, rocking him back and forth.
" 'Snot my fault," the dark haired boy whimpered.
"Nothing's your fault, Harry. Nothing at all."
Slowly the raven-haired boy fell asleep, Draco's arms still tightly around him.
"The crux of the matter is that the attack will come swiftly and without warning."
Dumbledore's words were met with an uncomfortable silence from the assembled Order of the Phoenix. The witches and wizards stood with countenances drawn in grave, solemn lines, reflecting the sombre aura of the meeting.
Surprisingly, not a single member whispered about this harsh news; it may have been unwanted but it was by no means unexpected. Dumbledore sighed as he realized once again just how far the situation had spun out of his control.
"We can't know when. We have no precedent to base this on; Hogwarts itself has never been directly attacked. The best we can do is to remain constantly vigilant and hope for the best."
"What about the wards?" a new member, not old enough to be inducted into the Order under normal circumstances, asked. "They're impenetrable... aren't they?"
"Unfortunately, even the strongest wards can be broken over time. Our one advantage is slim and Voldemort may not take the bait."
"What advantage?" the young man pressed, emboldened by his youth.
"I can not reveal that unless it falls into the wrong hands." Dumbledore's eyes hardened for a moment and he quickly scanned over each of the Order members as if searching for traitors in their midst.
"But that's why Harry turned!" Hermione argued, rising to her feet in sudden vehemence. "You can't just not tell people things. Don't you trust us?"
"This is a war, Ms. Granger. It would be foolhardy to trust anyone."
"But we're the Order of the Phoenix! Our entire purpose is to oppose the Dark Lord! How can we accomplish that if we are kept in the dark?" She spread her hands out plaintively to either side, appealing to the crowds around her. "If you do that, you'll just lose more people, like Harry. No one can trust someone who doesn't trust them."
"The senior members are aware, Ms. Granger. You are simply too young to be involved in this. As for Mr. Potter, there is much more to the tale than you could possibly hope to be aware of."
"Like what?"
Dumbledore smiled sadly, hiding his own uncertainties behind a calm mask of omniscience. "Now is neither the time nor place, Ms. Granger. When you are older-"
"I might not get to be any older! We're in a war! I could die tomorrow! I don't have the leisure to grow up at a normal rate, none of us do. If we don't mature quickly and get involved now, we won't have the opportunity to; we'll be dead or in hiding or slaves. We don't have a choice!"
Dumbledore cleared his throat. "I think, Ms. Granger, that you have been unsettled by certain events. Perhaps it would be best if you returned when you have had time to come to a more rational viewpoint." Hermione opened her mouth to contest the point, but Dumbledore added a stern "now."
Sighing in defeat, Hermione deftly picked her way through the crowds of people, yanking open the door and stepping outside. She fell back against the stone wall, slowly sinking to the floor. "He's just as bad as You-Know-Who," she whispered, shocked at her own conclusion. "He's no better at all."
Dumbledore massaged his temples with one withe , resting the other elbow on the desk and sighing deeply. Order was tumbling away from him. He felt like a child trying to build an impossibly intricate structure with blocks, only to have the towers and turrets fall to the floor around him time after time.
"Headmaster?" Snape inquired quietly. Dumbledore started and then immediately relaxed; he had forgotten that the potions professor had stayed behind to discuss matters.
"Yes, Severus?"
"As far as I know, Voldemort still believes that the parchment will work. It was, after all, given to him shortly after I became a spy when he had no suspicions about me. He won't expect the stronger, more numerous wards that we have in place."
"Tom may not, true. But Harry and Mr. Malfoy are much more discerning, and Harry will not trust the list of wards so easily. They, if no one else, will be prepared for the possibility of more resistance."
"They are blinded by their... infatuation."
Dumbledore's lips quirked upwards, a ghost of a smile. "You may well be right. If that is the case, it would be to our advantage."
"I don't like this," Snape reciprocated wearily as if experiencing extreme lassitude from reiterating the same warning over and over again. "They're just children-"
"They stopped being children the moment they joined Lord Voldemort," Dumbledore interrupted, steel in his suddenly chilly voice.
"What's the difference between them and Granger and Weasley? They are all the same age. Weasley and Granger chose to join one side of the war just as Draco and Potter chose theirs."
"Harry and Mr. Malfoy are quite different from those two students. They perform Dark curses, take sadistic pleasure in their actions, and have joined Dark Revels. They are both aware of the full consequences of their actions, whether or not they think they will come to pass. It is our choices who make us what we are, and they have chosen the wrong side."
"Hermione?" The distant voice came from the Common Room, but she did not bother to pay any attention to it. Instead, she turned once more to Neville, glancing over her shoulder to assure herself that they were securely hidden from sight.
"What's this about?" she asked urgently, vaguely hearing Ron's footsteps retreat up to the Boy's Dormitories. She and Neville were secreted in one of the lesser used passages into the Gryffindor Common Room, this one leading to the dungeons. Hermione secretly doubted that it had been used for any purpose except for playing pranks on the Slytherins, and Ron would never think (he did that rarely) to look for her here.
"This," Neville replied, withdrawing a dark piece of parchment from his robes. His eyes had lost the haunted look that had inhabited them since Ginny's death and he handed Hermione the parchment with an air of half-hidden fear within their blue depths.
Hermione unfolded it nimbly, smoothing out the creases with ink-stained fingers. She started skimming the contents quickly, listening with half an ear while Neville explained.
"I started noticing things after... after Harry left. Dumbledore had suspicions that I might be the one from the prophecy after all, because Harry had been such a disappointment. They don't make sense."
Hermione drew in a sharp breath, fingers lightly tracing over Neville's messy scrawl. "Where did you learn this?"
Neville winced at her harsh tone before regaining some of his new found composure. "I know what it seems like I'm saying, Hermione, but I swear that it's true-"
"I believe you."
"-I mean, I wouldn't believe me if it were me and it doesn't make any sense, especially not with Dumbledore-"
"Neville, you're right!"
Impulsively, she hugged him, eyes shining with glee for the first time in months.
Neville froze, mouth still open and half-formed words ready to spill forth.
"It all fits together!" Her mind was working quickly, speeding by like a Firebolt. "Harry told me in Hogsmeade that he'd never wanted the Dark Mark! I didn't believe him, I mean, it's supposed to be impossible to get if you do not want it, but he said something about his connection with Voldemort."
"And if he was connected with You-Know-Who, then it really wouldn't matter if Harry wanted the Mark or not?"
"Exactly!"
"But, what are we going to do with it?"
"Give it to Dumbledore, of course! He'll be able to talk to Harry-"
"I don't think so," Hermione interrupted glumly, shaking her chestnut head in the torchlight. "He's given up," she added, remembering the hopeless look in his eyes at the Order meeting. "Dumbledore's always believed in Harry. Now he doesn't. He's looking everywhere for other options. He was discussing with Firenze the other day if the prophecy might apply to another time altogether-"
"How do you know that?"
Hermione did not blush, just looked at Neville self-righteously. "As Head Girl, I am entitled to certain-"
"You were eavesdropping."
"Well... yes..." Hermione amended, a slight rose blush tinting her cheeks.
After several comfortable moments of silence, the two set about planning what exactly they were to do with their newfound knowledge and partnership.
"What was that about, Hermione?" Ron demanded angrily, stalking up to her at breakfast the next morning.
"What was what about, Ronald?" Hermione retorted angrily, turning back to her porridge lightly sprinkled with cinnamon. She placed another spoonful in her mouth and swallowed, turning another page in her Arithmancy textbook. She could hear Ron seething behind her, but refused to turn around and face him.
"Last night! What did you think you were doing last night! Dumbledore knows what he's doing, we can trust him!"
"Are you going to scream out the secrets of the entire Order out to the Great Hall?" Hermione hissed viciously. "Going to let them all know what's going on? Our plans? What we know?"
Ron worked his mouth for a few minutes before shutting it.
"I didn't think of that."
"Obviously."
"Well, Slytherin is on the other side of the Great Hall, it's not like they can hear us."
"It's not Slytherin I'm worried about!"
"Who then? Gryffindor? Ravenclaw? Bloody Hufflepuff? They won't turn, they're on our side!"
"How can you be so sure? How can you be sure of anything anymore? How can you judge people like that?"
"They're Slytherins!" Ron replied as if this answer were self-explanatory. "They're evil! They're terrible! They're al working for the Dark Lord already! We should all before they have a chance to kill us, murder us all in our beds!"
Hermione slammed her book shut, whirling around to face her boyfriend. She grabbed his arm roughly, nails digging in to the freckled flesh. "We're getting out of here now!"
She dragged him out of the Great Hall and into a shadowed alcove. She pushed him against the wall, arms placed on either side of his head. "If you think for one minute that we're going to survive this war without changing our believes then you're wrong!"
"What are you talking about? Do you think that we're going to have to be evil, that the ends justify the means?" Ron's face was a picture of indignant rage, eyes flashing and cheeks flushing.
"If we survive, we're not going to be the same people we were. We're not going to be carefree. The world won't seem the same. We'll be hardened, veterans."
"My parents survive the last war just fine-"
"Ronald Weasley! You told me earlier about how that ended up! It was chaos! Pure, unadulterated chaos. Everyone was afraid, even years after Voldemort had disappeared. They're different now, and they'll always be different. Nothing can make them the way they were before."
"Hermione! We'll survive! We have to! We're the good guys! We always win!"
"In stories. In fables. Not in real life. Ever read more modern novels? George Orwell, Margaret Atwood, Adolphous Huxley, William Golding? You know how they end? Evil wins. Evil conquers all. The good guys die, or are driven insane, or give up. The ending's more of a beginning of the terror than a real conclusion. That's how it really works, Ron. Not perfect. Not good. Not deus ex machina. Nothing like that, Ron, nothing at all."
"Hermione, you're giving up! You're giving in!"
"No I'm not! I'm facing the truth, Ron! We're not going to win the way we are now. We're weak. Ineffectual. We're not going to be able to do anything against them. Not as we are. Only as we could be."
"What are you doing? What do you think you're doing? You're turning, aren't you? Just like Potter. You always liked him better than me. Would have gone out with him if he hadn't been some poof!"
"You don't know anything Ron!"
"What don't I know? I don't know that you're beginning to turn Dark? Look at what you said in the meeting last night Hermione. 'We can't trust Dumbledore. You're wrong, Dumbleore. Harry's not evil, he's misunderstood!' What kind e is that?"
"Don't you speak to me like that, Ronald Weasley." Hermione's voice was quiet, dangerous. "If you're not willing to look at things through another viewpoint instead of your biased, half-cocked views that someone else told you to believe, then, then..."
"Don't say it. Don't say it. I don't want to hear it."
"Too bad for your, Mr. Weasley. You're going to hear it. Eff off. Effing eff off." With a final shove, Hermione whirled around and ran away, fleeing without paying any heed to where she was going. Tears streaked liberally down her cheeks, leaving salty tracks. She didn't care. She didn't care for anything anymore.
Harry nuzzled his chin against his shoulder, sleepily itching. He was warm and comfortable. He had not been warm in such a long time. He burrowed deeper under the covers, whining when something stopped his motions.
Something moved next to him. Hair brushed against his cheek, tickling lightly. There was a slight dip in the bed where whoever it was pushed himself up.
Scared, Harry snapped open his eyelids. Confused, worried silver eyes met his own. "Malfoy?" he asked, half shocked and half disbelieving.
"I... I... didn't mean to..." Draco could not think of anything else to say. What had he been thinking, showing up at Harry's rooms in the middle of the night and falling asleep in the other boy's bed?
"What the... what are you doing in my bed? Are you trying to rape me or something!"
"Harry, I..."
Harry shoved him onto the floor angrily, smirking when the taller boy hit the floor with a loud thump. "I don't want to ever see you again."
"You don't understand! You were screaming-"
"What?" Harry whispered quietly. "You heard that?" Malfoy knew. Malfoy suspected. Malfoy was going to use this against him, turn on him. He was weak. He was a fool. He had to protect himself, somehow. Make him forget, make him forget all about it.
"You scream fairly loud, and-"
"Listen, Malfoy, I don't know what you think you're doing but-"
"I came in to comfort you! You were trying to rip your skin off or something! You were screaming and yelling and..." Draco stopped, eyes glazing over at the memory.
"Just... just forget it Malfoy. Don't think about it anymore. Forget it. It never happened."
"It did happen Harry. You told me that we can't erase our past. We can't change it. We only have the future."
We don't have anything. It's you and me. Separate. We're not friends, we're not... not anything..." I don't need friends, he whispered to himself. I don't need anyone. Don't need friends, don't need family. They betray you, hurt you.
He wary not thinking clearly, but he did not care. He just had to get Draco out before he started to dig deeper.
"Harry... you're not fine. You were screaming. You've got something you're hiding, something that you don't even want to talk about."
"And what makes you think you know this?"
"You flinched away when I reached out to comfort you."
"Of course. Your skin practically radiates gittiness."
"That's not the point!" Draco nearly yelled, exasperated. "Look, I know I was... am... a . I know I made your life hell. I know you hate me. I know you wish I would drop over dead. But I'm not. And unless you feel like pouring your little heart out to Voldemort or...or Pettigrew, I'm the best you've got."
Harry's eyes studied Draco's face intently. "You... you came into comfort me? Last night? My screaming didn't annoy you or anything?"
"Of course it annoyed me! I've never felt so angry! Whoever did those things to you, whoever made you feel like that, deserves to die. But with you? No. Not with you."
"You don't... hate me?"
Draco lifted himself off the floor carefully, brushing bits of miniscule dust off his sleep-crumpled robes before answering. "No. No. No I don't. Maybe once, but the feeling was mutual, I think."
"It was." A small grin lifted one corner of Harry's mouth.
"And you really did want to comfort me?"
"I got you to calm down, Harry. You were curled up into a ball, scratching at your arms and screaming and attacking the air. If I hated you I wouldn't have done that. If I didn't want to comfort you I wouldn't have fallen asleep while trying to get you to calm down."
"I've never... never..."
"Me neither."
The two sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, each of them quietly considering the other.
"So... what do we do now?"
"What do you mean?"
"We can't go on the way we were. We've got to change, to adapt."
"We'll find a way."
"So what are we now?"
"Friends?"
"Friends."
Draco stuck out his hand formally. Harry blinked at the long-fingered, well-manicured limb for a minute before warily shaking it. He dropped his hand quickly, not liking the pleasant, tingling warmth that spread through his entire body at Draco's touch.