Midnight. Harry looked at his watch in the dim light of the dying fire in the common room. He was already late, but it couldn't be helped. He'd tried to sneak off to bed early, in hopes of slipping out unnoticed by means of his invisibility cloak and the Marauders Map. No such luck. Ron had followed him up, incessantly talking about his new position on the team. Harry's position. Seeker.
Harry felt a tight ball of unpleasant emotions gathering in his chest. Even thinking about it made him want to scream or cry or kick something. But no. He was already late. Giving the map one last look, he folded it up with a whispered "mischief managed", pulling the cloak tighter around him before slipping out the portrait hole.
The walk from the Gryffindor common room to the Room of Requirement was a very short one, or at least it should have been. There were no stairs, moving or otherwise, no tricks or charms or spells or anything. Just a regular walk down the dark, cold corridor of the seventh floor. To Harry, though, it was one of the longest walks of his life. It had been an impossibly long, painful day. He'd had to climb so many stairs, see so many people… hear so many things he never thought he'd ever have to hear. Needless to say it was a cold, exhausted Harry Potter that did at last arrive somewhere near one o'clock.
The Room of Requirement was very different than it had been the last time he was there- the night Umbridge had caught them. Harry shuddered at the memory, pushing aside the perplexing realization that Malfoy had been there that night too. But that had been a different lifetime, it seemed, and he was now a very different Harry than he had been then. Not to mention somewhere along the way "Malfoy" had started becoming "Draco".
The room had changed as well, but that was to be expected, he supposed. It seemed shockingly elegant in contrast to his past memories of it- almost like a whole other common room. Dark tapestries hung from the walls and the carpet underfoot was thick, plush and deep maroon in hue. There was a huge stone hearth with a smoldering fire, and a low table with a large chair beside it. In it sat Draco Malfoy, curled up and snoring softly. Harry quickly turned round and took a quiet step back the way he'd come, suddenly feeling as if he were intruding. However, as his hand touched the door a loud crackling noise came from the other side of the room and Harry whirled, heart racing. In the moment or two since he had looked away the fire had flared back to life (the loud noise that had startled him, he assumed), and another chair had appeared beside it. The book on the table had been marked and set aside, replaced with a plate of sandwiches and two steaming mugs of tea. It was only then that it really occurred to Harry that he had not eaten all day.
He approached warily, unsure whether he should chance waking Draco or just turn back. The tea and sandwiches were beckoning though, and when Harry caught sight of a big, red plush blanket folded on the chair arm his decision was made for him.
"Hey, not fair… I want one."
Draco's voice was husky with sleep and Harry nearly jumped, darting round to find the thoroughly ruffled, obviously groggy Slytherin glancing around for the green blanket that should have appeared. There wasn't one. Harry, still feeling awfully jumpy, sat down in his own chair beside Draco's, tucking his new blanket tightly around him. It was warm.. warmer than a normal blanket should have been, but he was very thankful of it.
"I said, I want one."
Harry looked over, nearly snorting to find Draco attempting to direct an intimidating glare at the room for denying his request. However, it wasn't very effective, as he couldn't seem to decide what exactly he should glare at. Harry couldn't help but laugh.
"Fine.. stupid room. Must be broken or something…"
Draco stood, shivering slightly in the draft before shoving himself into Harry's chair as well, pulling the blanket up over him.
"Oof, Malfoy?! Bugger off! That's my blanket! Get your own.."
Harry tugged slightly as the chair began to thankfully stretch itself out beneath them. The sudden contact had surprised Harry, and Draco's weight, however little of it had actually fallen on him, seemed unbearable.
"Well, apparently the room is requiring something of us for once; that we share. Now give it here."
Draco pulled the blessedly warm blanket towards him, only to have Harry pull it back. Eventually, after several minutes of playing tug-of-war, it ended up more or less evenly distributed. With a huff, Draco reached out for the tray of sandwiches, his lack of dinner making itself known.
"Fine, but you have to share the sandwiches..." Harry protested weakly.
Draco smirked, sticking out his tongue in surprisingly dignified sort of way.
"No I don't; they're on my side. These are my sandwiches."
Draco couldn't help but think Harry looked dreadfully pathetic just then. His eyes got very large and his bottom lip began to tremble slightly and he looked as if he was about to cry or something. Draco wasn't quite sure what to make of this.
"Come on, Malfoy.. I haven't eaten anything all day. I'm… really hungry.."
Draco tsked, one eyebrow quirking in disbelief.
"You're kidding, right?"
Harry merely shook his head before he found the plate all but shoved at him.
"Honestly! Why? Why haven't you been eating? Merlin, Potter, you're nothing but skin and bones. Do you want to blow away or something?"
It was silent for a bit while Harry chewed a bite of sandwich thoughtfully.
"Why do you care whether or not I eat?"
Draco's hand froze on its way to reach for his cup of tea.
"What?"
"Why do you care whether or not I eat?"
Draco gaped for a moment, trying to look about for anything that might prompt a valid excuse, but found his eyes stuck in tantalizing green.
"Umm… I don't. I mean… didn't we already go through this?"
Harry looked thoughtful.
"Sort of, I suppose. I mean, I asked why you were helping me, but you could help me without caring if I eat or not."
The silence was so complete, Draco could almost imagine he heard the wheels turning in his head as he tried to formulate an answer.
"Well, not really. I mean, I could, but it wouldn't make much sense. After all, what's the use of saving your life and helping find whoever attacked you to begin with if you're just going to starve yourself to death?"
More silence, though slightly less awkward.
"Yeah… maybe, I guess."
Draco couldn't help himself as an almost genuine smile crept across his face.
"You know, if you ate, I wouldn't have to worry about whether or not you did. Why did you stop, anyway? Trying to trim down for the Yule Ball?"
Both boys couldn't help but laugh at this, and Draco suddenly found he couldn't get the image of Potter in a slinky red dress out of his mind, complete with black stiletto heels and glittering chandelier earrings. The laughter was short lived, though, and Harry quickly became very serious.
"Malfoy, I told you, I don't-"
He stopped, eyes going wide all of a sudden and breath catching. Draco leaned towards him a little, jumping back in his seat and snapping around to look behind him when a sudden gust of wind outside battered against the shutters and the flames in the hearth leapt before shrinking back to a dull smolder.
"No," Harry whispered, and when Draco turned back to him he was eerily still in the near darkness the dying fire had left. He was so utterly silent and motionless that Draco was tempted to touch him, just to make sure he hadn't somehow turned to stone while he'd been distracted.
"I... remember." Harry's voice was lower than Draco had ever heard it before, heavy and raspy, but barely louder than a breath. "He use to wait for me, by the Great Hall. Because he knew that even when I tried to avoid him I would have to eat, eventually. I went straight to the kitchens, for a while, but then.." He paused, obviously trying very hard to remember. "But then Dobby got in trouble. And I couldn't get food anymore. Not without asking someone, or..." Harry's eyes were vacant, and Draco was surprised to realize the other boy's breaths were coming in tiny clouds. He was even more surprised to realize his own were as well. When had it gotten so cold?
"Or without him finding me. Alone. I tried, for a while. I would go with Ron and Hermione, but he would be waiting. He would... oh, God... I.." Harry choked a little, unshed tears making his eyes glassy and cheeks even redder than the blanket he was clutching to his chest. "I got sick afterwards. Every time. He use to make fun of me. That's... that's when I stopped eating, except what I had to, here and there. That's how.. he caught me... that night. The Great.. Hall. I had.. a napkin.."
Harry was nearly hyperventilating and barely coherent, but Draco lunged, grabbing him by the shoulders.
"Harry? Are you saying the he's here? He's inside the school?" Draco, at first, was furious. This wasn't just an isolated attack? It was a student? How long had this been going on? Why hadn't Harry told anyone this when it was happening? Why hadn't he told Weasely or Granger? Or Dumbledore? Or anyone? Why hadn't anyone done anything? How had no one noticed?
Harry looked up at Draco as if he'd forgotten the other boy was there entirely.
"No... not a student."
Was all he seemed able to say. The tears at that point had finally broken and were falling down his cheeks in fat, heavy drops that Draco could hear as they splashed against his trembling hands.
And just like that the anger was gone, replaced with an overwhelming sense of uselessness. He could point fingers now all he wanted but the truth was he hadn't noticed either. And if he had... Draco felt sick to think it, but couldn't deny- he would have laughed.
"Oh, Harry..."
Draco thought the other boy looked impossibly young just then, and realized he didn't even know how old Harry actually was. Sixteen, right? The same as him? When was his birthday? He didn't even know that for certain. Draco cringed as he felt his chest keen sharply somewhere in the general vicinity of his heart and he wondered absently if he might be developing some sort of medical condition. He should really get that looked at. For now, though, he cleared his throat uncertainly. He had to think of something
"Well then, Potter, there's only one thing to do." His voice was slightly stern and very business like, but he placed a light hand on Harry's arm through the blanket, smiling a little when startled green eyes finally met his. "I'll just have to make you a deal. You start eating again- three full meals each day to be precise- and in turn I will personally see to it that no one makes you regurgitate said meals."
At first Harry looked surprised, then annoyed, but in the end he couldn't help but laugh.
"Alright.. I suppose."
Draco extended his hand, and they shook on it.
"Good. Now, eat another sandwich…"
While Harry finished off the rest of his late dinner, Draco leaned back against the chair/sofa and tried to sort out the warm, aching mass of goo churning in his chest. Harry's presence was simply overwhelming; his warmth, his smell- the way he kept squirming with his thigh occassionally brushing against Draco's own. It was all very distracting and wasn't helping his new heart condition in the slightest. And so he waited in silence for Harry to finish eating, staring into the low flames crackling in the hearth.
"So..."
Draco spoke at last, trying to clear the strain from his voice. If Harry noticed he didn't say anything.
"How was your meeting with Dumbledore?"
"It was… long…"
Harry sighed, letting his head fall back against the chair cushions and wearily scrubbing his face with his hands.
"Yes, so we've established. What did you talk about?"
The hands flopped limply back into his lap, and Harry stared petulantly at the ceiling for a moment before finally relenting.
"Just… stuff.."
Another indignant snort from Draco.
"Alright.. alright. We talked about, you know…"
"The rape?"
Harry recoiled as if Draco had burnt him, practically hissing as he curled back in on himself. His fingers clamped vice-like around the blanket and his face, already slightly flushed from the heat of the fire, burned with shame. Draco wondered if he was about to get a shiner to match the previous night's split lip.
"Don't.. don't say that word."
Draco looked away awkwardly.
"Oh.. Sorry. I.. I didn't mean.."
He trailed off, uncertain if he should continue.
"So, umm.. what did he say?"
Harry sighed, trying in vain to push back a lock of wayward hair that kept falling in his eyes.
"He took some… samples... of ..stuff. From the pitch, right after you found me. And he had Pomfrey..." He trailed off, but Draco knew better than to prod further at the moment. He got the idea. "He said he's been running every test he can since then, checking for a physical presence or a magical signature or something."
This surprised Draco immensely. So maybe not everyone had gone completely mental after all.
"Well? What did he find?"
Harry's sigh did not bode well.
"He.. well he said.." Another sigh, though this one sounded slightly disgusted and very bitter. "He doesn't know. The mark left.. it's not like anything he's ever seen before. I think the exact words were 'a strange, very powerful magical presence'. The he asked me.. who it was. I told him I couldn't remember anything."
Harry looked away, and when he did so Draco noticed the back of his shirt collar had pulled down a bit, exposing a small corner of that patch of bruising he'd seen the night before. Draco leaned forward, just barely, to get a better look. Unfortunately the dim firelight was of no help at all.
"So, he doesn't know everything you told me earlier?"
Harry's only answer was yet another sigh, and Draco decided not to press further. These new memories would mean another meeting, undoubtedly, and he was pretty sure Harry was not looking forward to that.
"And the dreams?"
Harry shook his head, and Draco found he really couldn't blame him for not telling Dumbledore. The dreams were very strange indeed, and more than a little unnerving. Knowing that batty old coot, there was no telling how he'd react.
"Then what happened?"
Harry shifted uncomfortably and Draco frowned.
"Harry.. you can tell me.."
Draco placed a firm, reassuring hand on Harry's arm, and, to their mutual surprise, Harry did not pull away.
"He.. well, when he found out that I couldn't remember, he tried running some other tests to check and see if someone had cast an obliviate or something. Then he had me try to use the pensieve, to see if he could help sort out my memories, but it's like a huge blank in my mind, just a gap with bits and pieces filled in. But he made me keep trying, all afternoon, and I kept remembering the things I do recall, again and again. It was like the dreams, but even worse. At least with those I eventually wake up and know it's not real, but these things..." Harry shuddered, talking faster and faster as his eyes lost focus. "I know they happened to me, but it feels like someone else's memories. Every time I see it happening to me again, I... I can't believe... and now Dumbledore's seen it too. He saw it happen. He saw... me. Oh, God-"
Draco had tried, he really had. The night before in the Hospital had been a fluke, he told himself. There were extenuating circumstances, so he really couldn't be blamed for how... touchy... they had been. And Potter had been the one to start it, latching onto him like that. It was different than touching like that with Pansy and Blaise. They'd grown up together, been together through everything. They were practically family, certainly closer to each other than their own blood relatives. That touching was understandable, but this was Potter.
When Harry's voice broke on that "Oh, God," though, something in Draco decided it didn't matter. He couldn't imagine hearing anything worse than that tiny hitched breath coupled with such overwhelming desperation, two words that summed up a life that was disintegrating in trembling hands. Draco couldn't help himself- his arms snaked around the smaller boy and pulled him, red blanket and all, flush against his chest. Harry sobbed, just once, and gratefully returned the embrace.
"Oh God, Draco..."
Harry hid his face in the dip of Draco's neck, shoulders trembling and fingers tangling in the other boy's robes. Draco had been horribly wrong, he realized. Those two words had been nothing without his name, and hearing them together was making his sides feel a little tingly.
"Why did Dumbledore have to see me like that? And now that he knows, everyone's going to know. Now that he's seen what happened to me he'll have to report it. I don't want anyone to know... What if it leaks out? What if someone from the Daily Prophet gets word?"
Carefully, Draco removed the infamous glasses that were digging into his collar bone, placing them on the table before taking Harry's face between his hands and looking straight into the wide, panic-stricken eyes.
"It doesn't matter. Dumbledore won't tell anyone. He promised me. And he cares about you, even if he has a strange way of showing it. He just wants to help. And, if the Prophet does eventually get word, and if they're actually daft enough to publish it, which I doubt, then they can just sod off. If they expect you to play the savior and risk your life to save their disgusting, money-grubbing arses, they can at least show a little decency."
Harry closed his eyes, trying to pull away but Draco refused to let go. Eventually he stopped struggling, burying his face back against Draco's shoulder.
"You know about the Prophecy too?"
He groaned miserably.
Draco leaned back on the couch, pulling Harry with him.
"Mmm… yeah, I do. My father was the Dark Lord's right hand man for quite some time, after all."
Harry shifted slightly, pulling the blanket up almost all the way over his head so that just his timid face was staring up at Draco.
"Don't you hate me? I mean.. I helped put your father in Azkaban."
Draco smiled somewhat bitterly.
"This is true, you did. And for that, I don't hate you. In fact, I suppose I owe you some thanks. You see, if you hadn't, I would probably be in a Death Eater meeting right now."
Harry pulled back enough to look the other boy in the face properly, his close scrutiny making Draco feel slightly anxious.
"I thought you wanted to be a Death Eater. And what about your mother? Doesn't she support Voldemort?"
"No and yes. I never wanted to be a Death Eater. Well, maybe at some point I did, but no. Can you honestly see me bowing to anyone?"
Harry shook his head.
"Exactly. And impudence such as that does not bode well with the Dark Lord. Besides, I.. well, I guess I have a secret of my own. But this is strictly between you and me, and it is never to leave this room."
Harry nodded at him solemnly. He'd have crossed his heart as well, but it was already talking to Draco's anyway, sandwiched between them.
"I .. well, lets just say I'm a tad... delicate... when it comes to the sight of blood. "
The image of Draco, clad in Death Eater garb and swooning as he fanned himself with his mask entered Harry's mind, and he couldn't suppress the laughter that followed, even if it did get him lightly smacked in the back of the head.
"What about your mother then?"
Harry finally managed to ask once his laughter was under control.
"Hmm, no, don't think she cares much for blood either. Maybe it's hereditary."
Harry lightly smacked his arm.
"Ah, yes, she supports the Dark Lord's cause, but refuses to take the mark herself. She thinks it's terribly unbefitting a woman of her class. So of course, when I told her my skin was much too fine to take the mark, she agreed. Now that my father's locked away we're merely financial support for Voldemort, really."
A brief nod and Harry lay back down, closing his eyes. He knew that it should bother him a lot more knowing that the boy he was laying on (which was a strange enough occurrence on its own) was the son of an incarcerated Death Eater, one whom had personally attempted to kill him on several occasions no less. And, equally concerning, was the fact that the Malfoy family was right that minute offering financial support the insane dark wizard who had killed his own parents and was still attempting to do the same to him. And then there was the fact that just the year before the other boy had been a member of Umbridge's stupid "Inquisitorial Squad" and had spent the year making all their lives hell, including being one of the primary reasons Harry had been banned from Quidditch. And yet, all he could think at the moment was that somehow, knowing Draco wasn't quite as evil as he made himself out to be was quite a relief.
Draco, meanwhile, was swimming in guilt. Actually, it felt more like drowning. He'd been almost entirely honest, but he'd omitted one key point- just because he wasn't a Death Eater now and didn't want to be did not mean that at some point he wouldn't have to be anyway. He had heard of Death Eater children taken from school and forced into service for the Dark Lord under threat (or practice) of torture and violence. And, if his father was to be believed, that time would be very soon. Voldemort would supposedly be giving him a very important mission, and likely it would be something to do with hurting Harry. Draco shuddered a little and smoothed a hand over the bunched up sleeve of Harry's jumper. He just hoped he would still consider this worth it when he was under Cruciatus.
Nearly an hour of silence went by. Harry had been just about to doze off, lulled into relaxation by the warmth and Draco's hand absently rubbing his back. Draco, on the other hand, was very much awake, lost deep in thought until he could keep quiet no longer.
"So, let me make sure I've got this straight…" Harry twitched back awake, the thin veil of sleep yanked back abruptly.
"You can't remember who... did this. Dumbledore, supposedly one of the most gifted wizards to date, can't decipher their magical signature, and you're memory is somehow mysteriously sealed. Oh, and whoever it is may or may not be in the bloody castle. Meanwhile, the whole school proceeds to go batty. Lovely. Now what are we supposed to do?"
Harry yawned, shifting into a half-sitting position in an attempt to wake up. However, his head quickly dropped back to Draco's shoulder, eyes already closing again.
"I dunno. He said he wants to see you tomorrow though. Something about a Truth Serum."
Draco paled. Already? It couldn't be done yet. Dumbledore said it would be at least two weeks! Something must be wrong. He sneered, but nodded anyway, shoving his free hand anxiously through his hair. He was worried, but there was nothing he could really do about it at the moment. There was something else bothering him as well, though. He'd been sure the man in white he had seen on Halloween had been Charlie Weasley, despite the strange black eyes and eerie voice. Maybe he had been mistaken, though. After all, Dumbledore had sensed an indecipherable magical mark- the Weaselys were about as decipherable as it got. Harry had said the man had been inside the school, but was not a student. A teacher? Absolutely not. What if the man was a stranger? But if so how had he gotten by unnoticed? And for so long? Polyjuice? And why would he want to hurt Harry, much less kill him? Unless... they were sent by someone.
Draco glanced at the clock; well after three a.m.
"You should probably get back to your dorm, Harry. We don't want people to worry."
Harry yawned again, eyes darting to glance at the clock above the mantle. It was late, and he was tired, to be sure, but somehow.. he just couldn't stand the thought of going back to his dorm. Knowing that he would wake to Ron's excited babble about Quidditch… no, he couldn't stand the thought of going back.
"Don't you want to go back?"
Draco watched Harry closely. It was impossible to miss the pained, betrayed look in those expressive green eyes, and while it did nothing to ease the uneasy ache in his chest, he felt a smug sense of satisfaction that Harry preferred his company to the Weasel/Mudblood duo.
"Draco…"
Harry whispered, as if afraid to actually say it aloud.
"Have you noticed something… odd… about everyone lately?"
Draco couldn't suppress an ironic chuckle at this. Maybe Harry was acting unusual after all. It was truly rare for the Gryffindor Golden Boy to be so perceptive when Dark Lords weren't involved. The sadness etched across Harry's face was very sobering though.
"Yes… I have noticed quite a few strange things lately, Harry. People seem to be acting very peculiar."
Harry knew he was referring to Snape's earlier reaction to their tardiness, and Ron's new position as Gryffindor Seeker. Not to mention Hermione's appointment as Potions Assistant.
"I just can't face Ron right now. I feel so guilty. I know I should be happy for him, but…"
"What!"
Draco bristled, platinum eyebrows shooting nearly to his hairline.
"Don't be daft! There's no reason to be happy for that Weasel! He has not talent at Quidditch at all, and not only did he steal you're rightful place on the team, but he wasn't even nice about it! He didn't even consider how you'd feel."
For once, Harry did not argue with Malfoy's logic, or the use of the name "Weasel". It seemed oddly appropriate at the moment.
"Maybe…"
Harry finally conceded. Draco let his head fall back against the armrest with a soft "thud".
"Look, we'll figure out what's going on, don't worry. I mean, I'll admit, at the moment, you're probably not up to playing-"
"Hey! What are you, my doctor now?"
Harry shot defensively, quickly sitting back up, suppressing an impressive wince in the process.
Draco sneered, the lack of sleep and abundance of mortally significant dilemmas beginning to make him cranky.
"Oh? You think you're up to it, Potter? Think you'd really be alright just waltzing back onto the pitch? Think you could even remember how to ride a broom right now?"
Harry jerked back violently, totally rigid. "My broom.." his mind flashed instantly to the night on the pitch, new bits of memory he hadn't recalled before resurfacing, painfully clear in his mind; the cold air, the cold hands making him shiver, the tall shadow figure looming over him.. the broom handle...his own broom handle... flying down…shining pain…blinding darkness. He couldn't breathe, he was choking on blood.
"Harry!"
Draco's hands on his shoulders shaking him, loud voice and frantic eyes bringing him back to reality. Reality.. yes. The Room of Requirement, with Draco. Safe…
He all but fell forward onto Draco, the blonde pulling him back onto the couch and wrapping him in the blanket.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have… Do you want to stay here? You can, I mean. I'll stay too, if you want. It might be best…"
Harry nodded, clutching tightly to Draco, trembling all over. Draco could only stare blankly at the top of his head, rubbing Harry's back in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. He felt the couch changing again beneath him, shifting so there was no longer and armrest digging into his back, his feet no longer cramped awkwardly against the cushion.
Something he'd said.. something had scared Harry, made him remember, if the glazed over look of terror in his eyes was anything to go by. Draco sighed, yet again. What was happening to him? Where was the cold, heartless Slytherin bastard he'd always been? Why was he suddenly feeling compelled to apologize for words he would have been proud of just a year before? And what was this constant, acerbic ache right in the center of his chest? It couldn't.. no. It couldn't be… empathy. Absolutely not.
"Oh fuck it all…"
He vaguely thought to himself, tucking Harry's slightly shaking form against his side and pulling the blanket over them before closing his eyes. Even if he was finding his hatred flagging and his regard for propriety all but gone, it was too late now. After everything he had seen and heard and felt there was no going back. No matter how their strange new relationship worked out in the end, there was no way they could ever go back to exactly as they were before. How could anyone go back to wanting to see someone bleeding and dying in front of them when they had seen it, and risked their own arse to save the twit! It just couldn't be done.
Draco had to physically shake his head to clear it. There were simply too many opposing thoughts vying for his attention, and he was bone-deep tired. Harry was already snoring, and tomorrow was going to be his own personal very difficult day. Draco shifted a little to his side, and in the process found his face pressed in soft black vanilla hair, lower lip grazing Harry's forehead. He jolted a little, turning his head and wiping his mouth on his shoulder. The scent refused to fade, though- it was everywhere, and it was making him a little light headed. Shaken but too tired to give it much more thought, Draco finally joined his once-enemy in blessedly dreamless sleep.