Harry and Hermione were making their way back to the eighth year common room from their lessons, planning on exchanging their books before lunch so that they would have more time to eat.

Hermione was babbling about house elf rights, and Harry was only half listening. He couldn't stop thinking about his encounter with Malfoy in the bathroom, and Nott . . .

Had Nott really been assaulted? Why was he so hesitant to come forward about his attacker? He thought about the way Nott had cradled Malfoy's face, telling him he loved him. A flare of emotion surged through his chest, and it took Harry a moment to realize it was the exact same way he'd felt when Dean was making moves on Ginny in sixth year.

It was jealousy.

No.

No.

He, Harry Potter, was not jealous of Nott. Impossible. That would imply that he liked Malfoy, and he, Harry Potter, did not like Draco Malfoy. Not one bit.

"-Harry? Are you listening to anything I'm saying?" Hermione's voice cut in, whisking him away from his thoughts about the pointy blonde.

"M, yeah?"

Hermione sighed. "You lot are hopeless. Ginny's the only one that gives me a time of day on these matters anymore."

"Sorry, 'Mione. Just distracted."

Hermione studied him carefully. Harry did his best not to flinch under her eye.

"About . . .?"

"Our, erm, potions exam. Next week."

Hermione scoffed. "Since when have you given a rat's arse about your studies?"

"My partner is Malfoy."

"To my knowledge, he's quite good at potions."

Harry suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. Why did the bloody prat have to be so effortlessly good at everything? "Right."

"Harry . . . This wouldn't have anything to do with yesterday, would it?"

Harry's cheeks instantly flamed up.

"No."

"Nothing at all?"

"Nope."

"Because if it did, then you already know what I'm going to say."

"Which is . . .?"

"You need to be careful."

"About . . .?"

"Harry, what Malfoy gets up to is none of our business. You may have been right about him in sixth year, but times have changed. We're moving on. You need to get over this obsession you have."

"It's not an obsession!" he exclaimed, not even bothering to reprimand her for telling him off when just yesterday she'd said that she wouldn't tell him off.

Hermione fixed him with her all-knowing stare, the one she seemed to reserve for only when he was defending himself against his supposed Malfoy obsession. It was not an obsession. It wasn't.

"You seem awfully invested for someone who isn't obsessed."

"I'm not invested, Hermione, I'm just concerned he's . . . up to something." He figured it was easier to say that than to say that he was worried about the blonde.

"What could he possibly be up to? His family name's been tarnished, he escaped Azkaban by the skin of his teeth, and not many people here are very fond of him."

Harry supposed that was her polite way of saying everybody hated him.

"Getting into trouble is the last thing on his mind, I can tell you that," she continued. "If he knows what's good for him, he'll keep his head down, pass his NEWTs, and graduate relatively unscathed."

"Since when has Malfoy ever known what's good for him?" Harry asked, and the question was genuine.

Hermione had the audacity to laugh. "Only you would be concerned with something like that."

And Harry couldn't very well deny he was concerned because he had just admitted it, hadn't he?

"Look, I'm not trying to lecture you or tell you what to do. But Malfoy has caused nothing but trouble for the past seven years, and even though he may be wanting to keep his head down now, I don't see him turning over a new leaf and making up for his old ways."

"He tried to apologize to you," Harry said in sudden realization. "He did try, Hermione, and you shut him down."

"Well, I'm sorry if he took us both by surprise!" Hermione exclaimed, disgruntled. "And since when have you started defending him?"

"I am not defending him. I'm refuting your statement that he hasn't turned over a new leaf, because the last I saw, he's trying."

"You just did it again."

Hermione fixed him with that knowing smile, the one that had the power to crumble the entire wizarding world to bits. Harry loathed and loved her for it.

"I'm not . . . This isn't what it looks like."

"Just know I'm not telling you what to do. But since you're clearly interested, I'm going to tell you to be careful because for the last seven years he's been nothing but a self-entitled brat."

"Interested?" sputtered Harry, cheeks rosy pink. "I am not interested in him, nor will I ever be."

Hermione smirked. "Right."

"I'm not . . . bent, Hermione."

"Would it be such a bad thing if you were?"

"I thought you didn't want me to be interested!"

"I'm not talking about him, I'm talking about you. If your sexuality is something you want to explore, I fully encourage you to do that. I just think there's a myriad of better people out there for you to do it with."

"They only want me because I'm Harry Potter, saviour of the world," spat Harry, resentment trickling in his tone like a leaky faucet. "They kiss the ground I walk on. They don't want the real me. They want the poster child boy who saved them, the hero."

As Harry spoke, he began to realize that since he'd played the hero for so much of his life, he didn't even know who the real Harry was. He hadn't had time to figure it out. And now here he was, seventeen years old, grappling with not only his sexuality but his entire identity.

"Just give it some thought, Harry," said Hermione softly. "It would explain a lot, why you and Ginny were having . . . problems."

It was at that moment Harry realized that his problems with Ginny extended far beyond sex.

"Ginny only saw me as the hero, too. She'd been ogling me since we were eleven."

"That's about your personal relationship with her, Harry. I'm talking about your sexual one."

"Alright, I'll admit it, we had problems, are you happy now?" Harry snapped, and Hermione frowned.

"There's no need to get cross with me. If anything I'm saying is striking a nerve with you, it may be something you need to think over more."

"I wanted so badly to be perfect for her," he said. "God, I miss her, Hermione. I miss her so much."

"Do you miss her?" Hermione pressed. "Or do you miss the way she made you feel?"

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He realized he didn't have an answer to that.

By that point, they'd reached the common room. Hermione uttered the password, and they stepped inside.

"I'll meet you back down here," she said as they neared the staircase.

"Sounds good," Harry said absentmindedly as he watched her turn up the girls' side. He veered to the right for the boys'. He began walking up the stairs, until he saw something that made his heart palpitate in alarm.

There was a lump on the floor, a mess of robes as though the person had unexpectedly collapsed. Furrowing his eyebrows, Harry neared the unconscious person, curiosity getting the better of him. He just couldn't leave this person behind. They were clearly injured, or worse.

As Harry grew closer, he noticed an unmistakable mop of white-blonde hair, and his blood ran cold.

Malfoy.

"Shit." Chest suddenly, unexplainably tight, Harry crouched down next to Malfoys' unmoving form and shook him. No response.

"Oh, shit, Malfoy, shit. Wake up. Please wake up," Harry pleaded, shaking his limp shoulders. No response.

Harry peered closer at him, and what he saw churned his insides like the batter of a country style omelet.

Blood poured profusely from his nose, and had pooled in a clot just above his mouth, which was also bleeding. His left eye was swollen and dark.

With the force of a bludger, Harry was hit with a wave of anger so strong he almost doubled back, and the undeniable, feral urge to protect swam through him like a school of fish.

"Malfoy," he said, softer. He shook his shoulders, more gently this time, and Malfoy groaned in pain. Harry heaved a sigh of relief. If Malfoy was alert enough to respond to his touch, he was going to be okay.

"Malfoy, open your eyes," he coaxed, unsure why he was so concerned or why he even cared. Last year, Harry would have left him and laughed about it later to Ron.

Harry shook him again, and Malfoy's eyes fluttered open. At first he looked dazed, but instant recognition flashed in them once they landed on Harry. He tensed up under Harry's gentle grip, freezing. It was only then Harry noticed that something was off about his breathing. He was . . . panting, for some reason, so softly that Harry almost couldn't hear it.

"Hey, hey, it's okay, I'm not going to hurt you," Harry said quietly, rubbing his shoulders in what he hoped was a soothing gesture. Malfoy began to shake under his grip, grey eyes wide and frightened. A small gasp escaped his mouth, and his panting grew harder.

To Harry's horror, he saw tears begin to well up in the blonde's eyes, and Malfoy's entire body shuddered with the force of a dry sob.

Acting on instinct, Harry pulled the quivering boy into his arms, and that set something off in Malfoy, for he sniffled loudly as another silent sob wracked his body.

"Shhh . . . Shhh . . . It's okay," Harry all but whispered into Malfoy's ear, rubbing his shoulder soothingly. He had no idea where this sudden urge to protect and comfort had come from, but he'd be damned if he was going to leave the boy alone after seeing him like this. Anger coursed through him like a river. He wanted to find whoever was responsible for reducing Malfoy to this state and beat them to a bloody pulp.

"D-Don't touch me," whimpered Malfoy, shaking beneath Harry's feather light grip. "H-Hurts."

"Where? Where does it hurt?"

"S-Shoulders."

Harry didn't understand. Malfoy didn't appear to have any blood on his robes. Why did . . .

Oh.

A stinging hex.

"Who did this to you?" he asked, voice coming out harsher than he'd intended. Malfoy flinched, and he inwardly cursed. He removed his hand from Malfoy's shoulder and set it in his own lap.

"Malfoy," he tried again, straining himself to calm down. "Who did this?"

Malfoy turned to look at him. "Why do you care?"

The question about broke Harry's heart clean in two.

"I . . . I just . . ."

"You don't care about me, please stop pretending you do."

Harry couldn't very well argue with him, now could he? What reason had he ever given Malfoy to believe he cared?

He thought back to the hospital wing, to when Malfoy had fainted and he'd brought him to the kitchens because the git had made it a point to deny himself the basic human necessity of nutrition. To his conversation with him in the bathroom, when he'd held his hands . . .

"I . . ."

Malfoy scoffed, though the action appeared to bring him great pain for he immediately winced and panted harder.

"You-" wheeze. "Don't-" wheeze. "Care."

"We need to get you to the hospital wing for your shoulders and that eye," Harry said matter-of-factly, refusing to let this conversation spiral any further outside his control. This image of Malfoy had shaken him to his core, and he was absolutely, one hundred percent positive that any remaining hatred of the boy had vanished without a trace.

Malfoy shook his head. "N-No. No hospital."

"Why do you always insist on not going when you clearly need it?" Harry couldn't help but ask, trying his absolute best to keep his voice gentle as not to startle him again.

"She'll-She'll ask questions, and I . . . I can't, Potter. I can't."

"As she should!" Harry exclaimed. "Malfoy, you were beaten into unconsciousness. Now, tell me, who the fuck did this to you?"

"I don't remember," Malfoy said feebly.

"Bullshit."

"Potter, please, just don't."

"Why won't you tell me?" Harry couldn't help but ask, knowing he was treading on dangerous waters. "Why won't you let anybody help you?"

"Because I don't need your bloody help," Malfoy spat.

Harry stood up. His decision had been made.

"Well, that's too bad, because you're going to accept it. I'm taking you to the hospital wing whether you like it or not."

Malfoy's eyes widened in wild trepidation. "N-No, Potter, please-"

"Malfoy, you're hurt. The fact that we're even having this conversation is madness."

Malfoy shook his head back and forth. "I'm fine."

"Like hell you are!"

"I don't need to be your project, Potter."

"You're not my- Is that what you think this is all about?"

Malfoy looked up at him, unmoving, glaring, eyes rimmed red.

"You're not my project, Malfoy. You're a human being, who deserves basic respect just as much as anybody else does, and it absolutely confounds me why you won't just fucking tell me who did this to you."

"You don't understand," said Malfoy, sounding as though his patience was wearing thin. "If-If word gets out that I told, the attacks will get so much worse. I can't handle- I mean, not everything is about you and it would be nice if you pulled your head out of your own arse for one second and saw that."

Harry reeled back in shock at the nasty words, but refused to let them get to him. Malfoy was clearly putting his shutters back up, and he realized that he needed to find a way back in. Desperately.

"How about this?" he asked softly, and his tone caused Malfoy to look up in him at . . . wonder? He couldn't quite be sure, because if he was being honest with himself even in Malfoy's injured state he was distracted by the oh, so fine structure of his pink lips. And his eyes. Harry had never taken the time to notice how, well . . . pretty Malfoy's eyes were before, but the realization slammed him atop the head and wasn't going anywhere.

Huh. He was realizing a lot of things today.

"I take you to the hospital wing, but if Madam Pomfrey asks any questions you'll say you blacked out before you could get a good read on your attackers."

It was a shit plan, and they both knew it. Madam Pomfrey had the eyes of a hock, and a brain to boot. She would see right through his act, the headmistress would be dragged into it, and then all hell would break loose for Malfoy. The git was right. No wonder he didn't want to go to the hospital.

"The answer is no, Potter," Malfoy said coldly.

"Let me at least help you to your bed, yeah?" Harry asked, extending his hand for Malfoy to take.

Hesitantly, Malfoy reached for his arm and shakily began to pull himself up. At once, he winced, his free arm instinctively covering his middle as he inhaled short, breathy gasps.

"Shit, Malfoy, where else are you hurt?"

"N-Nowhere, I'm f-fine," he wheezed, leaning against the wall, hand still tucked tight around his middle.

Harry was suddenly saddened that Malfoy had been more hurt than he was letting on, and trying to hide it from him.

"Why are you breathing like that?" Harry asked him. "What's wrong, what hurts?"

"N-Nothing, Potter, I'm fine, so could you j-just fuck off already?"

"You're not fine, and I'm not leaving you," said Harry determinedly. Malfoy glared daggers at him. Good. At least some of his character was returning. Plus, this was a Malfoy that Harry was used to. Crying and shaking Malfoy was uncharted territory, like veering off-trail without a map.

Malfoy took a cautious step forward, and hissed in pain as his eyes squeezed shut and his hand tightened around his middle. That was when Harry realized. It was his ribs. He gasped quietly.

"Did the sick fuck . . . Did he break your ribs?"

Malfoy hung his head down in shame, which gave Harry his answer.

"That's it," he said. "I'm taking you to Pomfrey. No more arguments. Let's go."

"N-No, Potter, please-"

"I'm not arguing with you."

"Why are you doing this?" Malfoy suddenly asked, and it was a fair question, really. "Why do you care so much?"

"Because this isn't right," Harry said. "People shouldn't get away with this. We just fought a war that was supposed to end all of this."

Malfoy just looked to the floor, silent.

"I'm taking you to the hospital wing," said Harry. "Right now."

As if all the fight had left him, Malfoy's shoulders sagged and he looked to Harry with an utterly hopeless expression on his face as he nodded very slightly. Harry's chest clenched.

"Can you walk?"

Malfoy nodded again, so they began their descent down the steps. However, after the second or third step, Malfoy wobbled on his feet, hissing in pain. Harry caught him just in time before he went tumbling, and the boy was surprisingly light.

"Hey, hey, easy. I've gotcha. Just . . . put an arm around me, alright?" This situation was devastatingly familiar to the time he'd taken a freshly passed out Malfoy to the kitchens, and Malfoy had admitted that he liked sharing things about himself with Harry. How could Harry ever forget those words? They'd stirred something deep within his chest, a feeling he hadn't known even existed that he couldn't put into words.

They emerged into the common room, with Malfoy's arm around Harry's shoulder and him leaning almost his entire body weight into Harry. Hermione was waiting for him at the bottom of the steps.

"Harry, how long does it take you to grab a couple- Oh, my."

"I'm taking him to the hospital wing, Hermione," he said. "Go on without me." As though they were back in the war, and he was urging her to leave him to die.

Hermione's alarmed brown eyes flitted to Malfoy, and she gasped quietly.

"What happened to him?"

"Stinging hex to the shoulders. And by the looks of it, a few broken ribs."

"I'm right here, Potter, I can tell her my injuries myself," seethed Malfoy.

Hermione shook her head. "I'll catch you later, Harry," she said.

Strongly resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Harry gave her a firm nod before continuing with Malfoy toward the hospital wing.

Anger continued to thrum in his blood, coursing through him and slowly but surely consuming him. He would get to the bottom of this. He'd somehow get Malfoy to talk. Maybe, if he was lucky, about more than just the bullying situation. He wanted to know what was going on with Malfoy's . . . boyfriend? Lover? Partner? There were too many loose ends that needed tying up. Why had Malfoy been so angry at the sight of him? What had happened there? And had someone really forced themselves on Nott? Who was it? There were too many questions and not nearly enough answers.

Harry was distracted by Malfoy's moan in pain.

"We're nearly there, Malfoy," he said in what he hoped was a gentle voice. "It's going to be alright."

"W-Why are you helping me, Potter? Why are you really?" The words were faint, as though he were about to pass out.

"Need you to stay awake for me," Harry said, choosing not to answer his question. "We're nearly there." Because the truth was, he didn't know why he was helping him. And the thought terrified him more than anything.