"How have you been feeling?" Remus asked gently.

Harry sat at a table opposite him at the Three Broomsticks, nursing a mug of butterbeer. It was early evening on a Friday. The place was quieter than usual, but Remus had cast a muffling charm around their table anyway in the hopes that some privacy would help Harry feel more comfortable. Harry had hardly touched his food, declaring himself full after eating not even a third of it. Remus tried not to show his worry.

"I'm feeling good," Harry said.

Remus sighed quietly. He had been hoping - foolishly - that this would be easier. It had only been two days since that awful morning, he reminded himself. He had to keep his expectations realistic; these things took time. Harry was still hiding things, so he knew he had to be gentle with him. Pushing him for answers would just push him away.

"What about the cutting?" Remus asked. He noticed Harry wince at that word. "How has that been? I know you said you would stop, but I can't imagine it's as simple as that."

Harry fidgeted in his seat, and subconsciously drew his arms close to his body. Remus had to stop himself from grabbing his wrists, from rolling up his sleeves to check. He knew what he would see if he did. It pained him to see Harry like this. But he had to be strong.

"It's a lot better," he said.

Remus picked up his drink. He had talked about Harry for hours with Sirius as soon as they had arrived back in Grimmauld Place. He thought they had come up with some sort of plan, a strategy to help Harry deal with his problems. Unfortunately, none of that would work unless he started being honest with them.

"How about Ron and Hermione?" Remus asked gently. "Have you managed to talk to them?"

Harry fidgeted again. "Not exactly," he said, and scratched the back of his head.

Remus took a sip of his drink. "Why not?"

"I just . . . I don't even know where I'd start," he said tentatively.

"Well," said Remus. "You don't have to tell them everything, all at once. Just start small. Let them know you've been struggling."

Harry didn't look too keen to try that idea. He scratched the back of his head again. "I don't want them to worry about me," he said.

"That's what friends are for though, Harry," Remus said, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice.

Harry was quiet again.

"You know you don't have to lie to me," Remus said.

Harry looked up at him in panic. "I'm not -"

Remus put out his hand, to stop Harry from speaking. "It's okay if things aren't going well," he continued. "I'm never going to be angry at you, even if you've lied about things. I just want you to know you can be honest with me, if you want to. Or if you're not comfortable with me - which I would certainly understand - there are so many people you can talk to. I mean, I'm sure Dumbledore wouldn't mind you visiting Grimmauld Place if you wanted to talk with Sirius."

Harry nodded slowly, but looked more uncomfortable than ever. "Thank you."

"So do you want to talk about anything?" Remus asked. One last little push, hopefully not too much that Harry would close off completely. "About how these last few days have been? Or would you like me to arrange something with Sirius?"

Harry looked down again. "There's not much to say," he said. "I'm feeling better."

Remus clenched his fists under the table. "Alright," he said with a sigh. "Alright, I'll stop interrogating you."

Harry's shoulders relaxed.

This was going to be much harder than he had imagined.

"Now, let's talk about something else," Remus said. "I hear you have a quidditch match tomorrow."

Harry looked up, eyes a little brighter, and Remus smiled.

Draco stared across the quidditch pitch and frowned. He hadn't been expecting to see Potter playing again, not this soon after what had happened. He doubted he had fully recovered. He was back in lessons - another thing that Draco thought was probably unwise - but he still looked like he belonged in the hospital wing. His skin was pale, and the bags under his eyes darker than ever. Potter was alive, sure, but he certainly didn't look it.

Draco scowled over at Angelina Johnson, the Gryffindor quidditch captain. But he figured she probably didn't know what had actually happened. He had hoped that McGonagall, at least, would have had the sense to pull Potter from the game. Obviously not though, because Potter was standing right in front of him along with the rest of the Gryffindor team, in full quidditch gear, broom in his hand, and the match was about to begin.

"Potter's looking rough," Goyle said from beside Draco with a snigger.

"Yeah we've got this in the bag already," said Crabbe. "Look at him."

"He looks like he's about to collapse," Draco said, trying not to let the concern seep into his voice.

Crabbe laughed. "Let's hope he does."

Draco clenched his jaw. Potter was a better Seeker than he was, he admitted to himself grudgingly. There was no question about it, really. But beating him when he was like this wouldn't exactly feel like winning. Draco shook away his thoughts. Potter would be fine.

"Mount your brooms!" shouted Madam Hooch.

Draco got ready, and glanced around at his team. They nodded at him encouragingly.

"On my whistle," said Madam Hooch. "Three… two… one…"

There was a roar from the crowd and Draco kicked off up into the air. He flew up above the rest of the players. The air was cold, and the wind was strong up here; Draco gripped at his broom as a strong gust of wind blew against him. He looked over, and was relieved to see that Potter was looking a little better now that he was actually flying.

The two Seekers did their usual routine, and flew around in lazy circles, on the lookout for the snitch. But Draco couldn't concentrate. He couldn't help but glance over every few seconds. A bludger came pelting towards Harry, and Draco winced in anticipation, but he swooped forward at the last second, only just managing to dodge it.

Whoever had let him play was an idiot. There was no way in hell he was well enough for this. Every few minutes Potter would have to slow to a stop to seemingly catch his breath. Harry wobbled slightly on his broom and Draco felt the adrenaline surge in him. He had to resist the urge to fly over to ask him if he was okay. But after every small wobble Potter recovered, and carried on flying, so Draco did his best to ignore him and focus on the game.

They circled around each other a few more times. The wind whipped at Draco's hair, and he squinted through the misty rain. He was already completely soaked to the bone. Draco dodged a bludger this time, and it whistled past him through the fog. He hovered in the air and looked around, eyes peeled for the speck of gold.

Finally, he spotted the snitch. So had Potter, by the looks of it. They locked eyes, just for a second. But just as Draco was about to dash forward he noticed Potter wobble again. This time, though, the colour completely left his face.

Draco took in a sharp intake of cold air.

Fuck.

He slumped backwards, his whole body going limp, the handle of the broom slipping from his grasp.

And he fell.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Draco sped towards Harry, heart beating so loud in his ears he could only just hear the screams of the crowd over it. He flew downwards fast, and then turned sharply and flew sideways into Potter; he hoped the change in momentum would slow his fall. He reached out with both arms and grabbed him around the waist. The impact sent Draco flying off his own broom, and the two of them tumbled through the air like ragdolls. They fell together, Harry still seemingly unconscious. The ground drew nearer and nearer, and Draco braced himself.

Just as they landed, Potter's eyes flashed open in shock. They bounced once, and Draco realised - with relief - that someone must have cast a cushioning charm. After the first bounce they skidded against the wet grass, tumbling over each other. Potter's elbow came crashing directly under Draco's ribs, and Draco yelped in pain. They rolled over each other again, knees and elbows colliding. When they came to a stop Draco was on top of Harry, hands braced either side of his shoulders, staring down into shocked green eyes, panting for breath. Potter shoved him off quickly, and Draco noticed - with amusement - that Harry's cheeks were red with embarrassment.

They were both breathing heavily, and Draco took a second to catch his breath, staring up at the white sky above them. He squinted against the rain, and turned to look at Harry.

"What the hell, Malfoy?" Potter asked, looking around wide-eyed. "What the hell was that for?"

"What the fuck do you mean?" Draco asked. He sat up with a groan and clutched at his ribs.

"Did you push me off my broom?" Potter asked, eyes still wide.

Draco scowled. "No, you bloody idiot. You fucking fainted."

Harry opened and closed his mouth in shock. "Oh."

"' Oh '," Draco imitated, rolling his eyes. "Who the hell let you play, anyway?" he asked, incredulous. "You're not fit enough for gobstones, let alone quidditch."

Potter turned an even deeper shade of red. "There's nothing wrong with me," he said.

Draco rolled his eyes again. "Oh, of course there's nothing wrong!" he said. "You could have just gotten us both killed! Nothing wrong with that at all!"

Draco scrambled to his feet with a groan. His muscles burned. He held out his hand to Harry who grabbed it and pulled himself up, his green eyes glistening with anger.

"Didn't ask you to fucking save me, did I?" he spat.

Draco raised an eyebrow at him. "Sorry," he said. "Didn't realise I had to get permission first to save your life. The least you could do is be grateful about it."

Potter scowled, and before Draco had time to react he was shoved backwards with a strength that Draco was shocked by. He staggered backwards, only just managing to stay on his feet. Draco felt the anger surge up inside his chest and swung to punch him, almost instinctively. But Potter ducked out of the way. He moved to swing again, but suddenly he had arms around him, holding him back.

"It's not worth it, Malfoy," a voice said. It was Crabbe. The players had all started to descend, and Madam Hooch was running towards them, followed closely by Madam Pomfrey.

Potter glared at him. Draco couldn't help himself, and smiled. As annoying as Potter was, it was nice to actually see him with some emotion in his eyes - even if that emotion was anger, even if that anger was currently directed at him. His smile only seemed to make Potter more angry, but then he took a deep breath in and looked away.

Madam Pomfrey came running towards them and ushered them both off the pitch.

"I told McGonagall not to let him play . . ." she mumbled.

Potter limped ahead, back towards the team benches. The Weasley girl grabbed her broom. She nodded at Harry, frowned at Draco, and ran onto the pitch to replace him.

Draco hobbled after Madam Pomfrey and Potter, trying to ignore the confused looks he was getting from the Slytherins and Gryffindors, hell, from seemingly everyone. Now that the adrenaline had worn off he was starting to feel like an idiot.

Harry hadn't even been mad about Draco trying to catch him. Confused? Sure. But mad? Not at first. But when he had stared up at Malfoy, into those mocking silver eyes, so many emotions came flooding back to him.

How he wished that Malfoy hadn't followed him into the bathroom that day. How he wished Malfoy had just left him there to bleed out. The anger had just bubbled over. Couldn't Malfoy mind his own business for two fucking minutes? Why now, after all these years, was he suddenly deciding to play the hero?

But still, he felt a little bad for snapping at him like that, and for shoving him. Umbridge had seen, of course, and took no time to waddle down to the pitch to ban Harry from quidditch. Not that he minded too much, if he was perfectly honest with himself. He loved quidditch; it was the only thing left he allowed himself to enjoy. But now that he didn't have that he figured it would be easier to continue his path of self destruction.

Madam Pomfrey had given him another blood replenishing potion, and Harry instantly perked up. She seemed satisfied that there was nothing seriously wrong with him, other than a few bruises from the fall, so she let him stay to watch the rest of the match.

Malfoy and Harry watched the game from the benches in silence. After an agonising few hours Ginny caught the snitch, and Gryfindor beat Slytherin comfortably. Malfoy grumbled something from beside him, but other than that said nothing.

Before they were about to leave, Harry pulled Malfoy aside.

"Can I have a word?" he asked quietly.

They waited until the rest of the players had gone and they were the only ones left on the pitch.

"What do you want, Potter?" Malfoy asked, a bored expression on his face.

Harry scowled. "You didn't need to do that," he said.

Malfoy raised one eyebrow at him, then smiled. "I'm pretty sure my team thinks I'm insane now," he said.

"Because you are," Harry said quickly. "That was stupid."

Malfoy shrugged. "It probably was," he said. "Now, unless you have anything actually useful to say to me -"

He turned to leave, but Harry grabbed his wrist. Malfoy turned back to him, and Harry could feel his steady pulse beneath his fingers.

"I wish you hadn't saved me," he said, more to himself than to Malfoy.

For a second Harry could have sworn Malfoy looked hurt, but his expression quickly changed to anger and he pulled his wrist from Harry's grasp with ease. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but then shook his head and walked away.

Harry headed back to the common room alone. As soon as he was through the portrait, Hermione practically pounced on him.

"Harry," she said, and wrapped her arms around him tightly. "God, that was terrifying! I think about fifty different people cast a cushioning charm on the grass."

Harry pried her off him. "Yeah," he said. "It was embarrassing, honestly."

"What did Madam Pomfrey say to you?" she asked, placing a cool hand against his forehead. "Are you okay?"

"Just low . . . iron," he said, thinking quickly. "She gave me a blood replenishing potion and I feel a lot better now."

She narrowed her eyes at him, and Harry realised that he probably shouldn't have said that. It was obvious she already suspected something - both her and Ron were acting weird. This was just going to make things worse.

"A blood replenishing potion," she said quietly.

Harry dug his nails into his palms. "Yeah," he said. He could hear his voice shaking. "I'm fine now, though."

"And what the fuck was Malfoy playing at?" Ron asked from behind him.

Harry felt his cheeks start to redden. "Yeah, that was . . . a bit weird."

"A bit?" Ron asked. "It's a lot more than a bit weird."

"Do you think he was trying to hurt you?" Hermione asked. "I mean, I can't imagine what else he was trying to do. But even some of the Slytherins were confused; they thought he was trying to help you. And they were pretty angry about it, too. They said it cost them the match."

"Hey," Ron protested. "Ginny could have beaten Malfoy."

Hermione blushed. "No, no, she definitely would have," she said quickly. "But the Slytherins don't think so."

Ron nodded. "It doesn't make any sense."

"It doesn't," Harry agreed.

"It was funny when you pushed him though," Ron said. "I mean, obviously it's not funny that you got banned," he added quickly. "But I did laugh. Poor git probably did the first nice thing in his life and you went and humiliated him."

"Ronald," Hermione scolded.

"It was funny!" he insisted. "Sorry for telling the truth."

Hermione rolled her eyes and looked at Harry. "Well maybe if he is actually trying to be nice," she said, "you should try to find out why. He must want something from you."

Harry figured he knew why Malfoy was suddenly acting differently. Pity. Worry, even? But he nodded anyway. It would be so much easier if Hermione was right, if the whole reason Malfoy was acting strange was to get something from him. Maybe he was. Harry could only hope. Because the alternative made him feel strange.

He left Ron and Hermione after a little while and headed up to bed early. He felt drained and embarrassed and couldn't stop worrying about them finding out what was wrong. He debated, for a moment, whether he should get out the shard of glass he had hidden under his mattress. But then he sighed and lay down. As much as he wanted to cut, for some reason he couldn't make himself do it tonight.

The fire crackled loudly from the fireplace and Draco woke from his nap with a start. He rubbed his eyes and blinked around at the empty room. He'd been in the common room for most of the evening, in his usual spot by the fire. But now the fire was dying and everyone else had long since gone to bed.

Merlin, have I been asleep for that long?

"Nice nap?" a voice drawled from beside him.

Draco turned to look. Theo sat beside him, looking almost as tired as Draco felt. Draco yawned and stretched his arms up into the air with a grimace; his muscles were still sore from the fall.

"Hmm," Draco replied. He slumped back down onto the sofa, and could tell that Theo was staring at him.

Draco hated the way Theo always looked at him, almost as if he knew what he was thinking. Crabbe and Goyle were so much easier to be around; they accepted whatever he said, they never tried to look beneath the surface. But Theo was different: Theo looked at him with those questioning amber eyes that already seemed to know what Draco was trying to hide.

"You know," Theo said gently. "Some people think you've got a soft spot for Potter."

Draco tried not to react. "Oh really?"

"Yes," said Theo. He leant across Draco to grab his book from the coffee table.

"What 'people'?" Draco asked. "Because Crabbe and Goyle haven't said anything to me about it."

Theo looked over and smiled. "Well, a lot of people were confused about the match."

Draco leant his head back and looked up at the ceiling. "I don't know what I was thinking," he said quietly.

"I don't think anyone had been expecting it," Theo said evenly. "But it's more than just that."

Draco gulped. "Oh?"

Theo nodded, and flicked through the pages of his book. He found what he was looking for and Draco watched his eyes scan the page as he read. But he could tell Theo was waiting for the conversation to continue.

"What do you mean?" Draco asked.

Theo kept reading. "The way you look at him, sometimes. Especially these last few days. But before that, too."

"The way I look at him?" Draco asked, rolling his eyes. "You're being ridiculous."

"Something happened," Theo said, still reading. "You were both missing all day Wednesday and -"

"I told you," Draco snapped. "I was ill. I have no idea where Potter was, but I was ill."

Theo looked up from his book. Draco clenched his fists and stood to leave. He wasn't going to take any more of this.

"Just be careful," Theo said. "I don't think anyone else has really caught on, yet, but they will eventually if you keep this up."

Draco frowned down at him. "Why do you care so bloody much, anyway?"

"How do you think this will look?" Theo said gently. "Draco, I'm not trying to catch you out here. I'm trying to help."

Theo was right, of course. Draco's first thought was his father; he would certainly have a lot to say if he suspected Draco was starting to warm up to Potter.

Warming up to him? Draco thought. Is that what's happening?

"You need to do a better job at hiding it," Theo said. "You know I don't care what you do - but the others will if word gets out."

"There's nothing to hide," Draco said, exasperated. "Look, I appreciate you looking out for me, but you really have the wrong idea about all of this."

Theo's eyes glistened. "You like him," he said plainly. "All these years you've tried so hard to hide it and -"

"I. Do. Not. Like. Him." Draco said, perhaps a little too loudly. "Merlin, you really do jump to conclusions don't you? I don't know what you're playing at, but you couldn't be further from the truth."

Theo watched him with curious eyes, and Draco cursed himself silently for his outburst. He took a breath, steadying himself.

"What I mean," Draco said, "is that you really do have the wrong idea about Potter. Yes, something did happen. And yes, maybe now things are a little different between us. But it's nothing like what you're thinking."

Theo nodded slowly, and Draco could practically see the cogs turning in his head.

"Okay?" Draco asked. "Do you believe me?"

Theo nodded again. "Yes," he said. "But I meant what I said earlier, Draco: you need to be careful."

Draco nodded stiffly. "I will be."

And he knew he had to be. Whatever stupid protective thing he felt for Potter had to stop. He just had no idea how he was going to make that happen.

A/N: Thank you for the reviews, favs and follows 3