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Authors Note- Well, I'll tell you the truth, everyone. This chapter is scaring the crap out of me. I say this before I've even written it, so I have no idea how it will turn out. But if there is a chapter I need feedback on, it's THIS ONE. Also, I'm experimenting a little with formatting. Let me know if this chapter is any better.
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And After Finishing...- Okay, I know this one is rather short, and I apologize. But it took me twice the time and effort of any other chapter, so I think I'm entitled. ^_^ If anyone is picking up on the repeated Draco/Jesus imagery... I'm not trying to offend anyone, if that's an issue. Rest assured. But I have the soundtrack to Jesus Christ Superstar, the Andrew Lloyd Webber musical, and a few of the songs on it just clicked with the Harry muse, and so... well, of course, they were Judas songs... ^^; Yeah, the Harry/Judas and Draco/Jesus thing might seem a little backward, but keep with me. Maybe it'll make sense someday. And maybe it'll remain one of those many mysteries of my twisted mind. Just wait and see! XD
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The night was dark and warm, the soft end of summer blanketing them in slick humidity as the two made their way outside. He followed Draco silently, still marveling over the slight form that preceded him. He couldn't be more than five seven... And so thin, so slender. He seemed... insubstantial... the pale skin that nearly glowed in the darkness, sharp grey eyes that reflected the cool moonlight...

Draco stopped a few yards down the street, then whirled to face him, sleek black robes fanning a thin layer of dust up from the street, dried with the ravage of summer. Harry stopped abruptly, blinking owlishly into his face, down into his face... He couldn't get over that. The presence that had seemed to shadow so much of his life at Hogwarts... Draco Malfoy, his archrival, his antithesis, the one he could expect to see and be frustrated by every day... He just seemed so... large in his memory...

So much so that seeing him like this was as shocking as it was comical.

Draco scowled at his scrutiny, then tossed his head and drew up to his full height, as little as that may be, and locked his gaze with Harry's in the familiar way that was both commanding and demanding at the same time. "So, Potter," he said haughtily, "It appears I need to straighten you out on a few things."

"Oh?" Harry raised an eyebrow, regarding him quietly. Draco paused, as though waiting expectantly for more, then shook himself out of something that might well have been confusion and pushed on.

"Yes," he taunted gleefully, white hands falling to his hips in the same position as before, baiting Harry while Lucius looked on... "It's seventh year, you know. I suppose you're expecting it will be smooth sailing for you, Potter, eh? Everyone feeling sorry for poor little orphan Potter because his mummy and daddy are dead and nasty old Lord Voldemort is following on his ratty little coattails? Well, don't fool yourself, Potter. Not a thing is going to go differently for you, not this year. Not ever, not while I live and breathe."

Harry eyed him, gaze ravenous over the luminous face, biting back the hollow anger that had swelled in his thin breast at the first mention of his parents. "What do you mean, differently?" he hissed, taking a menacing step closer.

Draco blinked at him, eyes blank in an apparent bewilderment. There was a moment of silence, and then he lifted his hands and spread them wide, aristocratic face affecting a curious and baffled cast, his tone that of one explaining an elementary concept to a stupid child. "I mean, Potter, that just because your pathetic little life has been especially topsy-turvy lately doesn't mean I'm about to stop showing you what an bumbling idiot you are in every way possible." His steely eyes narrowed, voice retaking that familiar malevolent tone, thin lips twisting. "Perhaps you've managed to fool some of the lesser minds around here, but I know better."

"I see." Harry cast his eyes to the ground briefly. He was glad, in a way. He'd really expected no less, from his "rival". After all, if one thing had ever been consistent in his life, it was that Draco Malfoy was a slimy, inconsiderate prat.

"Good. Now that is settled, I have better places to be than hanging around with you." Draco swirled by him with an audible humph, attempting to cast as much dirt on Harry's robe as possible. "It'll take me ages to get rid of the stink, from the Weasels and the Mudbloods and your apparent tendency to not take showers..."

"I'm not gonna fight with you," Harry said quietly.

He heard him stop dead in his tracks. The silence was palpable for a few long moments, and Harry clenched his fists by his sides, not knowing what to brace himself for.

"Excuse me, Potter?"

The words were icy, but quavering just the slightest with the impending explosion.

"I said I'm not gonna fight with you anymore," Harry repeated, fists pressed into his thighs, eyes squeezing closed.

He could feel the ice coalesce in the air between them, freezing and cracking until it shattered into fire, into the familiar inferno that came at least once a week.

"So what are you going to do, Potter?!" He felt Draco whirl to face him again, felt the stare burning into his back. "You don't wanna fight anymore, hmm? You just wanna back off and live in peace in a little house somewhere where no one can find you, just waiting to die, hmm, like your parents? You want to give up?" His voice had become a snarl, tearing deep into Harry, tearing deep into him like the screams of his nightmares. "You can't change the rules now, Potter!"

Harry dug a heel into the hard-packed dirt beneath his feet and spun, biting his lower lip, hands quivering frantically at his sides. "I said I'm not fighting anymore!" he growled, eyes burning, heart thudding into his breastbone. "I said it, and I meant it."

"You set the rules, Potter! You were the one who-" Draco was brimming, grey eyes flashing with a cold silver frenzy, hands in fists like his own. "You were the one, Potter! You were the one who set the sides in this game! You set it seven years ago and you have no right to change it now!"

"I don't care what I did seven years ago!" Harry snapped. "I'm not gonna fight you! You're not my enemy, Malfoy, no matter what you want to think. Your father is my enemy, and I'm not gonna-"

"Damn you, Potter."

The harsh snarl stopped him cold. Draco's eyes glinted frozen steel, his thin lips bloodless. The blond took a sharp step backwards, the moonlight running fluid over his sleek hair. A bitter understanding was solid between them, a realization, a terrible knowledge of the nightmare he had suffered every moment for three years.

"You arrogant fool." The calm in Draco's voice was tenuous at best, his rage breaking the surface easily no matter how hard he struggled to keep it hidden. "You- how dare you even presume, Potter. I never asked you to protect me." He spat out the word as if it fouled his mouth. "I don't want your protection, Potter, I'd rather die!"

The explosion of the coiled muscles in his forearm came instantly, that pronounced jaw hard beneath his curled fist. He didn't even know why he'd hit him, he only knew that he had, and that was good enough for now. So he kept hitting him, over and over, numb with anger and fear and grief for pain that had yet to come, pain he knew would come someday and was dreading...

He was amazed how easily and quickly Draco crumpled beneath his attack, the slender form tumbling backwards like he weighed nothing at all. He hadn't even had time to resist, not enough time to realize the blow was coming, let alone enough to dodge or be prepared. He only fell, fell with the cutting silence that haunted him, with barely a cry.

Harry followed him down, knee slamming hard into the dirt street, hands seeking thin wrists and pinning Draco to the ground, with his weight and with his strength. The blond thrashed, violently. His heart was pounding. His fingers were shaking.

"I don't care if you want my protection," he growled into Draco's ear, something in his forehead throbbing. "I don't care what you want, because you've got it."

The silence that followed that statement was one that rang in his ears, pounded deep in his chest, stabbing through him with every labored breath. Draco had gone still, deadly still beneath him, the thin wrist he held tensed. Harry staggered up to his knees, barely able to believe the passionate words that had passed his own lips. He hadn't let go of Draco's wrist, eyes still locked to the wraithlike form that lay prone and at his mercy. He'd hit him, and then he'd sworn to protect him. Those sharp grey eyes were wide with stunned disbelief.

So vulnerable to him.

So helpless.

He remained knelt there, those panicked and bewildered eyes locked to his face, unable to let go, unable to look away. He couldn't let go of him, not now.

He couldn't let go.

So even after they had extricated themselves from one another without a single muttered word, even after those grey eyes had flicked over his figure and then away in the panic of prey under the predator's talons. Trapped, and yet...

"Whether you want it or not," he repeated, the words empty of the fury that had borne them before, and yet... not without a curious sort of heat, something entirely new and all its own. "You've got it."

The moonlight silhouetted the slim figure, shining white off his pale face and casting his thin black shadow over the summer-ravaged road, the road that ran slick with blood and children's cries in those dreams that haunted him and always would haunt him... And that figure, the broken and warped Messiah on his cross of loyalty, expensive robes torn and stained with blood both his own and alien...

And even after the now-cold darkness of the night had taken him, he couldn't let go of those eyes, those baffled and helpless eyes. Even after the fury had broken and become little more than a quiet emptiness...

What had he done?