"Harry? Are you awake?"

"No," Harry said, turning over in the bed. Ron and Hermione exchanged glances.

"Yes you are, now come on, wake up or you'll be late for class," Hermione said. Harry responded by hugging his blanket closer around his shoulders.

"I know you're healed Harry, now come on," Hermione said.

"Or Snape will skin us alive," Ron said. He mimicked the Potion master's low, drawling voice. "Late again, Potter? A thousand points from Gryffindor, and toilet duties for the rest of your miserable existence!"

"Leave me alone," Harry said sourly. Ron stared then rolled his eyes in exasperation and left. Hermione stayed behind.

"Harry, Ron was only trying to be nice," she said.

"Who asked him to be so sensitive?" Harry said defensively.

"Harry, please…" Hermione said, almost pleading, and Harry knew they weren't on the subject of getting to class anymore.

"Please what? Please let us help you? God Hermione, when will you stop bloody treating me like some… some nutcase?" he spat. "I know what I'm doing, alright? I don't need you two babying me around!"

Hermione's features darkened. "You… why do we even bother?"

"It's beyond me," Harry said coldly.

Hermione took a breath and calmed down. "Harry, look, I'm not trying to piss you off, alright?"

"So what are you here for?"

"To get you to class," Hermione said. "So you don't get in trouble."

Harry was silent. "Please, Harry," Hermione said. "I'm asking you as a friend. A concerned friend. Please."

Her hand touched his raven locks tenderly. Harry suddenly whirled around to face her, snatching her wrist and holding it tightly.

"A friend. Is that all we are now?" Harry's voice was soft, but his eyes blazed with an intense fire.

"What do you want, Harry?" Hermione's voice was equally as soft.

"I… I don't know," Harry said. His grip on the girl's wrist loosened. Hermione brought his hand to her mouth and kissed it gently.

"What do you want us to be, Harry?" she asked.

"I want everything to be just like before," Harry murmured. Hermione smiled sadly and touched his face; much the same way Draco had done the previous night.

"Harry…" she said. "I wish we could… but we can't. There's something between us. Can you feel it? It's pushing us apart."

Harry sat up slowly. "Hermione, will you do something for me?"

"What is it?"

"Tell Snape I don't feel well. Make something up. Please," he added, seeing the expression on her face. "Just once."

Hermione sighed. "Harry, please don't…"

"Stop saying please!" Harry said. He calmed himself. "I know what I'm doing Hermione. Tell him. Just once. For me."

Hermione wavered then nodded. "Alright," she said. She bent down slowly, as if to kiss Harry gently on the lips. Harry closed his eyes. The girl moved away at the last second.

"I… I got to go," she said and left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

Harry sat there on the bed, eyes still closed, then sighed and fell back onto the soft pillow.

Hermione had misunderstood his question. He hadn't wanted to go back to being girlfriend and boyfriend.

He had wanted to go back to how they were in their first year. The three of them; him, Hermione and Ron. Happy, naïve and carefree, each determined to make their way in the world and become a legend.

"What had gone wrong?" Harry murmured to himself, even though he knew the answer.

It was hard to recover from snakebite. Especially one so deep and poisonous.

Draco hadn't wanted to attend the Potions class. Not initially; only after Pansy had (quite literally) dragged him to the toilet and doused his head with ice-cold water had he finally gotten up, quite irritable and grumpy and shoved the girl out of the toilet to wash up. Now he lagged behind.

"Come on, don't tell me you're sleepy," Pansy said. "You've always been an early riser."

"Hence the reason you dumped ice onto my head."

"Ice water," Pansy corrected.

"Whatever," Draco said. He took his own pace, trailing lazily behind, knowing it irritated the girl.

"What, were you planning to spend the whole day in there?"

"I haven't had much sleep," Draco said, yawning slightly. "Was up until quite late."

"Oh really? Doing what?"

Staying with Harry in the Infirmary, Draco thought. He had originally meant to leave once he had seen the teen, but just couldn't bring himself to it and instead had stayed long hours by the Gryffindor's side, stroking his hair soothingly whenever he frowned or hissed, feeling ever so slightly guilty at the obvious pain the brunette was going through thanks to him.

He should be well now, Draco thought, and felt a sudden reluctance to go to the class.

"Hm?"

Pansy sighed in irritation. "Really, you men, all so inattentive."

"When in the company of such a beautiful woman? Of course."

Pansy flushed slightly then frowned playfully. "Don't try to flatter your way out of this one, Draco."

"Who said I was using flattery?"

"You're doing it again!" Pansy exclaimed.

"Would you prefer me to call you a hag?"

"That's not what I meant, and you know it." Pansy tried to keep a stern face but failed.

"Then what did you mean?" Draco smiled slightly.

"I… what were we talking about again?"

"I have forgotten," Draco said with a childishly innocent expression on his face. Pansy sighed.

"Anyone within close contact of you shall surely go insane," she said ruefully.

"And you?"

Pansy smiled. "I was already half mad to begin with."

When Harry hadn't shown for Potions Draco's first emotion was a mixture of relief and concern. Relief because it meant he wouldn't have to go through the whole uncomfortable morning with him in the room. Concerned… well. He watched Hermione go up to Ron. The redhead seemed to be frustrated, asking something then exploding when the girl shook her head.

For the first time in his life Draco wished he were a Gryffindor, so he could simply go over and ask. As it were, he simply had to be content with wondering.

'Be content with' were not words that went together in a Malfoy's dictionary. If they could get more, they would.

"Sir, may I be excused from this lesson?"

"Whatever for?" Snape asked in astonishment. The rest of the class watched in amazement. Nobody asked to be excused from Potions, unless of course they had a death wish.

It was a good thing then that after one and a half years Snape still found the boy his favorite.

"Are you mad?" Pansy hissed. "Sit down!"

Draco ignored her, touched her shoulder with a hand. "I have my reasons," he said coolly. "I would also like to remind you that even though I am here in Hogwarts, it's only temporary until I can return to…" his grip tightened slightly. "To Durmstrang. I'm not required to attend classes."

The level of noise in the dungeons increased. Draco wasn't staying? Then why on earth had he come back in the first place?

"What?" Pansy whispered. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Quiet!" Snape barked. He turned to face Draco, a sour scowl on his face. "Alright," he said grudgingly, "but next time, if you wish to skip classes in this manner, do not waste my time by even coming."

"Understood," Draco said. "Thank you."

He left a room in murmurs, his smile hidden in the shadows as he heard Ron say behind him, "The lucky bastard!"

Harry had snuck back to the Gryffindor towers after Hermione had left and had been officially pissed, sitting in front of his trunk, broken lock in one hand and splintered wand in the other. He wasn't stupid; he had pieced together what had happened, and was furious that Draco had dared to look at his personal, his private belongings.

That had been an hour ago. Now he lay on the bed, having calmed down after finding everything in place. He twirled the crystal rose in the light, frozen and kept unspoiled and fresh, like a bug trapped in a case of amber. Beside him lay the picture of Draco, smirking at him, his hair a beautiful mist reflecting in the light of the moon. The picture hadn't looked like that originally; had it been captured on a Muggle camera, it would have portrayed a very startled Slytherin, a 'caught' expression on his face. Harry had found him staring, almost as if in a trance, mesmerized at the glowing white orb. He remembered putting his arms around the boy, and found he had been trembling, although he insisted that nothing was wrong.

Harry wondered why Draco hadn't been affected by the powers of the moon. He would be a bit on edge, but that would be it.

Maybe he took Wolfsbane behind my back, Harry thought. But then, why didn't he tell me? Was he too proud? Embarrassed?

Who are you trying to fool? That may be one of the reasons, but it's not the main one.

Then what is?

To that his subconscious seemed to have no reply. Harry sighed. Since he was little, mystery and adventure had always intrigued him, and he supposed now that it was the thick fog of unanswered questions surrounding the blonde that drew the Gryffindor to him. Worse, Draco seemed to know this, and used it well to his advantage; he never opened up, not fully, and whenever he did he only let out a little piece of information, one that further ensnared the naturally curious Gryffindor until he found himself wrapped tightly in the Slytherin's wire of endless mysteries.

Like dangling a carrot in front of a donkey, Harry thought grimly. As he gazed idly at the exquisiteness of the crystallized black rose his mind drifted to the Draco he knew then and now. The difference in appearance was obvious. The skin was almost as light; had only darkened a shade, and was just as smooth as before. Draco was ever so slightly more muscular, not so much that it was obvious, but obvious enough if he were shirtless.

Urgh. Don't think about it.

And then of course, there was there hair.

Harry had to admit, he had been surprised and somewhat shocked when he first saw Draco. Before, the Draco he knew kept his hair perfectly, spending hours every morning, combing it and gelling it back with meticulous care. Now he wore his hair loosely in a small tail, free to take its own path in the blowing wind.

Harry liked the new look better. It made Draco look more… more casual, more free-spirited somehow, in a way that still kept a hint of the formality of before. It also seemed to symbolize something… like a snake shedding its skin, Draco changed his hairstyle to show he had gone into another phase.

The only problem was, Harry wasn't sure what was the same, and what had changed.

Why do I like him so much? Harry wondered. Why can't I take my mind off him?

He knew Draco's explanation for it. "Opposites attract," the blonde had said, tugging playfully on Harry's earlobe with his teeth. Harry had to agree. They were like fire and ice, black and white, except lately Harry had come to wonder who was the black and who was the white.

Yesterday, he had seemed to be suffering in the Infirmary, but truthfully, a part of him welcomed the pain. It sickened him, but it was true. He deserved it. After all, what had Draco done to deserve his contempt?

Scratch that. What had his eight-year-old self done?

Nothing. Harry had to admit; Draco at the age of eight had been adorable, his intense curiosity adding to his cuteness, his lycanthropy shrouding him in an air of ambiguity that carried through even until now, those icy-blue orbs showing more than a boy that age should know. And yet it annoyed the Gryffindor, made him shout and want to hit and hurt that little boy as much as he could. And it seemed he couldn't stop it, this raging ball of pent up fire inside of him, screaming for release.

That was another difference. Harry ran on pure emotion, whilst Draco relied on his mind. While Draco used words to hurt and accomplish, Harry chose the more physical methods.

"When did it become that way?" Harry asked himself. "When did it become that I was the bad guy?"

"Personally, I prefer the bad boys in the end," the chair said. Or more specifically, the voice from the chair. Harry leapt up in the air with a rather undignified squawk. The blonde sprawled lazily over the seat, one leg tossed haphazardly over the armrest while the other went diagonally down where it should be, with one arm resting over the top of the chair while the other hung down easily by his side, swinging in the air. He looked mildly amused, and it suddenly struck Harry; Draco had never been so casual before. He had always taken the formal approach, wouldn't have been caught dead in the position he was in now.

Not that Harry wasn't enjoying the view. Spread out like this, Harry could get a perfect view of every inch of Draco's body. Covered with clothes of course, but nevertheless…

He wasn't going to say this, of course.

"Comfortable?" Harry asked cynically. Draco stretched, the movement cat-like.

"Not very, truth be told," he admitted. He twisted and sat normally, stretching up again, arching his spine straight up, slowly against the chair back. He smirked and shook his head.

"Much better."

"Anything else?" Harry said sarcastically. Draco looked at him and arched an eyebrow, his mouth quirking up slightly.

"There is, in fact," he said. He stood up and untied the loop around his slim waist, unfastening his thick, velvety black robes. He shrugged them off slowly, taking his time, making sure that Harry was looking. He sighed in pleasure as the heavy robes slipped off his slender shoulders in a pile on the floor.

Harry couldn't pull his eyes away, as much as he wanted to. Draco smirked somewhat teasingly at the Gryffindor.

"Well?" he asked.

"Well what?"

"Wouldn't you like me to get more comfortable?" the blonde said, tugging meaningfully on his green and silver tie. Harry stared and forced himself to look away.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Harry asked. Draco stopped.

"Can't I come in here without being questioned?"

Harry didn't say a word. Instead, he threw the splintered wand at the blonde. Draco caught it with ease.

"Thanks, by the way," Harry said, his tone heavily sardonic.

"My pleasure. Was my greatest dream really, to blow up the wand of the great Harry Potter," Draco returned with an equally cynical tone. "Since when did you get so sarcastic?"

"Since when did you decide to be so inquisitive?"

"Inquisitive only into your life Potter."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"What do you think it means?"

Harry sighed wearily. "I don't want to play these games anymore, Malfoy."

"Oh?" Draco came close, kneeling on the floor. "Then what do you want, Golden Boy?"

"Don't call me that," Harry said, and leaned in and kissed a surprised Draco on the lips, deepening it slowly. A moan and a lick, and the roles reversed, the blonde taking over and Harry following his lead. Harry hissed softly in Parseltongue as Draco nipped at the delicate skin under his ear, knowing it drove the blonde wild.

"Don't stop," he whispered.

"Why Potter, whatever makes you think I plan to?" Draco responded, licking the brunette's earlobe with his cool tongue. Harry's eyes grew wide and he pushed the teen away.

"What? First you say you want me, then you shove me away? What the hell is wrong with you?" Draco asked, irritated.

"You understood me?" Harry asked in Parseltongue. Over the years the teen has honed his skills so that he could switch to and fro if he pleased.

"Of course I could!" Draco snapped. "What kind of idiot do you take me for?"

"No idiot," Harry replied quietly. "Just suddenly gifted in Parseltongue."

The silence was deafening.

"I'm not speaking Parseltongue," Draco said quietly. Only he felt it this time, his tongue vibrating and bending in ways it wasn't supposed to in his mouth, producing strange, inhuman sounds that made a new language to him. Harry looked at him.

"I'm not," Draco repeated, trying to change back. How did his tongue move again? Was his jaw supposed to move this way?

"I just want to know how you learnt it," Harry said calmly. The blonde noticed with slight, brief envy how the harsh hisses rolled so smoothly off the Gryffindor's tongue, like thickened honey.

"I…" Draco frowned. "I didn't," he replied in struggled English. Harry raised an eyebrow (a habit he had long acquired from Draco), but didn't pursue.

"Alright then. New question. What are you doing in my room?"

Draco's expression visibly relaxed. "Why? Is it against some strange Gryffindork rule?" the blonde asked.

Harry snorted. "Since when have you ever cared about the rules? And I thought you were never going to talk to me."

Draco picked up the crystal rose silently. The black in the petals swirled alluringly, slivers of dark midnight blue slithering through the dark like tiny wriggling snakes. "You still have this?" he asked. Harry sighed in annoyance.

"After all the fuss you made for me to keep it? Of course I did."

Draco ran his thumb lightly over one of its delicate petals, feeling a mild shock of static pass from the digit to the rose, pulling them together.

"Why is the thing of so much importance to you anyway?" Harry asked, noticing the faraway look forming in Draco's eyes.

"Hm? Oh, no reason," Draco said casually. Too casually.

"Really," Harry said, reaching over and taking the flower by the stem. "Then you don't mind if I break it."

"Don't!" Draco said quickly.

"I thought it was of no importance to you," Harry said, subconsciously turning Draco's words back on him, another thing he had picked up from the blonde-haired Slytherin.

"It should be of importance to you," Draco improvised smoothly. "After all, I gave it to you."

"Even more reason to throw the damned thing away," Harry scoffed.

"Heartless," Draco shook his head. "I leave you for one and a half years and you turn heartless."

"Well that's hypocritical, isn't it?" Harry retorted.

"Hypocritical how?"

Harry sat up and looked at Draco. "After so long, you still haven't told my why you did it," he said.

"Did what?"

"Kill Colin."

Draco frowned. "Colin who?"

"Don't play dumb. Colin Creevey."

"The kid with the camera?"

"Why did you do it?" Harry repeated, his voice calm and cool.

"I didn't kill him," Draco said.

"Yes you did!" Harry exploded. "Don't you remember? You caused so much hell for me!"

Draco frowned. "No," he said. "I don't remember."

Harry sighed and forced himself to calm down. "You always have to make things difficult."

"Not everything is black and white."

"Yeah, well, the shades of gray in between aren't exactly pretty," Harry said.

"I don't remember," Draco repeated.

"How could you forget?" Harry asked.

"I killed Creevey?" Draco suddenly felt faint. Another memory gone missing? Why couldn't he remember this? He wasn't a murderer!

Was he?

Harry stared at him, looked into his icy, sliver-flecked eyes. "You really don't remember," he said softly, a slight slip of horror in his tone of voice.

Am I that transparent? Draco wondered. "What did I do?"

"Colin was found in front of the Great Hall an hour after everyone had left from dinner," Harry said. "Dead."

"Food poisoning," Draco said scornfully. Harry shook his head.

"Unforgivable curse," he said. Draco suddenly felt as if a huge weight had been dropped on his shoulders, and took in a deep breath, feeling as if the air had just been pummeled out of him.

Unforgivable curse. He knew the one; after all, Charms had been his second best subject (after Potions), and this one he had easily learnt when he had been only nine.

Avada Kedavra. The killing curse.

His eyes traveled up the Gryffindor's face to rest on his forehead.

Harry looked away, feeling the blonde's intense gaze burn at his scar. "Remember now?"

"No," Draco said. "Not yet."

"What happened to you, Draco?" Harry said. "You never used to forget. You used to know everything."

"I never claimed to be omniscient," Draco said softly.

"You really don't remember?" Harry asked.

"I already said it before. I would never lie to you."

There was a long pause, then Harry replied. "I believe you," he said, lying back on the bed. Draco detected no hint of sarcasm this time.

"After all," Harry said, staring at the ceiling. "You might just throw me into the Infirmary again."

Draco struggled to hold back the grin threatening to plaster over his face. "Yes, well, you deserved it."

"Did I?"

"You seemed to have made it a habit, slamming and hitting me around."

"And of course, Mr. 'High-and-Mighty' Malfoy won't settle for anything that doesn't go his way."

"Especially not from commoners," Draco agreed.

"Heaven forbid," Harry said, rolling his eyes.

"You know, I had to most interesting dream last night," the brunette said, his voice wistful.

"Oh really?" Draco sat beside the teen on the bed.

"Mm."

"What was it about?"

"See, here's the strange thing," Harry said, turning to see Draco in the eye. "My arm was aching and stinging like crazy, right? And I could see myself… kind of like an out of body projection, except I'm not in the Infirmary, I'm in a hellish place where it's hot, everything I though burns my skin and I'm writhing in agony. Then suddenly I hear this voice, calm and soothing. It goes, 'Shh, calm down, it's okay warrior, it's okay'. I feel my hair move back like someone stroked it, and suddenly I lurch into this strange world. It's like the Quidditch pitch at night. The grass is cool, and there's a slight breeze. The moon is high, and reflects on the dewdrops of each blade of grass. There's a flash in the sky, and a silver dragon comes down onto the pitch."

"How poetic," Draco said. "You have a strange imagination."

"It's elegant," Harry continued. "It stretches its long neck for the sky and spreads out its shimmering wings, then slowly shrinks and changes gracefully into a human." All the time he said this he watched Draco's expression.

"And then?" Draco asked.

"Then it- he walks up to me. His hair shines a pale misty whitish-blonde in the moonlight. He comes up close, smiles, places his arms around my shoulders, leans in close…"

"Then?"

"What do you think?" Harry said. He paused, then smiled the first genuine smile he had ever done for a long time. "Thanks, by the way."

Draco's eyes flickered briefly, then he laughed. "You really do have a strange imagination Potter. Dreaming of snogging boys? Really."

Harry shrugged. "Found it strange, really. 'Warrior'. Who else here calls me warrior?" he said. Draco was silent.

"What happened after the murder?" he finally said, going back to Colin. Harry sighed.

"I didn't know it was you," he said, obviously not wanting to have returned to this topic. "Until you came and begged me to help you."

"I still don't remember. Move over."

Harry saw the other teen move for space to lie down. "Oh no you don't. This is my bed."

"And here I was under the illusion that you Gryffindorks liked to share," Draco said, lying down so that his head rested on Harry's outstretched arm, just in the crook where the shoulder finished and the arm began. Harry felt Draco's warm body next to his and his long silky hair draped over his shoulder muscles and shivered.

"Cold?" Draco moved himself closer, and despite himself Harry felt the blood rush to his cheeks.

"You came to me," Harry said, "and told me to tell everyone you had been with me during the time of Colin murder, doing a homework assignment. You begged me not to let them take you to Azkaban."

"You did it?"

"You're here, aren't you?" Harry retorted. "And not in a jail cell."

"Azkaban isn't just any ordinary prison," Draco said. "It's like a bloody mental asylum, except you go insane inside instead of outside."

"You seem to know it well."

"My mother stayed in there for a while," Draco said. From his position on the bed Harry couldn't see the expression on the teen's face.

"What happened?"

"She was framed," Draco said. "For a crime she didn't commit."

"Is that why she always seems so touchy then?"

"My mother's not touchy," Draco said. "She never was. Believe it or not, she was always a kind and sweet person, to me, at least. I can prove it; I can show you a picture of her when she was young. Typically Hufflepuff."

"What house did she get into?"

"Ravenclaw."

"Oh," Harry said.

"What? Did you think she would be in Slytherin?"

"Well… yes," Harry admitted. "She seems so… cold."

Draco laughed in derision. "So everyone in Slytherin is 'cold', then? I was lucky; my mother wasn't driven insane from her time in Azkaban. But she came back home a different woman; that much was for sure. Was like a fucking Dementor ate out her soul, ate out her happiness, bit by bit until she was just this cold, hard shell."

Harry was slightly startled by this information. Draco rarely ever gave so much information about his family without demanding as much back.

"So how did she meet your dad?" he asked. "Slytherins aren't exactly what you'd call 'sociable'."

Draco looked confused. "Slytherin?"

"Don't tell me Lucius was a Ravenclaw or something now, that's a bit too farfetched for me to believe."

"Lucius?" Draco said. "Oh, right."

"Oh right what?" Harry asked.

"Lucius… isn't my father," Draco said. "But you can't tell anyone that," he added quickly.

"He's… what?" Harry jerked. "But you look…"

"Like him?" Draco said. He smiled, slightly. "I didn't always look like him."

Harry remembered vividly the brown, spiky hair and wide inquisitive eyes. In truth, it had only been the eyes that hadn't changed… much. Just as piercing when they wished to be, mesmerizing, mysterious…

"Who's your real dad then?"

"His name was Daryn Malfoy," Draco said, his voice distant. "Youngest son to Alastair Malfoy and Patricia Finn. He was from Gryffindor."

There was a short pause. "Why are you telling me so much?" Harry asked softly.

"Because you asked," Draco said, shifting position on Harry's arm.

"Don't give me that. You're the master at switching topics and you know it."

"Would you prefer I didn't tell?" Draco asked.

"That's not what I meant."

"I know."

There was a long silence, then Harry spoke, his voice seeming to fill the room, calm yet clear. "Wow. Your dad was a Gryffindor? What happened to him? I mean, why isn't he with you now?"

"He's… dead," Draco said.

"How?" Harry persisted.

He somehow felt he had said the wrong thing, asked the wrong question. The blonde's body stiffened completely, and he turned to look away from Harry, curling himself up slightly, holding his arms across his chest as if giving himself a hug, reminding the brunette vaguely of a small child, trying to protect himself from something. Draco mumbled something.

"What?" Harry said. "I didn't hear you."

Another silence. "I really wish you wouldn't ask," Draco sighed. "He died a long time ago, when I was seven. I don't really want to talk about it."

It would have been easy to drop the subject, had it been anyone else. Unfortunately, Harry was cursed with being both naturally curious and stubborn when he wished to be.

"Can't be that bad," Harry said.

"My father is dead," Draco said, his voice loud, echoing painfully around the room, "because I killed him."

"I killed him," he repeated, softer this time, and his body started to shake, holding back the unbidden tears.