4. The Nightmare

Draco Malfoy was slouching in his hospital bed, taken care by Madame Pomfrey. He groaned and whined, trying to make the poor nursemaid more worried and solicitous than what she truly should have been.

Draco was bored. Not that he didn't enjoy a bit of solitude after Potter's handling, but he just couldn't rest still. He therefore landed from the bed, and went to examine the vast nursery room. A sudden feeling of uneasiness found its way under his chest. What the hell is bothering Potter? He's never shown this openly how much he hates me. Draco's fingers ran along the sheets of the neatly made beds as he walked forwards. For he must hate me, right?

Draco bit his full lips and tossed his fine hair behind his ear. And I hate Harry… Just as much as before. That hideous, crack-minded Ass-Who-Lived. Draco's pearly pupils went larger. Did I just think Potter as Harry? Shit, I'm losing my touch.

It had been the day when Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter first truly met, when their disagreements had started. Harry had rejected Malfoy's friendship, and Draco had not gone searching for it again. From that very first day on at Hogwarts, they had been considered as enemies –later on even as mortal enemies. And not only by themselves -their houses had always supported this exiting development with full hearts. And thus it had grown more difficult during the years for Harry and Draco to become friends. Now, at their sixth school year, Draco did not even want to be a friend of that famous show-off, where as Potter had started taking actually physical methods for showing the lot how much he hated Draco.

Draco shrugged casually and headed towards the window. The grounds beyond were absolutely cauldron black, and nothing could be distinguished from the darkness. Draco looked at his reflection from the window glass. It was cursive, its outlines blurred beyond recognition, but he could still see how very pale he was. He reached his hand out and touched the spot on the glass where his cheek was reflected. Just above it, two cobalt eyes were twinkling at him. Ice Prince. No wonder they call me that, he thought. Harry is so much different from me. In every way.

Right then, the door opened and Severus Snape entered the hospital hall, holding a vial of something emerald green in his hands. Shit, not emerald green.

"Draco," he nodded.

Draco grimaced at the leader of his house, and forced a slight smile. "Professor."

Snape approached him with rapid steps. "You nearly caused a group fight down in the dungeons today, did you know that?"

"Were they all girls?" Draco jested, watching as the Professor opened the vial and scented it.

"No, it was Potter," Snape forced a lop-sided smile, and then gave the vial to Draco. "Here, take this. You should feel no pain when drinking it."

"Does it have the side-effect of drunkenness?" Draco hopefully asked.

"I'm afraid not," Severus said. "But it surely can make you feel a bit feeble."

With this, the Potions master hurried away, leaving Draco once again alone. Madame Pomfrey was nowhere to be seen, either.

The night fell for the second time after the embarrassing Quidditch match. The rain had ceased a bit, taken for the fact that the dormitory window wasn't any more in danger to smash inside from the force of the drops. Harry stayed awake, wondering if Draco Malfoy was reasonable enough to keep quiet. Surely he was.

Harry looked around him. It was nearly midnight, and all his friends were already asleep. Ron was breathing heavily just in the next bed from his own, holding something in his hands that resembled a headless figure of Viktor Krum. Seamus and Dean were slumbering silently in their own four-posters, buried under their thick blankets. And Neville was snoring loudly, having his mattress closest to the door. Harry put his eyeglasses back on his nose.

Then something else dawned in Harry's mind, making him go yellowish pale. It was something Draco had said to him. "Who cares if you have a thing about me? Everybody has a thing about me."

"I do not have a thing about him!" Harry heard himself moan out loud. "And I didn't even correct him! Damn!"

Without thinking, he began to fumble his trunk, finding there the Marauder's Map and his father's old Invisibility Cloak.

"I solemnly swear I'm up to no good."

As soon as the map of Hogwarts had emerged on the parchment, Harry began to search a certain tiny spot of ink from there.

As the midnight arrived, Draco was still slumbering in the hospital wing, trying every now and then to swallow the potion Snape had given him. It tasted awful. As a Malfoy, he had not used to eat or drink anything that wasn't delicious. He spat the liquid out of his mouth, and swore.

"You don't need to do that anymore, you already deserved me four hours of polishing shoes," came a voice from nowhere.

Draco sprang into a stiff sitting position, aghast. He scanned across the room, seeing nobody.

"Fuck, am I hearing voices, now?" he grumbled his brows, dropping his tired body back to the pillows.

"Hearing voices is not a good thing," the mysterious voice continued, with a smirk in the tone. "Believe me, I know."

Draco lay rigidly, trying to convince himself he was not going mad.

"Damn, guess Potter really smashed my head," he groaned silently.

"I did not!" the voice yelled. "You are perfectly fine, you stupid drama-queen, and you know it!"

Then, at the right of his bed, Draco saw Harry Potter's head emerge in the air. He gasped terrified, and almost fell off his bed. "Potter, what the fuck…?"

Harry removed the rest of the Invisibility Cloak and revealed himself to Malfoy. He was wearing a forest green pullover and black cotton trousers, where as Malfoy was only having a silk pajama on –actually, half pajama. The upper part of it was lying on the floor, after Draco had thrown it there when being too hot an hour ago.

Harry looked at Malfoy's bruised body. It was worse than what he had expected, but still not that bad. Not at all bad, actually. Muscular arms and fit stomach, accompanied with that famous smooth skin of his. Harry didn't dare look at his torso longer, and chose to meet the patient's eyes.

Harry inhaled deep. He had never given a good look at Malfoy's eyes before. Eyes that were like two shards of broken mirror –sharp and dangerous, reflecting twisted thoughts.

"You know, Potter, you are sometimes very spooky," Draco said, still breathing rapidly. Harry couldn't help staring at his eyes.

Those eyes… those eyes that were just bitter, silvery poison for him. Those eyes that had haunted him for six years, never showing a glimpse of regret. Those eyes… Malfoy's eyes.

"Why don't you say anything?" Harry heard Draco ask. "What are you staring at? I don't have the whole evening for your stupid tricks, Potter!"

"Sorry," Harry hastily uttered, immediately hating himself for saying that. "I mean, don't get the wrong picture. I just wanted to see you. S-so I could, er, tell you that you were wrong. Earlier today. Uh… And I wanted to correct this matter."

"By scaring me out of my pants?" Draco leered, casting a silvery arrow in Harry's chest, without knowing it. Harry felt himself blush despite himself.

"Uh… I just wanted to say…" Harry halted.

He had planned the exact words in his head. I don't have a thing about you, Malfoy, you stupid git. But something stopped Harry from saying those words, now. Those eyes…

"Yes?" said Draco, casually as always, raising his other eyebrow. He seemed to be now perfectly composed, relaxed and easy with the situation.

"Nothing," Harry heard his voice echoing in the dim hall. "Nothing."

And he strode away, taking the Invisibility Cloak under his arm. His face was burning. He felt Malfoy gazing after him with utmost perplexity.

Darkness. Just plain, light-absorbing darkness. And heartbeats. Loud, rumbling, body-shaking heartbeats. A feeling of being very much alive.

Then, the eyes. Something very bright flashes in the blackness. Something luminously grey… Again, the eyes. And a wave of cold wind.

Waiting. Waiting keenly. Waiting horrified.

And he comes. The ink-black mist disappears and is replaced with a green square room. There, right in the centre, he is waiting. He is waiting for me. Draco Malfoy.

"Come, Harry," says his voice, yet a voice so much different.

And I go. I walk to him.

He runs his fingers along my cheekbones before resting them right above my heart.

"This is mine, Harry," he says. His voice is distant, echoing.

I look him in the eyes. Something luminously grey…

"This is mine, Harry," he says again, thrusting his fingers inside my chest.

Searing pain. Then, torturing numbness.

I look at my heart which is resting in his hands. It is beating as vividly as always. I cannot feel it, though.

I collapse. My knees hit the greenness of the room.

"Give it back… please… please…"

I fall. I fall trough the greenness. Trough the blackest mist I have ever seen. And I hear his laughter inside my head.

I fall. With horrible speed.

Harry rolled off his bed, completely covered with cold sweat. He woke up Ron with the noise that he caused.

"Harry?" Ron mumbled, drowsily. "What happened?"

"Nothing, Ron… Just that stupid nightmare, again."

Harry rose up and sat on the edge of his bed, shaking his head miserably. That stupid nightmare again… Again…

…TBC…