Disclaimer: No. Not mine. Sue me if you dare, but I am unemployed, so it would not be worth your time. Hey, any of you Chicago readers want to give me a job? Will work for food.

Ch. Thoughts

A strange, foreign, exotic, enticing void: the extrasensory substance of an elusive mind. If only the pattern could be recognized, it could be understood, and appreciated more greatly. But it was chaos, pulling him like the vacuum of nothingness pulling in material, an there was sickening feeling of vertigo. . . Then an abrupt termination.

{{POTTER!!!}}

The enraged voice thundered deafeningly in Harry's mind, and he was instantly slammed back to reality as though rebounding off an onracing brick wall.

Snap! Gasp! Arugh! Harry's mind felt a violent stab, then he collapsed in on himself in reaction to the sudden overwhelming pain. And then, just like that, it dulled as quickly as a volume button readjustment.

Another gasp was drawn from him, this time one of relief.

Harry opened his eyes to focus on none other than Malfoy, observing him warily, somewhat angrily, but with a hint of hesitant curiosity. The Slytherin ego wanted to storm off, to lash out, to fight; but his id definitely (and inexplicably, as is the way of the id) desired something indefinable from this interaction with the Boy-Who-Lived.

"Just what the fuck do you think you are doing, Potter?," Malfoy hissed loudly, accusingly.

Harry struggled to respond, but the pain still preoccupied much of his cognitive power: thinking was slow and arduous. . . Malfoy. Not looking as murderous as unexpected . . . Does he, uh, actually expect a response?. . .

"It was an accident, I swear!," he managed in his defense.

"That was quite an accident. You should be quarantined! Or, better yet, put down," Malfoy bit back with narrowed brows.

Harry suddenly felt a pang of fear as he was hit by the realization of how much trouble he would be in Malfoy told someone – particularly Professor Snape. Or worse yet, Voldemote. He quashed a vicious retort before it made it passed his lips.

That's never happened before! I was just waking up from this, this fucking. . . nightmare. . .," Harry trailed off unexpectedly as a new ache materialized before his mind's eye It was just too much; a serious confrontation with Malfoy, crazed or not, with all its various implications and consequences, was not within the capacity of his current energy reserves.

"I'm sorry, Malfoy," he sighed tiredly, bringing his palms up to rub his eyes.

The steely Slytherin eyed him appraisingly for a long moment, then took two steps closer and, with a concerned frown, as though civility was itself a challenge, bit out, "Let me give you a piece of advice, Potter. You had better get your act together, or a lot of people are going to die. Including you. And me."

Harry heavily fell back to lay on the bed and closed his eyes. "Fuck off, Malfoy. You have no idea what kind of shit I have to deal with."

Malfoy was so silent that Harry thought for a moment that the blond had indeed fucked off, but he had no such luck. "Maybe. But it's really only a question of will power. Are you strong enough to hold it together or will life make you fall apart?"

Why wouldn't this annoying and clearly off-kiltered prat leave him alone? Harry breathed heavily for several long seconds before, without bothering to open his eyes, responding calmly, "I am plenty strong enough to look after myself without your sorry advice. Besides, you hardly seem to be in a position to give advice on keeping one's act together. Now kindly remove yourself from my presence."

Harry couldn't see Malfoy's glare, but he sensed the flare of anger coming from his classmate. "As usual, you have no fucking idea what you are talking about, Potter. I am the fucking master of keeping it together. And believe me, it IS a matter of will power."

The thin Slytherin marched out of the infirmary before Harry had time to come up with a reply.

All night, laying in the infirmary, only two things preoccupied his mind, pain . . . and Malfoy. The flash in the other boy's mind had been incomparable to anything he had ever encountered before – though he admitted to himself that his experience with such happenings were limited to his Occlumency lessons with Snape and the occasional unwanted brush with Voldemorte's sick mind, neither of whom he consider good markers for comparison. Still, the unrecognizable chaos of Malfoy's mind couldn't have been normal. . . could it? Harry hadn't even been able to make out understandable memories or thoughts, just. . . disorganization and absence.

And what about the cryptic conversation that had followed? Really, it only served to confirm what everyone was saying – that Malfoy had completely lost it – but it was still a bizarre question mark in his mind, and his mind kept replaying the exchange as if to puzzle out the meaning. Harry couldn't help but think that was some reason to Malfoy's madness, but whatever it was wasn't revealing itself to his ponderings.

Harry tried to force both to the side when he left the infirmary in time for breakfast the next morning. He spared a glance at the Slytherin table to see Malfoy picking lazily at his food, the perpetual scowl on his face and an abandoned scroll next to him, then sat himself down across from Ron and Hermione. Unfortunately, they were also talking about Malfoy, as indeed, after the game the day before, much of the early breakfast crowd was.

"Harry," Hermoine greeted him worriedly. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah mate. Since when does a headache require a spending the night in the infirmary?," Ron joined in, before shoving an entire blood sausage into his mouth (Hermione shot him a quick look of disgust).

"Ever since I was Harry bleeding Potter," Harry sighed. "I'm fine though. I was just tired and fell asleep there, and then Mme Pompfrey didn't wake me up. I did have a strange encounter with Malfoy though. Did you know he broke his hand when he caught that snitch?"

Harry was a bit irritated with himself for his continuous thinking about Malfoy, but it was the conversation that he had walked into. Ron hurumphed and Hermoine rolled her eyes. "I really do not understand boys' obsession with hurting themselves for the sake of a stupid game."

"Yes, well, it's not something I would expect a GIRL to understand," Ron retorted immaturely. Hermoine raised an eyebrow, Malfoy-style, as if to say, is that all you got? "Especially not a bookworm like you!"

Ooo, Hermoine looked a little pissed by that last comment, and fired back, "Yeah, well, this bookworm can beat Malfoy at her game better than you can at yours!"

"That's not fair! Malfoy's flying's gotten better since he's become a raving loony! His grades are in the crapper! Even Harry and me have been outscoring him! At least we're not FAILING every subject," Ron blurted out in one breath.

"Hey, don't bring me into this," Harry interjected, but the two barely noticed, and the argument just escalated.

"Oh, so as long as you don't fail and you're winning at academics? I don't think so, Ron Weasley. We'll just see who's won when no one wants to hire you or let you into uni!"

Harry watched Ron's quickly shift to a most unbecoming shade of dark red, then decided that he didn't really want to be around for the end of what had to be one of the stupidest arguments he had ever borne witness to. He grabbed a pastry and an apple and stepped away from the table. His friends were too rapped up in fighting to notice, as they also failed to notice the rapid approach of a very hostile Snape. Harry made his get away and departed the Great Hall in time to hear Gryffindor lose twenty points and both his friends get detention. He felt a little guilty for abandoning them, but abandoned the guilt in favor of annoyance at their behavior. He expected that much from Ron, but Hermione didn't usually lower herself to his level. At least, she hadn't until recently. This touchy feely bickering that they were frequently engaging in these days was no great pleasure to any of the Gryffindors who had to endure it. Alas, individual discussion with both Hermoine and Ron had not had the desired effect of convincing either to reveal their feelings; it would seem that nature was determined to bring them together at her own maddening pace.

Before he knew it, Harry found himself in the library. It was, after all, Sunday, and he supposed that starting some of Monday's homework would probably be a good idea. In previous years this might be considered unusual behavior, but his recent penchant for calm and solitude found the idea perfectly acceptable. And so he spent most of the day intermittently writing, reading, and watching the people come and go.

Malfoy showed up in library an hour after Harry; and, after taking a seat several table down and meticulously arranging his quills, books, and scrolls, promptly fell asleep.

Hermione arrived after lunch with a scowl on her face. Harry barely looked up from his writing as she sat down across from him in a huff.

"Ron?," he asked with disinterested.

"Of course."

"Hmm," Harry acknowledged.

"Here. I brought you some lunch." Hermione pushed a sandwich across the table.

Finally, Harry looked up, glancing thoughtfully at the sandwich before meeting his friend's gaze. "You know, Nev, Dean, and Luna have also asked me if I was going to resurrect DA this year."

Hermione perked an eyebrow at him. "Now do you believe me when I say it's a good idea? Professor Dylan hasn't shown any signs of being an evil freak so far, but surely it's only a matter of time. Besides, a lot of these students are people you're going to want to fight next to you, so you should at least help them prepare-"

"I know, I know! You made the argument on the train. And I think you're right. I just. . . don't have the time. With Quidditch, and," his voice lowered to a sharp whisper, "my so-called remedial potions! Not to mention that there is more school work than ever before, AND I have to meditate for a bleeding hour every night!"

Harry dropped his head, allowing it to hit the table with a thunk. Hermione looked at him appraisingly. "Well, there's no need for all the work to fall on your shoulders."

Harry looked up with a child-like expression of hope on his face. Hermione smiled. "Well, most of us have something that we can do well. We can take turns leading DA and teaching our specialty. You can do a powerful Patronus, which is fabulous. But Ginny can do a wicked Bat-Bogey hex. And even though you're captain, isn't Ron your strategist? Isn't he the best chess player in the school? There's definitely skill there. And I have actually gone to Luna for help with memory charms! And Seamus-"

"Okay! I get your point. And I'm sure you've already got your lessons all planned out."

"Does that mean you agree?," Hermione asked excitedly.

"Yes, o studious one."

"Good! I'll pass out the coins again, and recruit some new members. And run it by Dumbledore, of course. . ." She prattled on for a bit more, but Harry's attention wandered. He really didn't mind that she was orchestrating the takeover of DA, as it was one less stress for him to worry about.

His eyes fell on Malfoy. "We need someone who knows dark arts," he blurted without thinking.

Hermione's surprised face turned to see where Harry was looking. "I don't really think Malfoy would really be the best candidate."

Harry's attention returned to his friend. "Yeah, you're right. It was just a thought."

Malfoy woke up just in time for dinner.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He had spent all day in the library and accomplished nothing. Again. He was beginning to hate his new self as much as his old self. At least his old self was competent. And had an attention span of longer than a minute. And didn't fall asleep any time he had to focus on something longer than that. He had been trying, hadn't he? Trying to get his act together, just like he had told Potter. He'd managed to get his temper under control, and Snape had managed to keep Dumbledore off his back, but his grades and magic were fucked.

All he wanted to do was go back to sleep.

Please review. It encourages my waning interest in this story. Unfortunately, I have conceived of another story line and so am attempting valiantly to stick with this one. Are you interested? Should I keep writing? Should I reveal what has happened to Draco in the ASAP, or should the audience not find out until Harry finds out?