The lake was quiet, somber, even the octopus was dormant. Bright sunshine filtered through the occasional cloud, casting a warm glow over the grounds at Hogwarts. Harry walked silently beside Ron, as they rounded the far corner of the lake. It had been two months since the battle, but Harry hadn't quite recovered. He had withdrawn into himself, refusing to speak more than five words, even to his remaining best friend. This silence found Ron the brunt of questions concerning Harry's health, to which he had no answers. All he could do was stand by his friend, especially when Malfoy and his cronies decided to make life next to miserable.

Now, he also walked silently, reflecting on the past times when they had walked together, as the Three Musketeers, stopping for an occasional water fight or wrestling bout. Those were good times, the golden times that seemed like ages ago, the times when the only thing they had to worry about was a massive man-eating spider.

He sighed, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. They had left their robes at the school. Being seventh year under the terror of Voldemort had caused the school to be lax in their uniform regulations. Exhaling heavily, he shot a glance at Harry. Still the same blank stare, locked in the ever-shimmering water of the lake. He was fingering the diamond at his neck, decorated and laced through the finest gold by some of the best craft wizards in England. Ron owned an identical one, thought slightly smaller in size.

Suddenly, a piercing scream cracked the serenity of the day, echoing from the Forbidden Forest. Harry's head jerked up, to stare at the blackness, his hand frozen on the diamond at his throat. Ron glanced at the trees, hoping it was just the sound of some unfortunate animal in the clutches of a spider. No other sound came from the forest after a moment, and Ron turned back to Harry. The boy was still pale, but had returned his attention on the glitter of water in the lake.

Ron was about to sigh in relief when another shriek burst from the forest, and before he had realized it Harry was bolting to the line of trees. "Harry! Harry! Wait!" Ron was fast, but Harry was much faster. By the time Ron had broken into the forest, Harry was out of sight in the mix of trees. Ron stood still, wand out, waiting for any hint of movement. Another cry rang out, and Ron jumped towards it, knowing that Harry was there also.

He crashed through a clearing to see Harry kneeling over the motionless body of Draco Malfoy.

Under any other circumstances, Ron would have been thrilled. He would have muttered his customary, "Bloody brilliant, Harry!" and would have slapped his pal on the back. This time, however, the look on Harry's face left no want for merriment. The boy was pale, nearly paler than the white of Malfoy's hair. "Harry..." Ron stepped forward, hoping that maybe a light remark would lift the mood, "What did you do?"

"I-I didn't do anything!" Harry's eyes widened considerably, in what looked like panic.

Ron held up his hands, "Okay. What's wrong with Ferret boy?"

Harry swallowed hard, "H-He was like this when I got here." Ron frowned at the obvious lie, but did not say anything. That was when Ron noticed how badly Harry was shaking. The boy had his wand out, and his hands quaked like someone had cast a Jittery hex on him. "I'm taking him to the Infirm."

Ron frowned in mock distaste, "But Harry, there's man-eating beasts in here!" He instantly realized it had been the wrong thing to say at the moment, because Harry stood up rapidly and glared ferociously, enough to cower a three-headed dog.

"I'm taking him to the Infirm," he repeated, in a stone voice that shook Ron to his bones. The redhead stepped aside to allow Harry to levitate the unconscious Malfoy and get out of the forest at a jog. Something was wrong, and hell if he was going to leave it alone. When it involved Malfoy and Harry, he had to do something.

......

Madame Pomfrey had never spoken three specific words in quick, painful succession before. She was a nurse, one of the top in the industry otherwise she would not be employed to Hogwarts, one of the finest schools in the world. She would not be sponsored by Albus Dumbledore if she spoke those words often, and in her medical history she had refrained from saying them even once in terms of maladies and injuries. Now, however, she was looking at a peculiar case, with a most peculiar lack of information, and a peculiar case of bad blood. So, she bit her pride and allowed the words to slip through her lips like a poisonous potion, "I don't know."

The words seemed to devastate young Potter. He paled even more, if that was at all possible, to the point where Madame Pomfrey was about to urge him to sit. "What?"

The nurse bristled. Admitting she didn't know something was one thing, but repeating it was a completely different Quidditch pitch. "Mr. Potter, children come into this room every day with mere fainting spells such as this, if you are telling the complete truth in that you found him lying on the floor of the forest. Young Mr. Malfoy could be suffering from anything as simple as a cold to something as deadly as the Dark Arts. I'm sure that with your history with him, you feel it is the latter, but I cannot pass any judgment until you tell me every detail that you recall."

During her speech, Potter was looking slightly ill, and now he looked, by all definitions, shifty. She leaned close, her thin pointy nose precariously close to Potter's spectacles, "Well, Mr. Potter, is there something you're not telling me?"

He blanched further, and stepped back, bumping up against the bed where Malfoy lay. "H-He was screaming when I got to him, that's how I found him in the Forbidden Forest... He was still conscious... And he was grabbing his arm hard," Potter took a breath, "Hard enough to make it bleed."

Madame Pomfrey had always known the Malfoy boy was trouble, but this was different. She knew now what it was that afflicted the Malfoy boy, and she fought to keep herself from dropping pallor to match Potter's. "You may leave," she said stiffly, pushing Potter's shoulder towards the door.

"Wait, what is it? What's wrong with him?" the boy was nearly desperate with anxiety, his eyes flicking between the prone form on the bed and her face.

"Nothing you need to know. Now scurry."

"But, Madame Pomfrey-"

"Ten points from Gryffindor," she growled, "Get out."

Potter's jaw dropped and his eyes went wide behind his glasses, "That's utterly-"

"The Forbidden Forest is off limits to students, you know that. Out before I detract more," Madame Pomfrey snarled, a feat Potter had not thought she was capable of performing. It worked, as Potter turned and bolted from the room. He'd be back, he always came back- whether injured or no. When the large doors had shut, she turned to Malfoy and quickly jerked the sleeve of his left arm up. Sure enough, the black fringes of a tattoo had begun to appear. She shook her head and replaced the sleeve, tucking the arm under the covers in case the boy had visitors though it would be odd if he received any.

Slytherin had become rather reclusive after the rise of the Dark Lord. They had sneered as Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs flocked to Gryffindor's, and Harry's, side. Dumbledore let them alone, which nearly all teachers thought was a mistake- but he was Headmaster, who were they to argue? So the Slytherins sat, laughing and plotting in their dungeons about Merlin knew what. The only thing any of the teachers had gathered was that it wasn't good. The young ones were being affected by the war, and that was an abomination against the principles of the civilized world. The children, if anyone, should be spared the horrors of the Dark Arts, and yet here one lay, most likely a prisoner of his blood, unable to escape his destiny.

Madame Pomfrey sighed a weary sigh and rested a hand on Malfoy's forehead. She felt sorrow for this boy, no matter how horrid he may be towards his classmates.

......

When Harry wanted to think, he had to do so in a room with windows, sunshine, and plenty of animals. That's why Hagrid's was a great place to go. However, this late at night the only reasonable option was the Owlery. While the sun had retreated about an hour ago below the horizon, the moon showed brightly, enhanced by the magic of the grounds and the reflection on the lake.

Harry sat amongst the hay where the owls slept and ate, and tried to keep himself from jumping out the window in despair. What had happened today in the forest was something he had never expected, could not have predicted, and never wanted to relive.

When he had reached the clearing, Malfoy had still been conscious. Their eyes had locked, his gray orbs full of anguish under the silver of his bangs, and for a moment, they had not been Malfoy and Potter. They had been a boy in intense pain and someone to comfort him. Then, Malfoy bent over himself, clutching his arm, as another streak of pain raked his body. He had screamed, a sound Harry never wished to hear again, screamed loudly and painfully. The sound nearly took the breath from Harry's lungs, and it froze him to the spot. He couldn't move forward. He wanted to get out, he wanted to turn his back and run.

But he hadn't. He had stood there, watching the aching scene unfold, until finally Malfoy collapsed. Only then did Harry move, only then did he run forward to help. As he knelt over the unconscious boy, he realized why he hadn't moved. Malfoy deserved it, and deserved every minute of it. He was evil, he inflicted pain on others and now he got his pay.

Inside the Owlery, Harry shook himself. He leaned forward and propped his forehead up against his knees, breathing in deeply. Nobody deserved pain, not even people as evil as Malfoy. What had he felt in the forest? It still chilled him to think of the voice in his mind, telling him that Malfoy was getting was he deserved. On top of that, Madame Pomfrey knew what was wrong. She knew, and it had to be serious for her to react like that. What if Malfoy died?

He tried to erase the memory of Malfoy's screams. He pressed is head against his knees, as if trying to force the image away. Instead, it merely returned, clear as day. Malfoy clutching his arm as if in pain, and his own inability to do move. Harry groaned. The shrieks would not stop.

Harry clenched his fists, and stood up, grasping his Invisibility Cloak around him. He ran through the corridors, using the Marauder's Map as a guide, and burst through the Infirmary doors gasping. He bolted to Malfoy's bedside, dropping the Cloak in shimmering mess at his feet.

The white-blonde was still unconscious, his face still contorted with pain. At least he was alive. Harry sighed audibly, and sank to his knees in relief. Now, however, he felt the crush of guilt. Nobody deserved to feel pain, or die, even people as despicable as Malfoy. Why had he intentionally let Malfoy suffer? Maybe hate was a natural emotion, as natural as love. Perhaps he shouldn't feel guilty. Yet, as he continued to stare at Malfoy's drawn features, he realized he didn't hate this boy. He could never hate a classmate with the viciousness he associated with the emotion. Voldemort hated him, but Voldemort was evil. Harry was not evil, was he? Only evil people felt hate. Harry wasn't supposed to be evil, he was supposed to be good, and therefore he shouldn't feel hatred. Then why had he frozen today?

Harry leaned forward, putting his head to rest on the mattress of Malfoy's bed, though his thoughts still spun. He wasn't evil. He wasn't like Voldemort. He had friends who cared about him, a school that loved him, and a world that depended on him. He was not evil. He wasn't...