"-Merlin someone was there. They would both be worse than dead if Severus had not seen the commotion."

Harry allowed a groan to escape his lips at the mention of the Potions teacher, and tried in vain to open his eyes.

"Poppy, I believe young Potter is awake." The familiar voice full of wisdom and childish fantasy allowed Harry to wake fully, and stare into the face of Albus Dumbledore.

"Hallo Professor..." Harry murmured, still painfully aware of that last time Dumbledore had seen him.

"Hallo, Harry. Feeling better?" the Headmaster grinned. Harry nodded, feeling like a small child under parental scrutiny for some reason. He hadn't really done anything wrong, just gone outside to talk with...

Malfoy.

Harry jerked up in the Infirmary bed, looking around wildly for Malfoy. Madame Pomfrey made a noise and Dumbledore put a gentle hand on Harry's shoulder to stop him from leaving the bed.

"Professor, Malfoy- I mean Draco-" Harry said anxiously.

"Is perfectly all right," the wizard smiled, "for the time being. That, however, depends on how many more dementors you both run into."

Harry shuddered involuntarily, "Professor, I wasn't... I didn't do anything wrong. I wasn't even in the Forest. They just... they just came out of nowhere."

"Everything has an origin, young Potter," Dumbledore intoned, leaning back in his chair, "You just happened to be in the wrong place, with the wrong company, at the wrong time. Luckily for the both of you, Professor Snape was there." Harry fought the scowl that threatened his lips. He didn't appreciate the thought of being indebted to Snape. Dumbledore patted Harry's leg reassuringly, and then lifted into the air a few feet. Harry watched in amazement as the chair he sat in levitated itself out the door and floated down the hallway, carrying the whistling Headmaster.

Madame Pomfrey clicked her tongue at Harry, "You just seem to attract trouble, don't you?" She broke a piece off a bar of chocolate in her hand and passed it to Harry, "Eat." He nibbled it, and found himself still shaking from his encounter with the Dark creatures. It was then he noticed his hand was in bandages. He looked at it, with an eyebrow cocked, until Madame Pomfrey spoke up, "You fell oddly, and somehow managed to break it."

Harry frowned. This was not a good year.

......

As soon as Madame Pomfrey left his side, Harry jumped out of bed and hunted for Malfoy. He found the boy behind the curtains at the far end of the room, still unconscious. Harry pulled a chair into the curtains and closed them again, sitting down inside the quiet space to watch Malfoy as the boy's chest rose and fell in labored breaths. His color had improved from a pasty white to a chalky sort of color- it was an improvement, though not a large one. Sweat matted silver hair to the boy's face, and his lips were parted slightly in an effort to breathe easier.

Harry leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. He had done this. He had been the one who suggested they go outside, he had picked the lake as the spot to talk, it was his fault. He leaned his forehead into his hands, letting black hair fall in his eyes and over his clenched fists. He couldn't do anything right. He couldn't protect Hermione. He couldn't protect Malfoy. What good was a hero who couldn't get a simple spell right? It wasn't the first time he had done a Patronus charm, why had this time failed? Third year he had driven away just as many dementors with one charm, but this time it had seemed impossible.

Now, he couldn't drive the voices from his mind. Malfoy's, Hermione's, his mother's... they all screamed for him, at him, with him. He couldn't shake the feeling of dread that the dementors had left with him. Harry uncurled his fingers and laced them through his hair, gripping strands tightly. Why wouldn't the world just leave him alone? He wasn't a hero, he couldn't protect those he loved, or even those he hated. He wasn't a hero; he was a stupid little boy whom Fate had decided to play games with.

He slid from his chair, kneeling at Malfoy's bedside, and, shaking, folded his arms on the mattress to rest his head in them. He wouldn't cry, he wouldn't cry. A hitching gasp that arose from his chest made him think otherwise. His glasses were getting wet, and he took them and threw them across the curtained space, where they sat staring at him dejectedly. He didn't care at this point in time, as he covered his head with his arms and tried to sob somewhat quietly.

......

He awoke for the third time this week to the bland darkened ceiling of the Infirmary. Then again, the Slytherin dungeons didn't have much appeal either, so it was hard to tell which was more annoying. Possibly the Infirmary, because it meant that warden Madame Pomfrey would be patrolling him, keeping him bound to the bed until all was well.

Draco sighed heavily, and tried not to move. His entire body was freezing, and he had just gotten to the point where he was too exhausted to shiver anymore. It was a goal he was happy with, for the incessant shaking had been more than a little annoying. The two blankets on the Infirmary bed were doing nothing to keep warmth near him, but he huddled under them anyway. It was better than nothing.

As he shifted, he felt a tugging from one of the sides. He looked down and jumped nearly out of the bed. Potter was sleeping at the side of his bed again, but this time... it wasn't an innocent sleep. To Draco's immense shock, Potter's face was streaked with tears; his nose and cheeks still red from crying. It appeared the Gryffindor had cried himself to sleep.

Draco fidgeted uncomfortably. He had never had anyone who sat up over him to watch as he slept. He had never known anyone to cry over him, or be there as a comfort for him. It was new, and he wasn't sure if he liked it. But he did know, that for some reason, over the past few days he had begun to take Potter's presence for granted. He expected the other to be there, and waking up to see Potter at his bed was a bittersweet relief. While Potter may have been nothing but a do-good Gryffindor, he had the Gryffindor heart of courage and protectiveness, and that put Draco at ease. Besides, they had something in common- a strong dislike for the Dark Lord.

Pale fingers reached out to touch the pearly sheens on Potter's cheeks, tracing their wetness down to his chin. Draco wondered what had made the boy cry like that, though he would die before asking or even seeming to care. He still had his pride, although he appeared to be developing a dependence on this boy.

......

Blearily stretching out his wand, he mumbled through a mouthful of fabric, "Accio glasses."

Evidently, an exploding spell sounded remarkably like the muffled Summoning spell, and the vase next to Malfoy's bed exploded in a shower of glass, water, and lily petals. Harry groaned and dropped his head back to the mattress. He was not ready to get up yet- the few days of irregular sleeping had thrown his normal five hours a night into chaos.

Grumbling at the bright sunlight that pierced the Infirmary windows, Harry forced himself to his feet and tried the Summoning spell again, this time successfully. He slid the glasses onto his nose and yawned, throwing out his arms in a wide stretch that cracked his back and loosened his muscles. Now fully awake, he shot a glance at the pale boy asleep in the bed next to him. To his surprise, Malfoy looked a good deal better. He had returned to his not-chalky-pale pallor, which for him was rather healthy, and his breathing was regular, the deep breathing of a peaceful sleep.

Harry smiled, utterly relieved by Malfoy's improvement. He was so relieved, in fact, that he didn't mind when Malfoy's gray eyes opened and glared accusingly at him. He was so relieved, he found himself being civil to his rival, "Hallo Malfoy."

Instantly on his guard, Malfoy frowned, "Which Slytherin did you kill?"

Harry's smile dropped, "I-I didn't kill anyone!"

"Then why are you smiling like you've just had several gallons of Butterbeer?"

"B-Because!" Harry sputtered, confused now, "You look a lot better than you did last night!"

The shock on Malfoy's face was apparent and fleeting. His jaw dropped but was retrieved quickly, as he carefully directed his gaze elsewhere, "Why should you care?"

Harry bit his lip, "Because it was my fault you were out there to begin with..." He wondered why he bothered. Malfoy wouldn't know anything about guilt or responsibility. Whenever something went wrong he probably ran to his father, who shelled out a couple galleons and was done with it. He lifted his eyes to see Malfoy staring at him strangely. Before he could question it, however, the privacy curtains were ripped open, and Madame Pomfrey's eternally anxious face glowered at the both of them.

"Mr. Potter, I have been all over the school looking for you," she barked.

Harry cringed, "I haven't left the Infirmary..."

"The next time you feel inclined to leave your bed," she growled, "Please do me the favor of at least informing one of the portraits."

"Yes'm," Harry seemed to whither under her glare.

She turned to Malfoy, her face softening considerably, "And how are we feeling today, Mr. Malfoy?"

"I am feeling fine," he drawled, giving her a distasteful look, "I'm not sure how you are, however."

If his sarcasm affected her in any way, she didn't show it. If anything she looked happy, "Wonderful, wonderful. Professor Dumbledore will be most pleased. You two are expected in his office immediately. Hurry along." She ushered the two boys from the Infirmary without another word, closing the door swiftly behind them.

Harry looked at Malfoy quizzically, "Did you do anything?"

The other sighed in exasperation, "Why would I do anything to get that Muggle-lover on my case?"

Harry conceded he had a point. Malfoy wouldn't do anything to anger Dumbledore; he would do his best to avoid contact by all means. Then, why would Dumbledore send them both to his office? Obviously it was about the dementors yesterday, but... Harry hadn't done anything wrong. Dementors were not supposed to be inside the grounds anyway, Dumbledore was supposed to keep them out. Then again, with the Dark Lord's presence, the dementors had added strength.

The Gryffindor stopped in front of the gargoyle that led to Dumbledore's office. It leapt nimbly from its perch to let them past, and Harry took the lead into the amazing room that Dumbledore had furnished. A beautiful call echoed in the room, and Fawkes flew from his perch to alight Harry's shoulder. The boy laughed with delight- it had been a while since he had seen the phoenix. "How are you?" Harry murmured to the bird while Malfoy took a hesitant step backwards.

"Good morning boys," the Headmaster of Hogwarts stepped from his inner office and smiled cheerily, "If you would, have a seat please." Harry released Fawkes somewhat reluctantly, and the bird floated to his stand. Harry sat down, but Malfoy remained standing. "Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore noticed, "I do not bite, and I am quite sure I will not rub Muggle germs on you, you may sit."

Malfoy had the grace to look embarrassed as a slight flush tinged his ears, and he took a seat next to Harry. The Professor looked at both of them, and then steepled his fingers and leaned back in his chair, "Now, may I inquire as to why you both were at the lake that day?"

Harry glanced at Malfoy, and, when the other made no move to open his mouth, he started, "It was my idea, Professor... I wanted to talk to... Malfoy..."

The Professor's shock was evident, his eyebrows arched considerably while his eyes still sparkled behind half-moon glasses. "Have you and Mr. Malfoy decided to forget your differences?" he asked.

Malfoy jumped, but refused to say anything and instead glared at the Headmaster. Harry opened his mouth reluctantly, "No. There was... just something we had to discuss..." He stared woodenly at a spot over Dumbledore's shoulder. It wasn't as if he wanted to forget their differences. He was quite fine with their rivalry. If anything changed now, it would... destroy the delicate House balance, surely. Harry suppressed a shudder as he remembered exactly how they had been brought together.

"Draco," Harry started as Dumbledore said Malfoy's first name. It was odd hearing it, after so many years of calling him Malfoy, "Do you have any idea as to why you both were attacked yesterday?" The white-blonde shook his head, still glaring at the professor sullenly. "You have caused Harry much grief, for he feels it was his fault that you both were out there in the first place. However, the dementors were searching the grounds for you, young Malfoy." Malfoy paled, and his eyes widened. He threw a quick glance over at Harry before returning to the professor.

"Me?"

"Yes. It seems that your father is not satisfied with the pain he has already inflicted on you, and wishes to help speed the curse in its course. Therefore he sent the dementors." Dumbledore stood and started pacing the floor of his office, "Adding such variables could produce adverse effects, however, which is why I am surprised he tried sending the dementors." He whirled on Malfoy, "Have you been in contact with your father at all this year?"

With an eyebrow cocked, Malfoy replied, "He is my father, Headmaster."

The wizened man sighed and dropped back into his chair. "Harry," Harry's green eyes flashed back to the Headmaster from their previous position of watching Malfoy.

"Yes, Headmaster."

"Do you know why you have been following Mr. Malfoy for the past few days?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably, "Yes." When Dumbledore gave a nod of his head, indicating for him to continue, Harry took a deep breath, "I-I felt guilty... Because in the forest he was in so much pain, and... I didn't move to help him..."

"Very good," the older man smiled warmly, "Your Gryffindor heart contains qualities of protectiveness as well as courage. You did not care that young Malfoy was your rival- he was in pain and you wanted to comfort him. This is as natural to a Gryffindor as slyness to a Slytherin; no need to feel embarrassed, Harry." He sat back and continued in his soft, unhurried voice, "Therefore I give you a charge." Harry allowed his eyebrow to rise questioningly. What was the professor hinting at? He shot a glance at Malfoy and found the other in the same confusion. "Protect young Malfoy," Dumbledore said finally, "Be there for him, make sure he does not harm any students, including himself, become what he has never had."

Harry and Malfoy's jaws both dropped, and they were both suddenly on their feet, speaking in quick bursts, each tripping over the other's words.

"Professor!? I-" Harry started, Malfoy cut in angrily.

"I am not just some-"

"He doesn't-"

"Potter!? Are you out of your-"

"I have homework, classes, Quidditch! I can't babysit-"

"I don't need a babysitter, or your help Potter!"

"He doesn't want me near him!" Harry yelled and locked eyes with Malfoy, banging his fist on the desk and unsettling a paperweight, which consequently growled, blew a breath of fire that scorched Harry's already-injured hand, and turned onto his back to have his tummy rubbed by Dumbledore. At the outburst, Malfoy quieted and dropped his gaze to stare at a spot on the floor. Harry winced and rubbed his hand, plunking himself back into his chair. Perhaps he still hadn't recovered from the day before, he felt drained.

"If you are both through," Dumbledore looked at both of them. When neither made any comment, he nodded, "You can start by giving each other the respect of a first-name basis." He looked at them expectantly, "Go on, introduce yourself."

Harry cast a withering glare at Malfoy, then looked back at Dumbledore pleadingly. The Headmaster had become enamored with the disturbed paperweight and would not catch his eye. He slouched back in his chair and turned to Malfoy, "Draco."

The name had startling effects on the boy. He tried to suppress a jump, and he paled even more. His bottom lip went under, as he bit it unconsciously. And then, without moving his head to look at the other, he murmured, "Harry."

Harry was surprised at the effect his own name had on him. Hearing it was a sort of triumph, mixed with a faint undertone of something else...

Dumbledore smiled imperceptibly and turned his attention back to them, "Now then, Harry, I feel there is something I must tell you if you are to fulfill your charge completely. Draco is the victim of a terrible curse."

At this, Malfoy stood up and snarled at the Headmaster, "Professor, I must protest. That is private information, and no other student is licensed to learn it."

"Information we come across is only private if it does not harm anyone," the professor shot back in his easy tone. Dismissing Malfoy to his seat, he turned back to Harry, "It is a curse of the Dark Arts, obviously, with dreadful consequences. The design is to turn the bearer into a mindless minion, with no feelings, thoughts, or soul. A sensor of death, so to speak, for the minion is the perfect killing machine- as there is no connection to the world."

Harry tried vainly to keep his shock under control. He could see Malfoy out of the corner of his eye, sulking that artistic sulk. In the little time they had spent together, Harry had come to realize that any pose Malfoy took looked as if it was sculpted from stone by the ancient artists of Greece and Rome. Now, he was learning that Malfoy's entire being was a Greek tragedy. Who was doing this to Malfoy? To destroy a boy's life!? He could feel blood draining from his face as he thought about it. Everybody should feel. Everybody should have the joy of loving people, of sadness, of hurt. It was natural.

The more he thought about it, the more determined he was to help Malfoy, even if the boy wouldn't accept it.

"And with that said," Dumbledore sat back in his chair, "You may return to the Infirmary. Go on, off with you." The chairs in which they sat jumped, and Harry and Malfoy were jerked to their feet. Harry trudged from the room, followed by an equally perturbed Malfoy. The Boy Who Lived felt his determination slipping away as the walk back to the Infirm stretched on in silence. How could Dumbledore possibly think Harry Potter could help Malfoy? It was as ridiculous as Snape coming to the aid of Neville. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy were content to remain enemies; there was nothing they wanted to change.

No, that was wrong. Harry slowed his walk as he realized... he didn't care to be enemies anymore. Of course, he didn't put his expectations as high as friends, but he hoped they could become civil to each other. The only enemy he could handle was Voldemort, and he was more enemy than any person needed. Harry made an odd face and cocked an eyebrow at his thoughts. When had he started thinking that? Was he going mad?

Malfoy noticed Harry slowing and turned, "What's the matter, Potter? Picturing Weasel in the bath?"

Harry, too exhausted by now to start a fight, picked up his pace and walked right past Malfoy, cheerily smiling, "Yes," and left Malfoy stunned in the corridor.