That day, Ron came by to visit Harry, and apologized for being a git. Harry knew that Malfoy was eavesdropping, so he kept their conversation short, and discussed only school. When Ron left, the Infirmary closed for the night, leaving Harry and Malfoy alone together separated by only a curtain.
Harry jumped from his bed and tore the fabric back, staring at Malfoy thoughtfully, "Oy, Malfoy."
"What do you want Potter? I didn't steal your teddy bear, it was probably Finnigin three beds down."
The Gryffindor heaved a sigh, then gathered his patience. "I was wondering. Why do you hate me so much?"
Put so bluntly, Malfoy burst into laughter. It wasn't a mirthful laugh, however, as laughing should be. It was cold, calculating, manipulative. He was thinking of the ways he could twist the situation to his advantage, and Harry could see the wheels spinning in the white-blonde head of his. "Why?" he spat, "Why? You're asking me why I hate you?"
Harry could do nothing but nod, his hand lingering on the curtain that separated their beds.
"You are Harry Potter," Malfoy sneered, "You destroyed my family. My father had to go to trial, and nearly lost everything. Father does not rest at night until I owl him ever day with something in which I bested you. I'm constantly compared to the great Harry Potter in my own household, just because we happen to be in the same year. Your name alone is enough to make me retch."
The color dropped from Harry's face as he spoke the words. His mouth hung open slightly, in a desperate attempt to somehow make this hate go away. He had never known... All the years spent in Hogwarts, and he had never known that other people suffered because he was Harry Potter. Being a hero came with the name, he had saved the school many times over, but now he realized that the school didn't include individuals. Single people, like Malfoy, still suffered, even when the school was saved. It shocked him, and he took a step backwards into his own space.
"Looks like you're not such a hero, Potter," Malfoy's voice seemed to stretch over a great distance, "You can't rescue everyone."
......
Draco watched as Potter backed away and nearly stumbled onto his bed. It was almost amusing the effect his words had. The boy had dropped color faster than when the dementors had attacked, and his green eyes had grown large behind his glasses. It was as if Draco had sucker punched him.
To himself, he felt a tinge of pleasure. He was still able to hit where it hurt, and to make Harry Potter come up short of breath. He also felt relieved, that he wasn't turning into a complete softy as a result of all the 'quality time' with Potter. He still could reap enjoyment from tormenting people, and he knew now he was tormenting Potter. A nasty smirk crept into his lips as he realized he had efficiently crushed Potter's view on the victories he had earned. While he had no idea what exactly went on in that thick head of Potter's, he had a vague idea that all the glory of being a hero had been sufficiently smashed.
Lying back, content with that knowledge, Draco closed his eyes and stretched his arms over his head, locking his arms together at the wrists comfortably on his pillow. He settled in and fell quickly asleep.
......
The night had fallen, and fallen hard on the Infirmary when Harry awoke. He had managed a short nap before his body decided that he had gotten enough sleep and he came awake fully alert and ready to move somewhere. He was itchy, and would have gladly played a full game of Quidditch if it got him out of this bed.
He stood up, tossing off the covers of his bed rather unceremoniously, letting the tips of the blankets drag on the floor, and noticed Malfoy's bed. He blinked, as if surprised to see it there, sitting, inside his privacy curtains. Then, he recalled the conversation before he had slept. With a resounding crash, his mood deflated, leaving him with nothing except an immense sorrow.
As he tried to fight the stinging sensation in his eyes, he moved forward. Malfoy was asleep; his arms cocked at an odd angle above his head, soft white-blonde hair falling softly around his eternally guarded face. Even in sleep, he looked as if someone was chasing him, he was paranoid and had to run and constantly watch his back. Even in sleep he was untouchable, unreachable, cut off from Harry.
Harry stretched out and carefully brushed his fingers over Malfoy's forehead, catching a few of those silvery strands and urging them gently aside. He tried not to shiver at the feel of Malfoy's unnaturally cold skin, and trailed his hand down the pale cheek. "I'm sorry," he whispered, even though he knew Malfoy was asleep and could not hear, "I'm sorry... I never knew, I couldn't do anything for you..." He took a shuddering breath, willing himself to remain calm and not break down. He couldn't believe that again, here he stood, mourning his long-time rival. It just didn't seem fair. Rivals were people to be hated, not empathized with. He wasn't supposed to soften towards his rival, that was not the point of a rival. And yet he was, he was feeling sorrow for the pain of the sleeping boy, as a lone tear streaked down Harry's cheek. He did feel for Malfoy, even if the boy was a ridiculous prat. He was still human, and with humanity came suffering.
"If I hadn't been born," he knelt by the bed; his tear-sparked green eyes on the sleeping figure, "Would you have been better off? Am I the reason for your curse as well...?" He bent his head and allowed his shoulders to shake with a repressed sob, "I-I didn't know people suffered because of me." Voldemort tortured people, Harry didn't. Voldemort was the villain, Harry the hero. So why was someone in pain because of him!? A hero saved everyone, made everyone happy. The villain was the one who tortured people, who brought pain and suffering.
Was he a hero, or was he a villain?
......
From an uneasy slumber, Draco managed to pull himself awake. He had caught all of two hours of sleep since that time, and didn't feel a bit tired. He looked at the sleeping figure beside him and sighed. It seemed to be a repeating event to find Potter asleep on his mattress, his gangly legs stretched all over the floor in an attempt to get comfortable.
If the stupid git had been a bit more observant, he would have seen that Draco had been awake during his little soul-searching drama. Draco nearly groaned remembering it. Every choked sob had struck under his skin, sending an unknown reaction to his mind; until all he had wanted to do was open his eyes and make Potter take his pity-party somewhere else. Draco didn't need to hear it; he didn't want to hear it. It stirred something inside of him that he did not care to explore, and so he ignored it, pushing it deeper into his soul, until sleep had claimed him again.
Now, he sat up and raised his wand to the sleeping boy, "Wingardium leviosa." Potter drifted peacefully into his own bed, not even stirring at the motion. Draco rolled his eyes, "Like a baby."
The curtains around their beds pulled back slowly, and Madame Pomfrey's beady eyes glittered in the dark like two gems on a black cloak. "Mr. Malfoy, are you fully awake?" she whispered.
"Yes."
"Oh, good," she pulled the curtains further back, revealing a scowling figure in the darkness behind her. Professor Snape stood sullenly, as if disgruntled at having his sleep interrupted by such trivial matters. "Professor Snape has put together a small potion for you to take."
"Mr. Malfoy," Snape intoned as a matter of greeting. He held a vial out, no bigger than a shot glass, and continued, "This will keep the cold from becoming intolerable. You must take it once a week, until we determine the exact removal of your particular curse. If you do not take it, the symptoms will return more severely than before."
Draco took the bottle, trying to keep his hands from shaking. Madame Pomfrey quickly looked him over, and put a hand to his forehead. She shuddered visibly and pulled her hand away, muttering, "You should take that." Draco cast her a withering glare and opened the vial, tipping a bit onto his tongue. It tasted sour, almost lemony, and left an odd aftertaste. He wasn't sure if he liked it or not, and he didn't have time to think about it as Madame Pomfrey noticed Potter, "How is he?"
The Slytherin head of house sniffed unconcernedly while Draco shrugged. The nurse moved to Potter's bed and eased the boy under the covers. If she noticed the tearstains on his cheeks, she said nothing, but removed his glasses and placed them on the nightstand that separated their beds. She moved to the edge of the curtains, and turned to Draco, "Get some sleep. You're both going back to class tomorrow." With that said, she closed the curtains around them and left Draco to himself in the darkness.
......
Nearly a week later, Harry and Ron walked away from Divination with grins on their faces.
"I wish we could just get our grades and be done with the class," grumbled Ron, his eyelashes and bangs still damp from the steam they had tried to read. "It is a marvelous waste of time."
Harry was busy scrubbing his glasses in the edge of his shirt. When he was through, he placed them on his nose and blinked, "A good class to catch up on sleep, I for one am glad it's still on our roster."
Ron nodded, "True. But it's so boring. As long as one of us predicts the other's death, we're passing." The light tone did nothing for the statement. Harry glanced at Ron, and they both quickly dropped their gazes. Death was a forbidden subject for them now, and their conversations skirted dangerously around the topic often, while never touching it. Only on rare occasions did the two feel completely at ease enough to joke about death, but the mood was quickly broken when Hermione didn't say anything in reply.
A shaft of sunlight caught his eye, causing Harry to wince. When the light cleared, he shook his head from the ache that had crept in. He wondered vaguely how Malfoy was doing. It had been a week since they had been let out of the Infirm, and absolutely nothing had changed. Malfoy still loathed him with a passion, but Harry found himself not willing to fight anymore. It was as if he felt for Malfoy, though Malfoy was still untouchable.
Harry slowed his walk, deep in thought. He hadn't seen Malfoy at all today, even though they had class with Slytherin two slots before. Come to think of it, Malfoy had been looking peaked all yesterday, as if he was ill. He turned to Ron carefully, "Wonder were ferret boy has got to."
The redhead scowled, "Does it matter? He's not here, and that's the good thing and the only thing I'm worried about." Harry decided to stop, as Ron had a short fuse when it came to Malfoy. They rounded a corner, and what he saw made Harry freeze. A boy was swaying unsteadily along the wall, holding one or two textbooks and a few notebooks. The hair immediately gave away the identity, and Harry squinted at Malfoy. Something wasn't right...
......
Merlin the pain... An icy fire, arching through his stomach, and raking his arms with splintering fingers. All he could see was black, there was no light. No light, not even a speck of the fire that torched him. It was cold, Merlin it was cold. Breathtaking shivers ran across his body, contracting his lungs and making it hard to get air. The air he could inhale was stale, filled with the toxic scent of fear. A cold sheen of sweat brushed his head, frosty against already chilled skin. He thought he heard someone yelling something that sounded like his name, but it was so far away...
He barely felt his legs collapse under him, the shock of his knees connecting hard with the rock floor of the school. Suddenly, the pain in his arm flared, eliciting a moan of pain from dry lips. He clamped his other hand on the spot, gritting his teeth and nearly biting his tongue. Slumping against the wall, he bent over the arm, digging his fingers into his skin. If only he could pull it off, make the pain stop.
A brief sensation of warmth encircled him, a voice breathing desperately into his ear, a hand prying his away from the aching arm.
"Draco, you're hurting yourself!"
The hand grasped his tightly, not flinching away from the cold of his palm or the firmness of his grip. Slowly, ever so slowly, the pain ebbed. The darkness cleared and he could see blobs of color. Blessed color. The blobs straightened, grew into shapes, and finally solids. Two green orbs stared at him anxiously from behind thick glasses.
Potter.
Draco moaned and closed his eyes. He didn't need this. Anything was better than this, being seen weak in his enemy's arms. He let go, and slid into a pleasant darkness.
......
As he watched in utter amazement, Harry darted forward and quickly scooped Malfoy into his arms as if they had practiced it for years. The Slytherin boy became limp under Harry's touch, and the brunette hovered over the other as a mother hen. It was wrong. Suddenly, as if a devil and an angel had kissed, Ron felt the creeping fingers of disbelief edge into his heart. How could Harry do this to him!? What was he doing with him? The monster who had killed Hermione as surely as if he had held the wand.
"Harry..." Ron squeaked, all of a sudden unsure of his voice, "What are you doing?"
The boy looked up, as if caught red-handed, his eyes widening behind his glasses. "What?"
"What are you doing?" betrayal was slowly giving way to anger, and Ron took a step forward.
Harry looked between his best friend and their hated rival, closed his eyes, and sighed heavily, "Ron, I can explain-"
"Explain what," Ron burst out, his cheeks turning a bright shade of red, "That now you're buddy-buddy with the ferret?"
The look on Harry's face almost made him regret his tone. Almost.
"Ron, now is not the time," Harry grit his teeth, "He needs to be taken to the Infirm, Madame Pomfrey is the only one who knows how to treat him." Then, with Ron watching, Harry bent over Malfoy and soothed his hair away from his face to check his temperature and breathing. 'Soothe' could be the only appropriate word, for Harry moved with a tenderness that Ron had never seen before, even when dealing with his best friends.
The Gryffindor stood, and levitated Malfoy with his wand and made to pass Ron on his was to the Hospital Wing. Ron could feel his control slowly sliding away from him, as he threatened, "If you walk away with him, we're done. I won't ever speak to you again."
Harry froze, his face a mix of unspeakable, untouched emotions. His wand hand wavered, but he refused to let Malfoy fall. When he spoke, his voice was shaky and cracked, "He needs me."
"I need you," the words fell out before he could stop them, but they were true on so many levels. After Hermione, Harry was the only thing he had left. In a world where he was constantly hunted for being Harry Potter's best friend, Harry was the one person he could hold onto, could trust in, could fall back on. He had been so sure that Harry could come to him with anything, that Harry had relied on him as much as he relied on Harry. But now...
Harry had placed Malfoy on the floor, and now shifted uncomfortably, "Ron... I can't just leave him here." His eyes flitted again between the unconscious boy in his arms and his best friend.
"Call a teacher, let them take care of him if you're that worried," Ron scowled, stepping forward again. Was it just him, or did Harry's hands clench tighter to Malfoy at the movement? "I don't see why you would be," he finally spat, "That thing's master killed Hermione." Harry flinched visibly, and Ron tried to soften his words to get his meaning across, "I lost Hermione, I don't want to lose you." Harry looked at him sadly.
At that moment, Malfoy groaned painfully and stirred, drawing Harry's attention and boiling Ron's fury. Still, Harry's panicked face again managed to cool the redhead's rage. Harry was Harry; there was nothing Ron could do about it. Harry lived to help people, to protect those who didn't know they needed protection, to help those who wouldn't help themselves. "Why?" Ron asked, catching Harry's attention from his burden, "How do you know it's not a ploy?"
He could tell Harry had not thought about this. The boy paled and flicked his gaze to Malfoy's chalky face. He groaned inwardly as Harry opened his mouth, "I-I hadn't thought about that..."
"You don't think!" Ron yelled, "You jump in assuming you can save anybody just because you're the great Harry Potter! Some people don't want to be saved!"
His words hit hard, the other dropped pallor again and his face began to twist in fury, "We have to do something. You can't just sit by and watch as one of your classmates is tortured."
"How can we know that we can trust him!?" Ron yelled, "He's been a bloody bastard to us through seven years of school! What reason do we have to trust him?"
"Can't you trust me!?" Harry yelled, aware that a crowd was gathering but not really caring.
"I do!" Ron shot back, "I trust you! But he... he's evil!"
"He's suffering!" Harry shouted, gripping Malfoy's hand with bruising strength.
"If he is he deserves it," Ron hissed, "For whatever the evil little git has done."
"NO!" Harry's voice echoed in the hall, causing the spectators to wince and cover their ears, "No! Nobody deserves to suffer! Nobody is obligated to feel pain! The only one who should be suffering is Voldemort, because he is causing this! He's causing all of this!" Ron cringed at the mention of Voldemort, and attempted to break in, but Harry continued, "You weren't there! You didn't see it! You didn't hear how he scre-" Harry suddenly broke off, clenching his jaw tightly shut. He stood up and levitated Malfoy past Ron, trotting to the Infirmary as fast as he could with Malfoy in front of him.
Ron stared after him, knowing somehow that Harry's new attitude was related to what had happened in the Forbidden Forest a few weeks ago. Something had happened, something that had affected Harry greatly. Tossing away his earlier threats, Ron jogged after Harry, intent on being a good best friend. Even best friends fought occasionally...