The Infirmary was quiet as ever, with only the occasional rustle of fabric against fabric or the soft flutter of a breeze through the open windows. Harry stood over Malfoy's bed, just as quiet as the unconscious boy, though more animate.
He didn't understand. Ron didn't know what he was talking about. Harry crossed his arms over his chest tightly, attempting to sort through his thoughts. Ron hadn't been there. He didn't understand.
There had been a time when Harry would have told Ron everything that had happened, down to his theories on the why. This time, however, it had seemed so private that Harry hadn't said anything. It was between him and Malfoy, not Ron, him and Malfoy. Adding a third wheel would have put Malfoy beyond trust, and therefore beyond help. Harry had to keep Ron away, and in the dark. It was for Malfoy's good, and Ron didn't really need to know anything about the Slytherin.
A wave of sadness hit Harry, as he realized that Ron would probably never speak to him again. He could already feel the tangible ache in his chest at the loss of another friend, and, for a moment, he envied Malfoy. The icy façade Malfoy kept up pushed away any friends, and Malfoy would never know the bitter essence of betrayal or the sour taste of loneliness. Harry himself could touch each with the tip of his tongue now, as he forced the previous argument through his head again and again.
Arms grabbed at him from behind, and Harry was so startled he nearly bit his tongue. Before he could react, a chin rested on his shoulder and a voice breathed in his ear, "I'm sorry."
Harry immediately relaxed at Ron's voice, "Don't do that. You scared me to death."
"Sorry," Ron turned his head to stare at Malfoy, keeping his chin on Harry's shoulder, "I don't understand why you want to help the selfish prat, but I trust you." His grip became tighter, but Harry didn't care. Ron was still his friend, and that was all that mattered.
"Touching," drawled a voice, "I think I'm going to hurl."
Harry scowled at Malfoy, "Just because you don't have friends doesn't give you the right to diss mine." From the bed, Malfoy pursed his slender brows at the boy, but refrained from saying anything else.
"Malfoy," Ron spoke up, giving Malfoy so horrid a glare that Harry was grateful Ron was his friend, "If you lay a finger on Harry, you won't have time to think before you're shipped off to dear old dad in a matchbox." Harry grinned at Ron's imagery, he had been getting better over the years, and could now threaten Malfoy easily and quickly.
Malfoy, however, was up to the challenge, as he spoke slowly and clearly, "I did not ask for help."
"Bloody good for you," Ron growled, casting Harry a pleading glance. Harry did nothing but shrug, there was nothing to say- it was true. Malfoy wouldn't ask for help, even if he admitted he needed it. He would suffer in silence to keep his pride intact, and that was why Harry intended to help him. Ron had turned back to Malfoy, "I'm tolerating you for Harry's sake. He's the only one I have left besides family."
"It appears he is only one of many, then," Malfoy smirked.
"At least my father loves me," Ron sneered.
The blonde shot up in bed so suddenly Harry took a step back into Ron who was just as startled. The look in Malfoy's eyes was of pure hatred, as soldering gray met startled blue. Harry felt Ron's breath catch as the two stared. "You would do well to hold your tongue," Malfoy's voice dripped slowly from his lips, a threat.
Harry loosed himself from Ron's hold and stepped forward, holding out his hands, "Ron, that wasn't fair."
The redhead's jaw dropped, "You're defending him!?"
The pain was evident in his voice, and Harry sighed, "I'm making sure you don't stoop to his level."
At this Ron seemed to agree, "Oh..."
......
They talked late into the night, before Harry finally sent Ron back to the Gryffindor common room with the Invisibility Cloak. Well, Harry and Ron talked. Draco drifted to and from sleep during the conversations, not partaking in any but listening all the same. He had never been near them during such talks. Harry and Ron were as one mind in two bodies. They even completed each other's sentences. Every time he awoke, Draco was hit with a pang that he could not place. He wondered about it, and with his eyes closed against their faces, silently asked if anyone would do that for him. Would anyone bear his presence long enough to become a friend as Ron and Harry?
The answer was obvious. A rather large no. He was a bastard; it was as simple as that. There was no one in the entire school who could put up with him for more than a few minutes, except Crabbe and Goyle. Those two didn't really count, however, as their intelligence level was that of a broken record player.
Draco came awake again, to hear the conversation above him had quieted. The serenity of the Infirmary was in place instead, a sort of noiseless noise that created a tingle in the ears just as any other sound. He flicked his eyes open, relieved to find that Weasel had gone.
"How do you feel?"
The soft voice drifted to his ears, and he turned his head to the source. Potter was there again, although this time he sat in a chair beside his bed. "Chipper, Potter, that is, until I saw your face," he sighed. Why did Potter insist on staying around him!? As if things weren't already hard enough, that Muggle-loving Headmaster had to throw a Dwarf wrench into the entire scenario. His father would not be pleased, not be pleased at all.
"I'm sorry," Potter grew a delicious shade of red, a sort of color between embarrassment and anger. "Why don't I just jump out a window?"
"Go ahead, I'm not stopping you."
Instead of performing the so desired action, Potter just sat there staring at him. Suddenly, out of the blue, "What do you want to do when you get out of here?"
Draco goggled at him. He sat up so that he could get a better look, and goggled some more.
"I mean, besides being a minion for the Dark Lord," Potter continued, obviously not knowing when to stop.
"Are you for real?" Draco blurted. Potter looked startled.
"I-I think so. You're not dreaming, if that's what you mean," his head cocked, dragging strands of dark hair over his eyes. He ignored them, as if he was used to the unruliness.
"Could you say that again?" Draco asked cautiously, still not sure if he had heard right.
"I just asked what you wanted to do when you finish school!" Potter groaned, "Is that such an odd question?"
Draco sat up, bringing himself eye level to Potter, "Let me remind you, Potter, that we are still not on a first name basis no matter what the Professor made us do in his office." Potter slammed back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest sullenly. He held fists of fabric in each hand, his overly large shirt exposing his right collarbone nearly to the shoulder.
"This is why you don't have friends, Draco," Potter frowned, glaring at Draco with unnerving fierceness. "You don't let anyone close to you. You'd rather keep them away, so that you can live in solitude for the remainder of your sad life of worship to Voldemort." Draco couldn't suppress his flinch at the name, and he was sure Potter noticed. When he didn't say anything, Draco glared back at the other.
"Why do you want to know what I do with my life?"
The Boy Who Lived threw up his arms in frustration, "I'm just curious, that's all. Why are you so damn stubborn? Telling me won't kill you, will it?"
No, it wouldn't, Draco thought. He shook his head, "I haven't really thought about it."
"You just do whatever your father tells you to."
Leave it to Potter to make it sound disgusting. Draco glared at the other, matching the heat in the green orbs, "Why shouldn't I?"
"You don't have a mind of your own? You need your father to tell you what to do, where to go, who to kill?" Potter shot, as he leaned forward in his chair.
Draco bristled, well aware that Potter was trying to egg him, to get him angry, "Just let it alone, Potter."
Potter sat back in surprise, and blinked hard a couple times, "Is it that bad? I really don't care if you're an ax murderer, as long as it's your will and not your father's."
Unwillingly, a snort came from Draco's throat, "An ax murderer? One of your Muggle terms I assume?"
"You have axes in this world," Potter said, "You put two and two together." A silence fell over them, as if it was a test of endurance, which would hold the stare the longest. Finally, Potter reverted back to the old topic, "So, what is it?"
"What's what?" Draco suppressed a smile, knowing that he was now aggravating Potter. The other fell back against his chair and groaned, removing his glasses to rub a weary hand over his eyes. And then, suddenly, Potter shot forward onto his knees by Draco's bed, bringing him uncomfortably close to the Slytherin. Draco jumped, but held his position. He would not show that the other intimidated him. It was still a game, who could best who in a battle of wits. Who could hold out longer, Draco or Potter?
Yet, as he stared at the determined boy in front of him, he cursed Gryffindor stubbornness, for it constantly bested Slytherin's. Potter glared at him with ferocity, as if he was willing Draco with his mind to reveal what he sought. Draco noticed with a start that Potter's eyes were flecked with brown, and his expression must have registered in Potter's eyes, or Potter had noticed something about him for the boy's eyebrows narrowed every so slightly.
Draco sighed, "Fine, fine. I..." He sat back, ready to be out of Potter's piercing gaze, "I want to visit the Muggle world, it's absolutely beyond me how they get by without magic."
Potter's eyes widened, "The... But your father would kill you!"
The Slytherin put his drawl back in his speech, "No really, thanks for the great enlightenment. Come, come, give me another." When Potter said nothing, but scowled at him, Draco continued, "Besides, I don't think you'll be telling him anytime soon, as we're in school."
Potter's eyes suddenly widened, and he stared at Draco incredulously. For a moment Draco was confused, but then he realized the weight of what he had just said.
He had given his trust to Harry Potter.
Eyes narrowed as color dropped from his face. In all his years, he had never trusted anyone. It was his father's number one rule. Among the Death Eaters, trust was as good as a death warrant. Somehow, unwittingly, Draco had given something that should never have been given.
This was a bad idea, a very, very bad idea.
Potter smiled. Draco felt his panic rising. The stupid Gryffindor didn't realize the danger he was in. "My father will kill me," he paused, trying frantically to get his thoughts in order, "No, he'll kill you. You're the one he's after." There was a strange tugging in his gut, a heated, tingling feeling he was quite unused to. He wasn't sure if he liked it or not, but he knew it could only be a result of the way Potter was looking at him.
Whether or not he wanted to keep feeling this way, he knew where his fear was founded. In his mind's eye, he could see Potter's very presence as a tiny candle in a suffocating darkness. Despite everything his father had ever taught him, Draco wanted to keep that flame burning, he wanted to keep it alive. And now, he didn't know how to do it besides getting Potter as far away from him as possible.
"Malfoy," Potter waved a hand in front of his face, "I'm the Boy Who Lived, remember? Voldemort has tried to whack me since I was born. I think I can handle your father." Draco flinched at the name, remembering how much pain it could physically bring him. "Besides, I thought you hated Muggles."
"I did," Draco scowled, reminded of the fascinating days that had changed his views, "Until I took that bloody Muggle Studies class."
"Your father let you take that?"
"No. He didn't know about it, and still doesn't know." With a start, Draco realized he had done it again. Divulged something that should never be spoken of. He resisted the urge to clap a hand over his mouth in frustration, and gripped his hands into fists on his sheets.
"I won't tell him," Potter grinned, shifting so the ground wasn't so hard on his knees.
Draco moved in his bed, giving some space for Potter to sit on. The brunette grinned wider and plopped himself onto the bed, "So, what changed your mind in the class?"
"The ridiculous destruction that the stupid monkeys cause," Draco rolled his eyes, "They're so stupid, I need to see them in their natural habitat." To his great shock, Potter started laughing. "Is it that amusing?"
"Just the way you say it," Potter smiled, his eyes sparkling merrily in the darkness, "You sound like you're so much better."
"I am," Draco sputtered, "I am a pure-blood wizard."
"If you tell that to them, they'll think you're loony," Potter stated.
"All right then," Draco frowned, "If you're so great, what do you want to do when you get out?"
"I want to be an Auror," Potter looked at the ceiling, his face taking on a star-struck look, "I want to save people, to help protect people."
"Big of you."
Potter shrugged, "We have our tastes." He glanced at Draco again, "You're shivering, are you cold?"
Draco grimaced, wondering why Potter had to notice everything, "No." A lie. He was freezing again, leftover from this morning's attack. Madame Pomfrey had given him the potion with a stern reproach, but he was still very cold. "Hey! Gerroff!" Potter pressed a warm hand to Draco's forehead, brushing away a few strands of silver before drawing back.
"You're still freezing."
"So?"
"Malfoy," Potter sighed, shaking his head, "Just admit you're cold."
Draco scoffed, "Why?"
A strange look crossed Potter's face, lighting his eyes in a way Draco was quite sure he didn't like. He inched back, trying to put distance between himself and the other. "Very well, Malfoy," he grinned evilly, "You leave me no choice." Before Draco could question, Potter launched himself at Draco, grabbing the Slytherin around the neck in a tight hold, pressing the warmth of his chest and arms into Draco. Taken completely by surprise, Draco drew his arms up, attempting to force Potter back. He got his hands into the space between himself and Potter and pushed hard, loosing Potter's grasp slightly. When he got no further, he gave up and reached around to try and pry Potter's grip open from the back. All the while he turned and kicked, keeping Potter moving and distracting him from his hold on Draco's neck.
Potter's chest spasmed suddenly, and Draco froze, wondering frantically if he had somehow hurt the other. Then, he realized that Potter was just laughing- chuckling and giggling at the awkward position they were in. Draco groaned and pulled hard at Potter's interlocked hands to no avail. He resorted finally to a trick, and gasped, "P-Potter... can't... breathe..."
The Gryffindor jerked back, his face pale. The look on his face was so horrified Draco couldn't help himself. Involuntarily, the corner of his mouth tweaked upwards in the semblance of a grin. Potter gasped indignantly, and instantly latched himself onto Draco's waist, "That was dirty."
"What are you, a leech!?" Draco yelled in frustration, though his voice held no malice. "You're acting like you're two years old."
Potter mumbled something into his shirt, the thin material letting the warmth of his breath through. "What? Potter, I can't hear you," the blonde couldn't suppress a shiver that hit him with the warmth.
"You smiled," Potter lifted his head to look up into cloud gray eyes. Draco looked back, wondering how a boy who had seen so much death could remain so innocent. He fell back against his pillow without replying, not sure that any reply was necessary. Potter, in a few short days of constant and undivided attention, had rendered him speechless. It was a feat that had not been achieved through years upon years of taunting, jibing, and fighting, and here he was after a few days, silent and dangerously close to enjoying Potter's company.
He became aware of Potter's finger tracing lazy circles around his stomach through fabric. Draco shifted uncomfortably, stretching his arms up above his head and crossing them at the wrists. Potter, sensing he wished to sleep, shifted with him, trying to get them both comfortable under the heavy comforter. They lay waiting for sleep, and, as Potter drifted off, he murmured, "I'll take you to London sometime... show you around..."
Draco started, wondering if Potter realized what he had said. Chances were that the boy was nearly completely asleep, and would forget in the morning. He decided to wait and see what happened, if Potter would remember the offer.
With a soft sigh of contentment, Potter snuggled close to Draco, and the blonde did all in his power not to disturb the boy by trying to writhe from his grasp. He felt like an overly large teddy bear, one that had been hugged once too many.
......
The first thing Harry noticed was a slight tingle of pain in his hands. He flexed them, figuring they had merely lost circulation during the night. It was then he realized his arms were touching each other, which wasn't right, because he clearly remembered the small scuffle with Malfoy last night. Or was it earlier this morning? It was still dark, but he wasn't quite sure when they had fallen asleep.
But now the bed was empty. Blearily, he opened his eyes and looked around. A figure moved in the darkness, stumbling unsteadily towards the door. The shock of white hair let Harry know who it was, and why his hands hurt. Malfoy must have pried his hands open to get out of his grasp. Ron had told him many times how tight his clutch was, especially during the nights Harry awoke from nightmares holding Ron's hand.
Harry sat up and rubbed his eyes with one hand, searching for his glasses with the other. He found the spectacles and slid them on, throwing the room into sharp focus. Malfoy was at the door, moving in slow deliberate movements as he turned the handle and opened it. Harry jumped from the bed and ran for the door as Malfoy started out into the hall. The Gryffindor leapt into the hall to follow, and collided with another person, slamming them both against the wall outside the Infirmary.
"Harry!" Ron's brilliant blue eyes shone in the dark, "Are you okay?"
Harry opened his mouth, "Yes, I'm fine. Why?"
Ron breathed out heavily, and put his hands on Harry's shoulders, "Something's wrong. Can't you feel it? Seamus and the rest woke up and they can't get back to sleep. We're all on the floor in the common room, nobody can sleep. I passed a Ravenclaw in the hall, they're up also." He glanced around, "The only thing is, none of the teachers are up. I made it down without any problem." He looked at Harry, "Are you sure you're okay?"
Putting a hand to his forehead, Harry answered, "My scar isn't hurting. I don't feel anything odd..." Then he remembered what had dragged him out of bed in the first place, "Malfoy! He's sleepwalking. We have to catch him!" He took off in the direction Malfoy had gone, and found following him very easy. Just two hallways down, Harry made it behind the Slytherin and was about to tap him when Ron stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.
"Wait," Ron said, his hand painfully tight, "Let's see where he's going."
"Does is matter?" Harry hissed, eager to get Malfoy back into bed where he couldn't be harmed, in his arms.
"Just..." Ron trailed his eyes after the disappearing figure, "Let's follow him. I have a feeling..." With dread, Harry listened to his friend. Whatever Ron was feeling, Harry had a bad feeling about this particular adventure.
They trailed Malfoy through meters upon meters of dark, empty halls, not daring a light for fear of getting caught. They seemed to be constantly going down, down stairways, sloping corridors, and one time a ladder. At the bottom of the ladder, Harry dropped into about a foot of chilled water. With an echoing splash, Harry and Ron landed in the dungeons under the castle.
Unnerved by the squish of cold water in his slippers, Harry slid off the shoes and his socks and stepped along the slippery smooth stones at the bottom of the walkway. Ron followed his example, used to getting down and dirty from their many escapades. "This must be connected to the Chamber, somehow," Harry whispered, looking around.
"The water?" Ron murmured as Harry nodded. They looked up from their grumbling to see Malfoy had stopped. He stood with their back to them, staring into the darkness of the dungeon.
Harry stepped forward, "Malfoy?" He froze as Malfoy turned slowly, his head tilted with an almost lazy attitude. His molten gray eyes held no life, he was moving as a puppet on strings. Harry stepped forward, but Ron laid a restraining arm on his shoulder.
"Bad idea," Ron whispered urgently. His premonition was rewarded when Malfoy suddenly launched forward, moving with unnatural speed towards them. Ron reacted quickly, shoving Harry down and out of the way, only to find himself at the pointy end of Malfoy's wand.
Harry splashed into the water on his elbows and back, soaking his nightclothes and bringing water to his hair. "Ron!" he yelled, jerking up. Malfoy had disarmed Ron, and the redhead looked too frightened to move. "Malfoy, don't," Harry managed to croak. The silver blonde didn't appear to hear him, as intent as he was on Ron. The Slytherin jabbed his wand into Ron's solar plexus, and seemed content to leave it there until his job was complete.
Leaping up, Harry darted to the closest available part of Malfoy- his back. The Gryffindor threw his arms around Malfoy, pulling him close again his heart, "Please, Draco." He held tight, though Malfoy didn't seem to notice, "He's all I have. You can't... You have to fight!"
The wand tip sparked a horrid shade of green, and Harry's stomach leaped into his throat. Ron flinched, but Harry gasped, "Don't move!" Ron's eyes were wide in fright, but he obeyed his friend. "Draco, please!" Harry buried his head into Malfoy's back, "You can't give in! I have to take you to London!" Harry could feel the Malfoy's muscles tense, and the sound of a wand hitting water rang in the dungeon.
......
The only thing he noticed was how uncold it was. For the first time in weeks, he felt he was not shivering. He wasn't warm, per se, but the intense, racking shivering had stopped. The second thing was that he could not really see, and this almost frightened him, if not for the feeling of security in the oblivion. Here, nothing could hurt him. Voldemort could not reach him, his father could not touch him, Potter could not bother him.
He didn't know what exactly was happening, but he was fairly sure he was having a dream. It was the only reasonable explanation for the gray haze that had descended over his mind.
Somewhere, he could hear a voice. It sounded vaguely familiar, and slightly tinged with panic. It almost sounded like Potter. Why would Potter be panicked? Where was he? Why couldn't he see the prat?
A prickling sensation struck his arm, and suddenly it all fell into place. This was part of the curse. The curse that had been placed on him to break him. Hell if he was going to be broken in front of Potter. With achingly slow steps, he sought to push back the haze that surrounded his mind. It was like pushing through mud, yet mud was never this painful. The first thing that hit him was the cold. The rocking, breathtaking, mind-numbing cold that knocked him off his feet and shook the breath from his lungs. He would have fallen if someone had not been holding him up.
Something fell from his fingers, and he heard a splash as it hit water of some sort. His eyes took in colors, shapes, and finally cleared to reveal the pasty white face of Weasel.
Weasel? What was he doing here?
Warmth pressed against his back, countering the intense cold he had come back to. It was then he realized Potter was pressing himself against him, and the boy was shaking like a leaf. His arms wrapped tightly around Draco's chest, making it all the harder to get air but Draco was glad for the touch.
Weasel took a step backwards, sloshing water out of his way in the process. Draco looked between them, and saw his wand arm was ready, minus the wand. With a start, he guessed what must have happened. All strength left his legs, and he dropped hard to his knees into freezing water, dragging Potter with him.
He... He had nearly killed someone...
He had nearly killed a classmate.
He had nearly killed...
With a violent heave, Draco dry retched, clutching his stomach in pain. He found himself crushed against another, the comfort of warm arms encompassing him and chasing the cold away. The other breathed soothing words in his ear, pushing sweat-dampened hair from his eyes as he struggled to gain control of himself.
He had almost become a murderer.
Draco moaned and dropped his head down, still clutching his stomach, as Weasel plopped into the water beside them.