Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author: Penguin

Title: LIKE GLASS

Part 3

Still shaken and puzzled by the incident with Potter's wand, Draco went to undo the five locking spells on Potter's door. He opened it, wary of what he would find – but the room was empty. Alarmed, he looked around trying to find the escape route, but then he heard retching noises from the bathroom. He made a face somewhere in between relief and disgust.

After a few minutes, Potter emerged, pale and sweating with shaking hands. He didn't show any surprise at seeing Draco in the room; he just went over to the bed and lay down, wiping his mouth with the back of a hand. Draco opened his bag and took out some potions that Lupin had provided him with, poured two of them into a glass and handed it to Potter, who emptied it quickly, barely managing not to gag.

"Have you called Lupin?" he asked, shuddering as he returned the empty glass to Draco.

It was the first thing either of them had uttered, and their fingers brushed. Draco wasn't sure which one of those things made him jump.

"Called?"

"Owled, I mean."

"No, not yet. I thought I'd check on you first."

Potter sat up, which appeared to require some effort. His eyes danced unsteadily around the room.

"Would you…" His voice trailed off and he tried again. "I just wondered if…"

Whatever it was he wanted to say, it appeared to be difficult.

"What, Potter?"

"Who will be taking me back? You?"

"Probably, or Lupin will come and get you. Why?"

Potter's eyes were suddenly hazy with pain, and Draco doubted it was a pain that potions could cure. Potter tried to say something again, and stalled again. Finally he said in an almost inaudible voice:

"I know we've never liked each other much… to say the least… but I was wondering if I could ask you a favour."

Draco bit back his reply of "I'm already doing you a favour" and said: "Depends on what it is, Potter. I have my mission, which is to try to return you to the wizarding world. If you're going to ask me to leave you here, just like that, the answer is no."

Potter shook his head. "It's just… I'd just like to know…where you'll be taking me." He took a deep breath. "And how we're going to travel."

Draco frowned. Potter hadn't said "where we'll be going" but "where you'll be taking me". He seemed to assume that he was some kind of prisoner. Perhaps he was, but whatever had him trapped seemed to come from within himself.

"Well, Potter – I'll tell you what I was sent out to do. I was asked to go to Muggle London and find you, talk to you and try to make you come back to the wizarding world. We knew what to expect – we'd had several reports about your drug abuse. I was ordered to take your wand for the night and lock you in to keep you from hurting yourself – but you're not a prisoner. I have no authority over you. If you ask for your wand, I'll have to give it back to you, but I might as well tell you I won't do that until we've talked properly. I was asked to try to persuade you to come back, and that's what I'll do."

To his surprise, Potter gave something that was apparently meant to be a laugh, although it was more of a croak. It ceased as abruptly as it had begun.

"And where would you be taking me, if you took me back?" he asked.

"Where would you want to go?"

Potter let himself fall back on the bed and closed his eyes. He was silent for a long time before he replied:

"What I'd like to go back to doesn't exist any more."

Draco turned his face away and felt his eyes sting. I know what you mean, Potter. I know what you mean.

"Will you come, though?" he said in a low voice.

Silence. Draco turned to look at Potter, who had covered his face with his hands. Through his fingers, he said:

"How are we travelling?"

"Depends on where we're going. If we're going to that horrible House of Black, I suggest we Apparate. That would be the quickest way by far. And if we're going to Hogwarts – what's left of it – we can Apparate to Hogsmeade and get a carriage from there. Lupin suggested Hogwarts. The hospital wing has been restored, and they're taking in patients who aren't students."

"No, no Apparating," Potter said hastily. "And no travelling by Floo system, either."

Draco was losing his patience.

"What do you want to do then – fly a broomstick, and promptly appear on the Muggle news? I'm not authorised to create portkeys. Neither are you, as far as I know."

Potter was silent for a while, and then said in a tired voice: "Would you mind… not owling Lupin for another day or two?"

Draco snapped. The entire situation was too much – Potter's problems, Draco's own powerlessness, the fact that he didn't understand what was going on, what Potter was getting at... He hated not understanding. "What the fuck's going on with you, Potter?" he said viciously. "Why are you so fussy about travel arrangements – are you worried that The Boy Who Lived won't return to the wizarding world with the proper grandeur and stateliness?" He felt a grim satisfaction when he saw Potter wince. "And what's this about Lupin? Too grand to want to talk to a werewolf these days?"

"I didn't want to talk to any of you, Malfoy!" Potter almost shouted. "Least of all you! And I hate having to beg you for anything, anything at all!"

This, at least, was something Draco could relate to. He took a deep breath. He had been warned that Potter would behave oddly – he couldn't let it get to him like this. He had to remain civil.

"So am I to understand that you refuse to go back with me? There's no need to beg, you know. You're not my prisoner. I didn't ask to do this, and just like you, I'd much rather be somewhere else, but for now, you're my guest. I don't expect gratitude, but I do expect you to be reasonable. Shall I just leave, then? Is that what you want?"

Potter sat up again, clearly beginning to feel the positive effects of the potions. His face had a healthier colour than the greyish hue of earlier, and his eyes were red-rimmed but steady. The green gaze was unnerving. There were still traces of his old power, the power that used to flare and burn in him and help them not lose hope.

"No, I don't want you to leave. In a way, I do want to go back, but I don't see… Malfoy, I just don't see how I can. So, again: would you mind not owling Lupin – or anyone – just yet?"

There was a quiet urgency in his voice that made something inside Draco stop fluttering and be still. He straddled a chair back to front, rested his arms on top of the backrest and his chin on his arms, and said: "Okay. I'm not in a hurry. You seem to want to tell me something. What is it?"

Potter stared at him and tried to smile, but his face only twisted itself into a grimace.

"I would have thought you'd have it figured out long before now," he said with something that could have been contempt, if Draco hadn't seen the hopelessness in his eyes. "What's wrong with me, I mean. They tried their best at St Mungo's but they never even got close to the truth. I don't want to tell you particularly, Malfoy. I don't want to tell anyone. But you're not stupid, I'll say that for you, and you'll find out sooner or later anyway. Probably sooner, if you're taking me back there."

Draco felt a chill down his spine. He had loathed Potter for years, loathed and hated him, and then slowly and grudgingly come to admire him. Eventually he had even felt sorry for him, for where all his courage and brilliance had taken him: dumped on the rubbish heap. The prospect of receiving confidences from Potter would once have made Draco elated. Now, it frightened him. He wanted to respond but felt inadequate and completely out of his depth.

"If you want, I could get someone for you…? Someone from St. Mungo's…?"

"No," Potter spat. "I've talked enough to those people. There's nothing they can do. There's nothing you can do, either, but someone needs to know this. And when Lupin hears about it, he'll change his mind about bringing me back."

"I think," said Draco weakly, "that we both need breakfast. You can tell me while we eat."

Potter looked confused, as though the concept of breakfast was one he had forgotten. He probably had. He lay back on the bed and was silent until Tom had brought them an enormous breakfast tray and left again.

Draco handed Potter a plate heaped with bacon and eggs.

"And now," he said firmly, watching Potter glance sideways at the sizzling slices of bacon like a suspicious cat eyeing offered food, "now we'll talk."

- - -

Potter ate as if he hadn't seen food for a year. Draco sipped his tea and watched, thinking Potter needed to get rid of that thestral look, then wondering if the food would make him sick again.

"I have a confession to make," he said while Potter was still chewing. "Last night, I tried to use your wand."

Potter choked. When he had stopped coughing, he looked hard at Draco for a few moments. Then he went over to the desk, unceremoniously picked up his wand and said "Lumos." It was the same simple spell Draco had tried some hours ago, and it had exactly the same effect it had had then: none at all. Potter threw the wand back on the desk and looked at Draco, defiantly.

"Tried to is the key phrase, isn't it? What happened when you tried it?"

"Same as now. Nothing."

Potter stared at him. "It – it didn't? Nothing at all?"

"Nothing. It was just sitting there in my hand like any ordinary piece of wood."

To Draco's astonishment, Potter's eyes filled with tears. He turned away very quickly and coughed to hide it.

"But for you... it ends there," he said, his face still turned away.

Draco didn't understand. "What ends where?"

Potter turned again, and that moment his eyes showed all the pain, the resignation, loneliness and squalor he had experienced the past year. Draco caught his breath.

"Pick up your own wand," Potter said in a voice that was strangely flat and hard. "Use the Lumos spell."

Draco did as he was asked, and the tip of the wand lit up obediently with a blue light that was barely visible in the morning light flowing in from the window.

"Let me try it," Potter demanded in the same hard voice.

Draco hesitated – he never let anyone use his wand. But this situation was so extraordinary he didn't see why it shouldn't continue that way. He handed Potter the wand without a word and couldn't help wincing when Potter took it and their fingers brushed a second time.

"Thanks," Potter said, and when their eyes met, Draco could see that it wasn't merely a word. Potter understood what the gesture meant to Draco, and appreciated it.

He pointed the wand and said "Lumos". Nothing happened. No light emerged from the tip of the wand, not even the tiniest blue spark. He pointed the wand at his teacup and said "Wingardium leviosa". The cup remained where it was; it didn't even make the faintest rattle against its saucer. Potter handed the wand back to Draco and said:

"Now do you understand?"

Draco felt as if his brain had melted. He looked stupidly from Potter to the wand and back again, and then back to the wand again, shaking it a little as if that would tell him what was going on. He put it on the desk, stood up and met Potter's eyes. They were level with his own now, and still filled with that terrible pain, anger and fear. Draco thought he would go to pieces. He had never felt this sorry for anyone in his entire life.

"Are you... have you..." he stammered idiotically.

"Yes," Potter said in that tight, hard voice. "That's why I can't go back with you, Malfoy, even if I wanted to. That's why I don't think I'd be welcome in the wizarding world. I've lost my magic."