The door to Snape's chambers was kicked in and slammed against the wall with a resounding crash.
Draco liked the noise, it suited his mood.
"What do you want?" the Potions Professor demanded before seeing his adopted son walk into view. Harry was cradled limply in his arms and there was blood on his robes. "What happened?" he asked quietly, annoyance gone from his voice.
"All of the blood is Potter's, "Draco assured him, seeing the relief in his godfather's eyes. "I found him like this, near my room." Ignoring Snape's muttered, "You should have left him there," knowing he didn't really mean it anyway, Draco continued, "Sev, he did this to himself."
"Another publicity stunt from The-Boy-Who-Lived," Snape drawled, partly relieved that it hadn't been another Death Eater break in, like last year.
"It's not a publicity stunt if you're dead," Draco ground out angrily. He had no idea why he was standing up for the Golden Boy of Gryffindor; really, he should be agreeing with his adoptive father. But seeing the other teen bleeding out, in much the same position that Sev had once found him brought out a strange protectiveness in Draco. "What do we do?"
Snape sighed, pulled out his wand, and muttered a quick healing charm. Nothing happened. He did it again, a bit louder, as though volume equaled power. Still nothing. An apprehensive expression settled across his features, doing nothing to help Draco's already unsettled state of mind.
"Sev?"
"Do you have his knife?"
Draco thought for a moment and then answered, "I saw it, but I was slightly distracted by the fact that Harry-bloody-Potter was dying in front of me."
Snape rolled his eyes at the sarcasm and commanded, "Get it. I need to test something. And Draco," he added as the boy laid Harry on the couch, "Don't worry."
Draco nodded once and left.
Snape walked into one of his numerous storerooms, muttering to himself about all Potters living only to inconvenience him. He grabbed a few vials and went back to the couch, kneeling down next to the seventeen-year-old.
He set down all of the vials except for one that glowed eerily, purple and black swirling through green.
As he uncorked the bottle, Draco darted in, breathing slightly harsh from running through the dungeons.
He knelt down next to Snape and handed him the dagger hilt first, ignoring the blood that coated it. In return, Snape handed him the vial and told him, "Put some of this on Potter's wrist."
Draco poured some onto his fingers and spread it across the slowly drying wounds, unwittingly noting the softness of the skin he was rubbing.
Shoving the observation to the back of his mind where he could think about it later, he watched in surprise as the wounds healed over, leaving only faint scars.
Looking up from his work with the dagger, Snape caught Draco's questioning look and said shortly, "Phoenix tears." He took out his wand again and aimed it at the still unconscious boy as he said "Ennervate."
Harry opened his eyes, and before he could ask any questions, a potion was thrust into his hands as Snape ordered, "Drink this."
Too used to following directions in Potions to do anything else, Harry obeyed. Surprisingly, the potion tasted only slightly of mud, and he was filled quickly with a rushing warmth.
"For the blood loss," Snape informed him, trying unsuccessfully to hold back a glare. He couldn't believe he was saving The-Boy-Who-Shouldn't-Be-Alive yet again.
"Why?" Harry asked looking at Draco.
Draco could easily have pretended not to understand the question, but something compelled him to answer. He wracked his brain for a suitable reply, and finally found one that would suffice. "Because if anyone gets to kill you, Potter, it's going to be me. That's one victory I won't let you take."
Snape barely refrained from rolling his eyes. You'd think after nearly seven years they'd get over their silly little rivalry, he thought to himself.
Harry smirked, he couldn't help it. Trust Malfoy to be an arrogant prat about something so noble as saving a life.
Reaching for Harry's now-healed wrist, Draco repeated the question. "Why?"
"It was an easy way out," Harry replied without thinking.
Blank expression replaced by a startled look, Draco asked dryly, "And when have you ever taken the easy way out?"
As Harry opened his mouth to reply, Snape asked, "Potter, what spells do you have on here?"
"A charm to make it difficult to heal wounds inflicted with it, and another to prevent it from being used against me." Running a finger across the thin white scars now adorning his wrist, he said to himself, "apparently I can use it against me though."
"So there were no Dark Arts used?"
Harry gave his Professor an incredulous look, as though he couldn't believe Snape was even asking. "Of course not! S-Snuffles would never have left me a dagger with Dark Arts on it!"
"Well there are Dark spells on it now," Snape responded calmly.
Harry grabbed his dagger angrily, not understanding the colorful swirls surrounding it.
The Potions Professor snatched it back, glaring as he snapped, "Give me that! I don't want you bleeding all over my floor again."
"I wouldn't let my blood grace your stupid floor!" Harry shouted, knowing in the back of his mind that the comeback sounded vaguely ridiculous.
"It already is!" Snape cried, motioning wildly towards the floor where there were a few drops of red.
Harry's hair was even more ruffled than usual, Snape's robes were billowing about, and tension was practically vibrating in the air as they stood toe to toe.
Draco idly thought that if looks could kill, both his godfather and Potter would be very, very dead, and the idea of them trying to murder each other with just their eyes was enough to make him laugh.
Both Snape and Harry spun on him, perfectly mirroring each other.
As soon as he realized what they'd done, Snape growled and, dagger still in hand, stormed out of the room.
Harry collapsed back onto the sofa, where Draco was now sitting.
"Hey, watch it Potter!" Draco yelped, but the words lacked their usual force.
Harry just smiled angelically at him, and Draco muttered something unintelligible as he moved to perch on the armrest.
They sat in silence, both too tired to pursue the usual fighting. Their rivalry had lost it's hatefulness after Lucius's death, and there were no more Mudblood or finance comments, but it was still there, cheered on by the seventh year Slytherins and Gryffindors alike.
A few minutes later Snape stalked back in, the glare now faded into a troubled weariness.
"What did you find, Sev?" Draco asked, knowing Snape wasn't easily worried, especially when it came to the dark haired boy sitting next to him.
Seemingly ignoring the question, Snape asked quietly, "Potter, how many people know you have this?"
Harry's first instinct was to say no one, but then he remembered that day in Potions. "Everyone who was in Potions last week could have seen it, but I didn't say anything about it. I don't think even Ron or Hermione know about it."
"Do you make a habit of playing with weapons in my class?" Snape inquired, voice deceptively even.
"No," Harry replied in a long-suffering voice. "You paired me with Neville."
Snape still looked confused, but Draco smirked, understanding. "Longbottom, Sev. Do you remember which potion you had us making last week?"
Harry answered for him, "Something that involved sliced Kraken, apparently with as much slime as possible. Neville's hand kept slipping, so I had him use my dagger. I like having all of my limbs attached."
"Ah, yes. Longbottom," Snape sneered. Neville was known to blow up a cauldron nearly every time one was involved. And then there was the time he'd turned everyone's hair bright pink and purple. "So all of the Gryffindors and Slytherins in your year know you have your own dagger, and could have easily figured out that it couldn't be used against you."
"Yeah. . ." Harry wanted to know where Snape was going with this.
"And wouldn't it be perfect if your death couldn't be traced back to He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named?"
"Voldemort," Harry and Draco corrected in unison. Giving Draco a startled look of grudging respect, Harry added, "Just say Voldemort."
"Fine," Snape heaved an exaggerated sigh. "Voldemort."
"Drama queen," Harry muttered under his breath, and Draco quickly turned his snicker into a cough.
Snape looked at them suspiciously. It was unnerving to see them being civil.
"Anyway," Harry continued, "what does that have to do with my dagger?"
Apparently going off on another tangent, Snape asked, "Potter, have you ever cut yourself before?"
Unhappily Harry replied, "No."
"Have you ever tried to kill yourself before?" the Professor pressed.
Harry's expression went carefully blank. Annoyed, he snapped, "I'm still here aren't I? Why does this matter?"
"If you refuse to talk because of me Potter," Draco drawled, "Don't worry." He pushed up the sleeve of his robe, revealing a wrist crisscrossed with scars. "I won't tell if you don't."
Harry's eyes widened, but still he turned to look pleadingly at Snape, who only nodded. "Fine," he sighed. His voice was bland, empty as he answered, "Yes, I've tried before, although I've never gotten this far. Hedwig always stopped me. It was the summer after I killed Sir-Snuffles."
Ignoring Draco's quick intake of breath, Snape said, "You didn't kill him Potter, and you know he'd hate for you to think that."
Harry gave him a long look and nodded once. "He probably would. But he's not here to tell me so, is he?"
"Summer . . ." Draco said softly. "Why didn't your Muggle family stop you?"
With a bitter, humorless smile, Harry replied, "Stop me? Hell Malfoy, they encouraged me. They gave me the pills."
Snape winced and Draco quickly concealed his horror. Sure, as a Malfoy he hadn't had the best of home lives, but at least Narcissa somewhat liked him. "Bloody hell Potter," he breathed.
Defensive now, Harry replied, "It's not as though you've had a perfect life. You don't slice yourself up," here he motioned at Draco's wrist, "because you're happy Malfoy." He considered adding 'or do you?' but decided that as Malfoy had most likely saved his life, it probably wouldn't have been polite.
"Does the Headmaster know, Potter?" Snape asked softly.
"Of course not, I only did it tonight. I suppose you'll tell him, though."
"I was talking about your summer," the Professor replied, deciding not to acknowledge the challenge in his student's tone.
"No. He's got enough to deal with in Voldemort. I'm not going to add another unnecessary problem."
Neither Draco nor Snape knew what to say to this, so they sat in an awkward silence, Harry meeting their eyes defiantly.
"You most likely should have told him, but we'll deal with that later," Snape said eventually. "I'll need to keep your dagger."
"No," Harry answered flatly.
"Potter-"
"You can't take it! It's the last thing I have left of Sirius." Harry's eyes widened as he noticed his slip. He was so used to Snape being in the Order, he hadn't been thinking about Draco.
"Black? Your godfather?" Draco asked. Noting Snape's and Harry's twin expressions of shock, he rolled his eyes. "I do know more than an average student, what with my father being who he was. You of all people should know that, Sev."
Snape nodded distractedly, looking at Harry. "I can't let you take the dagger."
"I'm taking it back with me," Harry replied stubbornly.
"You'll try to kill yourself the minute you lay a hand on it!" Snape objected.
"I will not!"
"Yes you will!"
Draco watched the fight as someone might watch a tennis match, his face an empty mask. He still couldn't get over what Harry had said earlier. Just proved how horrible Muggles were, really, he decided. In that aspect, at least, the Death Eaters were right.
"If you die," the Potions Professor yelled, "then Voldemort wins!" He realized this probably wasn't the best thing to say in front of Draco, a possible future Death Eater, but he also knew that it might be the best argument against Potter. He also suspected that Draco would join the Order just to spite his father, if the choice was offered.
"I don't want to kill myself!" Harry shouted back. In the back of his mind, he wondered if Snape had Silencing Charms around his rooms.
"You don't have to want to," Snape said, slightly calmer. "The spells on the dagger are. . . compulsion spells."
Harry scoffed. "I've been able to throw off Imperius since fourth year."
"That isn't what this is. It's an enhancement spell combined with a spell to remove inhibitions."
Both Harry and Draco refrained from mentioning that this sounded more like sex magic than anything deadly.
Snape could apparently tell what they were thinking though, and said exasperatedly, "Enhancement of emotions, to make Gryffindor over here feel even more depressed," At Harry's startled look he added, "Yes, McGonagall, and most of the Professors, know you're unhappy Potter, but no one knows what to do about it." Getting back on track, he continued, "Removing of inhibitions to get rid of his hero complex and allow him to give in and kill himself."
Harry looked vaguely insulted at the hero remark, but let it go. Somewhere in there was something important. " . . . So someone from Slytherin is trying to kill me?"
"It could be someone from Gryffindor," Draco offered helpfully. When Harry looked at him as though he was a rather dense Hufflepuff, he sighed. "So, someone from my House wants you dead? Not exactly a new development, Potter."
"Gee Malfoy, how reassuring," Harry replied sarcastically. "Are we sure it wasn't you?"
"If it was me, Potter, I wouldn't have carried your sorry arse down here in the first place," Draco informed him.
Harry shrugged. It was true. "So, how many Slytherin seventh years are Death Eaters?"
"None of them are marked, but Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini are the only two who've been vocal about 'not being a servant to anyone, much less someone who looks like a walking corpse'," Snape's impression of Pansy's voice was eerily accurate.
"And Malfoy?" Harry directed the question at Snape, but he was looking towards Draco.
"I, Potter, am my own person, not some idiot's bloody lapdog," Draco replied, wondering if he would have been better off leaving Potter to die. He was rather annoying. Then he met the other boy's eyes and saw the growing respect there. Well. Maybe he wasn't so bad after all.
As if he was just now realizing that it was past two on a Thursday night, or rather Friday morning, Snape ordered the boys back to their rooms. "Come back tomorrow and we'll sort this out."
As they made to go their separate ways, Draco called out, "Hey, Potter! Remember what I said. If anyone's going to be killing you, it'll be me, so don't go doing it yourself."
Harry laughed, because sometimes with Malfoy, he had decided, that was all you could do. After waiting long enough that Draco turned away, assuming Harry wasn't going to say anything, he called, "Hey Malfoy!" When Draco turned to face him, he said, "Same here," and then turned and strode towards Gryffindor Tower, not giving the Slytherin a chance to reply.
Author's Note: Please review, I'll even look at flames, but if they're about homosexuality, I will laugh at the person who wrote it for being stupid enough to ignore the warning.
Draco liked the noise, it suited his mood.
"What do you want?" the Potions Professor demanded before seeing his adopted son walk into view. Harry was cradled limply in his arms and there was blood on his robes. "What happened?" he asked quietly, annoyance gone from his voice.
"All of the blood is Potter's, "Draco assured him, seeing the relief in his godfather's eyes. "I found him like this, near my room." Ignoring Snape's muttered, "You should have left him there," knowing he didn't really mean it anyway, Draco continued, "Sev, he did this to himself."
"Another publicity stunt from The-Boy-Who-Lived," Snape drawled, partly relieved that it hadn't been another Death Eater break in, like last year.
"It's not a publicity stunt if you're dead," Draco ground out angrily. He had no idea why he was standing up for the Golden Boy of Gryffindor; really, he should be agreeing with his adoptive father. But seeing the other teen bleeding out, in much the same position that Sev had once found him brought out a strange protectiveness in Draco. "What do we do?"
Snape sighed, pulled out his wand, and muttered a quick healing charm. Nothing happened. He did it again, a bit louder, as though volume equaled power. Still nothing. An apprehensive expression settled across his features, doing nothing to help Draco's already unsettled state of mind.
"Sev?"
"Do you have his knife?"
Draco thought for a moment and then answered, "I saw it, but I was slightly distracted by the fact that Harry-bloody-Potter was dying in front of me."
Snape rolled his eyes at the sarcasm and commanded, "Get it. I need to test something. And Draco," he added as the boy laid Harry on the couch, "Don't worry."
Draco nodded once and left.
Snape walked into one of his numerous storerooms, muttering to himself about all Potters living only to inconvenience him. He grabbed a few vials and went back to the couch, kneeling down next to the seventeen-year-old.
He set down all of the vials except for one that glowed eerily, purple and black swirling through green.
As he uncorked the bottle, Draco darted in, breathing slightly harsh from running through the dungeons.
He knelt down next to Snape and handed him the dagger hilt first, ignoring the blood that coated it. In return, Snape handed him the vial and told him, "Put some of this on Potter's wrist."
Draco poured some onto his fingers and spread it across the slowly drying wounds, unwittingly noting the softness of the skin he was rubbing.
Shoving the observation to the back of his mind where he could think about it later, he watched in surprise as the wounds healed over, leaving only faint scars.
Looking up from his work with the dagger, Snape caught Draco's questioning look and said shortly, "Phoenix tears." He took out his wand again and aimed it at the still unconscious boy as he said "Ennervate."
Harry opened his eyes, and before he could ask any questions, a potion was thrust into his hands as Snape ordered, "Drink this."
Too used to following directions in Potions to do anything else, Harry obeyed. Surprisingly, the potion tasted only slightly of mud, and he was filled quickly with a rushing warmth.
"For the blood loss," Snape informed him, trying unsuccessfully to hold back a glare. He couldn't believe he was saving The-Boy-Who-Shouldn't-Be-Alive yet again.
"Why?" Harry asked looking at Draco.
Draco could easily have pretended not to understand the question, but something compelled him to answer. He wracked his brain for a suitable reply, and finally found one that would suffice. "Because if anyone gets to kill you, Potter, it's going to be me. That's one victory I won't let you take."
Snape barely refrained from rolling his eyes. You'd think after nearly seven years they'd get over their silly little rivalry, he thought to himself.
Harry smirked, he couldn't help it. Trust Malfoy to be an arrogant prat about something so noble as saving a life.
Reaching for Harry's now-healed wrist, Draco repeated the question. "Why?"
"It was an easy way out," Harry replied without thinking.
Blank expression replaced by a startled look, Draco asked dryly, "And when have you ever taken the easy way out?"
As Harry opened his mouth to reply, Snape asked, "Potter, what spells do you have on here?"
"A charm to make it difficult to heal wounds inflicted with it, and another to prevent it from being used against me." Running a finger across the thin white scars now adorning his wrist, he said to himself, "apparently I can use it against me though."
"So there were no Dark Arts used?"
Harry gave his Professor an incredulous look, as though he couldn't believe Snape was even asking. "Of course not! S-Snuffles would never have left me a dagger with Dark Arts on it!"
"Well there are Dark spells on it now," Snape responded calmly.
Harry grabbed his dagger angrily, not understanding the colorful swirls surrounding it.
The Potions Professor snatched it back, glaring as he snapped, "Give me that! I don't want you bleeding all over my floor again."
"I wouldn't let my blood grace your stupid floor!" Harry shouted, knowing in the back of his mind that the comeback sounded vaguely ridiculous.
"It already is!" Snape cried, motioning wildly towards the floor where there were a few drops of red.
Harry's hair was even more ruffled than usual, Snape's robes were billowing about, and tension was practically vibrating in the air as they stood toe to toe.
Draco idly thought that if looks could kill, both his godfather and Potter would be very, very dead, and the idea of them trying to murder each other with just their eyes was enough to make him laugh.
Both Snape and Harry spun on him, perfectly mirroring each other.
As soon as he realized what they'd done, Snape growled and, dagger still in hand, stormed out of the room.
Harry collapsed back onto the sofa, where Draco was now sitting.
"Hey, watch it Potter!" Draco yelped, but the words lacked their usual force.
Harry just smiled angelically at him, and Draco muttered something unintelligible as he moved to perch on the armrest.
They sat in silence, both too tired to pursue the usual fighting. Their rivalry had lost it's hatefulness after Lucius's death, and there were no more Mudblood or finance comments, but it was still there, cheered on by the seventh year Slytherins and Gryffindors alike.
A few minutes later Snape stalked back in, the glare now faded into a troubled weariness.
"What did you find, Sev?" Draco asked, knowing Snape wasn't easily worried, especially when it came to the dark haired boy sitting next to him.
Seemingly ignoring the question, Snape asked quietly, "Potter, how many people know you have this?"
Harry's first instinct was to say no one, but then he remembered that day in Potions. "Everyone who was in Potions last week could have seen it, but I didn't say anything about it. I don't think even Ron or Hermione know about it."
"Do you make a habit of playing with weapons in my class?" Snape inquired, voice deceptively even.
"No," Harry replied in a long-suffering voice. "You paired me with Neville."
Snape still looked confused, but Draco smirked, understanding. "Longbottom, Sev. Do you remember which potion you had us making last week?"
Harry answered for him, "Something that involved sliced Kraken, apparently with as much slime as possible. Neville's hand kept slipping, so I had him use my dagger. I like having all of my limbs attached."
"Ah, yes. Longbottom," Snape sneered. Neville was known to blow up a cauldron nearly every time one was involved. And then there was the time he'd turned everyone's hair bright pink and purple. "So all of the Gryffindors and Slytherins in your year know you have your own dagger, and could have easily figured out that it couldn't be used against you."
"Yeah. . ." Harry wanted to know where Snape was going with this.
"And wouldn't it be perfect if your death couldn't be traced back to He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named?"
"Voldemort," Harry and Draco corrected in unison. Giving Draco a startled look of grudging respect, Harry added, "Just say Voldemort."
"Fine," Snape heaved an exaggerated sigh. "Voldemort."
"Drama queen," Harry muttered under his breath, and Draco quickly turned his snicker into a cough.
Snape looked at them suspiciously. It was unnerving to see them being civil.
"Anyway," Harry continued, "what does that have to do with my dagger?"
Apparently going off on another tangent, Snape asked, "Potter, have you ever cut yourself before?"
Unhappily Harry replied, "No."
"Have you ever tried to kill yourself before?" the Professor pressed.
Harry's expression went carefully blank. Annoyed, he snapped, "I'm still here aren't I? Why does this matter?"
"If you refuse to talk because of me Potter," Draco drawled, "Don't worry." He pushed up the sleeve of his robe, revealing a wrist crisscrossed with scars. "I won't tell if you don't."
Harry's eyes widened, but still he turned to look pleadingly at Snape, who only nodded. "Fine," he sighed. His voice was bland, empty as he answered, "Yes, I've tried before, although I've never gotten this far. Hedwig always stopped me. It was the summer after I killed Sir-Snuffles."
Ignoring Draco's quick intake of breath, Snape said, "You didn't kill him Potter, and you know he'd hate for you to think that."
Harry gave him a long look and nodded once. "He probably would. But he's not here to tell me so, is he?"
"Summer . . ." Draco said softly. "Why didn't your Muggle family stop you?"
With a bitter, humorless smile, Harry replied, "Stop me? Hell Malfoy, they encouraged me. They gave me the pills."
Snape winced and Draco quickly concealed his horror. Sure, as a Malfoy he hadn't had the best of home lives, but at least Narcissa somewhat liked him. "Bloody hell Potter," he breathed.
Defensive now, Harry replied, "It's not as though you've had a perfect life. You don't slice yourself up," here he motioned at Draco's wrist, "because you're happy Malfoy." He considered adding 'or do you?' but decided that as Malfoy had most likely saved his life, it probably wouldn't have been polite.
"Does the Headmaster know, Potter?" Snape asked softly.
"Of course not, I only did it tonight. I suppose you'll tell him, though."
"I was talking about your summer," the Professor replied, deciding not to acknowledge the challenge in his student's tone.
"No. He's got enough to deal with in Voldemort. I'm not going to add another unnecessary problem."
Neither Draco nor Snape knew what to say to this, so they sat in an awkward silence, Harry meeting their eyes defiantly.
"You most likely should have told him, but we'll deal with that later," Snape said eventually. "I'll need to keep your dagger."
"No," Harry answered flatly.
"Potter-"
"You can't take it! It's the last thing I have left of Sirius." Harry's eyes widened as he noticed his slip. He was so used to Snape being in the Order, he hadn't been thinking about Draco.
"Black? Your godfather?" Draco asked. Noting Snape's and Harry's twin expressions of shock, he rolled his eyes. "I do know more than an average student, what with my father being who he was. You of all people should know that, Sev."
Snape nodded distractedly, looking at Harry. "I can't let you take the dagger."
"I'm taking it back with me," Harry replied stubbornly.
"You'll try to kill yourself the minute you lay a hand on it!" Snape objected.
"I will not!"
"Yes you will!"
Draco watched the fight as someone might watch a tennis match, his face an empty mask. He still couldn't get over what Harry had said earlier. Just proved how horrible Muggles were, really, he decided. In that aspect, at least, the Death Eaters were right.
"If you die," the Potions Professor yelled, "then Voldemort wins!" He realized this probably wasn't the best thing to say in front of Draco, a possible future Death Eater, but he also knew that it might be the best argument against Potter. He also suspected that Draco would join the Order just to spite his father, if the choice was offered.
"I don't want to kill myself!" Harry shouted back. In the back of his mind, he wondered if Snape had Silencing Charms around his rooms.
"You don't have to want to," Snape said, slightly calmer. "The spells on the dagger are. . . compulsion spells."
Harry scoffed. "I've been able to throw off Imperius since fourth year."
"That isn't what this is. It's an enhancement spell combined with a spell to remove inhibitions."
Both Harry and Draco refrained from mentioning that this sounded more like sex magic than anything deadly.
Snape could apparently tell what they were thinking though, and said exasperatedly, "Enhancement of emotions, to make Gryffindor over here feel even more depressed," At Harry's startled look he added, "Yes, McGonagall, and most of the Professors, know you're unhappy Potter, but no one knows what to do about it." Getting back on track, he continued, "Removing of inhibitions to get rid of his hero complex and allow him to give in and kill himself."
Harry looked vaguely insulted at the hero remark, but let it go. Somewhere in there was something important. " . . . So someone from Slytherin is trying to kill me?"
"It could be someone from Gryffindor," Draco offered helpfully. When Harry looked at him as though he was a rather dense Hufflepuff, he sighed. "So, someone from my House wants you dead? Not exactly a new development, Potter."
"Gee Malfoy, how reassuring," Harry replied sarcastically. "Are we sure it wasn't you?"
"If it was me, Potter, I wouldn't have carried your sorry arse down here in the first place," Draco informed him.
Harry shrugged. It was true. "So, how many Slytherin seventh years are Death Eaters?"
"None of them are marked, but Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini are the only two who've been vocal about 'not being a servant to anyone, much less someone who looks like a walking corpse'," Snape's impression of Pansy's voice was eerily accurate.
"And Malfoy?" Harry directed the question at Snape, but he was looking towards Draco.
"I, Potter, am my own person, not some idiot's bloody lapdog," Draco replied, wondering if he would have been better off leaving Potter to die. He was rather annoying. Then he met the other boy's eyes and saw the growing respect there. Well. Maybe he wasn't so bad after all.
As if he was just now realizing that it was past two on a Thursday night, or rather Friday morning, Snape ordered the boys back to their rooms. "Come back tomorrow and we'll sort this out."
As they made to go their separate ways, Draco called out, "Hey, Potter! Remember what I said. If anyone's going to be killing you, it'll be me, so don't go doing it yourself."
Harry laughed, because sometimes with Malfoy, he had decided, that was all you could do. After waiting long enough that Draco turned away, assuming Harry wasn't going to say anything, he called, "Hey Malfoy!" When Draco turned to face him, he said, "Same here," and then turned and strode towards Gryffindor Tower, not giving the Slytherin a chance to reply.
Author's Note: Please review, I'll even look at flames, but if they're about homosexuality, I will laugh at the person who wrote it for being stupid enough to ignore the warning.