Aha. Still not mine, but I'm still stringing them along. Thanks for hanging with me, and do be aware this isn't for the kiddies. I just wanna thank coffeebean for the steadfast support. You are a doll, truly. Also my other reviewers, thanks for the tip. This is my first fanfic in this genre, so yeah... it's a might bumpy, but I'm getting there.

The darkness was absolute, all-encompassing, and for just a moment, Harry had the dizzying feeling that if he stretched his fingers out just so, it would rub off on them, thick like oil. That was if he could see his fingers, of course. At the moment, he could make out little at all, eyes struggling to adjust to the gloom.

"Malfoy?"

Foy..oy...oy, came back the eerie echo, rebounding off the stone walls of the cave. Harry took a breath, tasting damp earth on the back of his tongue. Rain pattered outside, and inside he could hear the steady plink of water from another source... he could feel it on his skin, cool and oppressive as the darkness itself.

Dimly, the young wizard could make out the slick contours of the cave walls, but only through great effort and quite a bit of squinting. He was relieved to note the lack of spider webbing, but it didn't rid him of the thrumming undertone of wariness that kept that branch held forth in clubbing position. Scanning the gloomy interior of the cave, he edged further inside- mindful to feel his way out with caution, aware that the slightest misstep would have him face down in the mud for the umpteenth time that day, and Harry wasn't sure he had the energy to pick himself up again.

It was those mincing, shuffling steps that saved him. He had only made it a few yards within the cave, faintly preoccupied with surprise at finding it extended so deeply, when a cautiously extended foot encountered space where there should have been floor. Harry almost pitched forward, dropping his crude weapon as he flailed wildly back in effort to regain his balance. He wasn't quite successful, finding himself abruptly seated at the yawning edge of what appeared to be a pit.

Breathless, heart-thudding painfully within his chest, he flopped backward and attempted to catch his breath. Merlin, but that had been close. It was with a familiar sense of foreboding that he rolled onto his stomach, hissing at the pressure that little trick placed against his wounded shoulder. Can't be helped, he thought resolutely. Squirming forward a bit, he peered down into the depths of the cavernous pit, stomach twisting oddly when he glimpsed a familiar shock of white-blond.

"Malfoy, can you hear me? Are you all right?"

Anxious, he willed movement out of that streak of pallor against the darkness. Harry was gratified a moment later when a groan sounded, and Draco's unmistakable voice drifted up to him.

"What a stupid question, Potter. I fell down a bloody hole, of course I'm not all right."

Harry could only grin in relief. If Draco was up to being sarcastic and biting, all was relatively right with the world. He squinted, trying to get a better glimpse of his classmate- only able to make out a flash of silvery eyes and that too-white shock of hair.

"Give us a light, Malfoy, so we can find you a way out of there," Harry began only to be cut off by a gruff mumble.

"IbrokemywandwhenIfell..."

"What? Speak English, Malfoy."

"I. Broke. My. Wand," spat the Slytherin, normally smooth voice strained with irritation and just a hint of fear.

"Then toss me my wand and I'll-"

Interrupted again, this time by a sharp burst of laughter, its bitter amusement ringing off the stone walls to fill the cave with the sounds of Draco's suspicion.

"Toss you a wand, Potter? Do you think I shook my brains loose when I fell?"

"Just because you'd leave a classmate down in that hole to rot doesn't mean I will, Malfoy," sneered Harry, his temper finally getting the best of him.

"Of course not, not perfect Harry Potter," hissed the incensed Slytherin in return, pale eyes flashing in the darkness.

"Drop it, Malfoy. This isn't exactly a good time for name-calling," Harry's anger abruptly fled, leaving him shaky and exhausted once again. He peered down, eyeing the other boy's upturned face.

"Look, use my wand then, or can you climb up on your own?"

The suggestions were met by silence, faint sounds of scrabbling and muttered curses floating up to reach Harry's ears. So intent was the young wizard upon his classmate's progress, he failed to notice the skritch of claws on stone behind him, blissfully unaware of the pair of lantern-yellow eyes that flickered into existence, malevolent and predatory against the inky blackness.

It wasn't until something sharp and insistent closed upon an ankle that he wrenched around, a scream rattling in his throat.

Draco was beginning to wonder if he was cursed- or if it was the golden boy's phenomenal luck for finding trouble that had infected him. After all, there could be no other explanation for a Malfoy- a graceful, elegant, dignified Malfoy- falling into a hole.

It was miraculous that he hadn't seriously hurt anything in taking his unplanned tumble. Bruised, to be certain, and his wand hand was a bit mangled- the wrist sprained at the very least and fingers stiffening and uncooperative. The wand had taken the brunt of the damage, snapped unevenly in two, and Draco mournfully eyed the pieces.

A scratch on his forehead was sluggishly oozing blood, viscous red droplets doing their level best to drip directly into his left eye. He swiped irritably at it, trying once again to find a handhold that would permit him to begin his ascent. A nail tore, and Draco hissed as he drew back, popping the wounded digit in his mouth.

Craning his neck up, he peered upward, prepared to sneer at Harry should he find amusement in Draco's current misery. A cutting remark on his lips, he caught the other boy's eyes in the darkness and felt his heart constrict. Harry's eyes glowed, green as any cats' in the gloom. It sent an odd shiver up Draco's spine, one that had nothing to do with being cold, wet, or battered.

He found himself inanely wondering if his eyes were visible from the ledge above- if they flickered silver, assuring Harry that he was indeed alive and well. The thought was peculiar, to say the least, and Draco rolled it over in his mind... examining why he cared if the other boy worried, why he didn't want Harry to feel all alone in the dark.

A scuffling sound broke him from the unwelcome reverie, and he stared ineffectually upward.

"Potter? What are you doing up there?"

No answer- another scuffling sound and a muffled scream abruptly shattering the silence, and Draco felt his stomach drop. He began a frantic search for the ever-elusive handholds that would allow him to climb out of this pit, the sounds of a furious scuffle filtering down along with assorted trash- mostly stones and leaves, all raining down upon the blond's head.

"Potter!"

Blinking against the grit in his eyes, he sputtered and hissed at the indignity of being showered in flotsam. Eyes streaming, he glared up at the ledge in time to catch sight of a dark shape hurtling over and rapidly downward.

Draco froze, his famously (or is that infamously) quick mind absolutely blank as the shape grew larger and larger and then finally-

"Ooof!"

Finding himself horizontal yet again was unpleasant. Finding himself pinned beneath a senseless Harry Potter was nothing short of disastrous.

"Potter," Draco found himself sighing the name, gently (gently?) rolling the smaller boy off of him and onto the ground. Those cat-green eyes slitted open, and Draco's hand froze on its path to pat the younger wizard's cheek- intending to rouse him, of course. He cleared his throat, glancing aside in sudden inexplicable embarrassment.

"So you decided to give flying a go, did you?"

Retreating back into sarcasm to cover the sudden awkwardness, he cast a sharp glance to the other boy. Harry just chuckled weakly, amusement flickering in the emerald depths providing the only color in a pallid face.

"Broomless- the only way to go," he wheezed, startling a laugh out of Draco.

"Bright, Potter. Now we're both stuck down here," but the Slytherin couldn't really find it in him to be angry with his companion. And just when did he go from prisoner to companion, anyway? Faint lines of confusion marred Draco's forehead, finely-arched brows drawn toward the bridge of an aqualine nose.

"Sorry," came a soft murmur, "there was this...thing up there and I lost my balance."

"What thing?"

"Dunno... thing. Big yellow eyes, sharp teeth, claws... sort of thing," Harry concluded somewhat lamely, the words sounding strained.

Draco gave up trying to search out movement in the darkness, instead turning a sharp look upon the fallen wizard. A long moment passed in silence, and then Draco did the unthinkable.

"Here, Potter. Give us a light," he muttered gruffly, placing the stolen wand back within its rightful owner's grasp.

"Lumos," whispered the smaller youth, and though the word sounded as if it might be his last, his smile was brilliant in the sudden light.

Back at the castle, Hermione was fast becoming frantic. She had thoroughly searched all of Harry's favorite retreats- rechecked them as well- and still no sign of the missing Gryffindor.

Dejected and anxious, she waited in the common room for Ron's return. He had volunteered to look outside, stammering something about the weather and Hermione catching cold, fair skin aflame at his own attempted chivalry.

The young witch couldn't help but smile at the memory, clutching a scarlet-tasseled illow to her chest. Ron could be so sweet- when he wasn't being an insensitive prat, that was.

The portrait swung open and the red-headed wizard in question clambered through, raindrops dripping from his freckled nose. He swept his cloak off with a sigh, throwing it over a fire-side chair, where it began steaming.

"Did you find him?"

Ron favored her with a solemn shake of his head, pacing in front of the fireplace.

"No, 'Mione... no sign of him. Hagrid said he hadn't seen him all day," he muttered.

"Ron, I'm worried. It's going to be dark soon... what if he's gotten lost or something's happened to him?"

Hermione's very fertile imagination began conjuring horrific images of her friend in distress- warm brown eyes widening in sympathetic terror.

"Mione, stop. Breathe," and Ron's hand were shockingly warm on her shoulders. Startled, she stared into concerned eyes, trying to will her gibbering thoughts into silence.

"Oh, Ron. I'm just worried," she quavered.

Ron looked momentarily stricken, face pale beneath its scattering of freckles. He wasn't accustomed to being thrust into this role- Harry was the de facto leader of the group, a natural born commander, strong and charismatic. Hermione was the brains- cool, logical, usually calm in the face of crisis. But Harry was missing, and Hermione? Ron was bewildered by her sudden emotionality, the way her lower lip trembled, the way she was wringing her hands.

"We'll go tell McGonagall that Harry's missing, and..ah. Dumbledore. They'll know what to do, right?"

Sniffing, the young witch curled clammy fingers around Ron's hand, allowing him to pull her from the couch cushions.

"That's a good idea, Ron. Let's go find Professor McGonagall, then," and suddenly the balance had returned. Hermione was calm and determined, and Ron... well. It was a very relieved Ronald Weasley that followed his best friend out of the common room, marveling silently that she was still holding his hand.