Stupid Potter, Draco thought. If he wasn't attached to the useless git, he could be in a hot shower right now. It wasn't that he particularly minded being dirty. It was just that his hair got so limp, and downright blonde instead of white, when it wasn't washed regularly. Potter was going to ruin his whole image. An image he'd spent his entire school career—hell his life, cultivating.

Stupid Malfoy, Harry thought. He couldn't be content with going one day without a shower. He was probably worried about his sodding hair. Harry's stomach growled ominously, breakfast would be over if they didn't hurry up and get to the Great Hall. They wouldn't have time to eat at all if you factored in the delay the scene they were bound to make was going to cause. Malfoy was such a selfish ass. He hadn't even asked Harry if he was hungry. And he was so infuriatingly pointless. His insults were random, and they didn't make sense. They were…

"What did you mean have I looked at myself lately?" Harry asked.

Draco looked at him blankly.

"In the room," Harry said, "You said that I was the girl, and asked me if I'd looked at myself lately. What did you mean?"

Draco snorted. "Just what I said, Potter. You should really take a look in the mirror."

"I look like a girl?"

Draco sighed, "Not really. You're just too thin, and your hair has gotten long since last year."

Harry tried to look up at his hair, but without much success. "I can't see it," he said, "so it mustn't be that long."

"That's because it's gotten so long that it falls back," Draco scoffed.

"Oh," Harry said, running a hand through his hair to pull it forward. "I guess I should cut it."

"It doesn't look bad. Helps with all the messiness." Draco said.

Harry stared, wide-eyed at Draco. "What did you just say?" he asked.

"I said it's not that bad long. I've been thinking about growing mine out as well. What do you think?"

Harry opened his mouth twice before he was able to get any sound to come out of it. He wanted to ask Draco why the hell he would tell him his hair didn't look bad, but he decided this would be churlish and he honestly wasn't in the mood for another fight with Malfoy when he couldn't get away from him. He decided on a mix of rude and non-committal.

"I think it would make you look like your father," Harry said blandly.

Draco glanced at him sharply, but looked away just as quickly.

"Sorry," Harry said, before he could figure out why he would say it.

Draco scoffed. "I'm sure you're cut up," he said.

"I was there, at his trial." Harry couldn't stop himself. He had no idea why he was telling Malfoy this.

"What?" Draco asked. "Why would you be there? To witness against him?" he asked bitterly.

"No, I went to tell them about his efforts in the final battle. I'm sorry, maybe I could have tried harder to…"

"Don't be ridiculous Potter. My father had no noble intentions that you needed to protect. The only reason he helped you was because he saw that Voldemort would lose."

Harry shook his head. "Doesn't matter," he said. "What the tribunal did after the war was…inexcusable."

"Save your high-mindedness for someone who cares Potter."

They were silent the rest of the way to the hospital wing.

Inside the hospital wing there was quite a commotion. Madame Pomfrey rushed back and forth from her potion stores to the bed of a severely injured man who moaned and thrashed around restlessly; his unseeing eyes locked on the ceiling. Minerva McGonagall stood back, near a window, not looking at the man in the bed but wringing her hands restlessly. Albus Dumbledore stood at the foot of the bed, wand in hand; he looked grave.

"Poppy," he said. "You need only say the word if you need a charm."

"Albus," she answered—like it was the sixth time she'd had to say it. "There's nothing more we can do until Severus' potion starts working."

Severus Snape stood on the opposite Madame Pomfrey. He gazed at the man in the bed with a blank sort of worry that only Snape can master. When he heard his name he glanced over at Dumbledore then back to Pomfrey. He shook his head.

"I don't think it's going to work Poppy. He was inside too long," Snape said.

"Nonsense my boy, we pulled him out when you said we should." Dumbledore answered.

"I'm afraid—I think I may have given him too long to try."

"What do you mean?" McGonagall demanded from across the room.

"Well," Snape answered. "I knew how desperately he wanted to get—to succeed," he said through gritted teeth. "So I was reluctant to pull him back before we knew he had. I may have given him too long. We spoke last night and he was adamant..."

"The wolf is strong." Dumbledore said. "I have every confidence that he will recover this time as he did the last, and the one before. All the same, perhaps you should brew more of the potion Severus"

Snape nodded.

Harry and Draco chose that moment to walk into the room.

"Remus!" Harry shouted in alarm. He ran across the room, dragging a reluctant Draco along behind him.

"Harry," Dumbledore said with some surprise.

Harry ignored him; his eyes were busy taking in the condition of his surrogate godfather. Remus had gashes down his arms that looked as if they almost bisected them. They were surrounded by starbursts of tinier scratches that seemed to cover most of the flesh of his arms. His hands were ripped to shreds; Harry glimpsed some bone. Remus' hair was patchy, and his scalp still oozed blood from where clumps had been pulled out. There were deep fingernail, or claw? Harry thought, gouges running down his chest. His legs were thankfully covered by the bed sheet, but his face—oh heavens—Remus' face. He was recognizable through the windburn and scratches, but just barely. Harry heard Malfoy gag slightly beside him.

"Professor," Harry said. "Professor, what? What? I—"

"Harry, please go wait outside. I'll be out in just a moment and I'll explain everything," Dumbledore said.

Harry continued to stare at the man on the bed in mute horror. Dumbledore looked to Draco desperately but his eyes were likewise transfixed.

"Severus," Dumbledore said, nodding towards the boys. "Would you please…"

Snape nodded curtly and took hold of Harry's upper arm. "Potter," he said. "Come on Potter. Come with me."

Harry looked up at him. He closed his eyes and nodded, but Snape still had to pull him, more than walk him, out of the infirmary.

In the hallway Harry slumped against the wall and would have slid to the ground if Draco hadn't supported him. Snape looked at them both with a lined brow. Draco was pale and had a yellowish tint to his face. Harry was vacant, blind and mute to his surroundings. Draco shook him once.

"Potter," he said. "Potter?"

Snape shook his head at Draco. "Don't, he's in shock. Let's try and get him to the dungeon; I have a potion for it. I need to start a new batch of Remus' anyway."

Draco nodded, but he couldn't drag Harry by himself. Snape threw one of Harry's arms over his shoulder and together they pulled Harry down into Snape's private workshop.

The workshop adjoined his own rooms, and he instructed Draco to take Potter in there and lay him down. As Draco felt rather lightheaded himself, he complied. He levitated Harry slightly, and together they entered Snape's private world of dark-hued fabrics and book-lined walls.

It would be polite, Draco thought, to lay Potter on the couch—but he wasn't about to lie on the floor himself. He pushed open the pretentiously heavy mahogany door in the sitting room, that lead to Snape's bedchamber, and prodded Harry with his wand until he climbed up intothe bed with Draco in tow. They lay side by side; they neither spoke. Draco pulled Snape's heavy green duvet up and covered them. He closed his eyes, but jerked them back open when he found images of Remus behind them. Focusing on the lank blonde hair that fell down over his eyes, he tried not to be sick.