Author's Rambling: Hi everyone, I'm not dead! Really, I'm so sorry I didn't update in about a month, but I was just so busy- My art exhibit was due this weekend, so I've been working non-stop this month to finish everything in time. Now everything is up and ready, so I'll have time to write again. I promise I'll try not to be this late again- I've already started the next chapter.

P.S. I have a Beta! She'll be going over my chapters from now on (including this one), so expect better chapters, but it may take a few more days for each chapter, since she has to go over them. I am also reposting previous chapters, just so you'd know.

So, this chapter is dedicated to Fealyn Leaf, who is my gorgeous new Beta. Applaudes, everyone!

Next chapter, in which Draco continues on the path of New Discoveries, and Harry just generaly feels rotten. Poor Harry. Also, people die. Enjoy!

888

It had been almost one month since that night Draco had cast the spell on Potter, and from the night he found out he cared about him. The feeling had not lessened or disappeared, on the contrary, it had grown in the time that passed. Draco was clueless about what could be done.

He had spent hours in the library, trying to find something, anything, that would explain why he felt those… feelings. But he found nothing. His strategy of bringing his and Potter's rivalry to new heights achieved absolutely zilch, except maybe making Potter hate him even more.

For a week, he had tried to ignore Potter; maybe if he pushed him out of his life, he'd forget about him. Draco had known that it was a moronic idea, but he had been desperate. He should have listened to himself. It was as if Potter had known about the plan, and had done whatever he could to sabotage it. The Boy-Who-Bloody-Lived was everywhere suddenly; in the corridors, in the classrooms, and at meals. Potter had even been paired with him in Potions and Transfiguration; his pale neck and his dark hair taunting Draco and demanding his attention.

Until he had tried removing Potter from his life, Draco had never known just how much a part of it the Gryffindor was. When he got up in the morning, he wasn't fully awake until he saw Potter and exchanged a few heated words with him, and in the corridors, he was unconsciously searching for a thin figure with green eyes. Even in Quidditch practices, when Potter wasn't around, he was still there. Draco had long ago stopped playing Quidditch to win, and started playing Quidditch for the sole purpose of beating Harry Potter.

The morning dawned grey and cold, and Draco was sitting at the great hall, eating his breakfast, and skimming over a newspaper while trying to spread apricot jam over his toast.

"Another sighting of the Dark Mark," he said, his face darkening, "and two people killed. One an Auror- does the name Lydia Cardinal ring a bell?" at Pansy's headshake, he nodded "I don't recognize the name, too. Must be Muggleborn. And-" he squinted at the paper "someone named Mundungus Fletcher. Fletcher, Fletcher… can't say I know that name either." There had already been five deaths that month, not counting the ones reported today: three of them Aurors, one an Unspeakable, and one a Muggle caught in the crossfire.

Draco raised his head automatically to look at the Gryffindor table, and frowned. "Potter's not here," he said.

"What?" Pansy lifted her head from the article, "Oh, he's never here on the mornings attacks are reported. If you ask me, someone informs him of them beforehand."

"Really?" Draco said thoughtfully. It made sense, though, since Dumbledore was bound to know immediately, and he would tell Potter.

"Why does it matter to you, anyway?" Pansy asked, fixing him with an unusually sharp look.

Draco blinked, and felt himself flush a little. "Nothing," he snapped "I just wondered why the Gryffindors weren't crowding around him for comfort."

"Aha," Pansy said, in a way that made him narrow his eyes.

"What's that supposed to mean, Parkinson?" he demanded.

"What's what supposed to mean?" she answered, but didn't meet his eyes.

"You said it like you don't believe me. Like you meant something else. So spill."

"It's nothing, Draco, honestly-"

"Now!"

"Fine!" she hissed, glaring at him. "You wanted to know! Sometimes I wonder about you, Draco! You're obsessed with Potter, it's unhealthy! And frankly, it's a little disturbing, too!"

Draco stared at her, "What? That's the most- the stupidest thing- how dare you-"

"It's true! Whether you want to acknowledge it or no- leave me alone, you idiot! Let go of me!" Draco had grabbed her arm and dragged her outside the Great Hall after him, ignoring her shrieks and the stunned looks they received.

"Now," he said, through clenched teeth, as she yanked her arm from his grip and scowled at him, "explain what you meant, exactly."

"You don't need to be so violent, you bastard," Pansy said angrily, rubbing her arm. "Remember, you asked. You've built your life around him, since you met him, Draco. It's always 'Potter this' and 'Potter that', you measure yourself against him; you always compare everyone to him! Sometimes it's impossible to get your attention, because you're thinking about him or staring at him so hard that you're not even here!"

"Nonsense " Draco spluttered, but Pansy wasn't done.

"It's not! It's like you're not even fully conscious unless you're fighting him or plotting against him! Like everything else and everyone else bore you so much that you can't even be bothered to care. Have you ever passed a dayno, cross that, an hourwithout thinking about him?"

"Of course I have!" Draco answered heatedly, but even he could tell it was probably not true.

"He got my father thrown in Azkaban! He humiliated the Malfoy familyof course I'd want revenge"

"What hand does he use to push his glasses up, Draco?" Pansy interrupted him.

"His left hand, but what has…" he answered, before realising what he'd just done.

"You see?" Pansy said, in what almost seemed like despair. "I bet Weasley and Granger don't even know that! That's called obsession, Draco." When Draco opened his mouth to say something, she continued hurriedly, "And don't tell me you're doing it out of hate, because that's just a load of dragon dung."

"Well then, if you're so sure you know me better than myself, pray tell, what is it then?" He was yelling now, "Kneazle got your tongue, Pansy? You had so much to say until now, so answer me!"

She shook her had sadly, her face closed and guarded, "That's for you to understand for yourself." And with that, she turned around and strode back into the Great Hall, leaving Draco gaping and seething behind her.

What did she mean, that was for him to understand? What did he need to understand?

888

"Are you sure you won't come to breakfast, Harry?" Ron asked for the fifth time, as he lingered in the doorway.

For the fifth time, Harry answered, "Yes, Ron, go without me. I'll see you in class." Ron cast him a last, anxious, look and disappeared. Harry listened as his friend loud footsteps thumped down the stairs. When everything was quiet, and he was sure he was alone, Harry lifted his head from the pillow, and got up to wash his face.

So, Mundugus Fletcher. And the Auror, what was her name? Lydia Cardinal. He mustn't forget her. She was the fourth Auror killed this month, and the seventh since the ministry acknowledged Voldemort's return. Harry wiped a tear from his face angrily. He already had a headache from crying during the night, he didn't need it to get stronger. What right did he have to cry, anyway? He was no the one that held the wand that did it, but he was at fault they died.

When Dumbledore promised him not to keep any secrets from him, the Headmaster had meant it; he was done protecting Harry from the world, no matter how much he wanted to. Harry wasn't a child anymore; he had proved that many times before. And Harry was grateful to him; however harsh the truth was, it was better than being kept in the dark.

Every time Voldemort or the Death Eaters attacked, the headmaster called him over. If it was during the day or the evening, a House-Elf was sent to fetch him, if it was during the night, the nearest teacher doing rounds was sent to wake him up

Last night, he had woken from one nightmare to another.

Mundungus Fletcher had been a member of the Order and someone who Harry had known better than the rest of the names in the newspaper. That face, more than the others, stared up at him with accusing eyes.

He dreaded to think who might be next.

Draco raged all the way to the Potions classroom. He decided not to go back to breakfast; he didn't know if he would be able to control himself if he saw Pansy just then. Their little 'talk' had also banished his appetite completely, anyway. As he walked to classroom, Draco knew he was at least twenty minutes early. He stopped next to the locked door and slid down to a sitting position, his back against the cold wall, and hugged his knees to his chest. His bag was dropped beside him, forgotten.

You're obsessed with him, Draco.

That's what Pansy said. Obsessed. You've built your life around him, since you met him, Draco. It's always Potter this and Potter that, you measure yourself against him; you always compare everyone to him.

She was right. He knew she was right, no matter how much he hated admitting it. Exactly when had he stopped measuring himself against his father, and started measuring himself against a boy his age? But that boy was Harry Potter, and that made all the difference.

He suspected it was when he offered a small, green-eyed boy a hand, and that boy looked at him with cold, hard eyes and said calmly, 'I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks'.

He still wasn't sure of what she meant by saying it wasn't hate, though. How could she know, when Draco himself had just figured it out a month ago? There was something he was missing here, some meaning to her words he couldn't comprehend…

Just than the subject of his thoughts rounded the corner, and stopped.

Draco stared at him, forgetting to scowl. Potter looked… well, awful was maybe too strong a word, but he certainly didn't look good. His hair was even more of a mess than it was usually, and the dim lightning in the corridor made his cheekbones stand out sharply.

Was he always this thin? Draco wondered.

As though reaching a decision, Potter took a few more steps and sat down, too, a few feet from Draco, his back against the opposite wall.

He looked at Draco with suspicion, but didn't say anything.

His eyes were slightly red, like he'd been crying, Draco noted with a detached sort of worry. Did he know that Auror? Or the other one, the man with the curious name? He had deep circles under his eyes, as well, as though he wasn't sleeping enough. Really, Draco bristled, weren't his friends taking care of him? He was obviously not well.

Then he froze, realising what he had just thought, and the fact that he had been staring at Potter for the past five minutes. He averted his eyes quickly, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks. He was blushing!

Potter now looked confused, his eyebrows rising slightly, his mouth opening a little, as though he was about to say something.

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco noticed he had a very red mouth.

He blushed even harder, and this time it was somewhat in anger, too. What was wrong with him?

He was saved by a large group of students that chose this moment to arrive. The Slytherins surrounded him instantly, while the Gryffindors did the same with Potter, and the awkward moment was forgotten.

He noticed Potter and Granger bring their heads together momentarily, talking quietly, and Granger turn to look at him with a speculating expression. He ignored them.

Unsurprisingly, they were making this lesson's potion in pairs. Even more unsurprisingly, Professor Snape, who Draco had always liked and respected up to that point, decided to pair him with Potter. "But- Professor-" Draco had tried to protest, aware that in his confused state, he shouldn't be anywhere near the Gryffindor. Couldn't, really. His pleading naturally fell on deaf ears. Professor Snape swept away to assign more pairs, leaving Draco stammering behind him.

"Fine," he managed to grind out, turning to level a scathing glare at Potter. Maybe if he could stay angry enough, all the discomfort he was suddenly experiencing would go away. "Potter, come here. I'm not going over there," he pointed at his rival's table, which was deep in Gryffindor territory. Potter glared back at him, and Draco felt himself relax a little. Glaring was familiar. He could do glaring.

Potter knew better than to protest against anything at Professor Snape's class, so he gathered his belongings and walked over reluctantly, dropping into the chair next to Draco. He had the general air of someone forced to sit in something slimy and distinctively unpleasant, and Draco found it vaguely insulting.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" he snapped. "Go get the ingredients!"

Potter went, giving him a look that said words couldn't express the depth of my hate for you, Malfoy, and Draco felt a pang of discomfort. Stop that! He berated himself. Next thing you'll know, you'll want to be his friend, or something.

Potter came back to the table, balancing a tray in his hands. He put it on the table carefully, before sitting back down. "Well, what now, Malfoy? Any more orders?"

"The instructions are on the board. I'll chop, you grind. Try not to mess anything up."

The Gryffindor snorted, but complied; he took the pestle and mortar, counted out three dried bat eyes out of the small bowl they received, and started to grind them. Draco picked up the smallest knife that he had, and proceeded to cut the mandrake roots cautiously. They worked in silence for some time, Draco glancing at Potter once in a while to make sure he wasn't doing anything wrong. When he finished cutting all the different roots and leaves, he raised his head.

Potter was just tipping Poppy seed powder into a waiting dish. Draco looked over the waiting assembly of powders critically, surprised and impressed when he found all of them perfect. He gave Potter a curt nod, causing his eyes to widen slightly in astonishment, and glanced at his notes. "Right," he said, "now add two flat teaspoons of the Poppy seeds, followed by thirty milligrams of Mandrake root…"

They measured the ingredients without talking, if one didn't count the necessary 'here's the rose petals, Malfoy,' or 'stir clockwise, Potter!'.

Steam from the cauldron was fogging Potter's glasses. He sighed in annoyance. "Take over the stirring for a minute, Malfoy."

Draco obediently replaced him, fighting the urge to snicker at the way Potter looked, when Potter removed his glasses, and Draco didn't find it amusing at all anymore. Draco had only seen Potter without his glasses once before, when the other boy had been asleep, and if Draco were to be honest with himself, it wasn't a night he liked to think about.

It was very, very different thing to see him without his spectacles. Potter frowned, inspected the lenses before he wiped them on the hem of his robes. Draco was watched this so intently he almost forgot to stir the potion. Potter looked different. Younger. His eyes looked bigger, too, and unfocused. They were so green…

They weren't a normal green, Draco was certain of that. Other green-eyed people had some other colour in their irises, some change in the hue. Potter's eyes were just… emerald-green, bright and

"What's emerald green?" Potter asked, blinking owlishly at Draco before putting his glasses back on.

Draco blushed yet again in embarrassment. First he was thinking about Potter's mouth, and now staring into his eyes. He was going mad, it was official. Next thing he'd know, they'd chuck him in St. Mungo's.

"Err, Pansy's potion," he answered quickly.

He was saved from further questions as Professor Snape called from the front of the room, "Your potions should now be light blue". They both glanced down at their own potion, and Potter's glasses steamed up again. They had created it perfectly, it was indeed light blue. "Those of you who managed to concoct the potion correctly, congratulations. You have brewed a perfect antitoxic potion, which, when ingested, would counter the effects of many of the more simple poisons. Bottle up some of your potion, write your names on it, and bring it to my desk for grading. Those of you who didn't…" He didn't finish the sentence, but his smirk was full of malice, and everyone understood what he meant.

Draco ladled some of the shimmering liquid into a bottle and corked it. He wrote their names neatly on the label; it was strange, seeing their names next to each other. But not too bad of a thing, he added to himself.

He didn't even bother to yell at himself for that thought. It was a lost fight, anyway.

888

Harry left the dormitory about twenty-five minutes before Potions began. He had started feeling suffocated; the quiet and the shadows were getting to him. He couldn't even think about breakfast right now. It wasn't that he wasn't hungry, he just couldn't stand to see all the students, bent over their Daily Prophets and discussing the recent killings in hushed voices.

His feet carried him down the staircases, towards the dungeons.

He'd just wait there until class started.

When Harry reached the corridor outside the classroom, though, he realised he wasn't the only one who'd had that particular thought. Draco Malfoy was folded against a wall, his face unusually tense, his forehead creased with thought. He turned his head when he heard Harry's approaching footsteps and Harry braced himself for the verbal attack that was sure to come; Malfoy never missed an opportunity to mock him, and this one was just too good to ignore.

To his shock, the Slytherin didn't say anything. He just continued looking at Harry, as though challenging him, his mouth a thin line. Harry, after hesitating, sat down too at what he deemed as a safe distance.

Malfoy was still staring at him. What was he doing, trying a new way of getting to Harry? Well, it was certainly working. Several expressions chased one another across the blonde's face, until it settled on annoyance. Harry frowned. Was it something he did?

Then Malfoy caught Harry's eyes, and Harry realised that the Slytherin didn't know he was staring. The other boy turned his head swiftly, presenting Harry with the back of his pale head and an ear. His ear was going red. Was he… no, that was ridicules. He couldn't be blushing.

Harry was just about to say something to ease the suddenly embarrassed silence, when the rest of the sixth year students appeared, breaking over them like a great, black wave. Ron and Hermione stopped beside him. Ron was talking animatedly with Seamus, about Quidditch, no doubt (Ron was the new Gryffindor captain; Seamus was one of the newly appointed chasers), but Hermione passed a quick look between him and Malfoy, who was now half-blocked by his cronies.

"Why is he so pink?" she asked in puzzlement. "You didn't do anything, did you, Harry? Because he's not worth "

Harry shook his head. "I didn't. He was already here when I came, but we didn't talk at all. Or fight."

"Hmm…" Hermione said, looking skeptical, and cast another look at the Slytherin.

Snape had paired him with Malfoy.

"He's trying to be easy on you, Harry," Hermione whispered to him, trying to calm him down.

"By pairing me with Malfoy? How is that called being easy on me?" He demanded, throwing both the Potions Master and the blonde Slytherin a dirty look.

"We-ell," She answered carefully, "It may seem a little strange, but I really think he is. Say what you want, but Malfoy is an excellent potions brewer. You won't muck anything up if you're with him, and Professor Snape won't have cause to snap at you."

"That's stretching it a bit far, if you ask me," he muttered, but grudgingly admitted that did, in fact, have a point.

"Potter, come here. I'm not going over there" Malfoy called from the other side of the room, looking haughty and impatient.

"Obnoxious little twerp," Harry grumbled darkly, but collected his things all the same.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Go get the ingredients!"

Harry scowled at the Slytherin's smug face, but left. He took his time to collect the different ingredients and then to arrange them on the tray, but he was all too soon back beside Malfoy. The other boy's face was expressionless again, as though he got over whatever bothered him before. "Well, what now, Malfoy? Any more orders?" Harry asked coldly.

"The instructions are on the board. I'll chop, you grind. Try not to mess anything up."

Harry snorted in dislike, but followed his orders all the same.

They worked for about a quarter of an hour, before Malfoy set down his knife. He looked over the assembly of bowls and dishes Harry had set before him, and nodded in approval.Harry's jaw almost dropped. Approval? From Malfoy?

"Right," the other boy said, oblivious to Harry's reaction. "Now…"

They started adding the different ingredients as instructed. Once or twice, Malfoy had to correct him, snapping "only two laurel leaves, Potter!" but other than that, things were astonishingly calm between them. He even saw Hermione glance at them a couple of times, her gaze thoughtful.

His glasses were slowly being covered in steam from the boiling cauldron; he frowned. "Take over the stirring for a minute, Malfoy."

The Slytherin nodded, taking the ladle from his hand, and Harry wiped his glasses clean on his robes.

"-Emereald green…" Malfoy said from beside him.

Harry jammed his glasses back on his face, turning to look at Malfoy, "What's emerald green?"

It was very hot near the cauldron and Malfoy's face was flushed from the heat. "Pansy's potion," he answered.

"Your potions should now be light blue" Snape called. Harry peered into the cauldron. Amazing, Harry thought. It's actually the right colour. "Those of you who managed to concoct the potion correctly, congratulations. You have brewed a perfect antitoxic potion, which, when ingested, would counter the effects of many of the more simple poisons. Bottle up some of your potion, write your names on it, and bring it to my desk for grading. Those of you who didn't…" Harry hated the smirk the Potions Master wore on his face; it was the same one he directed at Harry last year after each time he had given him a failing grade, and although he knew that smirk wasn't for him now, it didn't seem any less unpleasant.

Beside him, Malfoy was bent over the cauldron, filling a small bottle. He wrote their names, inspected it suspiciously and, when he deemed it worthy, he strode over to Snape's desk, placing it arrogantly. Malfoy already knew he was going to get a perfect score. Sure enough, Snape gave him a tiny smile, nodding his head in appreciation. Of course, Harry thought, rolling his eyes. At least that means I got a perfect grade, too.

They cleaned the table quickly, and Harry gathered his things, hurrying over to Hermione, who was waiting for him by the door. "How did it go?" she asked. "It seemed quiet, really. Too quiet, considering the both of you together usually manage to explode at least a few chairs, maybe a table or too."

Harry made a face at her teasing, "Very funny. No, it was surprisingly all right. Malfoy was as civil as I have ever seen him."

Hermione raised her eyebrows, "Maybe he's growing up."

Harry made an incredulous noise, "Malfoy? Never." Hermione wasn't smiling along with him. Instead, she glanced over her shoulder before urging him on.

888

Draco narrowed his eyes behind them, his hands clenching into fists.

That little comment shouldn't have hurt so much.