A/N: sd;gadfgl. There I got again, taking many times. I stopped like right in the middle and came back like 3 weeks later. Well, here we are, then. Sorry this changed tone so abruptly, I figured it was time to stop beating around the bush and get to the plot. Honestly. And I suppose I should mention again that a great deal of credit for the idea behind said plot goes to reviewer just-human. You're awesome, I wish I could think of ideas that good on my own. Thanks to all the reviewerz, while I'm at it. . Also thanks to the many betaz, who consist of Maddy (magnumzero), Liz (lizterine) and Courtney (deppinthought). And Lauren (hat-n-clogs) a little, I suppose. Oh and this one is inexplicably a lot longer than all the others. Like 3000 words compared to like 1500. Awesome.

Chapter 7

Two weeks after Harry's meeting with Dumbledore, Draco reappeared in a Potions lesson, the last class of the day. His eyes were reddish, Harry noticed, shivering slightly as he realized that it wasn't just from lack of sleep. Blaise, seeming to forget that his relationship with Draco was on the rocks, leaned over and murmured in the other boy's ear. Draco shook his head dully, looking as though he would have liked nothing better than to lay his head down on the desk and sleep forever.

Blaise straightened up, watching Draco with great concern and badly hidden longing. Harry, doing the same, noticed that Draco had developed a disturbing sort of tick in the corner of his mouth. It bothered Harry greatly, and he wanted very much to stop it. He thought wryly that he could kiss Draco—hard—and kill two birds with one stone. Blaise glanced up and saw Harry staring. He looked murderous, and Harry knew Blaise blamed him for all of Draco's troubles.

As Slughorn bustled about, writing up ingredients and instructions, Draco's head slipped off his hand where he had rested it. His eyes slid half-closed...

He was in a forest, running silently, a bright light just ahead. He followed the light, pained by a stitch in his side but still moving. He had to reach that light—

Draco panted slightly and touched a hand to his side in apparent pain. Slughorn was speaking now, but Draco did not snap out of his dream, or whatever it was.

"We're brewing a potion for stress today, and you will require lavender, which isn't something most of you..."

The light was coming from a clearing. There was a powerful enemy there, an enemy he had to destroy.

"...an ample supply in the store-cupboard. Instructions are on the board. This is a highly complex ..."

The old man was bent over a shallow pool that glowed with swirling water. An ancient, bearded centaur stood beside him, and they murmured together about things only they could see in the pool. Old magic. This was a powerful place. The perfect place to kill him. Voldemort moved forward.

"...approximately one hour to brew it. You may..."

The old centaur suddenly straightened up, looking around. He opened his mouth to give a warning, but too late. With a silent flick of Voldemort's wand, he fell to the ground, dead, his quiver of arrows spilling around him. Dumbledore stood swiftly and turned, drawing his wand in a smooth stroke. He sidestepped Voldemort's avada kedavra and fired a hex of his own, which ricocheted off a tree and hit the pool. It sunk into it, leaving no ripple, or indeed any trace at all save a slight increase in the glow of the water. They both stared at the pool for a split second, then looked back at each other, tensed and ready for attack or evasion. As they faced each other, unmoving, Dumbledore's face softened almost undetectably for the briefest moment, and then—

Draco's face contorted. His eyes rolled beneath their half-closed lids, and his hands twitched convulsively. He jerked in his seat. He let out a little gasp and slumped forward onto the desk, shuddering.

The room was still for a second. Everybody stared at Draco. Then Pansy Parkinson screamed, shattering the silence. Frightened talk broke out. People near Draco moved away, but Harry stood up, panicked. Blaise hurried up to Professor Slughorn, who was looking alarmed. Harry heard him say that Draco needed the Hospital Wing, and that he, Blaise, needed to tell Dumbledore what had happened. Slughorn, seemingly too confused to ask after Blaise's statements, beckoned to Harry.

"Harry, Blaise tells me that Draco needs to be taken to the Hospital Wing. Would you be so kind as to, ah, help him? And—ah, Miss Greengrass—" he pointed at Queenie, who was talking fearfully to Pansy—"would you be so kind as to go to Professor Dumbledore—ah, but he's not here, is he—Professor Snape, then. Go to his office and tell him that Draco has collapsed. Tell him to go to the Hospital Wing. Thank you. Boys..."

He looked quite at a loss for what to do next. Harry and Blaise walked silently to Draco, avoiding each others' eyes like the plague, and slung one of his arms over each of their shoulders. They lifted his legs and carried him quickly out of the room, followed by Queenie. A shrewd-looking Hermione held the door open for them.

As Blaise and Harry silently carried Draco up the hall, they began to struggle to match each others' paces and hold their cargo steadily.

"This isn't working. I can't levitate him, can you?" Harry shook his head hesitantly, thinking of the Levicorpus spell.

"I'll carry him, then," said Blaise gruffly. They stopped, and Harry hoisted Draco onto Blaise's back. Blaise bent over slightly and settled back into as quick a stride as he could manage. Harry walked beside him, trying not to imagine what must be going through Blaise's mind at that moment. Blaise stared determinedly ahead, holding Draco's legs at his hips as though nothing could make him let go.

As they turned down a shortcut stair to the Hospital Wing, Harry spoke tentatively.

"So, um, did Draco, um, tell you what—"

"I know about the bloody Horcrux. Dumbledore told me," Blaise growled.

"Oh. Er. Did he—Did Dumbledore tell you about, er, how it—"

"How it's taking over Draco's own soul? How you're going to kill him? Yeah, might have mentioned it."

"Er, well, then I wanted to tell—I—Blaise, you know I don't—"

"This conversation is over, Potter."

"Um. Right. Sorry."

Harry felt extraordinarily stupid. What had he been doing, bringing it up with Blaise, of all people? Blaise had suffered from this whole ordeal as much, if not more, than Harry had. He had lost Draco, his best friend, to Harry. Harry had no right to talk to him about anything involving Draco. Flushing deeply, he stared down at his shoes as they hurried along.

When they finally reached the hospital wing, Madame Pomfrey was waiting to meet them. She directed them to an empty bed, where Blaise placed Draco gently down. Giving her limp patient a cursory glance, she hurried off to collect the necessary treatments.

Professor Snape burst in, hurrying to the bedside.

"Mr. Zabini. Tell me what has happened."

Harry watched silently as Blaise gave his accounts of the scene in Slughorn's dungeon. Snape looked deeply troubled.

"Where's Professor Dumbledore, sir?" asked Harry, suddenly realizing that the Headmaster surely would not allow an event such as this to unfold without his attention.

"The Headmaster is away, Potter," said Snape, eyes on Draco. Madame Pomfrey poured a small measure of grayish potion between his lips. The group watched with trepidation for a few seconds—

—then Draco sat bolt upright, panting as though he had just run a marathon.

"Dumbledore!" he gasped, looking around wildly. His eyes fell on Snape.

"Professor. I killed him. There was a forest and this centaur and they were looking at a pond and I came and I killed them, they're dead, they're both—"

He continued breathing heavily, panicked eyes fixed on Snape. Harry felt dizzy, like he had been punched in the stomach. The room seemed to spin. He willed away the images of a dead Dumbledore lying in the forest, forcing himself back to the Hospital Wing. Snape was speaking.

"You...you killed the Headmaster, Draco?"

"Him, I was the Dark Lord, I killed them—" Draco babbled frantically.

"Poppy," murmured Snape to the matron. She started, looking shell-shocked,

"Draco, please, drink this," she said, in a rather higher voice than normal.

Draco took the cup of potion she handed him and drained it in one gulp. He sat quite still, but his breathing eased and he relaxed a little. Then, unexpectedly, he turned to Harry.

"Harry..." he whispered. He was silent, but stared fearfully at Harry. Harry wondered what Draco was trying to say. Then he realized—Draco knew that only Harry could end it. But he wasn't sure if Draco yet knew how Harry was to end it...

"Sit," said Snape to Harry and Blaise. They did. Snape pulled up a third chair beside them. Madame Pomfrey hovered nervously on the other side of the bed, unsure of what to do or what to think. At a pointed look from Snape, she hurried away, looking agitated.

Snape cast a muffliato charm around Draco's bed anyway. Harry shifted nervously in his seat.

"Draco, can you tell us what you saw?" asked Snape seriously. Harry had never seen him looking quite so anxious, and it was rubbing off on him. What did Snape think that Draco had seen? What could make him like this?

Blaise, meanwhile, had not taken his eyes off of Draco. Draco was now staring back at him, and suddenly he murmured something.

"I'm sorry."

Blaise just kept looking at him silently, but Draco seemed to draw something from his gaze. He was stark white and staring at Blaise as though he would have liked nothing better than to sob into his shoulder, or anybody's, for that matter. Harry felt as though he had stepped into an alternate universe.

"Draco," pressed Snape, but more gently than Harry had ever heard him speak before. He suddenly felt very much the stranger of the group; godson and godfather, and two best friends. He had no place there. He looked back at Draco, and felt the familiar swoop in his stomach and the heat in his face and regions farther south. Draco finally took his eyes off Blaise and met Harry's. His eyes burned. Harry wondered whether he was daring Harry to leave or to stay.

But the Draco looked away, towards Snape. He took a deep breath, hands clenched on the frame of the bed.

"I—I fell asleep in Potions," he began shakily. "Well, not asleep, but it was like there was a... play or something, showing in my head. And I was in this forest, and I was running—'

"You were? Were you yourself or...someone else?" asked Snape, apparently remembering, as Harry did, what Draco had said before he had taken his calming draught.

"No. I was the D-Dark Lord...Vol-Voldemort—" he choked out. Snape flinched and Blaise shuddered. Draco ran his hands hard over his eyes, as though trying to clear them of an image. Harry was forcefully reminded of himself. Was Draco seeing from Voldemort's perspective like in many of Harry's visons? Or was Draco seeing visions planted there by Voldemort, as Harry often had? Harry shivered a little, too, and wrenched himself out of his thoughts, back to Draco's weak voice.

"I was in a forest—running—and I came to this clearing and I stopped. And Dumbledore was in the clearing, with this old centaur, and they were looking at this...pond thing, and then I—he—I—I killed the centaur and then Dumbledore and—I—fought and then he was dead, he was just dead. I did it—the Dark Lord—I don't even—" Draco stammered, looking quite at a loss for what to do.

There was silence.

"Professor, I'm sorry—" offered Draco weakly. Harry had never seen Draco apologize before.

Snape stood up. "You three stay here. I am going to—ah, confirm Draco's experience. I will return shortly," he said before striding from the room in a flurry of black robes.

Draco sank back against the pillows, looking suddenly blank. He turned his head toward Harry.

"Can you—this—" he trailed off again, looking almost pleading. Harry just shook his head noncommittally, avoiding Draco's eyes. Hi stomach felt like it was made of lead again. Blaise pulled Draco's blankets over him in such a gentle, loving way that Harry almost couldn't watch. He felt again like he was intruding, and that he and Draco should never have been together in the first place. He shook his head again, this time more to himself, trying to clear it of depressing thoughts and worries. Unsurprisingly, it didn't work.

Draco seemed calmer now. He lay still, glancing vaguely between Blaise and Harry, looking a little sad and a little shaken. Harry imagined that he was quite ready for a good night's sleep.

Five minutes later, Snape burst back into the ward. He came to a halt between Blaise and Harry, looking grave.

"I'm afraid to report that what you witnessed was no mere dream or vision implanted there by the Dark Lord," he said grimly, glancing significantly at Harry. "I checked the headmaster's office. Professor Dumbledore's portrait is hanging there. He...he is gone."

Harry felt waves of shock crash over him. He felt the sensation of falling again, and his vision swam. He put out a hand unthinkingly to steady himself, and found Blaise's shoulder. The other flinched at the touch, but had eyes only for Draco, who was staring in shock at Snape.

"Severus—me—" he whispered, looking almost terrified. The use of his godfather's first name told that much.

"It is not your fault, Draco," said Snape fiercely. "You merely witnessed the, ah, event, through the perpetrator's eyes, due to your heightened consciousness of said person. Nothing more."

There was another one of those uncomfortable silences. Draco was looking intently at nothing in particular, breathing a little harder then he had been a minute ago. Blaise was blinking, looking around at all the people in the room, as though confirming whether this was reality.

Harry was motionless, unable to stop the realization that he was finally, undeniably alone—now without parents, Sirius, and finally Dumbledore. He let his gaze fall on Draco. Draco didn't leave me...he thought stupidly. But then again, he realized hopelessly, it's only a matter of time...

Snape sighed. "I think it's time you got some sleep, Draco. Real sleep, for a change. Poppy! Ah—" He waved his wand, and the air around them shimmered with magic as the muffliato was lifted. "Poppy," he called again.

The matron came out of her office, a look of great trepidation on her face.

"Is—is what the boy says—is it true, Severus? Dumbledore—dead?" she asked fearfully.

Snape sighed again. "I checked his office, Poppy. His portrait—"

She let out a little gasp and swayed where she stood. Snape put out a hand and grasped her forearm, steadying her.

"Dreamless Sleep for Draco, if you please," he asked quietly.

"Yes—yes, of course—" she murmured tearfully. She hurried away to a large cabinet full of bottles, wiping her eyes on a corner of her smock as she went. She returned with a bottle full of swirling bluish potion, which she poured into a goblet. "Drink up, dear," she said as soothingly as she could manage, proffering the goblet to Draco.

Appearing to snap out of his trance, he accepted the potion, drained it and sank back against his pillows at once, his eyes closed, his face at last totally blank.

"Come, boys," muttered Snape, for both were looking reluctant to leave Draco's bedside.

Stealing a last look at the peacefully sleeping figure on the bed, they followed Snape out of the ward. They could hear Madame Pomfrey blowing her nose as the doors swung shut behind them.

"If you would be so kind as to return to your common rooms, Blaise, Potter. I must go alert the staff to what has transpired. And it would be best if your classmates found out fromthe staff, while we're on the subject."

Blaise and Harry nodded numbly. Snape inclined his head and strode away in the direction of the staff room, just as the bell for the end of the day's lessons was sounding. Harry turned to go, lost in thought.

"Potter."

Harry turned apprehensively.

"Zabini."

"Look...I know what's going on between you and Draco. I don't care, and I don't want to know why." He paused, then continued somewhat dramatically, "But he's my best mate, and as far as I'm concerned his life is in your hands."

Harry nodded, thinking he could see where Blaise was going and not liking it at all.

"So..." Blaise faltered, searching for the words. "Take care of him, yeah?"

Harry nodded again, not saying anything. His throat was very dry.

"Because I'll kill you if anything happens to him."

"R—right," muttered Harry hoarsely.

Blaise studied Harry's face for a moment, looking shrewd. Then he proffered his hand.

"Truce. For now."

Harry stared at Blaise's hand, then shook it awkwardly. "Um...right," he said again. He wasn't quite sure what had just happened, and didn't particularly care to think about it. Blaise, however, seemed satisfied. He nodded grimly and strode away toward the dungeons. Harry noted with some admiration that he was able to walk proudly, the way Slytherins were supposed to, despite all to which he had been submitted that day.

Harry made his way up to Gryffindor Tower, shaking his head. And in the wake of all that had happened over the course of the afternoon—Draco's collapse, his story of his vision, the news of Dumbledore's death—Harry could only think about what Blaise had said and done. Only one ridiculous thought floated hazily to the surface of his benumbed and battered brain.

Slytherins.

A/N: Geh. I'm glad this one is done so I can move on. Next chapter we get some fluffy romance angst! And happy late Valentine's Day. Heartz.