Disclaimer: Characters and whatnot belong to J.K. Rowling, and I bow down to her powers. The lyrics at the beginning belong to The Cure, and I am none of them. Nor am I any part of Fate's Warning, which is the group that owns the lyrics at the bottom of this fanfiction chapter.

Author's Note: This story has officially been upgraded to a co-written story, and will no longer be referred to as a roleplay.We have put a lot of thought into this, along with a lot of time, and feel it deserves to be recognized as a co-written piece.

Oh, and another reminder; this is pretty much our-- slashy--version of HBP. It might be less detailed, but if you've read it, you'll get it, and it may give some of the book away if you haven't.

Special thanks to Kasey for beta'ing this.

.x.

Out of This World
By SecondHand & MagickBeing
.Chapter Three: Thoughtful

Will we really remember, how it feels to be this alive?
- Out of This World, The Cure

The next few days went by uneventful for Draco. Most of the time he spent shut up in his dormitory, awaiting a letter from his mother.

By the sounds of it, his father's trial would be coming to an end soon, and honestly, he was surprised it had lasted so long. Every now and then, when his thoughts were too much to bare, he would go outside and sit by the lake, and was surprised when he found himself hoping that a certain raven-haired Gryffindor would find him.

When Harry was around, Draco always seemed to have something else to focus on.

Something besides his father's trial, his mother's depression, and besides what he was expected to do in the near future. It had always been like that, really; Harry proved to be a sort of outlet for Draco, and vise versa.

It was a night similar to that second meeting, when he next saw Harry-- alone that is. The sky was darker than usual, and a few clouds were scattered across the velvet blanket of stars. Draco stared up at the Quidditch field with dark eyes, inhaling the thick scent of decaying leaves and fresh cut grass. He stepped out onto the field, his broom in hand, and mounted it without a second thought. Quidditch season would be starting soon, and he was still unsure whether or not he was going to quit.

It would, after all, take his mind off of things, which could prove to be a good thing.

Pushing off of the ground, Draco smiled slightly at the feeling of the wind against his body as he shot off into the air, performing a loop around one of the goal posts. He had almost forgotten what this feeling was like; the feeling of utter peace and relaxation. Pushing down on the handle of his broom, he did a slight dip, closing his eyes against the wind.

.xxXxxXxxXxx.

The next few days had been quite different for Harry.

He had started his lessons with Dumbledore and they only served to make Harry more determined to defeat Voldemort. While unrelated, this determination was accompanied by the off glances he found himself throwing at Draco. He had to stop that, and stop himself from going out to his favourite thinking spot-- the lake-- because he knew that the blond was there. So he found himself, around eight P.M. with his broom in hand, heading out to the Quidditch pitch.

He flew for about an hour before landing and climbing up into the Quidditch stands. His back pressed against the benches, with his broom lying between the incline, he relaxed. Placing both of his hands beneath his head, and his feet up on the bench, he found himself feeling good about the fly he had just had; the way he had let his mind just let go of everything that was weighing him down.

His eyes took in the stars and heavy rain clouds, and part of him wanted the water to come, drop on him, hit him in the face and wash away all of the crap. Impossible, he knew, but he felt it would help. Draco Malfoy was so far from his thoughts this time, that when Harry saw a whirr of white flash in the sky, he thought it was lightening. That was, until it headed up instead of down. Snapping his head to the side, Harry's eyes widened, and he froze.

Does Malfoy know I'm here? wondered Harry. Probably.

Lifting himself up to see better, Harry smiled slightly at the graceful style of flying the blond showed; unlike his, which was wild and carefree. Harry sighed lightly, not realizing he was staring.

.xxXxxXxxXxx.

Draco relaxed into the wind, leaning forward a bit as he continued his downward spiral. He couldn't help but wonder if it would hurt to hit the ground. But instead, he pulled up a bit on his handle and opened his eyes, the broom leveling out as he did another loop. Thunder sounded in the distance, and he looked up at the sky. The once scattered clouds were meshed together now, looming in the horizon, and he sighed. Despite what many would believe, he loved the rain. Draco did another loop, lightning slicing through the clouds near the goal post behind him, and decided it would be better to watch the storm from below. Scanning the ground, Draco became aware of a certain Gryffindor on the benches.

Smirking slightly, he pushed down on the broom handle, shooting downward toward the grass. He jumped from his broom a quarter of a meter above the grass, while Harry watched him silently. Broom in hand, he stepped toward the benches, looking calmly at the other.

"Potter," he said, nodding slightly.

At first, Harry had thought he was going to be ignored, which would have been just as uncharacteristic as the small nod and uttered last name. Cocking his head to the side, Harry offered him a sort of smile and nodded back.

"Malfoy."

Okay, he thought to himself, that was all together too nice to be coming from me, and directed at Malfoy. And he was smiling! He shook his head, clearly annoyed with himself. Yet, he still didn't stop with it.

"And you want to quit the team," he added, a sort of smug look on his face, as he laid his head back down on the bench, attempting to balance himself before closing his eyes. He could feel the blond looking at him, from a meter or so away.

Draco smirked slightly, saying, "Actually. I might not. I think it would be good to have something..." he paused, knowing he had said to much but that there really wasn't a point in stopping now, and finished with, "to take my mind off of things."

Harry's eyes fluttered a bit when the blond spoke of staying on the team. Harry figured his slow pause was from the pressure about his father, family and such. He had no clue that it was much, much deeper than that.

Draco studied the Gryffindor in silence for a moment, noting the broom beside him, and smiled slightly, once he was sure that Harry had his eyes closed. Clearing his face, he asked, "Mind if I join you?"

He motioned to the bench with one hand, still holding his broom in the other. The clouds above him let out another loud roar of thunder, and for a moment, everything was illuminated as another bolt of lightning cut through the clouds.

With Harry's eyes still closed, he couldn't see the other as he spoke, so when the words 'mind if I join you?' hit him, his first thought was-- he wants to lay on the bench with me? After that, his eyes flew open and he gave the boy a calculating look.

Draco lifted an eyebrow at that look, and couldn't help but wonder what Harry was thinking.

Harry inwardly cursed himself; of course Draco just wanted to sit with him. He sat back up and moved over, as if he needed to with the long rows of benches that stretched out on either side of him. Nodding slightly he said, "Sure, though I think it might pour on us at any moment."

He looked back up at the castle.

Stepping up onto the benches and sitting on the one below Harry, Draco straddled the wooden plank with his legs so that he could face the Gryffindor, causing Harry to arch an eyebrow. It was a bit out of character for the boy, but at this rate, nothing could surprise him. It was just that the arrogant blond was always so... proper-- upper classed. He usually never slouched (aside from the train) and always seemed to sit with a perfect poise and a delicate manner.

Unaware to Harry's thoughts, Draco glanced up at the sky at the predicament of rain and smirked, looking back at Harry.

"Well, I don't mind. You shouldn't either; some of us need showers."

Draco's voice was unusually good humoured, and he silently cursed. Why was he being so friendly? They were supposed to be enemies!

Harry found himself smirking in disbelief at the joke Draco cracked.

"Oh dear, it's the Armageddon isn't it? A Malfoy just cracked a joke, and it wasn't a hurtful one..." he said playfully, leaning back so that his elbows were on the bench behind him, and his feet were propped up beside Malfoy. His chuckle seemed to be more of a light giggle, but Harry paid that no attention.

"Brilliant comeback, Potter," Draco drawled softly, straightening slightly at the look Harry was giving him.

Harry scowled.

"I wasn't really looking for a comeback, just, joking..."

Draco ignored the comment and looked up at the sky, blinking as he felt the first drop of cold rain hit his bare skin. Closing his eyes, a few more drops hit his face before he lowered it and looked back at Harry, who was giving him another weird look.

He lifted an eyebrow, begrudgingly saying, "What? I like the rain."

He could just imagine how uncharacteristic that sounded, and smirked slightly at the thought.

If only his father knew what he was doing... and that thought wiped the smirk right off of his face, causing him to become silent.

Harry silently took the sight of the boy basking in the sprinkles to heart, and promised to remember it for as long as he was alive. Maybe he could someday use it against the Slytherin; pensives would come in handy. He pushed the nagging words you just want to remember because it's priceless, that his brain was chanting like a mantra in his head, away.

He watched curiously as the look of... bliss faded from the blond and his eyes became dark again.

Draco lifted an eyebrow, studying Harry with murky eyes. He shouldn't be sitting here, conversating as if he didn't hate the Gryffindor.

Malfoy's don't have friends. They have followers.

He closed his eyes, his father's voice echoing in his mind, but was pulled from his thoughts when Harry spoke again.

Instead of asking what was wrong, Harry let himself smile.

"I don't usually like the rain."

It was true-- Harry liked those rare days where the sun shined, if only a bit, and the leaves were brilliant oranges, reds, yellows, and browns... he liked Autumn.

Too bad those days with no rain only happened a few times a year.

"But on nights like tonight..." he paused, then recovered, "you know, stars, and clouds."

His scowl deepened.

"It just fits."

He nodded, determined to cover the comment up, and lifted his face to the pretty, twinkling sky.

Draco smirked slightly; trying to slip from his sullen demeanour, and almost bit the inside of his cheek to stop from saying something smart. Nodding, Draco looked back at the sky. Somehow, he could imagine Harry as a sunny-autumn person. Patches of glittery, inky blue could be seen in the middle of the clouds, and he hid a smile. A gust of wind funneled some of the leaves from beneath the benches, and the golds and reds drifted over the ground and were lifted through the air. The wind dispersed, and the leaves littered the benches.

Harry just sat, a small, smug-- no-- satisfied smile on his face. He crossed his ankles together, wiggling a bit to get more comfortable. The sprinkles didn't let up, nor did they become harder. The sensation was that of a tickle. He wrinkled his nose, the drift of leaves catching his attention. The summer would be coming to an end pretty soon, and autumn would be there. Sun or no sun, he loved it. It looked like the world was on fire.

Draco looked down, picking a leaf off of his dark pants, and tossed it at Harry.

He smirked and said, "Since you're so fond of autumn and all."

Thinking of autumn... Harry picked the reddening leaf up off of his pants, his eyes taking in the green and red appearance. Like Christmas time, he thought, smiling lightly.

Smirking slightly, Draco watched as Harry picked at the leaf he had tossed at him, a light smile gracing his features. Harry looked so peaceful, with the pale glow of the moon between the clouds shining down on him, highlighting his eyes. Then the Gryffindor turned to him, ruining the effect, and asked him suspiciously, "Wait, how did you know I liked autumn?"

Gods, was the blond reading his mind? He hoped not.

Draco's smirk melted slightly, and his gaze met Harry's.

"I don't usually like the rain. But on nights like tonight..." he paused, motioning to the crimson hues of the trees behind the Quidditch pitch, "besides... you just seem like an autumn person."

"And they're your house colours," he added as an afterthought, more to himself then to Harry. He shrugged; somehow making the small, careless movement look poised and thought out.

Harry nodded; he did like his house colours. They seemed to blend well, as did the green and the sliver in Slytherin.

He shook his head lightly.

"In that case, I'll cherish this rare gift forever." He batted his lashes playfully, making a big show of carefully placing the perfectly shaped leaf in the pocket of his black Gryffindor robes, that he smartly wore this time instead of his pajamas.

Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the Gryffindor's antics. Malfoy's do not roll their eyes, he said to himself silently, playing with the hem of his dark grey turtleneck. He could still feel the constant drip of the clouds above, and felt surprisingly relaxed.

Harry sat with the blond for a moment, looking up at the lightly sprinkling sky before speaking.

"Who would have thought you'd like rain," he said, almost adding, you'd think it'd mess up your hair, or something similar. But he kept his mouth shut. He didn't want to offend the other.

Harry sighed. Since when did he care if he offended him? This was getting ridiculous. They were not friends. All the same, he made no attempt to move.

Harry found himself, with his head tilted to the side and his eyes misty, staring at the blond. Draco's hair was hanging in his face, just a bit. He looked as if he'd just gotten out of the shower room while other people were taking showers, and he had just been standing there. Or like he'd been sweating up a storm. Either way, it suited him. It made him look more... handsome-- no, human. He remembered his thoughts from the train and how he had had the sudden urge to reach out and mess up the blond hair. He had that urge again, but this time it would be playful, friendly, like something he'd do to Ron. Just ruffle the blond hair and laugh at the way it messed up. He wondered if it would feel silky like Ron's did. Maybe Harry's own thoughts were the reason he looked so startled when the other boy spoke.

Draco had barely heard Harry speak, but could just imagine the thoughts he had added to himself afterwards. He found himself muttering, "Who would have thought that we'd be sitting here, star gazing, without being stupefied? Who would have thought that we could actually be civil to each other? Who would have thought. It's just that, Potter. Who would have thought. Appearances can be deceiving..."

Draco closed his eyes at those last few words, and ducked his head to the side slightly, deciding to stare out at the grass instead of at Harry. Damn his sudden lack of self-control.

Maybe he should look into spelling his mouth shut.

Looks were deceiving; again it was as if the blond was reading Harry's thoughts. All he could manage to say was, "Yeah, you're right."

Draco hid a smile; Harry had just said the two words Draco hadn't ever imagined he could say, directed to him anyways. Draco remained silent and continued to stare out at the grass, now used to the soft drops of rain that hit his skin. He swatted a strand of wet hair from his face, not caring that he was getting soaked. He found the silence around Harry and himself oddly comforting, unlike the silence that usually surrounded him; even with his own, so-called friends.

That's because Malfoy's don't have friends, he reminded himself silently, his thoughts taking on his father's voice again. They have followers.

He smirked slightly, trying not to let his mood sink any lower. He had come out here to stop thinking about his father, not think about him more. Draco let out a soft sigh, shifting his eyes to the wooden plank between his legs, and rubbed at a dark spot with his finger.

Harry's lips twitched lightly when the blond brushed the strand of hair that was in his face away. That's good, I wont have to think about doing it for him now, he thought. He noticed how when he was around Draco that he didn't feel the need to talk, like he did with Ron and Hermione. The silence was just there, comfortable and nice. But he wanted to talk, wanted to say something-- anything-- ask the blond what was going through his mind, spill to him what was going through his. He felt that if he were asked, he would just open up and tell Draco everything that was going on.

Nice. Gods... he was losing it. Lucius or no Lucius, this was still Draco Malfoy and for all Harry knew, he could have been told to do this.

Seemed likely.

"It's late," he said simply, cringing at the randomness.

Draco looked up at the sound of Harry's voice. The look Harry was giving him again was a bit unnerving, and Draco only nodded. After a moment of staring at each other, he broke the silence.

"Do you want to go back in?"

His face blank, Draco's gaze switched back to the bench. He had to bite his tongue from saying something about Harry hopefully not getting sick because of this. That comment would just not do. We aren't friends, Draco thought. I should try to remember that. And anyways, since when do I want to be friends with Potter? The mere thought is ludicrous! He inwardly scowled. Then why am I acting so friendly?

He closed his eyes when his thoughts only replied with a meek, I don't know.

Harry cocked his head to the side, his feet dropping from the bench to the plank in between where his broom was. He shifted his gaze from the sky to the Quidditch Pitch.

"No," he said without really thinking about it.

He smiled lightly and looked back at the blond.

"I feel like flying."

Draco smirked, looking up Harry. His eyes lit up at the thought of flying, and maybe the fact that Harry wasn't leaving-- yet, anyways. But he quickly dismissed the latter.

Harry lifted his broom from the ground, and stood, positioning himself on top of it.

"Catch me if you can," he said playfully, a bit of that old competition coming back in his voice. Of course, it wasn't that old, and of course he was only playing around, but he wanted to fly. And he wasn't quite sure he wanted to let the blond go inside the castle yet.

"You're on."

Standing, Draco grabbed his broom and jumped from the stands, landing gracefully on his feet. He stood there for a moment, the ground soggy beneath his boots, and watched as Harry shot up into the air. He wondered if the Gryffindor knew how talented he was.

Mounting his own broom, Draco shot off after him, the rain lashing at his face as he did so. It tingled, but it wasn't a painful feeling. Slowing, Draco hovered in the air for a moment, enjoying the sight of Harry's flying. Unlike his own flying, which was calculating yet graceful, Harry was born to fly. Harry's flying was natural. Free. It was then that Draco did something very uncharacteristic for him when in front of people, especially a Gryffindor. His mouth twisted into a small grin.

Harry let himself soar through the air, his fingers holding only lightly onto the broom for support. He loved the feel of flying, the feel of the wind against his face. He couldn't stop the smile that formed on his face; it was huge. He felt that it might have touched his ears, and he didn't care that Draco Malfoy was hovering just a few feet below him, grinning up at him. Harry's smile faded slightly. Draco Malfoy was grinning, not sneering, or the evil cousin of the grin, smirking. He was actually bloody grinning.

"Oi, Malfoy, you should grin more often, it's much more becoming of you," he said lightly, with a chuckle.

He continued to soar after that, the rain hitting his face in small drops.

Then it began to pick up and that's when he was reminded of third year, with the Dementors. It had been pouring down rain when they had come after him during the Quidditch game, and Harry had been traveling upwards, just like this. His balance went off a little, but he steadied himself quickly, his smile fading into a haunted look. He turned, trying to hide it from Draco's view. You'd think that after all Harry had been through, Dementor's would have been far away in his mind. Guess not.

Draco just heard what Harry said as the rain picked up, drowning out the sound of his laughter. But Draco's grin didn't fade. Deciding that it was time to move, he strategically leveled his broom and shot forward, until he was meters under Harry in the sky. It was sort of hard to keep up with Harry, but he managed. Harry was no longer grinning, Draco noted, as he looked up at the Gryffindor. He looked troubled.

Before Draco could stop himself, he heard his own voice shout over the rain, "You alright, Potter?"

Harry blinked, the sound of Draco's voice bringing him away from the not so fond memories of third year. He looked down at the blond, a quick surge of anger sweeping through him.

"I'm fine," he said softly, though really he wanted to snap at him, tell him that no, he wasn't alright, and that nothing would ever be alright for him, but he knew that he wasn't the only one that felt that way. He found himself wondering if he were the only one that had, for real, the weight of not just the Wizarding World, but also the Muggle World on his shoulders.

Shaking his head, he forced himself to move.

"Just lost my balance."

Draco always prided himself on being a good judge of people's emotions; an observational skill he had gotten from his father, originally taught to him to help him tell when people were lying. And right now, he was positive that there was more to it then what he heard Harry shout down at him, but he didn't say anything. Instead he nodded slightly, his grin fading. He wasn't sure if Harry had seen the small gesture, but still, he remained silent. He wasn't going to press the Gryffindor; hell, they were barely getting along.

As Harry flew, he forced himself to keep his eyes from straying to his Slytherin companion. His head was starting to hurt and his teeth, by now, were chattering from the cold rain, and yet he still didn't want to go in. If he had it his way, he wouldn't go back in the rest of the night. He'd take off and fly and fly until his broom couldn't handle it anymore. But that was impossible; the grounds were extra guarded with the war so close.

It wasn't fair.

Just when he was having fun, something had to slap him in the face and remind him of who he was, is and of what he's supposed to do.

Then something else slapped him in the face. He was scared, afraid of it all. He looked over at the blond. What was Harry supposed to do when they faced off, kill him?

How could he, unless Draco did something terrible? And he hadn't, not really. Harry didn't think he could do it.

I bet Malfoy would kill me in a heartbeat, he thought. Or maybe not. Biting his lip, as if nervous, Harry sped up to the Slytherin, and slowed right next to him, closer than they had been that night a few days ago when they'd sat next to each other in front of the lake.

Just as Draco had passed Harry, he could hear his broom slice through the air as he sped up. Instead of speeding up, Draco glanced behind him, and again, the thought that Harry looked troubled hit him. Soon, Harry's broom was beside Draco's in the air, and they were dangerously close; if Draco had wanted to, he could have reached out and grabbed Harry. Or, for that matter, pushed him. But he didn't want to, and a small part of him was angry because of that. Things had been so confusing these past few days, what with his father's trial, his mother's depression... the choice he had yet to make, and now, the one thing he could count on his entire five years at Hogwarts was different. He had always been able to count on Harry. He had always been able to count on the Gryffindor to make him angry, to make him feel; to stop him from wallowing in self-pity, and in some ways, to remind him that he didn't have it as bad as he thought. After all, Harry didn't just have himself to worry about, but thousands-- millions of other people to worry about to.

Draco sighed, focusing on Harry as he asked something, and his body tensed.

"Do you ever get scared?" Harry asked quietly.

Just for reference, he told himself...

Draco looked thoughtfully at Harry for a moment, unsure of whether or not to trust Harry, who was looking at him with dark, troubled eyes. Swallowing, Draco turned away, breaking the eye contact, and stared down at the ground as they whizzed over it. Why should I tell him? Draco asked himself silently, his head still bowed as lightning cracked overhead. Because you need to tell someone. The moment the thought crossed his mind, Draco became angry with himself. And yet, he knew that it was true. He had spent the last few years watching his fellow Slytherins, and they all seemed so certain about what they were going to do. He was anything but certain, and that scared him.

Harry waited. He held his breath as he did so, gripping the handle of the broom tightly. It was as if the answer determined what he was going to do next. And in a way it did, though he didn't know just what it would mean yet. He took in the sight of the other boy thinking, a set look on his face, jaw seemingly locked into place.

Slowly, Draco turned back to Harry and heard himself say, "Yes."

Harry sighed, loosening his grip on his handle slightly.

Draco turned his broom slightly to avoid hitting a goal post, Harry following him, and after a tense moment, he said, "Do you?"

As Draco asked this, a question that Harry had already known would come, Harry held off on answering it. He aimed his broom downwards.

His mind racing, Draco followed Harry, unsure why.

As they neared the ground, Harry stepped off onto the wet grass and promptly sat down at the bottom of the benches, not caring that they were wet. He knew the blond would follow, and he did. After all, he was already soaked. The two were surprisingly close again, the drone of rain the only thing stopping the silence when Harry turned to Draco, water dripping from his face, and answered.

"Shitless," he said bluntly. "Sometimes I get so scared, and I don't think I can do it. Any of it."

Then bit his lip, looking away from the blond.

"It builds up, and I can't even cry to make myself feel better."

"Sorry, I'm going to far, saying more than you asked for," he said quickly, bringing his knees up on the bench and pulling them to his chest.

Harry had never been a crier, and sometimes, when he needed to, he found he couldn't. He would just sit there and feel the lump in his throat constrict while his heart would beat painfully hard in his chest. He swallowed, knowing that that was too much. The blond didn't need to know of his sadness, or of his emotional habits.

He remained silent, waiting for the laughter or whatever the other boy was going to throw at him.

Draco looked at Harry with dark eyes as he told the Slytherin his feelings, and he couldn't help but wonder why Harry trusted him. But then, maybe Harry just needed someone to talk to. Draco fixed Harry with a curious gaze, as if sizing him up. Finally, he spoke, staring down at his hands, which were folded carelessly in his lap. His voice was soft, barely a murmur, and he was almost sure that Harry couldn't hear him over the sound of the rain.

Harry bit his lip, not looking at the blond as he spoke.

"Don't be sorry, Potter. You're sixteen, you shouldn't have to put up with the shit you do. I'm not even going to try convincing you that I understand, because no one can."

He paused, wondering if he was saying too much, yet after a slow, agonizing moment, he continued speaking.

"I don't think anyone knows what the future holds, not Dumbledore, or that twit of a Divination teacher, but you just have to hope that it'll turn out alright. I mean, if Fate really exists, we just need to believe it won't screw us over. We all have choices to make... and yours are harder then others, and that's not fair, but nothing about this is."

When he finished his throat was uncomfortably dry, and he closed his eyes, kicking himself. Why had he just said that?

At first Harry thought that Draco wasn't talking to him at all. His voice was so soft and the wind carried it away, right down to the last raspy word. But Harry got the message and he found himself smiling goofily back at the other boy when he was finished speaking. He found himself feeling considerably better. Harry shook his head, squeezing his legs tighter to his chest, in hopes of warming up a bit.

When Draco looked up, Harry was giving him a goofy grin, and for a moment he was insulted. He had just said one of the few personal thoughts he ever had, to someone not related to him, and Harry had the nerve to grin? Draco steeled himself away for the laughter that would come next. For the dozenth time that night, Draco found himself doing something very unMalfoyish as he looked away from Harry, and cleared his throat. He was about to get up and leave if the Gryffindor didn't stop grinning like that, and turned to look at him as he spoke.

"Would you like to become my Doctor, Malfoy?" Harry asked, jokingly. He wondered if Draco knew what that meant, and felt the need to clarify it for him, but didn't even know where to start.

His doctor? Draco lifted an eyebrow. What in the bloody hell did that mean? As if sensing his thoughts, Harry explained.

"I mean, when you're around you usually take me from happiness to pure anger in no time flat. But just then, you did just the opposite," He stated, smiling grateful for the blonds words. Then he realised that the other boy might think that Harry was making fun of him, so he let the smile fade from his face, and he bit his lip again, blinking.

When he was finished, he was smiling again, only this time it was different. It looked more sincere; or maybe, it was because of the words he had just said, and that Draco now knew it was supposed to be sincere. Draco didn't know, but he knew that as Harry looked at him, his anger faded a bit, and he felt himself relax. When Harry spoke next, his voice was so different then what it usually was, and for once in his life, a small part of Draco was proud at himself for showing his weakness. It was soft and husky, and so unlike Harry's usually strong voice.

"Thank you. Next time I get depressed, I'll try and remember that," he said, meaning every word.

Slowly, Draco's lips twisted into another small grin, and he when he spoke, he was surprised his voice didn't shake.

"You're welcome..." he paused, trailing off, and then remembering what Harry had said earlier, said, "who would have thought?"

"Who would have thought what, Malfoy?" Harry asked, even though he thought he might know what the other boy meant when he said it. But now that they were talking, why stop?

Draco's voice was soft again when he spoke. Simply, he said in reply to Harry's question, "This."

He didn't find the look Harry was giving him as unnerving as he had earlier.

Harry smiled again, lightly at the grin that Draco was giving off. He had, in five years, never seen the blond look actually happy. It was strange. The last few days were just strange, and Harry, looking at Draco to see how close of attention he was paying to him, noting he was kind of looking off, pinched himself-- hard. Just to be sure he wasn't dreaming. His body didn't like it and of course he jumped slightly when it actually hurt.

"Hell," he said softly.

Draco's face melted into a smirk, and he lifted an eyebrow at Harry. "Unaccustomed to the concept of pain, Potter?"

Harry scowled at the other boy as he teased him about his pinching, though this time it was playful.

"No, I just wasn't expecting it to hurt. I was sure that this was all some form of dream and that I'd wake up at any moment."

Then, Harry's eyes strayed to the castle, and he noted that all the student rooms were dark, minus a few of the night owl students, like himself, that preferred to stay awake and sleep in the day when they could. They had to go soon, whether they liked it or not. He shouldn't be upset about it. Small problem, he was. Sighing, he looked back at the blond. Draco sensed what he was thinking. Surely, it was very late, and they needed to get in soon, if only to avoid confrontation with their houses. Softly, he said, "Think we should be getting in?" Some small part of him regretted having to admit that he already knew what was most likely the answer.

"Yeah, we really should go in, I don't think Filch will go lightly on us if he catches us dragging water into the Great Hall at ten thirty at night."

He bit his lip, waiting awkwardly, not knowing what to say as he prepared to stand.

"I usually come out here on Saturday's, around eight P.M., just to think..."

He shrugged, and stood, looking down at the other boy. He silently nodded.

"Night, Malfoy."

Draco remained silent throughout Harry's talking, a part of him sad to see the Gryffindor go. He lifted an eyebrow when Harry hinted that he wanted to meet again, and as he turned, couldn't help but smile to himself. Draco never made a habit of disobeying his father; he tried to be the perfect son. After all, while Lucius Malfoy could be cold to some, Draco was family, and that made him different. Despite the open rumour to most Wizarding families that the Malfoy's were all cold, hearted bastards, and probably beat on one another, Draco loved his father. He loved his father dearly; after all, he was the man that taught him what was right, and what was wrong.

Draco's smile faded as his eyes remained fixed on Harry's retreating back. Lately, though, he was having second thoughts. And Malfoy's don't have second thoughts...

He sighed, reaching down for his broom, which was set on the ground. He played with the polished handle in his fingers, knowing that he should go in. Yet he made no attempt to move. Even after Harry was nowhere in sight, Draco remained seated on the stands of the Quidditch pitch, the constant drone of rain invading his thoughts. He only moved when lightning struck the ground a ways away.

.xxXxxXxxXxx.

Harry slowly made his way back inside, broom in hand, checking around to see if the sneaky cat or old man were about. Sniffling he muttered the password to the Fat Lady, slipping inside just as an ugly old cat slinked by the door. He quietly made his way up to his dorm; all of his mates were passed out, even Ron, who usually waited up for him on the Saturdays he went out to fly. He was a bit thankful that the red head was asleep; he didn't feel like talking at the moment. Just wanted to sit and think. Slowly he began to take his wet clothes off, and threw them into a pile next to his bed. Putting on a pair of flannel pants, green and blue, and a new white t-shirt, he reached for his potions book and wand that had fallen out of his pocket. The book wasn't normal. It was interesting with all sorts of helpful writing, and he wanted to study some of it. As he bent to pick them up, his eye caught on something red poking out of his trouser pocket. Using his free hand, he reached out and pulled it free. It was the leaf that Malfoy had thrown at him. Instantly a smile came to his face. He decided then that he would really keep it, just so that he could remember the day Draco Malfoy became his friend. Acquaintance? Whatever he'd become. Placing it gently between the pages of his book, he headed down to the Common Room to read.

A small smile was fixed on his face, even as he fell asleep on the couch.

So where do we begin,
and what else can we say?
When the lines are all drawn,
what should we do today?


There's a space beside us
and there's miles between us,
and all around us
grows this shade of grey.
Rain falling,
hours crawling,
all around this shade of grey...
- A Pleasant Shade of Grey, Fate's Warning