Harry was glad Dumbledore wouldn't let this part of his life turn into just a bad memory, but he wished his friends would. They gave him too much space and not enough comfort. He never thought about just hanging out and playing games and talking about Quidditch as being a form of comfort, but now that he didn't have it, it was rather lonely at Hogwarts.

He was in the Common Room trying to do his homework. A fire was blazing bright and the whole place was quiet with the occasional whisper. It was study time for the Gryffindors, and no one wanted to break the silence just yet. Pretty soon, like usual, someone would crack a joke and someone else would burst out laughing hysterically, and then the joke would spread and so would the noise, and homework time would have officially passed. As it was, Hermione was sitting near to him with a book on her lap, and it was so quiet he could hear her breathing. She looked up at him constantly, as if to make sure he was still there. He was pretty sure that all around him, all the Gryffindors were doing the same thing; he just couldn't catch them at it.

"Hermione," he whispered at last, "stop looking at me like that. I'm fine."

"Sorry, Harry," she whispered back.

"What's wrong?" Ron wondered, equally as quiet.

"Hermione keeps looking at me."

Ron gave her a wide-eyed, extravagant look. "Hermione," he whispered, "how dare you!"

She pursed her lips in disapproval, but her eyes looked softly over him. Harry committed that look she gave him to memory, because it was a look he hadn't seen her use before. He wondered suddenly…if she were flirting…

"Don't be upset, mate," Ron said, a small smile tweaking the corners of his lips as he looked away from Hermione and went back to scribbling on his parchment with his quill.

Harry scratched his brow to hide the discomfort that he couldn't stop from crossing his features. To distract himself from his thoughts, his eyes roved over the room and finally he caught at least five faces snap quickly back to their work. He glared at them all and sank lower in his seat, pulling his legs up and leaning his text book against them, above his face. At least now they couldn't see him, he thought.

He was the one who was glancing up at Hermione, now, though, but she kept her eyes on her book.

The next day was found to be similar to the last. The Quidditch team still eyed him with worry, wondering when he'd be taking over the team again; the teachers still gave him leeway even though he was awful at the spellwork; and everyone else just bugged him. He was caught by surprise many times when he saw people holding hands or casually touching each other. He'd lost that with his friends; they didn't do that anymore.

He had Potions for the first time that day, but for now it was still morning, and Harry had a free period after History of Magic along with Ron. Hermione went to her class, and the two of them went to one of Hogwart's many courtyards to play in the snow.

It was nice, just the two of them. With Hermione things seemed to be centered on his feelings, but with Ron it was all about forgetting life. When they were too cold to play and yet unwilling to go back inside, Ron conjured them a jar of blue fire and they sat on a bench, alone in the courtyard trying to warm up. The proximity was comfortable; Harry was relaxed. But this wasn't a relationship.

Harry rubbed his bare hands together, pulling his black wool coat tight around his stomach. Ron had gloves and a hat, and Harry was suddenly wishing he'd dressed for visiting outside, but he didn't know they'd have done this as he was getting ready in the warm Sixth Year boy's room.

"That was fun," Ron said, breathing hard; his whole face was pink from the cold, and Harry assumed his was the same way.

"Was," Harry agreed.

Ron looked at him and smiled. "It's nice having you back, you know. Christmas wasn't the same without you."

Harry was glad to hear that, and he couldn't help but smile. "Did you have a good time? How are your parents, anyway? I haven't asked."

Ron shrugged and looked up at the sky, stretching his long legs out in front of him. "They're fine. Dad's busy with the Ministry, and Mum's busy with the Order. Bill and Charlie Flooed in, with Fleur. Everyone was there."

Harry asked, "How's Fred and George?"

"Their shop is doing great. Some of the things they've invented are strictly for Order use, too, you know. Cool stuff, like for diversions and disguises. You wouldn't believe. Are you okay with being around me considering the guy who attacked you looked like me?"

A deep, cold shiver went down Harry's spine. It was chill that washed all the comfort out of him. Blood rushed to his head and there was a roaring in his ears. His body wouldn't move except to shiver, so it took a great deal of time and effort to turn his face a little to look at Ron.

He wanted to tell him the truth suddenly – that he thought it was love and he thought it would last forever. He thought – after that night in the hospital ward – that by this time of year they would have had the courage to fight for their relationship against all those who opposed it. By this time, they would have been cuddling night and day in Ron's bed, laughing and kissing all the time. Dreaming and dreaming.

That's what it was, then. Touching, trusting. It was so suddenly ripped from his flesh that Harry almost forgot the meaning of the words; almost forgot completely about love.

Finally, his voice weak, looking at Ron's worry evident all over his freckled face, Harry whispered, "Yes."

The affirmative: he was okay. Ron was helping him remember that.

"Are you sure?" Ron sounded afraid.

Harry hugged himself tighter and looked away. "I'm not afraid of you, Ron. I was…but I'm not anymore. It was more confusing than you might ever know getting over it. I thought it was you. I thought…"

"You didn't understand what was happening," Ron supplied.

Harry nodded and looked at him. "I thought it was you, but now I'm over that. Now…I don't really remember much of how it happened, or what happened. It's all blurry. But you're not there anymore."

Ron wiped a hand over his face and wouldn't look at Harry. "I wasn't. Honestly. I wasn't…there."

The way he said it…sounded strange. Like a code. Like Harry should inquire about this, but that would imply it was Ron's fault at all. Like if he asked where Ron was, and the answer was that he wasn't there, then it was his fault; he wasn't there to protect Harry. And if he had been there, then none of this would have happened.

Suddenly Harry got control of his body again, and he gripped Ron's sleeve tightly and shook his arm, jiggling the blue flame about in the jar. He peered closely at Ron's blue eyes, urging him to hear the truth he was about to speak.

"It's not your fault!" Harry said loudly and clearly. "So what if you weren't there! I was caught by surprise! You would have been, too!"

Ron shook his head. "No – you don't understand, I need you to know…I should have been there. I wanted to be there that night so you wouldn't be alone. But I…something was happening between…I didn't –"

"Shut up," Harry said, but not venomously, shaking his head. Ron was beating himself up, but there was no reason for that. Harry didn't know why he was still going on about this, but there was no reason to feel like this was his fault. It was just Polyjuice Potion. It was just someone taking advantage of Harry's trust.

"Harry," Ron said quietly, "There's something…you should know…about why I wasn't there…"

Harry sighed. Ron was about to tell him he was with Hermione. It would figure, really. Only a deaf-blind man would know they hadn't been subtly flirting lately. Harry didn't really want to hear it, though, because Ron did want Hermione, just like he'd told Marty. But Harry didn't know for how long he'd actually had her.

If Ron said he wasn't in the hospital ward because he was with Hermione and being her boyfriend, then that meant Harry was more stupid than he ever realized, because the boy he kept in his heart wasn't really in his heart at all…but out with a girl.

"Just don't!" Harry said sternly, standing up and glaring at Ron. "It's not your fault! Any of this! Just forget about it!"

"Harry!"

But Harry was already turned around and going through the arches of the small courtyard, on his way back into the castle. Ron stayed behind.

Dim-wit, Harry thought, angry at Ron now.

He was cold, he was lonely, he was dizzy, and he'd forgotten his Potions books down there in the court yard. Lucky, really; he didn't want to go to Potions anyway.

Harry stomped up the stairs to the third floor heading back to the Gryffindor Common Room so he could be angry where no one could see, but just as he turned the corner he got a shock – Draco Malfoy! They nearly crashed into each other. Harry, startled, backed up a considerable amount away from the Slytherin, breath caught in his throat. Draco seemed just as surprised to have been so close to Harry; he stopped right where he was and an uncharacteristic look of surprise passed across his features. All around and behind Draco was his group of horrible people, who looked taken with surprise as well…and a bit of glee.

And Harry was alone. Vulnerable. There was no one else in the halls except for him and these eight Slytherins. Ron would miss his chance to save Harry yet again.

"Potter," Draco said through clenched teeth, staring at him ferociously as he'd been doing for the past three days. Harry hadn't realized the fire that was behind Draco's eyes from across the room, but now – so close – those pale blue eyes were like cold, inverted lava from a blasting volcano. If Harry had seen this before, he never would have wanted to talk to Draco.

His session with Ron had cut open wounds and left him easily susceptible to showing his emotions. They were only scabs, then. He wanted to talk to Draco, but he needed to wait until those scabs were scars. He needed to get away from here fast.

How so many bad children could be together could only be explained if it was a fact that bad people tended to like to be in a crowd of even worse people – probably to make their self's feel better. Of all of these people, Harry was very unsure who the best and the worse of them were.

"Mm – Mm…" Harry tried, he really did, but he just couldn't bring himself to say that name. His body had frozen. His mouth was stuck closed. His eyes were pinned. How did this happen? Where had his courage gone?

On Draco's arm was latched Pansy Parkinson. She broke out into a fit of giggles as she stared at Harry, and said gaily, "Look at him! He's scared of us! He's actually scared of us!"

"Weak, Potter," Blaise Zabini said from behind Draco. "Very weak."

Harry found it hard to breathe either in or out. He was too shaky to do anything without a deep level of difficulty. He wanted to grab his wand, but his arms were stiff.

Pansy Parkinson unlatched from Draco and came forward, her steps light and swift. Harry held his ground even though she was right in his face looking up at him – her neck arched nearly full back and her pug face just inches from his. Though she grinned, her face still looked stern. Harry was hot now after being outside for so long, and a bead of sweat trailed down his temple.

And then Pansy said with an impish smile, "How's your wand?"

And she covertly grabbed right between his legs and squeezed.

Harry jolted and pushed her hands away, pushing her away as well. But her toothy grin followed him and she was grabbing for him again, and he was to the wall with nowhere left to go.

They surrounded him, laughing and jabbing at him, calling him names and asking mean questions. Harry jumped here and there, but was constantly fighting off the three girls who were touching his body below his belt and laughing.

Images came back to him. He'd told Ron it had all blurred together from that night at the hospital, but really it hadn't. He remembered what it felt like to be touched and kissed, and it was so comfortable and such an important part of life. In fact, he knew even as it was happening that it was going to be the most important part of his life for a very long time.

This, too, then, was going to be important.

"Move!"

The laughing stopped. Harry looked over them all and saw Draco coming forward, pulling and pushing everyone away. They moved back and Harry was face to face now, with Draco's body blocking him from the others. His pale skin was without blemish except for the dark circles that were long under his eyes. Everything had angles, from his smooth nose and chin, to his arched eyebrows that were pinched as he glared intently at Harry, to his mouth with its pink double-u shape. The only thing of any color about him was his dark green tie, which matched Harry's eye-color exactly. His pale blond hair was long and caressed his temples, a few strands lying against his nose and circling around his ears, along his neck above his white collar and black robes.

He was a beautiful monster, deliriously thought Harry.

Harry's teeth were clenched and he was shaking. He was slouching against the wall so much below Draco that he felt insignificant. He was ready to close his eyes, lay down on the floor, and just wait for the end to come. Finally, he was at a place in life where suicide seemed appropriate.

"What's wrong with you, Potter?" Draco asked, his breath touching Harry's mouth like the brush of a butterfly's wing. His voice was quiet and yet challenging. There was nothing about it that was familiar or suggested anything like a secret shared only between them. Harry didn't know how he was doing it – wither he was pretending it wasn't him who slept with Harry or not. He was immobilized with uncertainty.

Harry's eyes dropped from his face to his chest, where the gold Slytherin Prefect badge glared at him with its shiny polish. It looked like the same badge from his memory. He glanced over to Pansy's robed chest and saw the exact same badge. He looked between them once more, wishing for any difference between them but saw none.

He met Draco's eyes again and it was suddenly clear to him: it might really have not been Draco Malfoy who he slept with.

Harry swallowed hard and looked over his shoulders at everyone else.

There was Zabini, tall and dark and looming with his smirk and glistening eyes. There were the bodyguards, Crabbe and Goyle, who Harry suddenly understood were cherished members of the group; when he had Dudley on his side, Harry felt like he was safe no matter what got in his way. There was the rather violent boy, Nott, whose parents were known Death Eaters. And there were the girls who grabbed at his body to hurt him: Pansy Parkinson, Daphne Greengrass, and Tracy Davis. It could have been one of them who took the badge and showed it to him.

Harry thought he was losing his mind.

"You're pathetic," Draco finally said, shaking his head with disgust.

"Real pathetic," Pansy agreed.

He thought he would have been calm when he confronted Draco, but he was only scared now that his life had been blown to pieces by someone as horrible as Goyle, Nott, or even Pansy.

"Let's go," Draco said at last, and the eight of them glared at him but would follow his order.

Draco was no more than a step away when Harry got his body back to him and grabbed at Draco's arm. He didn't mean it to bring him back, or really to stop him. Harry just needed a moment to think. He squeezed like a vice and found his legs, standing himself up straight.

"What?!" Draco demanded.

Harry stared unblinking at Draco, and then he took a shuttering breath.

He whispered to the Slytherin, "Tell me…was it you?"

Draco cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow. "Was what me?"

Harry and Draco both glanced at the Slytherins when they noticed Pansy begin to walk over. Draco shook his head at her and held up his hand to stop her. She stopped.

"Was it you who tricked me with the Polyjuice? Don't tell me you didn't hear about that."

Draco narrowed his eyes in anger. "You think it was me who did that you?"

Harry's heart skipped a beat and his stomach suddenly cramped.

"It wasn't me, Potter," Draco said evenly.

Harry set his jaw and glared. "Tell me the truth!"

Draco shook his head and repeated with more venom, "It wasn't me."

And then Draco looked quite seriously over at the other Slytherins, who so far hadn't heard a word of their conversation. "Why would you think it was me? I hate your Muggle-loving guts, Potter."

Harry licked his lips and bit them, gripping his stomach and Draco's arm even tighter.

"Why?" Draco asked again, trying without much effort to detach Harry's hand.

"Because he had your clothes on," Harry said, looking at Draco's shoes and remembering pseudo-Ron's being just as shiny and black. "And he showed me your badge."

Malfoy shook his head. "Disgusting, Potter. Really. It – wasn't – me."

Harry still couldn't believe it. He let the idea of it being Draco Malfoy go almost completely and shook his head in despair of what that entailed. He thought back to when he was just as cold outside as he was inside – when he was in the doctor's room at Smeltings, and Marty was talking with him…

"I was so sure. Enemies sometimes…fall in love." He looked up at Draco and went on, "They fight so hard – and learn everything about each other – they have a lot in common – and then they fall in love."

Draco glared at him and completely tore his arm away from Harry, and then he jabbed a finger hard against Harry's chest where his coat was separated by his collar.

"I – don't – love – you!" He stated, enunciating each word with a jab and getting angrier with each breath; his blue eyes glaring daggers and wishing Harry dead. "The idea is preposterous!"

Harry slapped his hand away and moved out from against the wall, further away from Draco and the other Slytherins, who were focused on the two of them like moths to a flame.

"Sorry!" Harry snapped.

"Better be, Potter!"

Harry shook his head in despair, gave Draco and the others one last look, and then moved on up the hall. He didn't look behind him, he didn't seek help, and he didn't go to Potions. He went to his room and he closed his curtains, and he cried.

He thought it was Draco; he could live with it being Draco. Draco was handsome and – no – he was beautiful! He was more gorgeous than Tonks' disguise. He was beautiful whether Harry was under the power of a toxin or not.

Harry didn't know who else it could be; it could now be anyone. Well…it could now be any one of the Slytherins; any one of those bastards.