Disclaimer: Don't own it, so don't sue.

A/N: I've been ridiculously busy with my first wave of tests a third of the way through the semester. I just finished one terrible wave of exams, and another comes up in April, and then finally it's over in May. So hang with me and I'll manage to finish this story perhaps.

000000000000000 Chapter 32: Draco's Decision 00000000000000

He was destined to have a sleepless night, it seemed. The dull pain of his injuries had grown to a chronic sort of ache that made it hurt to breathe, much less move. It felt like someone had opened him up and scrubbed his bones with steel wool while he slept, and the pain varied randomly no matter how still he stayed.

Perhaps, he thought idly, he should have just ignored Snape and taken the potions. Certainly, he'd be in a lot less pain.

But somehow the thought of giving in to the sour professor made him feel sick, as if it would be giving up much more than just that. And even now, he just couldn't do that.

Looks like I'm going to live with it, he told himself sternly, and focused his attention on thinking about everything but the pain he was in.

As soon as he'd gotten used to the increased pain, though, he was interrupted again. The door to the infirmary creaked quietly, as though the person entering didn't wish to be heard, but Harry picked up the sound almost instantly.

He forced his fingers to move and gripped his wand, lifting it up defensively. "Who's there?" he demanded.

"Lumos."

The soft glow illuminated the face of someone he hadn't expected to see in his wildest imaginings.

"Malfoy," he snapped, though he could tell that it came out as more of a irritated rasp. "What are you doing here?" He couldn't hold back several rough coughs—his throat was like sandpaper.

"Severus talked to you." Malfoy commented once he was standing fifteen feet away, arms folded and grey eyes narrowed.

"And?"

"You're stupider than I thought, Potter, if you don't have any questions," Malfoy said snidely.

Harry eyed the other teen. He hadn't asked anything because he didn't want to give away his suspicions or any information that shouldn't be passed on to…oh, say, Voldemort? "That depends if you're willing to give answers to them," he settled on.

It was surprisingly easy to stay calm, he realized, as he lay on the hospital bed. He was in too much pain to do much more than stay awake, and it just didn't seem worth it to attempt to get angry about anything Malfoy said.

"I might," Malfoy said finally, voice sharp in the quiet.

"You never meant for your father to take me out of Hogwarts, did you?" Harry asked abruptly. Malfoy laughed aloud, sounding disturbingly like his father for a moment.

"Right to the point, Potter," Malfoy said after his laughter died. "No, no I didn't. Of course, we all know how well that plan worked out."

"Did Dumbledore know?" Harry demanded.

"No," Malfoy said. "Severus and I knew that the plan would not work if Dumbledore knew. You might not realize it, but the old fool's besotted with you, Potter. There was no way he would've agreed to something that harmed you."

"And Lucius would've just waltzed right in?" Harry asked, incredulous.

Malfoy shrugged and sighed. "I suppose it's not a secret any more. Severus has a few tricks—he was able to dismantle a few wards without Dumbledore even noticing."

"And he still doesn't know?" Harry asked in surprise. Malfoy rolled his eyes.

"Why do you think Dumbledore was so calm when you were 'found?'" Malfoy said. "Severus had to tell him the instant things went wrong—when you suddenly disappeared from the closet. We thought that my father had somehow managed to get to you from some other route."

"Sorry I messed up your plans," Harry said sarcastically, then coughed roughly once more.

"Why aren't you drinking any water?" Malfoy asked abruptly. "The coughing is bugging the hell out of me."

Harry eyed his enemy and ignored the comment. "Does your father know you're a traitor now?" he asked.

Malfoy looked away a moment. "About that…I suppose I should…apologize…for the incident yesterday."

"What?"

"The wraith wasn't sent for you, Potter," Malfoy said. "Traitors are meant for deaths like that. Much, much more merciful than what the Dark Lord has planned for you."

"That thing was supposed to be attacking you?" Harry asked. "Then why in bloody hell did it go after me?"

"How much do you know about pseudo creatures, Potter?" Malfoy asked.

"Nothing," Harry admitted.

The blonde sneered then opened his mouth as if to make some rude comment before changing his mind and turning away. Malfoy paced a moment, then finally gave in and sat down on a bed across from him. "Pseudo creatures are almost impossible to generate, and take dark magic to make. The Dark Lord's got the power and the ability, but even he can't give them more than the most basic instructions. He probably sent it after a teenager with a curse mark, and mixed us up."

"But that means…"

"Not as stupid as you sound, are you, Potter?"

Malfoy pulled up his left sleeve, and Harry saw the Dark Mark on Malfoy's arm. It was raw still, burned into the boy's pale skin, giving Harry the idea that it had been done recently.

"So it confused the Dark Mark with my scar," Harry mused aloud. "So I took the attack in your place…great," Harry muttered.

"It's not like he plans to let you hang around here having fun anyway," Malfoy told him coldly. "You might as well get used to it."

"At least you'd get potions," Harry said, almost to himself.

But Malfoy seemed to have sharp ears. "What're you on about, Potter?"

Harry blinked, and shook his head. "Nothing. Did you have something else to say, or can I go back to sleep now?"

Malfoy suddenly seemed to be uncomfortable, shifting and looking around a moment before clearing his throat weakly. "Well…"

"Spit it out, Malfoy," Harry almost growled, then had to cough again to ease his irritated throat.

"You really should be getting something for that…" Malfoy stalled. Harry glared, and Malfoy seemed to steady himself. "I know you didn't have anything to do with Narcissa's death."

Harry blinked. That was Malfoy's big nerve-wracking fact? He almost said as much, then thought about it a bit more. Malfoy was admitting he'd been wrong. That was something he'd never seen nor heard before.

"I'm glad," he settled on. "Can you leave me alone now?" he asked. "Or is your father going to pop in here and attempt to kidnap me again?"

"Don't be stupid, Potter," Malfoy spat angrily, looking frustrated.

"Why are you telling me all this, then? I know Dumbledore favors leaving me in the dark about things like this," Harry informed the teen.

Malfoy shrugged. "I'm still making up my mind, I suppose."

"About what?"

"About whether I'm throwing my lot in with the right side. About whether I think you have a chance at actually pulling it off," Malfoy said calmly.

"Ever the Slytherin," Harry snapped. "Only concerned about yourself."

"Better than worrying about people that don't matter," Malfoy said flatly.

"Everyone matters."

Malfoy almost glared at him. "You're a fool, Potter. It's going to get you killed." The teen stood up angrily.

Harry watched the teen stalk towards the door with half-closed eyes. "I don't think being a fool is what's going to kill me," he informed Malfoy, only a moment before the blonde teen stormed out.

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

To his surprise, when he next awoke there was a tray with four potions waiting for him beside his glasses. They looked fresh—one was steaming slightly—so he assumed that Snape hadn't followed through on his promise. Probably, he figured, Dumbledore wouldn't let him.

That didn't mean he had to drink them, he reminded himself. He had told Snape he didn't want anything from him, and he wasn't going to go back on that just because Snape had.

Before anyone could appear, he evanescoed all of the potions, glaring at their now-empty vials before rolling over to face away from the sight. He didn't really want any reminder of Snape at the moment.

The pain in his body seemed to have migrated mainly to his forearms and hands, and he was careful to keep them as still as he could as he moved. He was hoping that he could just fall asleep again for a while longer, but, again, he had no such luck.

"Mr. Potter!" Pomfrey exclaimed, seeing him awake. Her eyes darted over the empty vials, narrowing a moment, and then she smiled at him again. "And how are we feeling today?" she asked.

"Better," Harry lied. "Can I go?"

Pomfrey 'humphed' and stepped up to his bedside, taking his right hand up. He had to clench his teeth tightly to avoid making any sound, and Pomfrey didn't seem to notice his discomfort.

"Wiggle your fingers for me, dear," she asked.

Harry did as he was told, though it felt as if someone were sawing his fingers off, and Pomfrey seemed to hesitate a moment. "No pain at all?" she asked.

"None," Harry said, then smiled as best he could. "I'm much better."

"I expect you back here this evening for treatment," she told him sternly, stepping away from him. "You're not out of the woods yet."

Harry nodded, ignoring the stiffness in his neck, and forced himself to get off the bed in one fluid movement. He kept up the charade long after Pomfrey had disappeared into her office, suspicious that she was still keeping an eye on him, and didn't stop until he was out of the infirmary, on his way back to Gryffindor.

The hall around him was fairly empty—it was Sunday, so he supposed everyone was either outside or in their common rooms—and he allowed his even strides to falter, trying to ease the fiery burning that almost crippled him with its intensity. The pain was making him slightly nauseous as well, and he focused on just trying to get back to Gryffindor before he passed out.

Again, he was to have no such luck.

"Mr. Potter!"

He turned reluctantly, and gave Professor Murkwater a weak smile. "Hello, sir."

"Thought you were in the infirmary, Potter," the man commented. Harry shrugged.

"Madame Pomfrey let me go," he explained. "I'm much better."

"Surprised you lived," the man commented. "That should have killed you."

Harry shrugged again. "You know me, sir," he said wearily. "'The Boy-Who-Stubbornly-Refuses-to-Die," he joked. He didn't noticed Murkwater's expression change for a short moment, and turned to leave. "I'm really tired, sir," he said.

"Are you sure you're well, Potter?" the man asked.

"Yes, sir," Harry assured the man, then when he heard nothing else out of the professor, he walked off down the hall, forcing himself not to limp or even slouch his shoulders.

He was half-expecting to meet someone else on the short walk, but to his surprise he managed to make it all the way back into Gryffindor without being stopped by anyone else.

"HARRY!"

He forced himself to do nothing more than grimace as Hermione latched onto him, hugging him tightly. When she finally stepped back, she wasn't the only one with tears in her eyes.

"I'm still a little sore, 'Mione," he admitted. She looked worried and relieved all at once.

"I've been researching that…that thing that attacked you, Harry," she told him. "It should have killed you!"

"Thanks for that wonderful news," Harry replied sarcastically. "I was already told that."

"You all right?" Ron asked quietly. Harry looked over and saw that his other best friend looked pale and exhausted.

"Yeah," he said. "Just…sore, like I said. Is there something wrong?" he asked, confused as to Ron's odd behavior.

The red head shook his head, though, and sat down on the couch. "I'm fine, mate," Ron assured him. Harry wasn't sure if Ron was telling the truth or not, but he let it go in favor of carefully lowering himself down into an overstuffed chair.

"You look stiff," Hermione commented. "Is Professor Snape giving you the right potions?" she asked.

"Sure," Harry said. "I took four different ones just a bit ago," he lied. Hermione bit her lip.

"I'm sorry we didn't visit you," she said suddenly. Harry blinked.

"You didn't?" he asked. "Well, I was out all night, you know."

"They wouldn't let us," Ron grumbled. "They told us to wait here instead! We had no idea if you'd died or what."

Harry realized what the problem was with Ron in a sudden burst of un-Harry-like insight. "You've been up all night," he said aloud. Ron reddened somewhat.

"Couldn't sleep."

"I'm fine, Ron," he promised. "Hermione, you didn't stay up all night, did you?" he asked. She blushed.

"I fell asleep around four in the morning," she admitted. "I didn't know that Ron stayed awake."

"I'm sorry I scared you both," he said, unsure if he was supposed to apologize or not.

Hermione sighed. "We're not mad at you, Harry," she told him. "It's just frustrating when they leave us in the dark like that! I mean, we're practically family."

"What're you talking about?" Harry asked. "You two are my family…unless you think the Dursleys count?"

"There is Remus," Ron pointed out. Harry shrugged.

"Well, okay, you're like my brother and sister then," he amended. "Still family."

Hermione smiled wanly, looking as if she were about to burst into tears, and suddenly flung herself at him again. This time, he had to push her away—she was squeezing him much too tightly, and his sore body just could not take it. "I'm sore, remember?" he explained.

She managed to look sheepish, and Harry sighed, relaxing back onto the sofa even more. "I'm supposed to go back to the infirmary for more potions this evening," he said aloud.

"We'll stop there on the way to dinner," Ron said. Harry nodded stiffly in agreement, trying not to tax his sore body.

"I wonder why Malfoy tried to warn you like that?" Hermione asked suddenly. Harry looked over without moving his sore neck.

"He came and talked to me," Harry informed his friends. "Things are a lot more complicated than they seem…like that thing yesterday? It was supposed to kill him."

Hermione frowned, then blinked a few times as if thinking something through. "Then…he's not a death eater?" she asked tentatively. Ron snorted dubiously, and Harry proceeded to tell his friends everything Malfoy had said in the infirmary.

"I don't know if he was or what, but he's got the Dark Mark," Harry informed his friends. "He could have been feeding me a dozen different lies last night, so I don't know what it means. He says he's making up his mind as to which side he thinks is going to win."

"That'd be typical," Ron muttered. "The ferret's always about saving his own hide."

"Snape could corroborate Malfoy's story," Hermione pointed out timidly. Harry stilled.

"No."

"But it could—"

"No!" he said again. He was not going to talk to Snape. That was final and permanent.

"I know that you don't—" Hermione tried again, and Harry lurched to his feet.

"I'm going to take a nap," he said. "Leave me alone, why don't you?" he snapped, then stormed toward his dormitory.

"Way to go, 'Mione," he heard Ron mutter behind him, but he didn't stop. He opened the door violently and slammed it behind him.

He sat on his bed with the curtains drawn tightly, and tried to calm down. He knew Hermione meant well, but she just didn't seem to understand just how much he hated Snape.

To ease his anger, he took out the old book and opened it once more, thumbing through the pages until he found where he was. It was more likes of cramped, still partially faded writing, and he skimmed it slowly, reading portions of it and hoping something would catch his attention.

'…an aura of darkness about the place, as if it were meant for evil…fading from sight, and even as I ponder it, I imagine that the fortress is still slowly fading. Soon, perhaps tomorrow, it will be gone…Yesterday, an old man swore to me that he'd seen a monstrous serpent on the hillside, moving towards the fortress. Of course, all he could tell me was that the beast was green…'

He skimmed faster, hoping for something that would give away the location of the Fortress, and again saw the familiar shape of a poem on the next page. It seemed to him that these older books were all about poetry and double meanings—thing he definitely didn't need at the moment. He just wanted a straight answer.

But he read the poem anyway:

Why must thou search for it?

All others have come and gone,

Lost their way and then quit,

And yet you refuse and go on.

Folly awaits you, young man,

No reward will be obtained there.

You are foolish if you think you can

For anything but death is rare.

Save it from evil, you say?

Keep it from a terrible fate?

Oh, perhaps, perhaps you may;

But perhaps, perhaps it's too late.

He got the distinct feeling that the author had nothing but dark feelings for the fortress, as did just about everything in the book. If he got to this place before Tom, he wasn't even sure he wanted in it any more. It sounded as if the place were cursed beyond all hope—which was something that Tom would enjoy, he knew.

He thought about reading more, but he was already halfway through the book and had found nothing giving away the Fortress's location. He put the book back under his bed, putting it on top some spare parchment, and then settled back onto his bed.

Tiredly, he lay back on his pillow and closed his eyes, hoping that some rest would do his aching body some good.

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

'Pardon?'

'M'aide! Ouvre la porte, s'il-vous-plait!'

'Non!'

'M'aide!'

He had no idea what most of the indistinct conversation meant, and tried his best to remember the words. It was a different language—German or French or something—and he supposed that Hermione would know…

But he was distracted from remembering, because he was back at the Fortress, struggling up the grassy hill. Lightening was hitting the ground less than half a mile from where he stood, and he could see bolts hitting the fortress's highest towers.

Everything was a chaotic mess…and then, for a brief moment, he thought he saw a group down at the base of the hill, surrounded by what had to be Death Eaters and fighting for their lives. Then, in an instant, the image was gone.

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

He sat up with a gasp, disoriented for a brief moment, then realized he was in his bed with the curtains still drawn tightly around him.

Still breathing heavily, he quickly pulled out some parchment and quill, scratching down what little bit he'd seen in the 'vision.' And then he remembered the foreign words. Mayday, or something, he thought. See-voo-play, he remembered as well. It sounded vaguely familiar, and he felt as if he should know what it meant, but he couldn't figure it out.

He wrote down the rest of what he remembered hearing, grimacing at the phonetic spellings he was forced to use, then folded the parchment up and put it away once more. He was still tired and sore, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to think much about the vision in his current state.

"Harry, you awake?"

Ron's voice sounded hopeful.

"Yeah," he finally said. "What's wrong?"

"Hermione didn't mean to be bossy like that, you know," Ron informed him, still somewhere beyond the curtains. "She just…worries."

"I know that," Harry said flatly, still annoyed with his friends. "I won't talk to him. He's destroyed my life enough."

"She just doesn't want you to be hurt, Harry," Ron explained. "It's not that she doesn't understand how you feel about Snape."

"I don't care." He settled back on his bed, staring up at the canopy, and frowned when Ron pulled back the curtains.

"Yes, you do," Ron informed him. "And you're going to apologize to her, and you know it."

Harry ignored his friend, although deep inside he knew Ron was right. "I'm tired," he informed the red-head.

"You're supposed to be getting more potions from Pomfrey," Ron said. "It's almost seven."

"Fine," Harry said shortly, getting up abruptly. His body did not ache as much as it had before, he noted, and he was able to walk with only a slight stiffness out of the dorm, Ron trailing behind him. "I can go on my own," he said, noticing that Ron planned to go with him.

Ron shrugged. "Don't want anything to happen," he explained. Harry sighed but didn't argue. He knew that Ron could be much more stubborn than himself, so there was no reason to argue when he wouldn't win.

Instead, he let Ron walk with him as he headed to the infirmary, trying to think of a way to avoid taking the potions he was sure she'd give him.

"Potter!"

He turned at the sharp voice, and saw Ron tense. "Malfoy," he said flatly. "What do you want now?"

"I've made my decision," Malfoy said, ignoring Ron's growl.

"And?" Harry asked flatly, feigning disinterest. "What is it?"

Malfoy stuck out his hand.

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

A/N: Sorry so short, but I'm busy like you wouldn't believe, and I've been working on later chapters. The poetry attempt was last minute, so if it's terrible, I'm very sorry. I don't have much time to think up good poems, though I've got a short list of fragments I've managed to concoct. Maybe someday I'll use some of them…yeah, right…

I'll answer some reviews here, but if I didn't get to you, it's because I'm reeely busy and I have to up again in…oh, four hours…in order to cook Easter dinner. So have a good Easter yourselves and tell me what you think!

Responses:

JDZ: Yeah, I got lots of comments for a while that said Harry was a big wimp in this story. I just was doing my best to make him realistic—I didn't want to suddenly be all confident and powerful. He's got to work on it, and it's going to take a lot of time. By the end of this story, he's still going to be kind of insecure and everything that makes him Harry, but I think he'll have really matured and figured things out. Hopefully my readers will agree with me.

Loony: Sorry, I AM here, but I'm busy like you wouldn't believe. I am in five clubs—I'm an officer in four of them—and I don't have much spare time. I was gone all spring break—I went up to Canada and partied—and now I have a cold so I don't much feel like writing. So sorry, but I'm working as hard as I can.

Ash Knight, Dianne: Thank you both for the reviews. I am trying to work around RL intrusions (see above) but it's tricky.

Emsnape: I've been trying to decide if you are THE emsnape that's writing In Blood Only. I love that story, though I'm way behind in reading it. Anyway, thank you for the review and I'm glad you're enjoying it.

Thanks to everyone else too: your reviews go a long way to encouraging me to keep writing this story. Oh, and look for a new story soon. I've always been a big 'Snape mentors Harry' fan, so I'm going to take a stab at it. I just have to think up an original twist…shouldn't take me tooo many years, right?

Anyway, ttyl, Miss Laine