Opening his eyes, Draco frowned. It seemed he had fallen asleep in the hospital wing, missing most of his classes. Why the meddlesome medi-witch had not waked him was a mystery. Glancing around, he sighed in relief. He was alone. Well, apart from the comatose boy he visited. Staring down at said boy Draco gasped sharply.

For the first time in weeks, Harry Potter opened is eyes. He couldn't see a lot, his vision blurring to an extent that he thought he may need his glasses back after all. He could however, see who was holding his hand.

He had not expected to be released from his nightmarish prison so soon, if at all. His talk with Voldemort had left him with so many questions, but also with a keen sense of understanding. All he had seen, all he had witnessed, suddenly made sense. The death and destruction were a simple means to an end, one Harry could finally relate to. It wasn't as if death was a stranger to him, after all.

Letting go of Potters hand, Draco moved away quickly. He knew he had been seen, but wasn't sure what to do. Should he go tell someone? Should he leave? Stay? Thankfully the decision was taken out of his hands.

"Mr Potter! Oh thank goodness you're awake!"

Watching Hogwarts resident medi-witch tend to her silent patient, he made his decision. This war was quickly coming to a head, and he knew exactly who he was going to back. Come hell or high water.

Once he was finally left alone, Harry Potter mused on his situation. His place on the side of the light had been forsaken, thrown aside like nothing. Dumbledore had visited of course, pumping him for information about his visions. Harry had pleaded an ignorance of sorts, claiming to be unable to remember. He knew his story was unlikely to be accepted, but he wasn't too worried. He was still needed to fulfil the prophesy after all, and nothing anyone, not even Dumbledore, could do would change that.

In light of this, Harry considered Voldemort. They were more alike then even he had realised, and disturbingly he could easily relate to the older wizard, insane or no. It did not change much however, and he knew he could never join him. No matter what he had gone through, what he had seen, he could never join with his parent's murderer. To do so would be the ultimate betrayal, something even Harry shuddered at.

So that left only one option. Neither Dumbledore nor Voldemort could offer him what he needed, and so he would have to get it himself. Both had much to account for, and even if it killed him, he would see they paid their penance.

Relaxing into his pillows, Harry closed his eyes. His time in the hospital wing had done him good; the restorative potions he was forced to consume helped to rebuild his previously lost muscles, and gave him back his healthy figure. He still felt his depression eating at his mind, but he vowed to contain it. He needed to get stronger, both physically and magically if he was going to achieve.

It wouldn't be long before he was let back to classes, and back into the student body. He knew he was hated, his lack of visitors proved that, but he wouldn't let it stop him. He had a cause now, an aim to strive for, and a purpose. It wouldn't be easy, but he was Harry Potter, When was anything ever?

He was released on a Thursday, luckily leaving him with only one lesson of the day. Care of magical creatures was never the same anymore, remaining eerily quiet and subdued. Hagrid had taken his students deaths hard, and though he still taught, he was very cautious not to upset anyone in his class. Because of this, the creatures they learnt about were... well boring.

They were working on a magical form of earth worm that day, watching its effect on surrounding plants. A pointless exercise, but no one complained. The 'safe' choice of creature was met by resignation, no one wanting to complain.

Harry stood at the back of the class, watching with a detached interest. The students were usually split down the middle, half Gryffindor, half Slytherin. Now Slytherin made up over 2 3rds of the class. A large part of Harry mourned this. So many had died, or been pulled out of school by their parents. Hogwarts, and the safety she provided, was failing.

Tuning out Hagrids tentative lecture, the boy who lived watched his class mates. They were quiet, withdrawn, united only in their fear and uncertancy. And of course, their continued distrust and hatred of himself.

The slytherins were as arrogant as ever, but even they showed signs of stress and worry. They were only children after all, and Harry mused that out of all the students, they were likely to be the ones affected the most. Shunted into Slytherin they were expected to be dark, evil. Some embraced it, but others...

Harrys gaze drifted to Draco Malfoy, the Slytherin with the most to lose, or gain. The blonde boy was an enigma to Harry, a fascination. He understood him, could relate to his worries, his fears. It meant a lot to Harry, to have that. Even when he and Ron, and even Hermione, had been friends, they had never really understood him. How could they, they were happy.

Draco Malfoy wasn't happy. Far from it in fact. Harry understood that though, understood the pain, the anguish. It was what kept them alive, what made them fight on. Voldemort had shown him that.

It was important, Harry mused, to have an ally during this war. He was realistic; he knew he couldn't hope to defeat Voldemort alone, let alone Dumbledore. Maybe the young Slytherin would be helpful to him, if he let him.

Maybe.