The rest of the week passed by without incident, with Harry and Malfoy avoiding each other when possible, and when in contact, exchanging the necessary derogatory remark every now and then, but were, for the most part, civil. The nightlight which Harry had found on Draco's first night still shown brightly, and with it, they had no repeating incidents.

From an outside view, one would say that nothing had changed, that Malfoy coming into Harry's room in the middle of the night crying was just a fluke, and they'd forgotten the whole thing. Such an assumption would be as wrong as it was possible to be.

For Harry Potter had been unable to think of anything else for days on end. If Malfoy was just putting up a front and pretending to be strong where, in reality, he was terrified of the dark, and the attitude he put up was only meant to impress people, Harry couldn't help but wonder what else about Malfoy was hidden to public eye.

But this was all passing thought to Harry. A nagging, repeating wonder, just back round noise to what Harry was really thinking about.

The kiss.

There was something about that kiss that Harry couldn't let go of. He had to stop and wonder for a moment, if he was reading too much into it. Call him crazy, but Harry felt so much packed into that simple moment of contact, he could hardly believe that this was the same Malfoy whom he had fought with for the previous six years.

It seemed to him that in that one single kiss, Malfoy had been thanking him, apologising to him, and declaring some sort of silent truce all in one go. But at the same time, there was something else. Something Harry could not quite put a finger on. Love, perhaps?

Harry doubted it.

Malfoy may not be who he'd thought, but the idea of him loving his mortal enemy was rather… unlikely.

And for some reason unbeknownst to him, Harry Potter felt a twinge of sinking disappointment upon thinking such.

Yes, Harry Potter was very confused indeed.

Draco Malfoy fared not much better than his host.

He'd lie in bed at night, though no longer plagued by the dark, but by nightmares of his childhood that he'd wished long to forget. It was by the ninth day after the nightlight began its work, and fourth time the boy had woken, sweating and crying, that he'd finally decided.

He needed someone to talk to. Even if that person was someone he'd (supposedly) hated for six years.

By the time Malfoy had actually summoned the courage to say something to the black haired adolescent that he'd kissed less than a fortnight before, Harry was busy speaking to a neighbour of his, whom he appeared to be quite friendly with.

The only issue with this was Draco wanted to talk now, or else his newly summoned courage would dissipate as quickly as it had come.

Draco Malfoy was in a certain dilemma.

Harry was busy speaking with Eliza, a neighbour of his whom he'd been friends with for years, when he looked up to see Malfoy standing in the doorway, looking quite shaken and slightly upset.

In fact, Malfoy looked so distressed that Harry had to wonder for a moment if he were about to cry.

Coincidently, Draco Malfoy was momentarily wondering the same thing, as the entire time he'd waited in the hallway, he'd grown more and more distressed over the situation and he now felt the embarrassing sting of tears behind his eyes.

Upon seeing the blonde in the doorway with such an expression, Harry thoughts turned worrisome.

"You alright, Malfoy?" He asked uncertainly. Draco stood, silently for a moment, before answering.

"You…" He hesitated, nervous and unsure. "You said if I needed to talk… I could come to you, right?" He visibly winced at the pathetic tone to his voice. Harry was dumbfounded for a moment. In fact, he was more than dumbfounded he was… well he couldn't quite think of word, but truth be told, he'd never been expecting the boy to take him up on the offer. It took several seconds before Harry found himself articulate enough to respond.

"Er… Yeah, Malfoy, of course. Um… a little later? I have…" He stopped. Yes, Malfoy was certainly about to cry. His eyes narrowed. What in the bloody hell was going on? Harry turned to his house guest. "Eliza… do you mind if…?" The girl seemed to understand perfectly and was very gracious of the matter.

"Oh, um, of course Harry. I'll talk to you later." With that she showed herself out, allowing the awkward meeting of the two boys in the sitting room, neither of them quite knowing what to say.

"Sit down, Malfoy." Harry said softly. Draco did so. "I sent my friend home. This better be important." The blonde nodded but said nothing for several moments. "Malfoy?" At last, the boy spoke.

"Don't…" He started, and Harry thought his voice sounded rather odd. "Don't call me Malfoy." He whispered. "Please."

Draco knew perfectly well why this bothered him. The Malfoy name was not something he particularly wanted associated with himself, and only those who disliked him called him as such. He didn't want Harry, who was supposed to be helping him, to despise him in the way he despised himself.

Harry on the other hand did not understand this. But, sensing the boy's discomfort, he agreed.

"Alright. You know you don't have to talk to me, Draco, if you don't want." He said slowly, almost hoping that Draco would change his mind on speaking.

"No…" Draco answered slowly. "I need to." Harry sighed, but tried to remain patient.

"Okay. What's wrong?" Draco again, fell silent for a very long time. It was just when Harry was wondering if he was going to talk at all, when his voice, shaking, resonated clearly through the room.

"M-my father tried to k-kill me." He said shakily, though not crying. "When I was seven." Harry stared at him for a moment, and after deciding that Draco was in fact telling the truth, he responded.

"Oh… oh my god, Draco… why…" Harry Potter was at a loss for words. Draco shrugged.

"I don't know." And his voice broke. Tears brimmed his grey eyes but they didn't spill over. "I must have done something wrong." He said softly. "He… he took us on… this… outing." He swallowed hard. "To some cave. H-he used a… a reducto charm and…" He voice broke again, his hands trembling with the memory.

Harry, instinctively reached out and held Draco's trembling hand in his own.

"Its okay, Draco." He said softly. "Tell me what happened."

"I was t-trapped. He was trying to make it look like an accident and… none of the rocks had hit me. I was there for… days. I yelled and yelled but… they left me…" Now Draco did begin to cry, and Harry allowed him to do so, feeling that the blonde needed it.

"How did you get out?" Harry asked, as horrified as he was curious.

"I dug my way out…" He sniffed. "I got the attention of some… witch. She took me back to London and my parents acted all grateful that I was back and then… Obliviated her." He sniffed again and wiped at his eyes. "But I knew." He choked on a sob. "I knew what he'd tried to do."

Harry, unknowing of what to do, pulled the boy into his arms.

"I've been terrified of the dark ever since." Draco murmured into Harry's shirt. Harry just rubbed his back, shushing him gently. He really had no idea what to say.

"It's okay." He said softly. "It's over. Dumbledore isn't going to make you go back there again." Draco sniffled.

"They were trying to make me take the mark." He whispered.

Harry sighed. He had assumed as much.

Draco Malfoy was surprised at the weight he felt lifted from him. He'd never told anyone about the cave before. He supposed it felt good… to get a secret off his mind. And as he felt Harry holding him tight against him, he received a surge of bravery.

Maybe… maybe he should let something else off his mind as well. He pulled away from Harry, and, blushing a bit, wiped tears from his pale cheeks, deciding that he was done crying for the moment.

"Can I tell you something else?" He asked softly, though by this point he was determined to say it anyway.

"Sure." Draco took a deep breath.

"It wasn't an accident that I kissed you."

Harry Potter was a very happy man.

AN: To those of you who have read previous stories of mine, maybe you'd noticed that my writing style seems a little different. I'm using a third person omniscient point of view… and I've been reading Pride and Prejudice, so I apologise if the style seems to be a little winded or pretentious, I'm merely taking off of Austen's style. The next chapter will be the last, and a bit of an epilogue. I don't think this one's quite as good as my other works, but I've enjoyed writing it.

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