Chapter Two: Setbacks

Harry Potter would never understand why things like this always happened to him: Was he blessed with bad fortune, or was it because of his stupid Gryffindor bravery? Whatever the cause, Harry was once again doing the unthinkable, this time: Taking care of Draco Malfoy.

Harry stared at the blank look plastered on Draco's face; his eyes were bulging and he looked quite mad, but they were completely glazed over and hollow. It was shocking to say the least; the situation was slowly beginning to unhinge Harry. Draco had been muttering and screaming and then had abruptly stopped, a complete emptiness washing over him.

Harry leaned forward and slowly moved a finger back and forth in front of Draco's eyes. They did not move; they hardly registered Harry's existence. Usually, Harry would have been glad to be free from Draco's ever-watchful eyes, sneering face, and cold drawl, but now, all he wanted was for the Slytherin to say something snide.

Harry sat back with a sigh. What was he going to do? At any moment, Draco could resume his mad ramblings and if it got any worse, he could become dangerous to himself and Harry. Harry knew what he had to do and with a new-found resolve, he leaned forward and gently, yet firmly placed his hands on Draco's shoulders.

The instant he had made physical contact, Draco began screaming and twitching. It was, again, as though someone had just cast the Cruciatus upon him. Harry quickly let go, but it did not stifle Draco's screams of anguish. He continued to writhe on the floor, still moaning and screaming, as if begging for an end. There was nothing for it; Harry grabbed Draco again, struggling to keep hold of the boy.

"Malfoy!" Harry shouted over the screams. "Malfoy, stop this! I am not going to hurt you! Please! I need to get you someplace safe! NO ONE IS GOING TO HURT YOU!!" Harry continued to try, but Draco did not hear him, could not hear him. The screaming went on for another two or three minutes, though to Harry it felt like another hour while he clung onto Draco's writhing form attempting to calm him. Finally, Draco wore himself out and slumped into Harry, who immediately tensed at the closeness.

"No…" Draco moaned. "No… more," he breathed. "Can't… take….all…my fault… Please… stop… it hurts so much… so much pain…'s too dark…. Can't—no…p-please… stop…" He began shivering. "So cold… too cold…. To numb… hurts…. needles… Leave…me alone… please… don't… no...more… can't… handle...just kill me… make it stop… please…" His mumblings were soon drowned out as a sob escaped him and another and another. Harry stared in surprise; he had only ever seen the boy cry once before and that had been odd enough. Now, Draco Malfoy was broken, and no longer did he hold the same meaning in Harry's life; he was a victim now, and Harry was a hero, so he did the only logical thing there was to do: Be the hero.

He pulled himself together, swallowed his pride, and wrapped his arms around the shivering teen, pumping his arms up and down to create warmth. Harry looked down at Draco Malfoy, the once snide Slytherin, and couldn't help but feel sorry for the boy. In fact, the sight brought more than just pity to Harry's mind; he knew all too well what Dementors could do to a person, and the thought of the blond being surrounded by so many for so long was unsettling. No wonder he's like this, Harry mused. On impulse Harry began to speak very softly and gently to Draco, attempting to soothe him.

"Malfoy, don't worry. It's alright," Harry began awkwardly. "No one is going to hurt you. Okay? I- er, promise, no one will hurt you." His nerves were very apparent through his voice and it was a good thing Draco was still so out of it, or else Harry would have been quite embarrassed. "Don't worry about the cold, okay? I'll um, keep you warm, and I'll stay right here. No one is going to hurt you and—don't worry about the dark, 'kay? I'll be your eyes." Harry paused for just a second, to consider how absurd that sounded, then went on. "There are no more Dementors, Malfoy. I'll make sure they don't get to you again. I'll protect you."

As Harry spoke, Draco's body slowly began to relax, and soon he had stopped shivering. After Harry's promise of protection, the boy completely relaxed into Harry, his sobs subsided, and he was instantly sleeping. This would have been the perfect time to Apparate them back to Grimmauld Place, but a sudden wave of exhaustion hit Harry, as though he were being surrounded by Dementors that, rather than sucking the warmth and happiness from you, making you cold with fear, sucked the energy from you. In this state it would be dangerous to Apparate alone, much less with someone else. There was nothing for it.

With a sigh, Harry relaxed. They would have to stay the night.

Harry would have moved, but the thought of Draco having another panic attack kept him in his spot. He had planned on staying awake, but his eyes began to droop, and the heavy pull of sleep took Harry from reality, and lead him to a deep slumber.

Draco Malfoy hated the dark.

He hated the dark almost as much as he hated Harry Potter. Although, if he thought on it long enough, he would realize that now he no longer harbored such feelings for the young wizard. However, he couldn't remember why or even when those feelings had changed. Perhaps being chased by the Ministry of Magic and a psychotic dark wizard changes your outlook on the whole school rivalry business; whatever it was, Draco no longer hated Harry Potter.

But he still hated the dark. Unlike Harry Potter, the dark was unpredictable and scary. Harry had never actually been very frightening to Draco; sure he had been somewhat intimidating, but Draco Malfoy could hold his own. In the dark, however, you never knew what would be there, waiting, or what could happen. And no one would know if you were there, no would know to help you, because of the suffocating darkness. The deep pitch pressed on his eyes and he felt panicked. He could feel it rising in him; he was ready to explode as it pressed down on his chest, trying to crush and smother him in tendrils of absolute blackness. And the monsters and demons would be there to feed on him once he was dead.

So Draco Malfoy hated the dark, and he was at present, trapped in it, suffocating in it, dying in it.

He had started to wonder just how long it had been since he had seen light, been warm, and known safety, when all he had been searching for, suddenly found Draco. He could feel warmth wash over him, and as though arms were wrapping around him and shielding him, he was safe. He could feel it as though he had a body, which he had been sure he'd lost somewhere, some time ago. Now, Draco could feel the warmth where he thought his back, chest and arms should be, then his face and neck, and then every other part of him. He was warm and he was safe. Someone was watching over him, warming him, protecting him.

Suddenly, the darkness did not matter. Draco was no longer so scared; he was no longer suffocating—he could breathe again, and the fear was replaced by a pleasant calm. He suddenly realized that the dark wasn't so bad when you had company (pleasant company, at least); it was only bad when you were alone.

And Draco Malfoy knew that he was no longer alone in the dark.
Harry woke early the next morning. Light had only just broken through the tops of the surrounding trees, and the dew on Harry's glasses had not dried yet. He blinked a couple of times as he slowly woke, wondering why he was in a field. He adjusted himself, feeling cramped, then realized that someone was curled up in his arms. He looked down to see the white blond head of Draco Malfoy.

The previous night's events came rushing back to him: the search, Dobby, Ginny, the failed Apparation, Snape, Draco, then the Dementors. All the pain and worry flooded Harry's mind and he choked back a sob.

He stared at the blond again. Neither of them had moved at all in the night; Harry was still sitting up, holding Draco, and Draco Malfoy was still curled up in Harry Potter's arms, snuggled close, and holding onto his robes for dear life.

A sudden tingling sensation alerted Harry to the fact that he really had to use the restroom.

Fuck.

He slowly pried Draco's hand from his robes and set the boy on the cool grass and hurried off to use the nearest bush for relief.

Harry had to hurry because he wanted to Apparate back to Grimmauld Place before Draco woke. He didn't think he could deal with another episode of the deranged young man's. What if he woke while Harry was Apparating and managed to get them splinched, though? Harry hadn't thought of that. All he'd thought of was getting back to Grimmauld Place, and then getting Draco to St. Mungo's.

Harry trotted back over to where Draco was lying and found the boy scrunched up in the fetal position, rocking in on himself as he lay on his side, clearly still asleep, but clearly not as calm as he had been moments before. He had silent tears streaming down his face, and his mouth was moving silently in strangled, frightened nonsense. His face was tense, and he looked scared; he kept convulsing as though he were freezing beyond all possible reason. "Upset" was putting it lightly, and Harry quickly knelt down and picked up the blond.

As soon as Harry had made contact, Draco wiggled his way closer to Harry and latched on to the young hero. He slowly stopped trembling and began to relax once again. The second Draco was nestled against Harry's chest, Harry let out a small sigh of relief; he hadn't realized that he'd been holding his breath.

"What have I gotten myself into?" Harry asked himself quietly. He looked down at Draco, who was once again peaceful. God this is so odd. Harry rolled his eyes and ran a nervous hand through his hair, sighing once again.

"Well, Malfoy, we really should get going," he said, though why he was telling Draco anything, was beyond him; the boy wasn't responsive, even when awake. Harry closed his eyes preparing for that familiar uncomfortable twisting, pulling, pressure as he Apparated.

It never came. He opened his eyes.

The field was still there with the sun still slowly rising over it, Harry, and Draco. "Great."

There was obviously nothing Harry could do. He could not Apparate. That was apparent and rather unfortunate considering the circumstances. Harry sat back, not daring to move away from Draco, since it obviously distressed the blond. He let his arms relax around Draco and sat in silent contemplation, wondering why he couldn't Apparate.

Draco knew he was asleep; he could just feel it, and he had no desire to wake up. He was actually quite comfortable. It was warm wherever he was, and he felt safe and was sure he had not gotten this much rest in… who knew how long, really.

And just then, an unpleasant cold washed over him. Like a swarm of Dementors, the fear of the dark came rushing back—Draco wasn't safe anymore; he wasn't warm any longer, and he was frightened.

Why? Why is it so cold? Where… am I? Where did you go? Who are you? No… no… so dark… so cold… please come back. Please! Oh, god…. Oh god! Help! Help me! Please! Come back! Oh, no, no, no…

Then, as quickly as it had gone, the presence was back, warming him and protecting him. The cold slowly ebbed away and the fears that had started to once again plague Draco began to dissipate--he was safe.

Thank the gods.

Harry had finally given up on trying to solve the mystery of his faulty Apparation of the previous night, and he had stopped trying to figure out the reasons behind his inability to Apparate now. The whole thing was only making him angry. Instead he had retreated to watching over Draco Malfoy, of all people. But Harry was a hero; heroes protected those in need, and Draco Malfoy was now one of them.

The blond had continued to sleep, much to Harry's chagrin, for hours—the sun had risen considerably and Harry had no idea what time it was. Finally he had decided to perform a simple time checking spell and was shocked to find it almost five in the evening.

Harry was hungry, his body ached, and of course, nature was calling. He could no longer wait for Draco to just wake up; he would have to do it himself. He slowly began to move from underneath Draco, this made exceedingly difficult by the boy in question, for the second Harry tried to move, Draco clung to him with an almighty grip and refused to let go.

Well aware that Draco was still sleeping, Harry gently tried to remove himself from the boy's hands, but was dreadfully unsuccessful. Still, he needed to get up, get Draco, and find the nearest wizard's home, hopefully with a fireplace, and floo to Grimmauld Place.

"Malfoy," Harry whispered, trying his best to be nice about this. "Wake up." He shook the boy gently, but he still did not wake. Harry sighed in frustration. "Great; just fucking great. Okay, fine, but I really have to piss, you stubborn prat, so unless you want me to do it all over you—Let go!" Harry said, raising his voice.

This proved to be a mistake. True, Harry had hardly been loud, but the slight anger in his voice and the rise in it, shook the already sensitive youth, who began trembling and mumbling incoherently. Harry's expression softened quickly and guilt gripped him. He tightened his grip around the boy, trying to soothe him.

God, this is so buggered.

"Malfoy," Harry began again, this time speaking as gently as a soft breeze. "I'm sorry. It's okay—don't be frightened. I won't hurt you. Okay?"

Draco did not respond immediately or with words, but his body slowly relaxed into Harry's once again. It was clear that he had registered Harry's short speech, however dimly or unconsciously.

Sighing again, Harry pressed on. "Now, Malfoy, we really do need to go. If you don't wake up, we won't make any progress, and I have to get someplace—it's really important—and we have to get you to St. Mungo's, so they can make you better." Harry inwardly cringed at the idea of bringing the old Draco Malfoy back, but when he looked back down at the pitiful form clinging to him for dear life, he knew it had to be done. "Please, wake up."

Draco Malfoy had never done anything for Harry before in his life, so why he would start now was beyond Harry, but luck was on Harry's side, and Draco slowly opened his eyes. The first thing Draco did was look right at Harry, locking their eyes, except that Draco's eyes were looking past Harry, not at him. A shiver went through Harry as he took in the dead, glazed look. Draco's eyes were so hollow, so cold—and not the usual Malfoy cold; the kind of cold fear that grips you, and freezes you, when a Dementor is near—and Harry felt the loneliness within Draco well up inside his own chest. Those silvery-grey eyes were begging Harry for a release from the pain; begging him for light and hope, but begging, mostly, for death.

Draco's eyes, Harry realized, made him desperately sad.

"M-Malfoy? Are you okay?" It was a very foreign feeling: concern for Draco Malfoy. Harry was not used to it, and he had never actually planned on it becoming habit. Even at the end of his sixth year, when that spark of pity for the boy had found its way into Harry, he had not expected to ever feel this way, and it unnerved him.

As Draco stared through him, Harry realized that the disturbed young man did not understand his words; he hardly seemed to recognize Harry, who was sitting right in front of him, who he was still clinging to as though his life depended on it. In fact, upon further analysis, it seemed that Draco could not see Harry at all.

Draco slowly opened his mouth and a frightened croaking voice formed the words he needed to speak: "All… dark… can't se-see a thing... h-help me..." Draco began to beg, holding Harry even tighter. Harry nodded his understanding, despite the fact that Draco would not be able to see this gesture. He slowly pushed off the soft grassy ground, holding Draco and pulling him up with him.

"Come on." And with that, the two began walking, with Harry supporting Draco's weight and guiding him.

The worst thing in the world, Draco decided, was waking up in the dark.

He had been asleep; he had been comfortable; and he had been warm and safe in the ever present feeling that he was being watched over.

There had been a shift in the Presence while Draco had still been sleeping, and out of fear of it leaving him again and never coming back, he did the only thing he could: He had held on for dear life. The gesture seemed to anger the Presence and Draco could not deal with that.

"No, I- I'm so sorry; don't hurt me… I never… never meant to—Please, don't go… don't leave me alone… stay with me… I- I need you here… I didn't mean to make you angry." He had mumbled over and over, countless apologies and silent treaties to keep the Presence from leaving him. Then he had felt the Presence tighten around him in a protective gesture and apologize to him. The feeling of warmth and safety had grown stronger then.

Draco knew that the Presence had begun to request something of him, and though he could not hear the words, he somehow knew what it was. After a few moments, he complied, slowly waking up. Except that his eyes wouldn't open—no, that was wrong. They were open, but it was dark; too dark. He was suffocating again, despite the Presence and its promises of protection and warmth, and he was so frightened.

He pleaded for it to help and found himself moving—he only knew this because he could feel it in his soul, not in his body; he could feel the Presence as it guided him, and though he could not see where to, he trusted it to keep him safe. Draco could not feel the Presence holding him, but he knew it was completely and totally wrapped around him.

"Thank you," was all he could manage to say and he wasn't even sure if he had spoken the words aloud or not.