A/N: New chapter! YAY!!!!! A thank you to all the wonderful people who reviewed last chapter, and a really BIG thank you to my beta, Aniki the Infamous!!

Disclaimer: Don't own. Yet. Or ever.

A warm finger gently traced circles around Harry's hand, skimming across the surface and squeezing softly through the spaces between the fingers while continuing its slow path around. Voices sounded in Harry's ears, some loud, some soft, but none capable of comprehension. Warmth seeped through the blanket in one spot, and Harry presumed there was a person sitting there, probably the one stroking his hand. The movement stopped for a second, but soon began again, faster than before.

Blearily, Harry attempted to open his eyes, to see the person. All he saw was a flash of bright orange hair, and his eyelids drifted closed again. Was it Ron then? Was Ron stroking his hand? No… Ron would probably think it was some sort of stupid girly thing. Who was it then?

Harry's eyes drifted open then, fluttering against the light and finally focusing on his surroundings. He was in the Hospital Wing, that was for sure. No where else looked like this but a church, and Hogwarts didn't have a church on the grounds.

"But, still, Hermione! Why should he be allowed to stay here with Harry, when it's his bloody fault Harry got poisoned in the first place?"

"It wasn't his fault, Ron! He didn't even know until the very hour, and he tried to prevent it. It was Parkinson and Zabini's fault, not Draco's!"

"—How was I supposed to know it said Ashwinder eggs? Looked like Asphodel to me!"

"Asphodel is in the drought of living death, Blaise, you prat! So's sopohorous! Can you even read? You could've killed him!"

"…I thought he was dead."

"Not yet. Madam Pomfrey says he'll survive, no thanks to your stupid mistakes!"

"But I thought—"

"Ron, stop it! Draco, don't pay any mind to him, he's just being stupid. You can stay here with Harry if you want."

"He's awake."

The simple, two-word phrase brought silence with its saying, and Harry felt a wave of relief for whoever had stopped all the talking. His eyes, now in peace with the contrite quiet in the room, swept about, identifying the faces he hadn't by voice. Ron and Hermione were here, and Ginny, of course. She stood back, her head drooped in sorrow.

Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson were there, standing a little ways away from the bed and glaring at each other, though they honored the silence. Harry didn't really know why they were here, or why he was here for that matter, but there was probably a very good reason that he just couldn't remember. And the person beside him, that had been so soothingly been tracing patterns into his hand moments before, was… Malfoy?

The blue eyes met his green calmly, although the hand had since stilled and now rested atop Harry's own. There were small bags under his eyes, as though he hadn't gotten any sleep recently. His hair was not gelled back, as it often was, but hung along the sides of his face limply, falling just below his eyes. His fingernails, when Harry glanced down at their hands, were longer than he had last seen them, and had a few specks of dirt underneath them, no longer immaculately glossy. Of course, those were Harry's guesses. He really hadn't paid much attention to Malfoy's appearance before. Only the movements of Malfoy's wand. Eh, the wooden one… that Malfoy bought at Ollivanders or some other wand shop. Not the… other kind… of wand, that is. Harry felt his cheeks grow pink.

A crisp eyebrow rose an inch at his blush, but Malfoy just raised his head slightly. "Could Potter and I talk for a few minutes? Alone?"

Hermione smiled sweetly and nodded, standing up and pulling Ron with her, tugging him out with one hand and using the other to drag the despondent Ginny. Parkinson and Zabini both took a break from their glares of hatred to stare at Malfoy, before Parkinson gave a little skip and a bright smile.

"Have fun, boys!" Parkinson grinned, and grabbed Zabini's wrist as she pulled him out towards the door. She gave another little wave, and then was gone through the door, leaving Harry alone with Malfoy.

Harry's eyes drifted down towards the white sheets, and then back up to Malfoy's steady gaze. Steady attractive gaze… No!

Harry stared into Malfoy's eyes for a while, waiting desperately for something to penetrate the now thickened silence.

"So, uh... What's been going on?" He stumbled out, and immediately cursed himself for stupidity. Now Malfoy would say something really cruel in response, and wouldn't ever answer the question, and this whole thing would be ruined! If only he had said it more eloquently... something that would've impressed Malfoy. Wait, since when had he wanted to impress Malfoy?

Malfoy nodded slightly, his hair floofing up and down with the movements of his head. "You were poisoned."

Harry frowned, pondering the idea in his head. It did make sense, if you thought about it. The sickness, how everyone had been falling over him, the Hospital Wing... It didn't explain Malfoy, or Parkinson and Zabini, but it did, in some sort of crooked way, make sense.

"How?"

Malfoy's free arm traveled up, reaching behind his head, and Malfoy's eyes seemed to look up at the sky.

"It's rather complicated, really. The poison was disguised as a love potion, which was slipped into your orange juice. But it wasn't technically poison, it was more like non-quite love potion, with a few ingredients of the Drought of Living Death thrown in without malicious intent. The ingredients, sopohorous beans and asphodel-- their effects were not counteracted by any thing else in the love potion. The absence of the frozen Ashwinder eggs and the Salamander blood usually contained in a love potion, though, meant that none of the usual effects of any love potion took place. So, really, your orange juice contained a potion that had most of the ingredients of a love potion, but the effects of a medium-strength poison, weaker than such a poison as the Drought of Living Death, but strong enough to kill you, should it stay in your body without being counteracted for too long."

Harry blinked a few times, his base of a headache fiercely increasing with the influx of information he'd just received. So, to put it in terms of Gryffindor vocabulary, he'd been accidentally poisoned by a love potion with poisonous ingredients. That was a lot easier to understand than Malfoy's huge explanation about counteracting ingredients and whatever else. Harry just wasn't good with potions, okay? Seriously, Malfoy needed his own translator, so other people would know what the hell he was talking about.

But who had put the poisoned love potion in his orange juice? He'd finished with Romilda Vane years ago, in sixth year. Besides, back then he was single, and now he wasn't. He was dating Ginny. Even if they'd made the love potion correctly, after the effects wore off, he would've just gone and apologized to Ginny, and ignored or turned in the person. Unless they'd given him constant overlapping doses after the first one, or used a really strong one... No, Harry didn't want to think about that. That wasn't what had happened, and so there was no use in wondering what would happen if that did happen.

"Who did it?" He finally voiced his thoughts.

Malfoy's hand drifted back down to rest directly onto his lap, forming half of what would have been a very proper position, had he withdrawn his hand from on top of Harry's. As it was, he did not, and remained only half in the formal posture of a well-raised pureblood.

It was one of the differences between them, Harry reflected. He couldn't have achieved that posture as naturally as that if he was paid too, or at least not if he didn't get a few months to practice. Then again, that was supposedly what Malfoy had, practice in being proper in all ways and form, one of the things that made them supposedly better than muggleborns and half-bloods. That little bit of education was supposed to make a difference in people, and while it didn't, just the belief that it did was what actually created the difference.

Malfoy scowled darkly. "From what I know of it, the guilt is spread between four people. Professer Snape gave Pansy and Blaise the book to make the love potion, Pansy and Blaise made the poisoned love potion, and Ginny Weasley put it in your orange juice."

Harry half-choked on his own saliva. "Ginny? She was trying to slip me a love potion? Why?"

A small ghost of a smile jumped to Malfoy's lips, the scowl disappearing promptly. "I'm not quite clear on that, but I believe she didn't think you loved her enough. I know that Pansy also made it seem perfectly harmless while giving Weasley the love potion."

Harry's eyebrows knitted, and he frowned up at Malfoy.

"Why were Parkinson and Zabini so keen to give Ginny a love potion for me? Are you sure they didn't want me to be poisoned?" He leaned forward a little bit, and peered up at Malfoy. "How do I know that you aren't just feeding me some fake story to make it so you guys don't get in trouble? Why are you even here, anyways?" Harry knocked Malfoy's hand off his, and the hand hung limply by Malfoy's side, rather than being returned to its proper place in Malfoy's stupid pureblood posture, as Harry had expected.

Malfoy winced, and Harry leaned forward more, almost far enough to prop his elbows behind him onto the bed. To tell the truth, it hurt that Malfoy might've been lying to make himself look better, for reasons unknown to Harry. Maybe they had been trying to poison him, as some kind of revenge for having locked up Lucius Malfoy. Harry'd thought that maybe things were getting a little better between him and the Slytherins, but apparently not.

Still, he glared into Malfoy's eyes, refusing to give up yet. After a long competition, Malfoy sighed and looked away.

"The love potion was not for the Weasley girl. They did intend for you to temporarily fall in love with someone, but not her. I believe the excuse Pansy gave Weasley was that if you loved her more, you wouldn't torture Slytherins enough. The stupid Weaselette believed her, and took the potion. As for intending to poison you, if I meant to poison you, you would have died before they managed to counteract the poison."

Harry nodded slightly, accepting the answers to the percent of his questions that had been answered. "And why are you here? To apologize for your friends? And who was the love potion for, if not Ginny?"

Malfoy gazed at him, before biting his lip and looking away. "I was concerned, so I stayed here with you. And the love potion..." He trailed off, breaking his gaze and looking down. Harry could have sworn he saw a faint tinge of pink on Malfoy's cheeks, but that was probably his imagination. On second thought, with Malfoy's last statement, perhaps it wasn't...

Malfoy suddenly looked up, meeting Harry's eyes. There was a hint of something behind them, but Harry couldn't decipher it.

"The love potion was for me. Because I..." Malfoy paused again, and gulped, looking away again. "I like you. Pansy and Blaise meant for you to temporarily fall in love with me, and believed that would be enough for the change to become permanent and for you to leave Weasley for me. I do apologize for them. I was not aware of their plan until the night before Weasley was to administer the potion, after curfew. I made plans to stop it as soon as I could, but didn't get there in time. I apologize."

Harry stared up at him, before lowering his gaze. He knew how much it must have cost Malfoy to say that, and he respected that. Besides, it was somewhat like how Harry was feeling. He kind of wished Parkinson and Zabini had made the love potion, actually...

No! He was with Ginny! But that didn't mean he had to totally reject Malfoy, he could still be kind to the Slytherin... A gay Slytherin... Harry was a Gryffindor, though, and that didn't matter to Gryffindors. The good ones, anyway.

"I'm sorry, Malfoy. I don't feel that way."

Malfoy sent him a look that clearly said 'Did you think I thought you would?'.

Harry grinned. "I would like to be friends with you, though. You're nicer than I thought, and I kind of like you. Not the way you like me, but in a just friends way. You know what I mean?"

A slight smile came to Malfoy's lips, and he nodded. "I understand. I would like that as well." He held out a hand to Harry, smiling more broadly now.

Harry smiled back, and tried to reach up far enough to grasp the hand. Malfoy, though Harry supposed he should start calling him Draco, now that they were friends, laughed. Draco had a beautiful laugh when he wasn't jeering, a sweet, interesting mix between a nice girl's tinkling laugh, and a deep man's laugh. It was a rather comforting combination.

Draco reached forward with his other arm, wrapping it around Harry's back and helping to push him up far enough to shake Draco's hand, and then laying him gently back down with both arms. Draco wasn't in a proper posture anymore, Harry realized. He was sitting a lot like Ron would in a chair.

Finally, Draco leaned back, smiling and looking rather pleasant, really. A smile really did make him look a whole lot nicer, with his eyes still as crisp and focused as they usually were, but now with a shade of happiness beneath them. It made his hair look lighter, and his skin look less unhealthily pale, and a little sweeter.

And that, Harry decided as he began a talk on quidditch with Draco, was how he wanted Draco to stay. Talking happily, laughing, and smiling.