Harry did not see Malfoy for the rest of the weekend. He did not show up during meals or in the staff room. Harry even went down to the dungeons to double check if Malfoy was walking around, but he didn't find him anywhere. Harry felt a strange sense of responsibility for Malfoy. If his guesses were correct, and Malfoy was ensnared in the dark events of the Battle of Hogwarts, then it was Harry's fault. Every death and injury inflicted upon an innocent person was Harry's fault. If it weren't for him, all the people he loved would still be alive. Harry knew what it was like to feel broken, to feel as if your emotions were being twisted and warped into something impure. He knew what it was like to not be able to talk about the dark details, but they wanted to claw their way out of your throat and into the air anyway. Whether he wanted them to be or not, he and Malfoy were connected. They were connected through sorrow and fear and loss and insanity. In the darkest parts of himself, Harry secretly indulged in the fact that Malfoy was losing control. It was payback for all of the cruelty and lies he inflicted upon all who surrounded him. This was the part of Harry that craved revenge as much as he craved the life of his parents.

One of the things that had bothered Harry the most was the way Malfoy had grasped his arms. He was sure that the only reason Malfoy grabbed him was because he was the only thing around to grab beside himself, but it confused Harry nevertheless. Malfoy grabbed him as Harry grabbed his headboard after a particularly horrid nightmare. He grabbed Harry as if he was the only thing that could stabilize him, the only thing that could keep him grounded, the only thing that could save him from himself. Harry shuttered at the thought. It was strange for a person who loathed you so much to need you so much, even if it was only for a minute. It had been a long time since some had needed him for something besides saving the world. It almost made him feel human.

Monday morning came quickly as the weekend had passed. Harry got to The Great Hall earlier than usual; he hoped to see Malfoy. The last time he saw Malfoy his was in shambles on the floor, so Harry was more anxious to see Malfoy than anything else.

After fifteen minutes of waiting, Malfoy was still nowhere to be seen. Harry let out a sigh of frustration. He was just about to leave the hall himself when Malfoy walked in.

His face was battered. Dark purple bruises covered his face when he had hit himself with his hands and against the wall. Ugly scabs covered where his skin was cracked. Although Malfoy had them covered pretty well, Harry could still see that his knuckles were split and bruised. His bottom lip was swollen and cut, just like the rest of his face.

The hall began to quiet down as Malfoy made his way to the staff table. A hundred pairs of eyes followed him as he traveled down the hall; he didn't acknowledge any of them. Once he made his way to his seat at the staff table, the students gradually lost interest in their teacher, and the roar of conversation started up. Despite what the students did, Harry could not stop staring at Malfoy with an open-mouthed expression. Malfoy did not acknowledge Harry as he started to heap food onto his plate.

Now that he was so close to Malfoy, he could see where his skin had turned a sickly yellow, and where a thin red line appeared at his scalp from where he had pulled at his hair so hard.

Interrupting Harry's thoughts, Malfoy said quietly, "You happy Potter? Are you happy to see me like this?" he did not look up. In fact, his seemed to have frozen. His body was tense with discomfort, and his breath was shaky. Whether it was from embarrassment or something else, he did not know. "No. No, I don't think I am, actually." At this, Malfoy did look up. He stared at Harry straight into his eyes, his look unwavering. His eyes were full with anger, but not pure anger. Not the raging fiery anger that so often possessed him. This was the anger that looking like it could shatter you into a thousand pieces, the anger that could swallow you whole, that could submerge you in darkness so thick that you think you may never see the light again. "Bloody Hell, Malfoy, what happened to you?" His expression did not flicker; his eyes did not soften. The air surrounding them was thick with tension, as if it could be ladled into a bowl.

Before anything else was said, a sharp voice said, "Professor Malfoy, a word if you don't mind." Although McGonagall's words were phrased as a suggestion, her tone assured Harry that the matter was not up for debate. Before Malfoy got up, he dropped his voice so low that Harry almost couldn't hear him. "Don't you ever, ever, bring this up. Ever. If you do, I swear I will kill you. I swear on Slytherin. I will end you." And with that, Malfoy stood up and was led off by McGonagall.

Harry released the breath he didn't realize he was holding. He knew that Malfoy was unpredictable in the way he acts, but that was not what he was expecting at all. What was I expecting? He thought to himself. Nothing had changed. Just because he witnessed Malfoy in a state of vulnerability doesn't mean that they were suddenly friends. Harry automatically assumed that their relationship had altered after their encounter, but why would it? Nothing had happened between them.

Almost every class that Harry taught that day came in whispering excitedly. Harry assumed that one of the students had gotten together, or that Peaves had set off dung bombs again. At first he ignored the whispering, but by his fourth class, he became extremely agitated and could no longer stand not knowing what all the chatter was about. Harry stood meaningfully by the door as his fifth class walked in, hoping that he would catch a bit of their whispering.

"Did you see Professor Malfoy?"

"He looks like he got beat up by a troll!"

"Some people say that they heard him screaming in the corridors."

"I heard that Professor Potter had to carry him back to his room covered in blood!"

"I heard that Malfoy and Potter dueled last night!"

Harry's anger started to boil over. He forgot how quickly news traveled and how quickly it got distorted around Hogwarts. What happened between him and Malfoy had been… private, to say the least. It bothered Harry that half the school already knew about it, even if half the rumors circulating weren't true. At the end of the day it was up to Malfoy who knew about what happened last Friday night and who didn't, but if the roles were reversed, Harry certainly wouldn't want the school to know about his personal business.

Malfoy did not show up for lunch, dinner, or breakfast the next morning. Harry overheard Professor Sprout saying that a substitute teacher had stepped into Malfoy's position while he was out on "sick leave".

Over the next couple of days, the rumors Harry started to hear about Malfoy grew wilder and wilder. One said that he had attacked a first year with a potted plant. One was that he tried to fly away from Hogwarts on a broomstick, only to be stopped by Hogwarts's protection wards. The craziest one Harry overheard was that he was transfigured into a rat, but he escaped and the teachers were searching the castle look for the right rat to transfigure back into a human. Harry chuckled darkly at that one, remembering the year when Mad Eye Moody transfigured Malfoy into a ferret.

Just as the rumors spread farther and farther, Harry's wanting to talk to Malfoy grew bigger and bigger. He knew that the last time they spoke his life was threatened, but he at least wanted to see if Malfoy was any better than the last time he saw him. Thursday, after dinner Harry marched his way up to the hospital wing. He expected to see Malfoy right away, but all the beds in the infirmary were empty. He assumed that it meant that Malfoy was in his room in the dungeons, but Harry had no desire to bother him there. Instead, he made his way down to the teacher's lounge, in search of company other than his own.

The fire in the teacher's lounger roared merrily despite no one being in there. The lounge was designed similarly to each house common room; there were big, comfy armchairs, a plush rug, tables and chairs to work at, and a large window on the far side of the room. Disappointed, Harry turned around to leave when a cold voice drawled, "Leaving so soon, Potter?"

It was Malfoy. His voice was unmistakably hard and controlled, just as it always was. As it always was besides last Friday night Harry thought to himself.

He walked over to the armchair that Malfoy was sitting. The back of the chair was taller than his head, which is why Harry didn't see him initially. Harry sat down in the armchair to the right of him. The small table in between the two chairs had a bottle of firewisky on top of it. It was full, except for the small amount Malfoy poured into his glass, which he was holding in his left hand.

Malfoy looked slightly better. His cuts were scabbed over and no longer an angry red color, his bruises were now a dark blue instead of purple. The fire flickered light onto Malfoy's face making bizarre looking shadows along his cheekbones. Harry's glaze flicked away quickly; he was staring.

"You want a drink Potter?" Before Harry could answer, Malfoy was pouring a second glass of fire whisky. He handed it to Harry. "Cheers," Malfoy raised his glass and took a long drink. Harry did the same. "I have to say, Malfoy, I have been in a lot of situations with you, but never did I think I we would ever drink together." Harry said with a smirk. "Yeah, well, I suppose we have some things to talk about, don't we?" Harry's smirk faded from his face. He knew that this conversation was inevitable, but he thought that he was going to be the one to start it, not Malfoy. "On Friday-" "Woah woah, slow down there." Malfoy interrupted. He paused to finish his drink, then to pour himself another one. "I am way to sober to have that conversation."

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