The water from a shower that had been so comforting was blending with the bright red of fresh blood on the cold and dark tiles, pooling around the motionless body of a now traumatized young boy.

Harry remained curled up on the floor for endless minutes. His limbs hadn't stopped shaking since the attack; he couldn't even tell if it came from the coldness of the water on his body or the shock of what had just occurred. After a while, he eventually tried to get on his feet, only to notice the blurriness of the room; his head was spinning, and he immediately felt dizzy. The boy looked down; his towel was lying in the blood puddle. Had it already fallen when his aggressors were there? He couldn't tell, and weirdly, he didn't really care anymore. He felt dirty, defiled, and empty, as if they had stolen the last thing that still fully belonged to him in a life where he had become so controlled and manipulated. They had stolen something so personal, so intimate...

Don't be stupid, they didn't even succeed.

And yet, he still felt sick. He took a step forward, only to feel his stomach contract violently. He dashed to the sink, bending to vomit until all he could spit out was bile.

Don't overreact, it's nothing.

Harry kept his wet eyes shut. The tears trickling down his cheeks and onto his lips added a salty aftertaste to all the horrible feelings happening in his mouth. He spat one last time; it was just blood. Yet, it felt like something was still there, stuck on his tongue, on his teeth, on his lips—the taste of him. His skull still hurt where his hair had been grabbed; his arms still felt so weak and bruised where they had held him.

You didn't open your mouth, stop it.

Harry exhaled deeply. He straightened, still facing the sink, but refused to watch his reflection in the mirror. The vision of his body, of the blood, and of the tears repulsed him; he hated crying.

But I'm so tired.

And so he cried, like he had rarely cried in his life. Perhaps he had cried like this when he first entered the world, when the first breath of air filled his tiny lungs for the first time, and his mother held him in her tired arms. Perhaps he had cried like this when his parents first laid eyes on their newborn, their hearts filled with a slew of conflicting emotions, overwhelmed by a newfound sense of love and responsibility for their young child. Perhaps he had cried like this when he had been hugged that day, when they had told him everything would be okay, even though they still carried the fear of not being good enough for him.

He had cried like this when he knew nothing of the world, and this time he cried because he knew too much. The entire world could mock him, but it didn't matter anymore. He had had enough, and if he were given a second chance in life, he would beg to have never been born.

(***)

Malfoy was waiting, sitting on his bed. He was wearing his green uniform; his bag was packed at his feet; and his hair was combed. The bathroom door was still shut and hadn't been opened since they had closed it for the last time.

"Come on, Draco, we'll be late."

Draco eventually averted his eyes from the door as he glanced at Theodore. He was standing on the threshold, his bag on his shoulder. Everyone had already left for Potion class directly after breakfast, only Theodore and he had come back to the common room, and both didn't know exactly why. They hadn't tried to enter the bathroom; they hadn't even called his name or asked any questions from behind the door. They'd just stayed there, quiet, as if something would happen without provoking it.

However, nothing occurred. The door stayed closed, and only the sound of sobs let them know Harry was still inside.

"Hey," Theo repeated,

Draco gave him another look.

"Let's go, mate." The brown-haired boy said with a sigh, "We can't do much for him now, you know that."

"Really?" He asked quietly enough that Theo had to read his lips to understand.

The boy gave Draco a compassionate look. "Yeah, we should leave him alone for now. Come on, let's go."

Draco finally got up after his friend's third call,

Harry's crying intensified as he got closer to the door. He had rarely heard people cry in his life, with the emotionless family he grew up in, it was not a sound he was particularly used to hearing. And he hated it.

Theodore must have felt his hesitation to enter the bathroom; he swiftly put his hand on Draco's arm to stop him and shook his head.

The blonde boy sighed deeply and slowly followed his friend out of the room.

(***)

Ron missed Harry. He felt an empty void every night when he saw his best friend's empty bed, and every morning when he had no one to complain to about how tired he was. Every class was a reminder that his table neighbor didn't have the same sarcastic humor he loved so much about Harry. Harry's fine sense of humor would trigger uncontrollable laughter in the most inopportune moments.

The moment Harry stopped sharing his life with Ron, Ron realized how important his friend was to him. Of course, Ron couldn't complain. He still had his other friends and Hermione when Harry had nobody.

Ron was slightly surprised to see how Harry's departure had affected his other roommates. If Seamus had turned against him at the beginning of the year, the boy now felt as hurt as his friends did.

As Ron thought about it, it was not that odd. The five of them had shared this room for more than four years, and the bond between them was special. So many nights had been spent playing games, having pillow fights, and talking like boys do. Without Harry, it didn't feel the same anymore.

So when Harry was nowhere to be seen on their way to Potion, not only Ron but all the Gryffindors seemed intrigued to know why. They were used to not seeing him for breakfast, as he usually skipped it, but he rarely missed a class. Hermione noticed Malfoy and Theodore approaching from the other end of the corridor, where their common room was located. The two boys walked quietly, their eyes lost in their thoughts.

"He's probably late; it wouldn't be the first time," Ron speculated.

But Hermione didn't respond. She instead approached the Slytherin group that was waiting outside of the classroom and stopped close enough to hear their conversation.

Pike had just asked Blaise a question, half laughing, half grimacing. Unfortunately, she only grasped the answer.

"You should have seen his face," Blaise said with a satisfied tone, making his friend laugh around him.

"You're mental," Pike scoffed, shaking his head as though he couldn't believe he had such an excessive friend.

"Well, that was funny, it's not that deep."

"I'd suggest you shut up about it," Malfoy suddenly muttered when he and Theodore caught up with the group.

They entered the classroom. Blaise seemed like he was arguing with Malfoy, but groups of students slipped up behind them, preventing Hermione from following their conversation anymore. She sat between Ron and Neville, a ball of anxiety rising in her stomach.

When Ron noticed his friend's frown, he said again, "Let's wait Hermione, he's probably late."

"But he usually arrives right when we walk in," Neville noted.

Hermione, who was still staring at the Slytherins, finally answered, "There's something weird."

But she had no other option but to wait for the end of the class. She kept observing their every move, to the point where she almost missed her potion.

"Miss Granger, I'd suggest you keep your attention on your cauldron, unless you wish to lose points, which I would execute with great pleasure." Snape commented when he saw the young witch eying the group of teenagers.

The teacher then approached the Slytherin table and asked:

"May I know where your classmate is?"

He had spoken loudly enough so the whole class could hear. He would obviously never waste an opportunity to humiliate his least favorite student.

Malfoy glanced at Blaise, who simply shrugged, an innocent expression splattered on his face.

"I don't know, professor." "He wouldn't wake up this morning."

Snape raised his brow, his arms crossed in front of the table.

"Really… And by any chance, would you know the reason for this sudden laziness?"

"I don't know, professor, I guess he felt too tired to come; he goes to bed pretty late every night." Blaise replied.

All the Gryffindors frowned at this comment. It didn't sound like Harry.

Hermione looked over at Malfoy and Theodore, who were sitting behind Blaise. While Theodore stared at his book with a slight frown, Malfoy was glaring at the tall teenager.

"Or he could be sick." Malfoy corrected him all of a sudden.

Blaise turned his head to look at him, making them both start a brief stare fight.

"Yeah, maybe."

Snape didn't try to learn more about Harry's condition. He went back to his desk, where he remained seated until the end of the class, occasionally scolding pupils —mostly Gryffindors—when they chatted too much or didn't follow the instructions correctly.

(***)

"Malfoy!"

Hermione ran after Draco in the corridor as soon as the class ended. Ron tried to follow her by slipping between the crowd of students and eventually managed to spot her in the middle of the hallway.

"We're not allowed to talk to each other," Draco said as he continued to walk.

Hermione ignored his comment and followed him closely, soon joined by Ron and Neville.

"Where is Harry?" She asked.

"Probably in his room."

"Is he okay?"

Draco didn't answer immediately. He stopped walking, making the trio almost bump into him.

"If you want to know how he is, you should go talk to him."

He actually had no idea what to say. He didn't know how to help Harry without betraying him; he didn't know what the boy needed or wanted at the moment. And most of all, he didn't feel legitimate enough to speak for Harry.

"You know we can't see him, Malfoy... We can't enter your common room." Ron reminded him.

Draco sighed. He hated being in the middle of complicated situations.

"Look. He had a rough night, but he'll be okay. If he needs you, he'll find you."

Hermione opened her mouth, but he walked away before she could argue.

"Wait, Malfoy!" She shouted, but he ignored her and disappeared in the crowd.

His father's letter kept haunting his mind, and mixed feelings were slowly growing in him, between what was right and what was asked; between what he wanted and what he had to do.

"Fuck."

(***)

Harry had been lying in bed for the whole morning. Right after he had fully emptied his stomach and shed all the tears from his body, he found the courage to leave the bathroom, only to drag himself under his sheets. His nose had stopped bleeding; it still hurt, as it was probably broken, but he felt like the pain was necessary, like the only way to transfer his inner pain to something physical.

He had brushed his teeth three times since the attack, and yet he still felt dirty. He felt the urge to wash himself, but the mere thought of undressing again, or re-entering the shower gave him nausea. So he stayed in his bed, wearing his uniform, even though he had never once considered going to class that day.

Someone knocked at the door. Harry flinched, his fingers tightening around his wand. His heart started throbbing in his chest, dreading the moment Blaise or one of his friends would penetrate the room. But the person who opened the door was actually way smaller than his roommates. A young and tiny first year appeared on the threshold. The young boy seemed as anxious as Harry; his hands were awkwardly wiggling around on both sides of his body.

"Ha—Harry Potter?" He babbled timidly.

His round blue eyes, which had been scanning the room, eventually laid on Harry, who slowly sat on his bed before opening his curtains wider.

The fifth year didn't answer. Not only did he know the little boy had recognized him, but he also didn't feel like opening his mouth.

"Hum—Professor Snape, he—he told me to tell you that— if you don't come to your class — I mean, private class, hum—no remedial potions, hum—well, he said you will have a week of detention. Or two weeks... I— I don't remember..."

The boy felt relieved to have finally finished his sentence. He waited a few seconds, but when he realized Harry would not answer, he gestured a strange bow and rushed outside.

Harry fell back on his pillow with a sigh; he had forgotten about his Occlumency lesson. A part of him suggested skipping it and accepting the detentions. But another part of him thought it was a bad idea to reinforce Snape's impatience toward him. He would also rather die than have two additional weeks of detention; for the first time in two months, Harry had finally managed to spend a week without spending his nights in Umbridge or Snape's office, and it felt so good that he absolutely wanted to keep this feeling as long as he could. He pulled up his sheets above his head as he rolled on his side. His nose had started to bleed again, so he blocked his nostrils with the back of his hand and closed his eyes.

He had the whole afternoon to consider his options.

(***)

The absence of Harry was still noticeable when the students gathered in the great hall for lunch. The other Weasleys quickly learned about what had happened that morning, which upset the twins.

"We can make him talk," Fred said about Malfoy.

Hermione shook her head, her eyes locked on the blonde boy who was quietly eating at the other end of the hall.

"I think it has something to do with Blaise." She murmured.

Parvati nodded; "Yes, Padma told me Malfoy and Theodore seemed pretty nice, or at least didn't pay much attention to Harry, when Blaise and the others are real jerks with him."

"Well, we can also make him talk," George shrugged.

"The one we should talk to is Harry," Ginny pointed out.

The girl had been silent since the beginning of their meal.

"Luna keeps reminding me how dangerous it is for Harry to be isolated, I think we shouldn't forget this and actually start doing something."

"But what…?" Dean asked, "We can't reform the army with all these stupid decrees; we can't even talk to Harry."

"Well, there are always ways to talk to him." Hermione corrected her friend: "We used to see Harry almost every weekend, it's not that hard to escape Umbridge and Filch's surveillance. But for this, we need to make efforts on both sides, and if Harry is avoiding us, it may become harder to help him.

"That's why we can make these gits talk." Fred repeated, his twin nodding beside him.

"We need to be careful, Fred; Harry lives with them; we can't risk making the situation worse for him." Hermione said.

Her last comment seemed to have discouraged her friends. Everything felt tremendously complex; Umbridge and the Ministry had set up so many obstacles between Harry and them, she was scared they would eventually get what they were looking for and win the battle. They were all scared for Harry; she knew that. And not being able to help him as they wished was making her deeply upset.

You're clever, Hermione; you're supposed to always find solutions.

(***)

Eight o'clock struck too early. Harry knew he had to go. The boy had spent the end of the afternoon in a corner of the common room, concealed under his cloak, to avoid any contact with his classmates, who were gradually coming back from classes.

When the boy entered the dark room, Snape was standing up, facing his desk. Harry closed the door behind him loudly enough to make his teacher budge. The greasy-haired man slowly turned around, his wand already in his hand.

"First of all, I'll start this lesson by deducting fifty points for your notable absence in class today." Snape declared coldly, "Except, of course, if you come up with a good excuse, as I trust you always do?"

Harry stayed quiet for a moment; it was not like he could tell the truth.

"Hum, I wasn't feeling well." He said, before adding "Professor."

Even in the darkness that separated them, he noticed the man's skeptical expression.

"Wasn't feeling well." He repeated with a sarcastic voice, "I hope you won't use this excuse during our lesson to justify your obvious lack of practice."

"Actually, professor… I was thinking maybe we could reschedule it for another day?"

He knew full well how useless his request was, but it was worth trying.

Snape approached him like a ghost floating above the floor. His long and pale face appeared in the narrow light beam above them.

"Reschedule it. Of course the dark lord will patiently wait until you recover!"

Harry had expected that answer. He remained silent, and endured Snape's glare.

"What happened to your nose?" The man asked.

Harry absently put a hand up to his painful nose. It must have looked oddly crooked for the teacher to notice.

"I fell... on the stairs," he replied without thinking much about his excuse.

It was obviously a terrible answer.

"What happened to your nose?" Snape repeated impatiently.

Maybe he didn't need to lie for this.

"Blaise finally took his revenge."

"And may I know why this nose is still injured? Didn't you get the time to go to the infirmary today, with all this free time you had?"

This question caught him off guard. What could he answer? That he hadn't found the courage to leave his bed?

He decided not to answer and merely shrugged, since in any case, his excuse wouldn't satisfy his teacher.

"Your arrogance will never stop surprising me." Snape spoke with clear disdain.

"Stay still." He ordered, ignoring Harry's annoyed expression.

He brandished his wand to cast a healing spell before the boy had even realized what was happening. Harry's nose cracked loudly, and then nothing. The pain had vanished, replaced by blood streaming down from his nose to his chin.

The tall man handed him a tissue, then whirled and moved away from the teenager. He stopped a few inches away and brandished his wand once again, as a sign they had more important things to do now.

"Get ready. Empty your mind," he ordered.

Harry squeezed the wet, now red, tissue in his hand and closed his eyes. He had no choice but to try his best. But he knew he would never succeed, not in this state. A wave of anxiety spread throughout his entire body; he dreaded what was about to occur. He dreaded that feeling of humiliation he would have to face for the umpteenth time; all these intimate memories he was forced to share; and yet, deep down inside, there was a minuscule part of him wishing Snape could see and finally understand what he was going through. Perhaps it was this part of him that had made him come tonight; he wasn't sure.

He took a deep breath, right before the spell hit his brain in full force. At first, everything was immersed in darkness. Harry thought he had finally managed to close his mind, until a gloomy light weakly illuminated the obscurity and voices —Blaise's voice, then Pansy's—filled the silence.

"Diggory must be so bummed to have died because of a loser like you"; "It's not like everyone would have preferred you dead instead of him"; "The victory you stole from Diggory."

Harry is back in the graveyard. In the distance, Cedric's body lay on his back, his eyes fixed on a sky he couldn't see anymore. Harry's scar hurts.

The scene changes; the sorted hat yells "Slytherin" in front of a dumbfounded crowd.

Harry spots his best friends at the Gryffindor table, and between two whispers, they glance at him with eyes filled with what looks like disappointment. He doesn't remember this memory, he can't remember having ever seen this expression on their face.

"You betrayed them." A chilling voice he recognized as Voldemort's, whispered in his ears.

He is suddenly in Umbridge's office. Blood is rolling down his forearm, staining his white shirt as he is writing lines.

His parents are watching him, smiling, with pride and love in their eyes.

His parents are slowly burning in Blaise's hand, their smiles melting as the paper consumes itself in front of his eyes.

The darkness is back. Voldemort's voice reappears.

"They let you down, Harry. It's just you and me now."

Harry feels his heart beating fast. He finds himself sitting in his cupboard, his small body curled up on the thin mattress.

The scene is blurry, the details inside keep changing as if the memory is too distant, too vague. Harry's toy soldier transforms into a little car, then a horse, then nothing.

The darkness is back.

"You can't trust anyone. They don't believe in you anymore."

Harry is kneeling in the dormitory's bathroom. Blaise's hand holds his hair as he pulls his head toward him. Harry can't breathe anymore, his towel has fallen on the wet tiles. He feels observed, vulnerable, judged, and sick.

Harry tried to stop the memory, but Snape was watching the scene from the other end of the room, standing still and cold.

He is back in the cupboard, seated on the bed. The blanket keeps changing colors, from white to gray to yellow. Harry is young—not older than five. A man is sitting next to him, his wide body taking up half of the tiny room. His face is unclear; he has no eyes, no mouth, no nose, just a blurry shape. Harry doesn't understand this memory, which he has no recollection of.

The man's hand slips on Harry's scrawny leg.

The man's hand slips onto Harry's crotch.

Harry is suddenly back in the dormitory bathroom. He is throwing up in the sink, naked and alone, his limbs violently shaking under his weight.

Voldemort's voice hissed once again in his ears, "You're alone, Harry. Completely alone."

Harry wanted to scream and beg for the torture to stop, but before he could do anything, Snape stopped the memory on his own.

Harry fell on the hard floor of the dungeon. He was panting heavily, his wet eyes wide open as he faced the gray stones.

"What was that?"

Snape's voice sounded so far away, as if they were not in the same room.

Harry took a moment to answer. His head hurt as much as he felt dizzy. His nose had started bleeding again, droplets falling on the ground at a steady pace.

"I… It was just a dream I had last night. He talked to me, but I couldn't stop him. I'm sorry." He babbled.

"I'm not talking about your dream about the dark lord, Potter; you know exactly what I mean." Snape cut him off.

The tall man was leaning against his desk; he didn't look as confident as he did before the lesson. In fact, he looked slightly paler than usual.

Harry knew perfectly well he was referring to the bathroom attack, but he had no desire to elaborate on the subject.

"I asked you a question." The teacher repeated.

"It's nothing."

"It didn't look like it was nothing."

Harry stood up. His legs were violently trembling as he struggled to remain upright.

"Why do you even care anyway?" The teenager mumbled.

Snape suddenly moved closer to him, but stopped when he noticed his student backing away.

"Because, Potter, the more vulnerable you get, the easier it is for the Dark Lord to manipulate and control you. Your dream was a practical example."

Harry looked up at the tall man. He wiped his nose with his sleeve, as the tissue was already soaked in blood, then suppressed a sneer.

"Oh, I see. For a moment, I got afraid you might actually care about what happened to me."

"Stop acting like a child." Snape snapped.

Harry's cheeks started burning with rage. "A child, yeah, pretty ironic coming from a grown-ass man who can't get over his dead childhood bully."

"Enough!"

The tall man lost his temper, he took a step toward the boy and grabbed him by his collar, ignoring his gasp.

"Don't, disrespect me."

Harry had definitely touched a nerve, and he didn't feel bad about it.

"And you can't ask me something you can't even do yourself." Harry replied in a low voice.

After a few seconds of a staring contest between the two, Snape eventually let go of his shirt. He still looked irritated as his raised hand turned into a fist, as if the man held back from slapping him.

"You have to. You have no choice." He spoke through gritted teeth.

Harry didn't argue. He was getting tired of everything. It was a battle he would lose no matter what he said. Of course he had to be an adult and endure all the worst horrors without complaining, he was Harry Potter after all, that's what people expected from him.

He slowly sat on the nearest chair, his legs getting too weak to carry him.

"Have you talked about what happened to someone?" Snape asked suddenly, as if their argument had never happened. "To Professor McGonagall, Granger, Weasley, anyone?"

Harry shook his head.

There was a long silence as Snape appeared to be lost in thought. Fresh memories flashed in Harry's mind, memories he had grown accustomed to remembering during his Occlumency lessons, memories that haunted him while Snape observed them without emotion. However, there were also these new memories, those he had no recollection of—that seemed both real and vague at the same time. Had Hermione and Ron really judged him in the Great Hall that day? And what about the scene with the cupboard? It was the first time he had seen that particular memory; never before had he remembered his uncle sitting on his bed when he was young. But it seemed so vivid, so real...

Harry closed his eyes, feeling utterly tired and confused. Suddenly, the sound of Snape moving snapped him out of his thoughts. The teacher leaned in on his desk, writing something on a small piece of paper.

"You will sleep in the infirmary tonight." He declared when he finished scribbling his note.

He stuffed the folded paper into Harry's hand and added:

"You will give this to Poppy."

"I don't want to sleep in the infirmary," Harry argued.

"I'm not giving you a choice, Potter."

Harry frowned. He didn't feel like he needed to sleep there.

"But I'm fine."

Snape sighed deeply, and Harry could sense his eyes rolling even without looking at him.

"It's not the right moment to play the hero." "Just go, now."

Harry obliged and got up from the chair, but only because we wanted to leave this room.

"I'll know if you didn't sleep in the infirmary." Snape added, as though he had read his mind.

The boy nodded, grabbed his bag, and headed to the door. He hadn't touched the knob when his teacher's voice resounded again behind him;

"That man on the bed—was this a real memory?" He inquired.

Was it real?

"I don't know." He answered honestly before vanishing through the door.

As Harry walked toward the infirmary, he opened the folded paper to read it. Snape had mentioned his nose, asking for Poppy to check it and stop the bleeding. The second note asked for a dreamless potion.

He refolded the paper with a sigh. He didn't want to drink a dreamless potion, not now. The blurry memories were starting to obsess him; he needed answers, to remember, to detect reality from the dreams.

"Potter, what are you doing here?" Poppy asked as soon as Harry entered the long room full of empty beds.

He clenched his fist around the paper, unwilling to give it to the healer. He hadn't anticipated the parchment to start fidgeting in his palm until he loosened his fingers. The small piece of paper then slipped through the tiny hole between his thumb and index finger, and flew directly toward Poppy. The little woman caught it, looking slightly surprised, before she opened it in silence.

"Very well, come with me, Potter." She declared when she finished reading. She didn't even ask questions, much to Harry's relief.

He sat on a bed, while she went to fetch two tiny flasks.

"Drink this, it will stop the bleeding immediately." She said, handing him the first blue potion.

Harry finished it in one sip and gave her back the empty flask.

"You'll drink the second potion after you put on your pajamas."

Harry turned his head and noticed the blue clothes perfectly ironed on the pillow. She then drew the curtains around his bed, allowing him some privacy. The young boy waited a moment, as if he were afraid she would reopen it abruptly while he was still half naked.

Don't be stupid.

He quickly undressed and slipped into his warm pajamas. The healer came back a few minutes later, when he was already lying under the white blanket. She grabbed the full flask from the nightstand and handed it to him. "Drink it; it will help you sleep." She said.

She was perfectly aware his patient knew what this potion was, as it wasn't the first time she had ordered him to drink it. Harry grudgingly took it from her hand and drank it.

His entire body felt like he was sinking into a cloud, a wave of warmth ran through his chest, while his brain gradually emptied itself of all its intrusive thoughts until nothing remained but darkness. Quiet, peaceful darkness.

(***)

When Harry woke up, birds were singing from behind the large windows, where blinding lights reflected on the soft sheets of his bed. He slowly opened his eyes, adjusting to the brightness of the room. His head was heavy, as if he had slept for several days in a row.

"Hey."

The voice to his right helped him come back to his senses. He turned his head only to see the person he least expected sitting at his bedside.

Harry's skeptical frown must have been obvious, as Draco put on a slightly awkward smile and looked away.

"What are you doing here?" Harry finally asked as he sat down and grabbed his glasses from the nightstand.

Draco stopped pretending he was interested in the sky outside and glanced back at his roommate.

"You didn't come back last night; I knew from a first-year that you had a meeting with Professor Snape, so I went to check just in case."

"But you know, I sometimes don't sleep in the dormitory." Harry pointed out, making Draco clear his throat.

"Well… You know, with what happened…"

Harry stared at him, even though the blonde boy was avoiding his gaze.

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay." Draco added.

"Sounds weird"

It made Draco chuckle, which helped relax the atmosphere.

"I just arrived, just so you know... I didn't spend the night here." He hastened to add, as if to justify himself.

Harry nodded. He didn't know what to conclude or what to make of Malfoy's new personality, but strangely, he was glad to have woken up by his side.

"You shouldn't stay here, you know, they could think I'm your boyfriend." Harry joked as he remembered what Blaise had said before the assault.

Draco laughed softly again.

"Don't worry, they fully know it would be inconceivable, even in death."

Harry smiled weakly at his comment, and a long silence settled in the room. Draco started playing with the creases on his trousers, while Harry stared at his fingers.

"I'm sorry for what they did…" Draco spoke after a moment.

The dark-haired boy looked up to meet his gaze. There was something deeply honest in his voice, and for the first time, Harry believed him.

"Don't apologize for something you didn't do."

Draco shrugged. "Are you okay?"

Harry considered his question. No, he was not. However, he felt better than the day before. "Yes, I'm okay." He merely replied.

They appeared to have run out of conversation topics. Draco could have left now that he knew where Harry was, it was Saturday and the weather was perfect for outdoor activities, and yet, he was there, sitting on an uncomfortable chair next to a classmate he was supposed to despise.

"I was thinking about flying a bit today, you're in?" Draco eventually asked. "If you're feeling better, of course,"

Harry's face twisted in confusion.

"You know I'm not allowed to fly."

"You can watch me fly then."

Draco spoke as if his offer might seduce him. It was indeed a very unattractive idea. So when Harry refrained from answering, he started laughing.

"Come on, I was joking, you can borrow my broom."

"Why are you nice to me?" Harry suddenly changed the subject.

Draco remained quiet, his gray eyes fixed on his green ones. They heard Poppy going back and forth between her office and the infirmary exit door. A ray of sunlight pierced a cloud in the distance and came to rest on the left side of Draco's face, brightening his pupil to a pale blue reminiscent of the sea.

"Are you in?" He quietly repeated.

Harry observed him silently, immersed in his captivating gaze. Then, he eventually broke the silence;

"I'm in."