Draco had learned a few things about healing potions and spells from Madam Pomfrey. Some were good for stitching up wounds. Others were good for regrowing limbs. And still others were good for removing growths and other nasty things. Those were the spells Draco was most interested in. He had tried a few in the privacy of his own room, scorching and abrading the skin of his left forearm, usually painfully but never effectively. It was a cycle of self-injury and self-healing, followed by another method of self-injury. His arm hurt constantly, but still the Dark Mark glowered balefully beneath the surface of his skin.

One evening during the third week of September he made his way to the Potions room and quietly let himself in. It wasn't strictly off limits for last year students to fit in some extra practice time between classes, but to do so when staff was unaware and the potions to be brewed were not on the syllabus was certainly irregular.

He set his cauldron down on the work surface and spread out his tools. He quickly rifled through the cabinets for the basic potion components, taking a few trips to ensure nothing was dropped or spilled. He lit a fire beneath the iron pot and began adding the liquid components first, slowly heating them to a simmer.

He was just about to stir in the first of the dried, ground salamander hide when the supply closet door swung open and a filthy and exhausted looking Harry Potter emerged. He looked surprised by Draco's presence and he blinked once or twice before speaking. Draco was annoyed, not so much at Potter's presence, but at the timing.

"I didn't know anyone was here," Potter swiped the back of his hand across a smudge on his cheek.

"What have you been doing in there, Potter?" Draco replied. "You're a total mess."

"Slughorn has me doing more cleaning and organizing," Harry jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "Some of that stuff probably hasn't been wiped down since the sixth century."

"Not getting much out of your apprenticeship, are you?" Draco turned his attention back to his simmering pot and sprinkled the ground salamander hide in slowly. He watched for the color to change very specifically to a deep cobalt blue.

"I think Slughorn thinks I'll learn about potions if I simply put my hands on every ingredient," Potter said ruefully. He squinted and approached Draco's table, "Is that salamander hide?"

"Is it your business?" Draco retorted, cutting the flame at exactly the moment the potion turned blue.

"Salamander hide is for fire spells," Potter peered over the edge of the cauldron as though he could divine the potion's purpose by its appearance.

Draco declined to answer, instead donning his dragonhide gloves so he could decant the blue liquid into a waiting stone jar.

"What are you going to burn?" Potter asked quietly.

"Nothing," Draco was visibly annoyed. "I'm making a preparation for Pomfrey."

"Oh," 'Potter looked up, his eyes regretful.

Draco had a hard time meeting his gaze. While he struggled with empathy and caring, Potter seemed to overflow with both emotions. He was strong and bold and daring, but also soft and genuine and comforting. Draco didn't know how to respond when those qualities were directed at him. Frankly, it was embarrassing. He knew how to respond to hatred and cruelty, but this was something he was unprepared for. And he didn't like it.

He finished pouring off the remaining potion and used his wand to whisk away his preparation tools to the cleaning station. Potter stood awkwardly to the side and said nothing as Draco exited without another word.