"But I don't understand why you're going to this trial," Ginny complained. Her breath puffed out from her mouth in thick clouds as she spoke. "You're not even testifying. You haven't had to testify in ages!"
As the weeks had passed, Harry diligently attended every trial regardless of whether he'd been involved or not. He felt obligated to be present at each of them, and McGonagall had grudgingly made allowances for his absence every time. More than that, though, he wanted to watch as every guilty sentence was handed out. He enjoyed it, but he wasn't prepared to admit to that to Ginny.
He'd been surprised at first when he realized that Malfoy was doing the same, but he supposed it made sense for him to become familiarized with the patterns that each of trials followed. Harry would probably do the same if he was facing the potential of life in Azkaban.
He made carefully sure to arrive as late as possible each time, and to place himself at the back of the courtroom. The seat he always chose placed him directly in the line of sight of the defendants when they took the stand, and it just so happened that the seat Malfoy chose was three rows directly in front of his own. If he kept a distant eye on him, it was easier to avoid him.
They'd treated one another with a begrudging courteousness since the night in the Forbidden Forest, but they had not spoken. Malfoy's new accommodations were in a disused office space most recently inhabited by the Carrow siblings, and as it was on the same floor as the Gryffindor dormitories Harry had been forced to carefully time each trip to class to avoid any accidental meeting or possible conversation.
He hadn't yet sorted through why it was he'd wanted to so badly to attack Malfoy in the Greenhouses, and he'd especially not worked out why it was he'd sat by his sick bed holding his hand for over an hour later that night. And yet, his usual suspicions of Malfoy's every action had remained firmly in place, and he'd not been able to get him off of his mind. He was a habit, engrained into Harry's daily life at Hogwarts over the better part of a decade, and apparently next to impossible to break.
"I just need to be there, Ginny," he sighed, stepping through the Hogwarts gates onto the leaf-strewn drive beyond.
"Yeah, fine," she agreed unhappily. "Just, come back right after, ok? I have a Quidditch match this afternoon, and it would be nice to know you're there." Hopping up onto her tiptoes, she planted a chaste kiss on his cheek and trudged back toward the castle.
Harry was pleased to be alone, but he didn't feel good about his continuing neglect of Ginny. He decided to come back early, if necessary, to see her match. That would make her happy. Who was she playing against? Which House was ahead? He was sure she'd told him, but it was likely that he hadn't been listening. She was always telling him that he never listened.
Taking a few quick steps away from the gates, he disapparated to his usual spot around the corner from the Ministry. He could hear the roaring chaos of the media milling about the public toilets that served as an entrance before he saw them. As always, he was immediately swarmed as he rounded the corner.
"Harry Potter!" one wizard screamed at him as he pushed through the throng. "Will you be testifying against Mr. Parkinson?"
"No," he shouted back, his eyes on the ground as he moved slowly forward.
"Do you believe Parkinson was a Death Eater?" another hollered.
"I have no idea," he replied, shoving his way further into the crowd.
As he neared the entrance, he came upon a solid wall of reporters facing away from him. Ignoring the shouts for his attention from behind, he struggled through. Ducking Quick Quills and cameras held aloft, he could see the doors just a few feet away. The reporters up here seemed to ignore him as he wove past, distracted by something just up ahead. He spotted a woman's hand reaching out to him, and Harry happily accepted the help.
He was yanked out of the crushing throng into the open and quickly pulled up onto the steps of the public toilets. Taking a few deep breaths of the cold autumn air, he thanked whoever it was who had rescued him and turned to go in.
"You're welcome," Narcissa Malfoy answered. With a chilly smile, she spun him around and deposited him to her right as they faced the hollering swarm together. "There are things we'd like to clear up, young man," she whispered into his ear, her hand still firmly clasped around his wrist.
To Harry's right stood Draco. With his white-blonde hair perfectly combed and dark dress robes perfectly pressed, he looked imposing and otherworldly in the pale morning light. His slate eyes met Harry's and he nodded quickly, almost apologetically.
Shoving her way forward, a witch in glaring magenta robes snapped a photo of them standing together and then scribbled something onto her notepad without a word.
"Mr. Malfoy!" someone else called out. "Is it true that Mr. Potter rescued you from torture in the Forbidden Forest at the beginning of the school year?"
Narcissa elbowed Harry lightly in the ribs and continued to smile for the cameras.
"He assisted me upon my return to the castle that evening," Malfoy enunciated with perfect dignity.
From his slightly higher vantage, Harry could see the rows of bodies beginning to split apart at the back of the crowd like a fissure in stone, as if someone else was forcing their way through after him. More than likely Rita Skeeter, he judged by the speed at which the fracture seemed to be traveling.
"Draco," someone called out. "Some people are speculating that these wizards were hired by your father to bully you into testifying to the innocence of the accused. Is this the truth?"
"They were looking for information about my father," he corrected them. "And they didn't get any."
"Would you two say that you and Mr. Potter have become friends through all of this?" a tall, bearded wizard called out.
"No," Harry answered at precisely the same time that Malfoy replied, "Somewhat."
Narcissa laughed nervously. "They are much closer now than they were as children," she explained.
Malfoy shot him a scathing look and Harry tried to wipe the confused expression off of his face before too many photos could be taken of it. The person he assumed to be Skeeter was nearly there, judging by the angry shouts in the crowd, and he needed to be at his most expressionless when she got to him.
"Harry, how will your friendship with Draco Malfoy affect your testimony if you are called up at his trial?" the magenta witch called out.
"It won't," Harry replied, watching the lines of reporters jostle and break directly behind her.
"How can you be so sure – hey!"
A middle-aged wizard in faded robes burst past her, screaming words Harry had never heard with his wand held high above his head. A hideous roar like the sound of a thousand storms rose up and battered Harry's eardrums. Pain exploded behind his eyes as the soft morning light sharpened and intensified to a piercing white.
Blind and deaf, he felt Narcissa collapse at his side just as the light and sound died suddenly together. Dazed and still unable to see, Harry raised his wand defensively. He could feel the heat of Malfoy's body to his right, frozen in place as if waiting for his senses to return before moving.
As the ringing in Harry's ears lessened, he could hear shouts of terror. Squinting, he could just make out the shapes of the reporters fleeing. Too late, he spotted a red orb of light streaking toward his chest through the crowd.
Someone shouted something. There was a hand around his arm, throwing him forward. The red orb flew over his head, barely missing him as he crashed painfully down the steps. Landing awkwardly on his shoulder, he could distinctly feel it snap out of joint. Someone was screaming very far away, and as he righted himself the cracking sounds of dozens of disapperations told him that the reporters were fleeing.
Gripping his throbbing arm, he climbed to his feet and stumbled half blind toward the spot he'd heard the screaming coming from. He could just make out the sound of pained moaning nearby. Somewhere very close, someone's teeth were grinding brutally against one another.
"There is no way to know if the curse was intended for you, or for Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall insisted. "I fear that certain measures will have to be taken to ensure that the both of you are kept safe until all of this is over."
After their release from St. Mungo's, they had been transported back to Hogwarts by a stern group of Ministry guards that had clearly made Malfoy tremendously uncomfortable. Now, however, they sat in the Head Mistress' quiet office with cups of tea rapidly cooling in their hands.
"What kind of measures?" Malfoy asked, grumpily adjusting the cold cloth on his forehead.
McGonagall took a sip and set her cup down. "While I don't feel comfortable with those guards wandering about the school grounds, I have no choice but to let them. Harry, I must insist that you are watched over. At the same time the Ministry is insisting that Draco remains watched over. However, they cannot spare enough of them to cover you both separately, which leaves me in a difficult position. I'm going to have to ask, Harry, that you move into the second dormitory in the office space that Draco is currently residing in. I will also have to, I'm sorry to say, insist that you both respect a strict curfew. If you are not in class or taking a meal, you will need to remain in the rooms that you've been provided until the trials have been completed, or the school year finishes. Whichever comes first. Please stop moaning, Mr. Malfoy, these will be legitimate Ministry guards."
"That's not necessary at all," Harry told her. He'd been doing so well avoiding having to deal with any of his own bizarre behaviour, and this would absolutely mean that he would need to begin really thinking about it. "I can stay with Hagrid."
"Don't be ridiculous, Harry. This is only temporary and you'll have a bedroom to yourself for the first time in your entire academic career here. You should be pleased about that at least."
Malfoy tugged the cloth down over his eyes and sunk deeper into the tartan chair he had so recently been tearing at.
There was no arguing with her. Harry returned to the Gryffindor common room to find Ginny and the rest of the team celebrating their victory over whichever House it had been that they'd defeated.
"Harry!" she called out, sprinting over to him. "I heard what happened, are you alright?"
"Yeah, fine." He wrapped his arms around her waist and let her kiss him, manfully ignoring the stiffness in his newly healed shoulder.
"Where are Hermione and Ron?" he asked, scanning the jumble of Gryffindors.
Ginny shrugged. "Around. They disappeared a while ago, why?"
He'd have to speak with them later, then. "Listen, I've got to tell you something."
She took the news of his abrupt move quite well, but a slight squint in her eyes betrayed distinct unhappiness when he explained to her about the curfew.
"When will I see you, then? Just classes and meals?"
"Just for now," he reassured her, ignoring the growing sensation that he'd somehow bought himself a bit of freedom along with what was basically incarceration.
Packing didn't take long, and he was rolling his trunk into his new lodgings within the hour.
The main office space was larger than he'd expected, and had been decorated like a miniature common room in the colours of all four Houses. An oversized sofa faced a large fireplace and the walls were completely lined with bookshelves. He understood this to mean that library trips were to be forbidden as well.
A door to his right stood partially open revealing a dark room beyond that he assumed was to be his. There was a second door to his left, up a small flight of stairs, with light bleeding out through the cracks.
Not wanting to disturb his new dorm mate, Harry quietly entered the dark room to unpack his things. It was larger than he'd expected, almost cavernous, and sparsely decorated. A large bed sagged sadly underneath a drafty window and an enormous wardrobe stood crookedly next to it. Small candles flickered weakly on the walls, casting wan light over the gloomy space.
Harry quite liked it. He didn't want to find himself enjoying this, and learning to sleep in what was basically a damp cell would keep him from feeling too much at home.
Once his things were safely stowed in moldy smelling drawers, he stepped back out into the common area. Malfoy was reclined on the couch with an enormous book on his lap. He feet rested on an open parcel, crossed casually at the ankle.
"Reading?" Harry asked idiotically.
"You've caught me," Malfoy replied, his eyes fixed to the page as he absently chewed at his lower lip.
Harry laughed uncomfortably. "Yeah, well, what are you reading?"
"A very old Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook. I've been cursed three times in the last month and a half, and I have no wand. I need to do something about this."
Harry ignored sudden irrational apprehension about Malfoy learning anything at all to do with the Dark Arts. Realizing there were no other chairs in the room, he also ignored the ample space on the couch and sat down awkwardly on the floor. "I've seen it done," he said nervously. Why was he so nervous? "I've seen someone defend himself without a wand."
Malfoy nodded, still scanning the pages of the book. "Yes, Fenrir Greyback. I've seen it too, obviously. He can parry a curse without a wand as well as you or I could with one." He smiled, "Or, at least as well as you could."
"You should work on that, then." Harry wondered if he'd always been this boring. Maybe no one had ever had the heart to tell him.
"I have been. Who do you think jinxed those Third Years last month?"
In spite of himself, Harry laughed. "What's that you've got your feet on?"
"Oh," Malfoy set aside the textbook and sat forward to retrieve the contents of the box. "A little gift from mummy. The standard dozen bottles of wine that every mother sends along to their child while they're away at school." He shrugged, handing Harry a bottle to inspect.
"I would like some of this right now, please," Harry said quickly, not so much as glancing at the label. This could certainly help to ease the dizzy tension he felt.
"If I say no, are you going to attack me again?"
When Harry looked up, Malfoy was smiling. "Sorry about that. That was –"
"Weird. That was very weird, Potter." He stood fluidly and retrieved two glasses from a cupboard nearby.
One and half bottles of wine later, Malfoy dangled miserably in the air by the ankle, his head two feet above the ground. "This is not working out at all," he complained.
"Liberacorpus," Harry intoned in agreement, watching with a small smile as Draco slammed to the floor.
"I said warn me before you drop me!" he shouted, rubbing his forehead.
"Oops." Harry poured himself another glass of wine.
Malfoy grunted and finished off what was left of his own. "Again."
Harry shook his head. "Let's try something else. It won't look good on me if you fall and break your neck."
"No way. I am not walking around covered in fur or with boils all over my face or whatever else you might think is hilariously clever. Just bloody well warn me before you drop me!" He stood and smoothed his hair out of his eyes.
Harry could see a lump already forming where his head had connected with the stone flooring. "If you trust me to shoot jinxes at you, you should probably trust me to fix them afterward."
"Who said anything about trusting you? I've got limited options, Potter. You're it, so try again."
"I'm tired, Malfoy, it's nearly midnight - "
"Now!"
"Fine! Levicorpus!"
Whatever Draco was doing to try to block the jinxes was completely useless. He was instantly jerked off of his feet by the ankle and dragged up into the air.
"You're loving this, aren't you?"
Harry laughed. "A little."
If he was completely honest with himself, this was the most fun he'd had in months. Watching the blood rush into Malfoy's pale and annoyed face made him smile each time he did it, but he had a few things on his mind.
"They haven't told me for certain if I'll be testifying against you," he said, tilting his head slightly.
"What? This isn't the time for chit chat, Potter."
Harry sat down near Draco's dangling body and sipped his wine. "I'm just saying, I think it's strange that we're being made to stay here together if I'll be taking the stand to send you to Azkaban."
Malfoy's bloodshot eyes widened. "Put me down."
"Don't you think it's strange?" Harry finished off his glass and filled it again, emptying the bottle. He felt quite warm and was happy to find that he was pleasantly drunk.
"You haven't put Veritaserum in my wine, have you? Have you managed to learn Legilimency over the summer? Put me down, Potter!" Malfoy squirmed and stretched his arms out, his fingers just barely missing Harry's face. His shirt crumpled down to his chest, revealing pink, crisscrossing scars along the length of his pallid torso.
A distant memory of an argument, of Malfoy's blood on his hands, of humiliation and shame flickered through Harry's consciousness for a fraction of a second before being banished to the recesses with the rest of his festering regrets.
"I just think it's strange. I'm not interrogating you." Harry crossed his legs and broke the jinx with a wave.
Draco hit the floor with another grunt, but otherwise without protest. Pulling himself up into a sitting position, he snatched Harry's glass from his hand and drained it in one long swallow. The wine had stained his frowning lips a soft pink, and Harry found himself staring. For the first time, he noticed that over the years Malfoy's sharp, pointed features had transformed into a strong jaw and high, elegant cheekbones. His grey eyes were large when he wasn't scowling, and were surrounded by long, pale lashes. The nervousness Harry had struggled to ignore earlier in the evening swarmed again in the pit of his stomach and his head began to swim. He'd obviously had far too much to drink.
"Listen," Malfoy said slowly, avoiding his gaze. "If they have us locked up playing happy families in here together, I doubt you'll have to testify in my trial. I wouldn't worry about it."
"I'm not worried," Harry protested.
"Just drunk."
He smiled. "A bit."
"Well, those were very expensive bottles of wine you've wasted," Malfoy informed him, stretching up to his full height. "We should get some sleep."
"Hey," Harry objected, pulling himself gracelessly to his feet as well. "Why did you throw me out of the way today? When that bloke tried to curse me?"
Draco shook his head at his slurring dorm mate. "It's always about you, isn't it?"
"What?"
"He was trying to curse me, you complete dullard. I was trying to get away because, as you can now see, I haven't figured out how to protect myself without my wand."
Harry laughed, not believing a word. "Fine. Ok, but say they do ask me to testify."
"You're all over the place tonight, Potter."
"Just listen. If they do, they're going to ask me about that time last year when the Snatchers brought me to your house. Probably. And they're going to ask me why you didn't give me up when they asked you who I was."
Malfoy crossed his arms and stared haughtily at the fireplace. "What are you looking for here? Proof that I'm secretly a good person deep down?"
"I just need to know!" Harry snapped.
Malfoy stood perfectly still, his eyes fixed to the flames across the room. It was clear that he would not be offering up any new information willingly.
"I'd understand if you said you were just afraid."
"I was never afraid!" Malfoy bellowed, shattering the quiet of the dormitory.
Harry laughed again, and immediately regretted it. This was not the kind of response to give if he wanted to learn anything tonight. "It's fine if you were afraid. I was."
A derisive snort was all the reply he was offered as Malfoy turned and headed for the stairs leading to his own room.
Panicking, Harry rushed forward. He was so close to figuring this out, this mystery that had plagued him from the back of his mind for months, and he wasn't going to miss his chance. Surely this is why he hadn't been able to expel Malfoy from his every waking thought. Suddenly, he couldn't think of anything more important than hearing the answer.
Grabbing Draco by the shoulders, he spun him back around so that they were face to face once more.
"I need to know!" he insisted loudly, making sure his voice came out just shy of an angry roar.
"Drop it, Potter!" Draco was shoving him again, but much more powerfully than he had in the Greenhouses. Harry crashed backward into a small table, crying out as the full force of his own weight jammed his arm up into the socket of his sore shoulder.
Furious, he lunged again. Catching Malfoy by surprise, they fell to the floor in a knot of struggling limbs. Harry strained to keep him pinned to the floor, but the sudden onslaught of vicious blows to his abdomen quickly weakened his resolve, and he was flipped over onto his back.
Malfoy's right hand tangled painfully into Harry's hair as he knelt over him, and when he looked up Harry saw the left drawn back as if to continue the assault on his face. He grabbed weakly at it with his injured arm and readied himself. He was suddenly very, very tired.
Their hot breath mingled to fog his glasses again, and through the haze he could see Malfoy's pink lips hanging open as if to speak. He wasn't moving.
"Just tell me," Harry whispered. "You dogged my footsteps for years, you tormented me, and then suddenly you saved my life."
The strength bled from Draco's hand as he loomed above. "Potter…"
Harry dropped the wrist he was clinging to and wrapped his hand around the pale neck above him. Drawing on whatever insane confidence the wine had imbued him with, he pulled down until those stained lips were pressing stiffly against his own.
He could hear soft sounds of protest above him, but the fingers twisting his hair loosened. Harry pulled again on Draco's neck, drawing him deeper into the kiss. As his tongue slipped through, the stiff lips softened and Harry felt the body over his shudder faintly. The weight over him increased slightly as the hand that had been poised to strike a moment before slid slowly under his shirt to clamp icily around his waist.
Harry's heart thundered in his chest and his ears were filled with the sound of ragged breathing again, but this time it wasn't his own.
