Covered with sweat and nearly falling out of his bed, Draco jerked awake from a terrible nightmare. Only a vague image of the proceedings of his subconscious still lingered in Draco's mind, but it was more than enough to have him on edge in the darkness of his dormitory; even the low glow of a lumos lighting the tip of his wand where he'd left it poking out from underneath his pillow wasn't enough to calm him. Draco called to Linky. The elf didn't appear and after a minute Draco tried again.

After a few failed attempts Draco gave a quick pinch to his own arm to assess his state of mind-he was awake-and then cautiously slid from his bed and tiptoed over to Linky's keeper. He heard muffled noises coming from inside and belatedly realized that Linky was up and punishing herself.

"Linky," groaned Draco, "be stopping that. I think my father must know about the bed sharing. Go back to sleep, no more punishing, and I'll be being fine, I promise. Be seeing you in the morning, Linky."

Draco stood and took a step toward his bed, but stopped short when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He stood there for a minute, frozen, contemplating which was the better option: playing a statue or already-dead. Then Draco thought he heard a noise and responded before he could stop himself. Draco whipped his head around only to be confronted by the mirror-image of himself illuminated in the low wand light with a foul, foul sneer across his face.

Draco shrieked, ran back to his bed and hid under the covers. Draco's mirror always did take horribly to being woken in the middle of the night, and even though that wasn't Draco's fault, he still ran. He wasn't sure if his mirror could actually do him harm or not but, after accidentally waking up his mirror many a night, this was not a risk that Draco was willing to take. The sweat that had covered him after his nightmare had now turned cold so he burrowed under the covers and tried to block out the lingering traces of his fear by thinking pleasant thoughts. Draco was used to doing this at home when he couldn't get to sleep. He had invented characters in his mind-sort of ideal best friends, two of them, and they kept him plenty of company-but Draco grew hot under the thick covers long before he grew tired and was uneasy about sticking any of his limbs out from underneath.

Draco wished he could go find Snape, or even crawl into bed with Goyle, but Draco would risk suffering a wounded pride in order to keep his bullocks and reputation intact.

"Zabini," Draco hissed as he ripped open the other boy's bed curtains. "Wake up."

"Draco." Zabini groaned. "What the hell do you think you're doing-"

"Scoot over!" Draco cut him off.

"Excuse me?"

"I said, 'scoot over!'" Draco repeated.

"No!"

"Come on, you're really going to make me share with Goyle?! The boy can't keep a secret to save his life."

"Fine," Zabini relented. "But this makes us even on the worm thing, Draco."

Draco nodded, sure that he could get much better dirt on Zabini from Pansy anyway.

Draco crawled in, snuggled up to Zabini, and was out in a minute flat.

Draco woke up desperate to pee and snuck off to the garderobes with Linky before anyone else was up. Zabini only grinned at him during breakfast and the rest of the day passed much like any other so far. Draco was now reaching the end of his second week at Hogwarts, and the only day that had been the least bit interesting so far was last Thursday. But Draco wasn't thinking about that.

After dinner, Draco went to Snape's office to ask if he could floo home. Snape refused him flat out, and Draco could hear him muttering under his breath about the amount of days Draco failed to make it without asking to see his parents. Draco decided to leave it for now and to try again next week. After all, Draco needing to talk to his parents was important to him so he didn't really care if Snape thought he was being foolish.

That night Draco left the door to Linky's keeper open, but he woke in the morning to find that she was locked in but able to come out when he called. The next night, when Draco jerked awake from another nightmare, he found that her door was shut and unable to be opened again, so for the second time in as many days Draco retreated to the safety of Zabini's bed.

There were no protests this time, and Draco crawled in and curled up without a word passed between them. However, Draco encountered a problem when he woke much earlier than usual, desperate to pee, and found that Linky was still locked in her keeper. He didn't bother going to reassure Linky, he had already told her not to punish herself when the keeper locked her inside. Draco had even told her it was master Lucius' wishes, because it obviously was his father's doing, if nothing else. He contemplated going by himself, but in the end Draco decided that prodding Zabini in the ribs and waking him up was much easier.

"I have to use the garderobe."

Zabini chuckled. "You're lucky my mum'sa whore, or else I'd be thinking you're requesting one of the cloakrooms," he said tiredly, but it almost sounded practiced. He then ruined the effect completely by yawning widely. "You have my permission to leave if that's what you wanted," he added a moment later.

"I want you to come with me."

"Seriously?" Both of Zabini's eyebrows raised, and he suddenly seemed much more awake.

"Just stand at the door."

For a moment Draco thought that Zabini might refuse, but in the end the other boy exclaimed that he, too, had to piss and would come along. The trip went smoothly, the garderobes just as modest as the showers were, which was decent enough for peeing next to each other fully clothed. By the time they got back to Zabini's bed, Draco was freezing cold. He hopped onto the bed and burrowed under the covers before Zabini had even reached the other side.

Once the other boy was tucked in, he cast a time charm. "We still have a few hours until breakfast, let's go back to sleep," Zabini said, but Draco, who really hadn't been waiting for his approval, was nearly out already.

"You know," Zabini added uselessly, "I really don't think Hogwarts has garderobes."

Draco snorted and promptly fell asleep.

Draco awoke feeling as if his mind was dripping into itself, filling up with images of skin and green and black and boys. He felt good, rested and ready, but then he noticed that he felt a little hot and sweaty, too. And why was he moving so much? Or at all really, when he was supposed to be sleeping? Draco tried to stop himself but his body seemed to hang on to the movement until he finally opened his eyes and processed the sight of Zabini right next to him.

Draco was suddenly hyper aware of two things. The hardness between his legs, throbbing and rubbing against Zabini for one, and the evil grin on Zabini's face for two.

"Zabini," Draco said gruffly, lessening his hold around the other boy's torso. "Why are you letting me hump you, you absolute pig?!" he shouted, after regaining a bit more sense.

Draco stormed off to his tiny bed chambers and gathered up his things and Linky for a shower before breakfast. The idea of rubbing off on Zabini wasn't a bad one, per se, but the thought of actually doing it was absolutely terrifying. Draco paused as he reached the doorway, steam smacking him in the face. Goyle was already showering. Draco retreated quickly, and nearly cursed out loud as he stubbed his toe on the way back to privacy.

As Draco stood there squeezing his aching toe and trying not to cry he realized that the only shower he'd taken in the last two weeks was the hour long one he'd managed the Sunday before last. Draco continued to hop away from the steamy doorway - the dry feeling of Linky's scouring wasn't so bad after one got used to it.

By the time bedtime rolled around again, Draco had resolved never to sleep next to Zabini again. The other boy was obviously as much a sexual deviant as Pansy was and would just lie back and let Draco hump him. No. Draco had Linky sleep with him right from the start this time - he had never had any problems with humping her. He slept through the whole night without nightmares but woke to find that Linky had been sent back to her keeper sometime after Draco had fallen asleep. Draco ignored the problem until a few days later when he awoke from another chilling nightmare and found that Linky was already gone.

Since Draco refused to go back to Zabini, he spent most of the night lying awake, until exhaustion finally took over him and he cried himself to sleep. This became a regular pattern. Draco's dreams were filled with more terror than he had ever experienced at the manor. However, for every night Draco spent restlessly, trying to throw off the last traces of his nightmare, he managed at least two sound ones, a situation that Draco definitely found preferable to the risk of waking up humping Zabini again.

Draco could admit, however, that this didn't leave him in the best of moods, but this wasn't the only thing ruining everyday of his life. No. That was Potter. Draco was doing his best not to think about Harry bloody Potter, but it seemed like everywhere he turned the other boy was there. On the cover of some third year Hufflepuff's magazine, seated next to that weasel in Potions, flying around the pitch like some shooting star, speculated about in the Prophet, laughing from across the great hall, or on the lips of an ancient bloody dragon that was made of stone and trapped in a damned tower.

After a dull day of class, Draco found himself lying on his bed in nothing but undergarments, wondering what to do with his evening. There was only so much time that could be spent sitting in a chair after all. Draco needed something to do, and for the first time in his life he didn't feel like reading.

The most appealing options coming to mind were all to do with Potter and plotting plans, but Draco did not want to give in to them. Draco also thought about going back to see the dragon, but quickly pushed the idea to the back of his mind. That would only lead to one thing: more Potter.

What Draco needed was room to breathe, yet here he was, alone on his bed, as naked as he ever felt comfortable getting, and feeling suffocated.

Suddenly, a high pitched shout of his name rang through the room and someone began to pull at his curtains to no avail.

"Pans." Draco sighed. "I'm not decent. Go away."

"Never," the girl snorted.

Draco sighed again, but rose to gather his robes and let Pansy in. It seemed that today Draco was doomed to play his part as Pansy's distraction. As they sprawled out on his bed together, Draco resigned himself to listening to Pansy spit absolute obscenities about a number of the Gryffindor girls, Granger included, and all the while struggled to bite his tongue. He was dying to open up and let out all he was thinking about Potter.

Before long Pansy seemed to realize that Draco wasn't going to join in on the ranting.

"Okay, you," she started, "what's going on in there?"

"Granger is going to be flat-chested for the rest of her life," conceded Draco, shrugging. "I agree with you there."

"Oh, you know what I mean! What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, Pans, just not feeling well."

"Hm. I think you look depressed, not sick."

Draco glared at her.

"What? I know what to look for."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "I'm not afflicted," he pointed out.

Pansy crossed her arms over her chest. "My mother has a bout of the crazy."

"A mental affliction?"

"No!" Pansy hissed.

"Okay, okay," Draco held up his hands.

"She's just a bit . . . moody, alright."

"Well, at least you know what to look for?" Draco wasn't sure what else to say.

Pansy smiled. "So you are pining over dear Potter, then?"

"No!" Draco screeched, a little too loudly.

"I don't believe you," Pansy said slowly, "but we won't talk about it . . . yet. You still have to pay attention to me though."

"I was."

"I know. Thank you, Draco. When you're not being a complete arse you really can be quite the gentleman. Now . . . what do you really think of Granger, then?"

"I think her hair is unique enough but awfully too long to be manageable, for her at least."

"And?" Pansy prompted.

"And . . . her skin and nails are horrid as well. Maybe muggles don't get enough nutrients or something. Potter is kind of a runt, isn't he? And he's only a half-blood."

"Yes, but look at you." Pansy was smirking.

"See, this is why I can't be with you in public. That enormous mouth."

"Aw, Draco, you have to know I wouldn't do such a thing . . . in front of people."

"I don't actually." And that was the truth.

Draco felt much the same way over the next week. Another request to floo his parents outright refused by Snape had Draco livid and nearly shaking with silent anger. One would think he'd be embarrassed, but Draco just felt misunderstood and betrayed. Snape would get his though, Draco would make sure of this. Draco had to, honestly. Who could live with a godfather they resented? Not Draco.

His father would be the easiest option, but would his punishment, whatever it turn out as, be sufficient enough? Probably. However, his mother would be Draco's plan in waiting, but there was no telling what she would deem for a crime such as this. Snape was probably thinking that Draco would be too wary to mention it to his mother. The bastard clearly needed to know his godson a little better.

Plans for revenge distracted Draco for a few days until he received an owl from his father telling him that all would be taken care of by the time holidays came around, and soon Draco was once more lost in a sea of not thinking about Potter. All Draco did was sleep and not sleep, think about Potter and think about not thinking about Potter. Draco did go to class and do homework and eat a bit, but none of that was Draco, not really. He had no say in what he ate or learned, everything was just forced upon him. Draco wanted to use his free time like his housemates did, relax and take showers and make friends, but everytime he thought about doing that he thought about Potter and wanted to - well, Draco wasn't sure what he wanted to do, but he wanted not to think about it anymore so he locked himself in his tiny chambers hidden in grey and got lost far within a part of his mind that Harry Potter had yet to corrupt.

Draco did manage to exchange letters with his parents on a daily basis but it wasn't the same. All he wanted was to go home, he knew that this was impossible but at the very least he wanted to talk to his parents.

Everything was okay, really, but at the same time . . . nothing was okay at all.

One night before curfew, Draco got sick and was taken to the hospital wing. He kept choking on bile so Madam Pomfrey gave him a potion to settle his stomach and left him to sleep. Draco wanted to go home. He just wanted to go home. He never thought he would miss that giant, awful, beautiful, haunted place, yet Draco missed it so much it was making him ill.

Draco had always wanted to get away. He'd made plans to move away to Paris as soon as he finished his N.E.W.T.s. He wasn't some kind of homebound antisocial either, he had stayed at Crabbe and Goyle's houses before and he had been on plenty of trips with his parents, but now he couldn't deny it. He just wanted to go home.

Draco woke in the middle of the night and was sick in a bowl. He cried for an hour when suddenly Madam Pomfrey threw open his curtains.

Draco sat up. "Madam Pomfrey."

"Draco, what is the matter, dear?"

"I just don't feel well."

"What hurts?"

"I'm numb. Everywhere. I just feel sick. I just-I'm fine."

Madam Pomfrey seemed startled and set about casting diagnostic spells with her wand.

"I'll be right back, Draco," she announced after a moment and bustled away into the dark infirmary. Left alone in the faint glow of his own lumos, Draco instantly flopped down and covered himself to his chin with the scratchy sheets, closing his eyes against the unknown.

Ten minutes later she returned . . . with Snape. His godfather glared nastily at him and reached under the covers to pinch the bottom of Draco's feet hard with his girlishly long fingernails.

"Ouch!" Draco hissed, pulling his feet beneath his bum. "You crazy bat!" Draco's mouth really was the worst mouth ever. Or maybe it was his brain, but his brain didn't think so.

Draco probably just needed to get a good night sleep . . . or something. This was what his father had always said to Draco and his mother when they started behaving a bit too irately, at least. Obviously, a good night sleep never worked for Mr. Malfoy though, so . . . it was still up for debate.

Snape's eyebrow rose. "Obviously you are not as 'numb' as you so previously claimed," he drawled after a moment.

"It was a metaphor!"

"Draco . . ." Snape was shaking his head. "I think it's time we have a conversation."

"You think?" Draco stood up and threw on his robe.

"Hold on just a minute, you two," Madam Pomfrey stopped them from leaving. "Numbness aside, that is not the only thing I brought Professor Snape down here to discuss. If you could have a seat, Draco."

Draco rolled his eyes and sat on the edge of the bed.

"How have you been eating, Draco?" she asked him bluntly.

Snape snorted. Draco glared at him. "The food is decent here, actually," he admitted. "Not quite up to my standards, of course, but edible."

"Edible," Snape said slowly, like he was weighing each letter. He'd clearly thought Draco was about to bad mouth his precious Hogwarts cooking. Come to think of it, Draco really should have done just that.

"When is the last time you ate meat?" Madam Pomfrey wanted to know.

"Meat? Hm . . ." Draco thought for a moment. "Last Wednesday I think I had a bit of chicken?"

"Draco," Snape cut in, suddenly all business. "Are you getting any protein at all? Eggs? Beans? Or had any calcium? Or potassium? Anything healthy?"

Draco made a nasty face. "I eat a lot of cheese," he conceded at last.

"Well . . . there you have it, Poppy," Snape deadpanned. "Cheese."

With that, Snape was striding out of the hospital wing. Draco scoffed as he followed slowly, refusing to run after the infuriating man. The walk to the dungeons always seemed like a short one, and soon Draco found himself sitting in a cozy chair with mugful of tea that Snape knew he wouldn't drink. Snape eyed him for a moment before sighing.

"You father is quite proud at how well you've been handling this adjustment."

"How well?!" Draco couldn't help but screech.

"Yes." Snape rolled his eyes. "Of course, I haven't told him you've been acting as sour a brat as you always are."

"Go on, tell him then," said Draco, "matter of fact, floo him now and I'll tell him myself."

"Draco . . . you said you could handle it."

"I can," Draco protested. "I just need to talk to them."

"That's part of Hogwarts, Draco, owls only. You are already breaking many rules by having your own house elf-"

"How did you know about that?!" demanded Draco.

Snape eyed him for a moment. "It was I who gave you the yellow present," he finally said.

"You?" Draco hissed. "You're the one who spelled it so that Linky is bound to it at night-"

"I did no such thing," claimed Snape.

Draco scowled.

"Look, Draco . . . your father asked me to present you with a starting gift. When I showed him the keeper, I suspected that he would turn the idea down completely. When he didn't I was surprised. However, it is not surprising to find out that he would take the liberty of placing his own rules upon the gift."

Draco nodded, defeated. This sounded exactly like something his father would do.

"I want to go home, okay!" Draco moaned. "It's nice here and all, but - I don't even know."

Snape raised his eyebrow.

"What if I told you a secret - one that would make staying here worth your while, could you keep it, Draco? Even from your father?"

Draco perked up, but knew it was a lost cause. "I can't keep anything from my father," he pointed out. He'd learned that lesson years ago.

"Ah, but that is part of the secret, Draco. If you could - would you keep this secret from your father?"

"What do you mean? Are these ugly black pits around my eyes not enough proof of my suffering?" Draco nearly sputtered with incredulity. "Of course! I would keep everything a secret from my father if I could! What are you on about? Do you honestly believe me daft?"

Snape went back to sighing. "Sometimes I am not too sure."