I never thought you could break me apart

I keep a sinister smile and a hold on my heart

You want to get inside

Then you can get in line

But not this time

'Cause you caught me off guard

Now I'm running and screaming

-Boys Like Girls

The week passed by as lazily as any week ever had in the Burrow. Harry and Ron had mutually apologized to each other shortly after Malfoy took his leave, and for a while things settled into a pleasant sort of routine. They would wake up every morning, eat their breakfast, talk and play games, and every evening they would sit contently in the den, enjoying the peaceful heat of summer. Had this been any other summer, Harry was sure he would've thoroughly enjoyed this week—no Dursleys to boss him around, no Dudley to torment him, and no fear that every time he read the paper he would find the names of people he loved in the obituary. Not that he had many names left to look for anymore…

It was hard to believe how incontrovertible time was, that there was no way that the things that had been done could ever be undone. This summer was so different from the last, and it would always be different.

"Harry?"

Harry started, his mind snapping back to the room. He looked over to see Hermione on the floor with a book in her lap, her large brown eyes staring up at him. "Sorry," Harry shifted in his chair. "I zoned out. Did you ask me something?"

"Ron asked if you'd heard from Malfoy since last Saturday."

Harry looked over to Ron, who had been fiddling with a broken chess set on the coffee table. He had been trying to fix the white queen, who had been on a near constant rampage against her own color. At the moment, she was currently choking one of her knights.

"Why do you ask?"

Ron shrugged, prying the queen and the knight apart. "I'm curious. I didn't like how he just showed up last week, and I wanted to make sure it doesn't happen again."

"I thought Ginny invited him," Hermione said.

Ron knew well enough that Ginny had invited him; she'd admitted as much when they'd confronted her about it.

"I don't believe it," Ron said, his upper lip curling. "He probably blackmailed her or something."

"Ginny's not that stupid," Harry snapped, his mood leaking into the sharpness of his words. He knew it sounded like he was defending Malfoy, but at the moment he couldn't bring himself to care.

"Harry," Hermione soothed, "there's no need to get upset."

"Let him get upset," Ron said, his blue eyes suddenly burning. "He still hasn't answered my question."

The accusation was clear, and Harry felt himself go tense.

Harry and Malfoy had exchanged two owls during the past week, both of which had been initiated by Malfoy. Their notes had been about small things, namely a Quidditch game and a Daily Prophet article that Rita Skeeter had released about Harry, but even so those letters were private. The idea that Ron might have found them and read them without his permission swirled in his mind like a black fog.

Ron's grin was acidic. "You're not even going to deny it, are you."

"It's not really your business."

"You staying in my house makes it my business!"

Hermione glanced nervously between the two. "Boys, stop…"

"Staying in your house doesn't give you the right to go through my things!"

"You shouldn't be hiding letters from Malfoy in the first place!"

Temper flaring, Harry leapt up out of his seat. Hermione flinched back while Ron tensed, fists balling at his sides. "I don't need you telling me what I should and shouldn't do!" Harry seethed. He stared down at his friends, his heart pounding in his ears. "I'm going for a walk. Don't follow me."

The cold war between Harry and Ron only grew worse after that. Hermione tried to mediate the feud between them, but her bias was painfully obvious. There were a couple of times when Harry thought about telling them about Malfoy's dream, but every time he came close he always ended up backing down. It felt too private.

Saturday morning couldn't come soon enough after that.

By the time Harry's alarm went off at 3:30AM Saturday morning, he was already awake, showered and dressed. He switched the alarm off and made his way outside to the garden where he'd readied a portkey.

The night air was cool and fresh, free of the tepid heat that rose with the sun. Everything seemed unnaturally calm in the white glow of the moon, and Harry felt indubitably out of place, like he was the only ripple in a still lake. After his first step onto the lawn, a gust of wind stroked the tall grass like a whisper, and the Burrow moaned behind him as gravity and magic fought. With a shuddering breath and a sudden fluttering of nerves, Harry hurried across the yard.

By the time he arrived in the deserted, cobbled streets of Diagon Alley it was quarter to four, and the park was only a short walk away. The early morning quiet seemed even more harsh here, contrasting sharply with the usual jolt of energy that thrived on the street during the day. Harry made his way over to the small patch of greenery, and as he neared it he could just barely see a dark figure leaning against a lone oak tree. The glistening white blonde hair immediately gave him away.

"Malfoy?" Harry's voice was hoarse from exhaustion and sleep deprivation.

"Potter," came the soft greeting.

Harry walked up to the other boy in silence, examining his pale silhouette as it gleamed in the moonlight. Malfoy's arms were crossed over his chest, his cold, stiff stature in obvious opposition with the pleasant tranquility of the garden. He looked as if he should have been made of marble.

Once the other boy's face was in sight, Harry noticed that Malfoy was giving him a bitter sort of glare. "What are you so early for?" Malfoy asked.

"It's only ten till. You're the early one here." Harry smirked, coming to a stop in front of Malfoy. Harry noticed that he had two premium Nimbus 2007's balanced in the crook of his arm. Harry's heart did an excited flip at the thought of flying; he so longed to feel a real racing broom beneath him once more.

"What's with you and not answering questions?" Malfoy shoved a broom at him, which Harry received somberly. "Well, are we going to go or what?"

"Hiding a third broom up your arse, are you?" Harry asked, his mouth hinting at a sneer. Malfoy's face turned ice, but Harry ignored it, mounting his broom and kicking off into the air. In a stiff silence, Malfoy did the same.

It was evident in the first few moments of flight that this Nimbus was unlike anything he'd ever flown before. Quick and nimble, Harry felt as if he could slice through the air like a hot knife through butter. Grinning back at Malfoy, Harry bolted up into the clouds, his heart stirring. He reveled in the way the wind made his face sting with cold, and the way his stomach would suddenly flutter as he dipped through the starry sky. Harry slicked his body flush against the handle and willed himself faster, unable contain the sheer exhilaration that came with doing what should have been impossible. Eyes stinging and hair whipping wildly, the two boys flew through the night. Harry couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so free.

He could feel the change in the air when they hit the coast. The wind was suddenly wet and smelled heavily of salt. With a rush of adrenaline, Harry dove downwards. The ocean came up at him like a great black mass, and the water roared and reached up towards him with white foaming hands. He could feel every muscle in his body tense, and his blood scorched through his veins like fire. There was a feeling in his stomach like he was falling so hard and so fast he could never stop, but at the same time it made his heart sing with a familiar thrill. This thing beneath him was so much greater than he was, and yet, he was not afraid of it. Water splashed against his face and neck as he undulated with the sea, and he dared each towering wave to take him if it could.

Malfoy's voice broke through the thunder of the crashing waves. "Potter!"

With an abrupt jerk Harry pulled up, seeming to come back into himself as he took once more to the sky. He blinked over at Malfoy apologetically.

"Are you off your rocker?" Malfoy bellowed, his face contorted with an odd mixture of anger and envy.

"I don't know," Harry replied honestly. "Let's go back up!" Harry guided his broom up once more through the clouds, far above the sea.

After another an hour of flying Harry could feel his thighs beginning to cramp, and Malfoy had already chastised him more than once.

"Didn't you say it was ten minutes away twenty minutes ago?" Malfoy screamed over the roar of the wind.

"Just a bit farther now!" Harry yelled back, tipping his broom forward to dip below the cover of clouds. There was nothing but ocean beneath them now, alight with reds and oranges from the first glimmer of the sunrise. Then his eyes caught sight of it—the small shack on the sea. Harry soared down, making straight for the small run-down house.

"You can't be serious!" he heard Malfoy yell from behind, the dismay obvious in his voice.

Harry landed on the jagged rocky surface that made up the island shore, grinning broadly at the horrid looking excuse for a house. Malfoy landed beside him wearing a disdainful frown. "You can't be serious," he repeated.

"Hey," Harry gave Malfoy a sidelong glare. "This happens to be a very important place to me."

"Potter! There's no room for something important to happen in this," he struggled for a word, "box!"

Harry laughed and pulled at the rusty knob on the front door. It swung open easily, though the hinges screamed in strain. "It's bigger than it looks. I'll have you know that this is where I first met Hagrid." Harry stepped through the doorway and gazed around the room in near admiration. It was still as dreadful as he remembered; rotting wood held together by bits of crumbling stone, and furniture so caked with mold and rotted from the wet sea that it all seemed to slump pathetically where it stood.

Malfoy was close at Harry's heels, looking both frightened and aghast at the state of the room he was entering. "You mean to tell me that Hagrid actually fit in here?"

Harry nodded. "Along with a rather fetching birthday cake."

"You don't say," Malfoy jeered, raising a pale mocking brow.

Harry couldn't help but smile as the events of that wonderful night flooded back to him. This was where it had all started; this is where he found out who he really was. It was strange somehow, remembering that he had once lived in a world without magic. That part of his life seemed so distant now. Magic was simply a part of who he was.

"So, what are we really here for? Not just to talk about a cake and catch strange maritime diseases I hope."

"Maritime diseases?"

"Yes," Malfoy nodded seriously. "They're generally lethal, and have a reputation for inhibiting coitus."

A grin pulled at the edges of Harry's mouth. Flying had him in a good mood, and somehow he was finding Malfoy's sarcasm more amusing than annoying. "Well I don't know much about that, but if it's any consolation the cake was really good."

Malfoy's bottom lip jutted out. "How cruel of you, Potter. Talking about sweets when I haven't even eaten breakfast." As if to make a point, his stomach rumbled.

"You shouldn't eat sweets for breakfast anyway," Harry pointed out. "It's not healthy."

"Then I guess it's good I hardly ever eat breakfast. Unless it's coffee. Coffee is my favorite breakfast."

"That's not healthy either!"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "No offense, Potter, but your opinion doesn't exactly stand on firm ground with me. Actually it's on very shaky ground. Quicksand in fact. Now will you hurry up and start a fire? This place is absolutely dank."

"Why don't you start one yourself?"

Malfoy glowered at him. "Because," his tone was biting, "somebody stole my wand and I haven't found a proper replacement yet."

Abashed, Harry offered Malfoy an apologetic smile. "Right, sorry." He lit a fire in the small fireplace, making sure it was extra hot so that it wouldn't go out under the damp, dripping stone. Sighing, he made himself comfortable on the floor, patting the space beside him and looking up expectantly at Malfoy.

Malfoy took one look at the rotting wooden floor and scowled. "I think I prefer standing."

Now it was Harry's turn to roll his eyes. "Come on, Malfoy, it's just a floor."

"A disgusting, vile, gangrene infected floor!"

"I hardly think a floor can have gangrene."

"Then what's all that green stuff?" Malfoy pointed and accusing finger around where Harry sat.

Harry paused, desperately trying to keep his face straight. "It's moss I think."

Malfoy crossed his arms stubbornly. "Moss? Nice try. I'm standing."

"I'm not going to talk to you unless you sit with me," Harry replied, deciding to fight stubbornness with stubbornness.

"Oh, now there's a threat to be reckoned with!" Malfoy whined facetiously. "My worst fear realized! Being ignored by the great Harry Potter!" For the first time that morning Malfoy's eyes seemed to tease him.

"You forget that you're without a wand, and you don't know the way back to shore. You sort of need me."

Malfoy cocked his head in a boyish manner. "You're a cruel and ruthless creature, Potter." It almost sounded like a compliment.

Harry gave the other boy a wide impish grin. "Quite a force to be reckoned with, I assure you."

"Indeed?" Malfoy smirked. "Is that why you seem to do all your negotiations with the other party pinned to the floor?"

"It's not my fault that I'm stronger than you."

Malfoy's eyes flashed like a spark in the night. "You're not stronger than me!"

"So it was fear that made you weak then, hm?"

"Please. I've had a pixie inspire more terror in me than you ever have, Potter."

"I didn't know you were afraid of pixies." Harry found himself smiling now. "Pity. I'm sure I could've had a lot of fun with that back at school. It's not a phobia is it? I may mourn my plotting fifteen year old self if it is."

"My only phobia is of morons, which probably explains why I've steered clear of you for so long."

"Malfoy will you just get your sorry arse down here?" Harry exclaimed, on the brink of laughter.

"Potter, I told you n—ah!" Malfoy yelped as Harry jumped for him, grabbing him by the sleeve of his robes and pulling him to the ground. Malfoy glowered, jerking out of Harry's grasp. "Potter, you brute!" He brushed invisible dust from his robes. "Alright, you've filled your daily quota of manhandling. Are you happy now?"

"Quite." Harry replied, laughing triumphantly. "Now if you'll kindly shut up, I'm going to tell you the epic and beautifully moving story behind this house."

"Should I have a handkerchief readied, in case any tears are shed?"

"I think that would be wise. One of us will probably need it."

Surprisingly enough, Malfoy actually reached into his robe's breast pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. It was made of black silk and had a silver snake embroidered on the corner, and Harry thought it was quite possibly the most ridiculous thing he'd ever seen. The ponce waved it in the space between them like a flag. "You may begin."

"Well," Harry began, snatching the handkerchief from Malfoy's hand, "it all started on the day of my eleventh birthday, or a little bit before I suppose."

"Hey! Give that back—"

"Back then," Harry continued, louder than before, "I lived with my aunt and uncle—both muggles—and they hated the wizarding world down to their very cores. My whole life, they kept what I was a secret. I grew up thinking I was normal—or, mostly normal…as normal as someone who could use magic but didn't know about it or understand it could be. So when the letters from Hogwarts—"

"Wait wait wait wait!" Malfoy's attention was pulled from the handkerchief as he leaned in towards Harry with a look of utter horror. "You didn't know you were a wizard until you were eleven?"

Harry shook his head. "No—well I mean, certain strange things happened to me when I was young, but—"

"Like vanishing everyone's clothing at a party?"

Harry choked on his words, his eyes growing as he stared at the other boy. "Um," he stuttered, "no, not exactly."

"Oh." Malfoy nodded thoughtfully. "Okay."

Harry shook his head, trying to shake his mind from the thought of a baby Malfoy clapping and giggling devilishly as his parent's guest's garments began to mysteriously disappear. "Right, so, like I was saying…my aunt and uncle were particularly keen on keeping my background a secret, so when the Hogwarts letters started coming through every open crevice in their house, they brought me and my cousin here, thinking that Dumbledore wouldn't be able find me.

"But in the end, Dumbledore sent Hagrid after me. He actually knocked down the door by accident, which scared my aunt halfway into hysteria." Harry laughed. "But my favorite part of the evening was when he saw my cousin, Dudley, gobbling away at my birthday cake, and—you know Hagrid and his temper—he got so ticked off over the whole thing, he actually gave Dudley a pig's tail." Harry felt his cheeks tighten impossibly as his skin was forced to contain his emotion. It seemed so wonderfully long ago. "I found out I was a wizard that night, and Hagrid took me with him to Diagon Alley. And well, I met you and everyone else, learned some spells, defeated a Dark Lord, and so on." His words fell off in a thoughtful moment. "You were the first person I met from Hogwarts actually."

"No wonder you sounded so stupid," Malfoy gazed at him through a fringe of silver lashes, his usual smirk laced with a certain reminiscent fondness. "You didn't even know what Quidditch was."

Harry gazed at him curiously. "You remember talking to me that day at Madame Malkin's?"

Malfoy's head whipped up, his lips curled in the makings of a simpering laugh. "Of course I do. I always remember my conversations with blundering idiots, don't you?"

There was a pointed pause. "I remember my conversations with you."

Malfoy grinned fully now, a bright light flickering over his gaze, and Harry found himself somewhat surprised that the expression wasn't completely foreign to him. That didn't seem right though, since Harry was sure Malfoy had never smiled at him like that before. "That's because I'm marvelous."

"And fond of stating opinions as facts."

Malfoy ignored the comment, picking at the moss on the floor and grinding between his thumb and forefinger. Harry watched the pieces fall from his fingers with detached interest. "So, it sounds like you weren't very fond of your extended family," Malfoy said.

Harry's smile flickered. "No, I wasn't."

Nodding, Malfoy turned his head, and Harry's eyes dipped down to trace the line of Malfoy's neck, suddenly remembering the bruises he'd seen not one week ago. It reminded him of the days when Dudley considered four on one a fair fight, and Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon would turn their heads when the school nurse showed them the damage that had been done. He never imagined someone like Malfoy dealing with that sort of thing. To Harry, Malfoy had always been the spoiled brat—the one who studied his immaculate fingernails while Crabbe and Goyle did his dirty work. Harry wondered how wrong he really was. He wondered if Malfoy's bruises were still there, or if, perhaps, there were more. "Malfoy," his lip rolled nervously between his teeth, "why were you so early this morning?"

"I'm always punctual," Malfoy replied without skipping a beat.

"Are you?" Harry pressed, unconvinced.

"Yes," Malfoy batted defensively. "And if I remember correctly you were early as well."

"I'm not the compulsive liar here."

Even in the dim light Harry could see a shade of heated pink flare into Malfoy's cheeks. "And I'm not the only one here who likes to state opinions as facts."

"Perhaps." Summoning his courage, Harry's hand whipped out and caught Malfoy by the wrist. He watched as Malfoy's eyes went wide, his eyes flashing with a startling mixture of anger and surprise. Harry knew he only had seconds. Maybe less. His other hand dropped under Malfoy's guard and his fingers pressed into his chest with a firm jab.

Malfoy howled and propelled himself back, his wrist ripping free from Harry's grasp. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" his voice was scathing and tight.

"You're still hurt," Harry said, and he felt a swell of anger bloom in his chest.

Malfoy pushed himself back once more, but a wall met him halfway. He stared up at Harry, his arms crossed protectively over his chest and his brows knitted together in a tranquil sort of fury.

Harry scooted himself forward to loom over Malfoy like a shadow. "Is that why you were early?"

The sound of Lucius' enraged screams echoed in Harry's head along with Malfoy's reply. "What's it to you why I was early? And how did you know I was hurt?" Malfoy snarled.

"You're avoiding the question." Harry's eyes narrowed. "Does that mean I'm right?"

Malfoy pushed himself back even harder, flattening his spine against the wall. "I'm not having this discussion with you."

"Why not?"

Grey eyes flashed like metal, sharp and ready to cut. "Because it's none of your business!"

"Malfoy, you—"

"What the hell do you even care?"

Harry recoiled inwardly, stung by the words, perhaps more than he should have been. He sat back on his heels, gazing sternly at the boy in front of him. "I don't."

Malfoy went rigid, his gaze darkening.

"You're the one who came to me, remember?" Harry said tightly, attempting to contain his rising temper. "So what is it exactly that you want from me, because I thought we were trying to start over. I thought we were going to try to be friends."

"We are," Malfoy seethed. "But that doesn't give you the right to butt into my personal life. You can't just use our deal as some sort of guilt trip to get information out of me. Honestly, I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be good at this sort of thing."

"I wasn't trying to—"

"Yes you were."

Of course Malfoy would see it that way. Of course he would try to twist Harry's concern into something malicious. Harry snorted and looked away, his heart pumping hot blood through his veins.

They sulked in silence, with nothing but the sound of the crashing waves and creaking wood. Slits of gold peeked through the boards of the wall, carving the room into fragmented blocks of light and dark.

Harry heard Malfoy's breath before he spoke—it was the loudest thing in the room. "Did you…have you dreamt about me more than once?"

Harry looked at him, trying not to shift uncomfortably where he sat.

"Is that how you know about…my injuries?" Malfoy's eyes caught the sun, making them almost painfully bright.

After a moment, Harry answered, "Yes," and then, "At the Burrow when you were there and…once before that too."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"About the dream?"

"Don't be a ponce, of course about the dream," Malfoy hissed, but Harry saw the tense line of his shoulders ease ever so slightly.

"It's not exactly," Harry struggled to find the right words, "something that's easy to bring up. I mean, it's weird right? And I didn't know if it was real. The only other dreams I've ever had like that were always about…Voldemort."

The shudder that gripped Malfoy at the sound of Voldemort's name was unmistakable. His adams apple bobbed as he nodded, his gaze pulled to the floor.

"I don't—" Harry broke off, fumbling with his own hesitation. "I didn't mean what I said before—about not caring. I mean, I do want to try to care at least. I'm not very good at it is all. It's hard for me to listen and to…understand."

"You don't have to care about me," Malfoy said carefully. "I'm not asking you to."

Harry didn't know how to respond to that. Silence stretched on between them, tense and ominous.

A thought flickered across Malfoy's gaze, making his eyes flash silver in the dim light. His mouth pursed, contorting itself into a thin, crooked line. "I suppose I'm not very good at it either. Caring has always seemed dangerous to me. I've seen too many people manipulated by it."

"Me too," Harry said softly.

"Let's not do it then. Let's agree not to care. That will make things easier, don't you think?"

It was almost enough to make Harry laugh. "I don't really think it works that way."

"Perhaps. But we pride ourselves on being unconventional don't we, Potter?" Warming to the subject, Malfoy smirked, the rigid line of his body relaxing. "Come on. It will be a fun experiment."

"I also remember a time when you thought kidnapping a baby griffon and setting it lose on Flitwick's Chinese glass collection would be a fun experiment."

"Parts of that experiment were fun," Malfoy defended. "Framing you for it, for instance."

"Which backfired."

"Marvelously."

This time, Harry did laugh, the sound of it lost in the roar of crashing waves.

"So," Malfoy's grin was full and bright, "we're agreed then?"

"Fine," said Harry, somewhat distracted by the fact that he had just laughed in Malfoy's presence. He wondered if the Slytherin had noticed. "We're agreed."