You feel so lonely and ragged

You lay there broken and naked

My love is just waiting

To clothe you in crimson roses.

I'll be the one that's gonna find you

I'll be the one that's gonna guide you

My love is a burning, consuming fire.

-Skillet

"Harry! You have to come with me now!" Hermione sobbed, pulling him towards the door.

But Harry's attention was unable to hone in on anything but Malfoy, who was looking back at him with a nameless emotion burning in his eyes. If he hadn't known better, he would have thought that Malfoy looked scared...

Harry turned towards Hermione, pulling back against her pleading grip. "Hermione, wait." She blinked up at him though a wet fringe of lashes and Harry felt his heart jolt. He made sure to keep his voice as calm as possible when he said, "I think Malfoy should come."

Hermione started and diverted her gaze, seeing Malfoy for perhaps the first time since the two boys had arrived. Her hysteria dissipated in a moment of calculation. "Harry, I don't think—"

"Him and Ginny are friends now," Harry interrupted before Hermione could say anything sensible enough to change his mind. "That should be reason enough."

The brunette's brow creased as she looked up at him. "Harry, please, I really don't think it's a good idea. You don't understand what happened. We can't—"

"Hermione," Harry's tone was unwavering.

Hermione shook her head and released his arm. "This isn't a good idea." It was the closest that Harry was likely to get to an agreement from her.

Harry nodded curtly, and ran back to where the other boy stood waiting. "Malfoy," their eyes met and he felt suddenly very short of breath. "Ginny…she's—"

"I heard," Malfoy replied curtly.

"So you'll come? She'd want you there. She told me how you helped her back at Hogwarts. I really think th—"

"I don't." Malfoy shifted, his irritation unusually apparent. "Think she'd want me that is. I really should be getting back home. It's past noon and—"

"Please, Malfoy." Harry pleaded, his voice turning soft. "I don't want to be alone there." He felt stupid almost as soon as he said it. Obviously he wouldn't be alone. Hermione, Ron, and all the other Weasleys would probably be there. But, he hadn't meant it that way. He didn't known exactly how he'd meant it, only that it was somehow true.

Something flickered in Malfoy's grey eyes—an understanding that Harry hadn't even dared to hope for. "All right," he said slowly. "But only because I plan on finding a way of checking you in as a patient before I leave."

Every time Harry entered St. Mungo's Hospital he always hoped it would be the last. There was something so forcibly sterile about hospitals—some eerie sense that the white-washed walls were there for no other purpose but to hide the filth behind them.

Harry, Hermione, and Malfoy were met at the front desk by a cheeky nurse who insisted that Ginny Weasley was off limits to anyone but family members. Harry could practically see steam emitting from Hermione's ears. The two girls quarreled, and as Harry gazed around the lobby, he began to notice that its occupants didn't seem too thrilled about the sudden rise in volume. Unfortunately enough, the nurse noticed as well.

"Security!" the nurse's shrill voice rang.

Behind Harry, Malfoy gave an annoyed huff. "Let me handle this, Granger." He pushed the brunette aside, and leaned over the marble counter. He flashed a brilliant smile, which rendered the nurse momentarily silent, and left nothing but a profuse blush on her face. "My dear," he cooed venomously, "do you see this young lad here to my left."

Malfoy tilted his chin towards Harry, and the nurse made a choked sort of noise.

"Do you know who he is?" the Slytherin asked, his voice like a sweet poison.

The nurse's eyes practically sprang from their sockets. "My goodness!" she squeaked, "Harry Potter!" The entire room went still, save for the thudding of the security guards' steps as they neared the front desk.

"Is everything alright here?" the first security guard questioned in a deep raspy voice.

The nurse waved them off, smiling and laughing half hysterically. "Of course! Of course! Be on your way now!"

The guards exchanged furtive glances. "Miss Linda, are you sure—"

"I said scat!" she shrieked. "Can't you see that Harry Potter is trying to see someone?"

Harry shrank as he felt the eyes of the entire room close in on him.

"She's in room 742 in the psychiatric department," the nurse said, her voice now as cheery as a sunny morning.

"Thank you, Linda," Malfoy purred with a wink, and turned to walk down the corridor, clearly expecting to be followed. "Best friend perks, Potter," he called back over his shoulder.

Harry looked at Hermione, who was staring after Malfoy with a murderous glare. "That arrogant bastard!" she hissed. "That cocky little—"

"Come on, 'Mione," Harry pulled the frazzled brunette behind him, and made sure to keep close to Malfoy's heels. Admittedly, he disliked Malfoy's methods just as much as Hermione, but as long as they got in to see Ginny, none of that really mattered. He would undergo any amount of humiliation if it would help. Maybe that was why the eyes that followed them as they passed through the halls didn't bother him. Or at least they didn't until Harry noticed who they were looking at. He saw gazes turn to fire as they passed over the young blonde, and Harry felt an icy rage begin to coil in his stomach. The whispers filled his ears once more—the same whispers he'd heard in Diagon Alley.

"…Lucius Malfoy's son…"

"…Death Eater…"

"…dangerous…"

By the time they reached the seventh floor, Harry was about ready to burst. He gazed ahead at Malfoy's back, his brow pulled tight. Malfoy had to hear them. So why was he ignoring them? Harry bit his lip, his mind grinding at the question. Maybe, it was easier for Malfoy to pretend he didn't hear. What could he do really? What could he say? His father had been publicly exposed as a Death Eater—of course people were going to talk.

They made several sharp turns and finally ended up in a long narrow hallway, which was thankfully empty. Harry found he had to squint his eyes for the brightness of the floor and walls, so perfect was their whiteness. The doors were all identical—pearly white with plain silver knobs, decorated only with sets of steel numbers, indicating the respective rooms. Harry groaned as they passed the door with the number '1' hung on the top center.

Minutes that seemed like eternity passed as they walked down the long corridor that was so endlessly straight, so endlessly white. No splotch of color touched the walls, no picture, no portrait…not even a shadow.

"742" Malfoy said suddenly, reining the group to a halt. "That's the room she said, right?"

"Thank Merlin!" Hermione breathed, pushing past the two and reaching for the door. She leaned against it, pressing her ear to the firm wood. She knocked once, softly, then twice. "Ron!" she called in a loud whisper. Her voice echoed down the hall, only to be swallowed by the abyss.

Harry's heart clenched as he saw the door handle twist, and he instinctively moved closer to Malfoy. The door creaked open to reveal a red faced, puffy eyed, Ronald Weasley. He looked down at his girlfriend, looking absolutely grief stricken.

"Any improvement?" Hermione asked quietly, obviously trying to cover the weakness in her voice.

"None. They don't know what's wrong with her. They—" Blue eyes traveled past Hermione to gaze upon Harry. A long moment passed, strained by things that had been said, and things that were simply understood. "Harry," Ron gave a heavy sigh as he moved past Hermione to stand before the other boy. Harry could see that he was trembling in an effort to fight back the tears that were welling up in his eyes. And in a moment Harry was holding him, embracing the closest thing to a brother he had ever known.

Ron gripped Harry's back, warm tears wetting the collar of Harry's shirt. "It's going to be all right…she's going to be all right." Harry attempted to sound soothing. He didn't think it came across very well.

"Harry," Ron sobbed. "She's my baby sister...I can't do it. I can't lose another…"

"You won't." Harry insisted. "Just—tell me what happened."

Ron nodded, raising his head from Harry's shoulder. And then he froze, his face going blank and pale. "Harry," Ron said, his voice still half choked with tears, "what's he doing here."

Harry looked at Malfoy and then back at Ron. "Ron, look I—"

"Ron," Hermione interjected, pulling Ron to her side. "Not now. Just tell Harry what happened."

Ron's face remained hardened, but he managed to peel his wet glare from Malfoy. "It happened early this morning. I woke up with this horrible tingling all over my body, you know, like that feeling you get when all your hairs stand on end.

"George was in the room with me…it woke him up too. And then we heard a scream come from Ginny's room, followed by this loud…boom. George and I threw ourselves out of bed and ran upstairs. We didn't have to open the door…there was nothing left to open. Half her room was demolished. There was broken wood and glass everywhere, and Ginny…Ginny was just there, right in the middle of it all."

Ron might not have noticed, but his voice has started to shake. "She was just sitting there, her face all… blank like she wasn't even there—like she was under the Imperius curse or something. Her pajamas were soaked through with blood, but we couldn't find a single thing wrong with her and we couldn't get her to say a word about what had happened. The only thing she would say was…" Ron trailed off, looking as if the hall was about to swallow him whole.

"What did she say?" Harry asked, dreading the answer that Ron might give.

Ron glared at Malfoy, his blue eyes dark and fractured. "Malfoy," Ron said, his voice condemning.

Harry's lips pursed. "What? Ron don't start this now—"

"No!" Ron snapped with enough ferocity to stay Harry's words. "I'm not talking to him or about him. She said his name. She said 'Malfoy'."

Harry stilled, watching as Ron attempted to subdue the malice that was working its way to the surface inside of him. "Ron," Harry smiled awkwardly, "you can't possibly think—"

"What did you do to my sister?"

The air trembled.

Malfoy's eyes grazed Ron's expression and he smirked, as if the situation amused him. "What do you want me to say, Weasley?" He leaned against the wall with an air of perfect ease. "That I came to your house in the middle of the night and attacked her? Would it wipe away the guilt you feel about wanting to kill me?"

"Oh believe me," Ron snarled, "guilt's not the thing holding me back."

"So it is only your cowardice then?" the Slytherin totted, clucking his tongue and shaking his head disdainfully.

Ron's temper flared like a wild flame, and Harry threw himself between the two boys. "Ron please! Now's not the time!"

Ron glared down at Harry, his eyes screaming betrayal. "Why don't you scold him? He's the one being a git."

Harry stepped forward imploringly. "Because," he lowered his voice so that only Ron would hear, "you're the bigger man here, Ron. Don't let him get the best of you. You're better than that."

Ron's face quirked. "Damn straight I am."

"And Malfoy!" Harry abashed, spinning on Malfoy. "Stop being an insufferable arse."

"Why, Potter!" Malfoy sounded aghast. "Are you asking me to act like a Hufflepuff in the face of death threats? I assure you, you will not like the results."

"Malfoy!" Harry roared.

Malfoy raised his hands in surrender. "All right! All right. I'm a meek little Hufflepuff. See as I cower expertly behind you." Malfoy dropped his voice, "Though Wesley best remember that badgers have fangs too."

Harry gave the other boy a sharp look before turning back to Ron. He looked up at the boy who had been his best friend for over seven years, and felt a sudden swell of warmth. "Can we see her?" he asked.

Ron nodded solemnly. "Yeah. She's asleep now. Hasn't woken up since she got here, actually." He turned away to face the white door, and opened it slowly.

The four filed into the room, and Harry let loose a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. The room was small and square, and every bit as white as the hall. There were no windows, no chairs, no tables; only a bed and a small girl tucked neatly under crisp linens.

"Ginny." Harry murmured, running to the bed. It felt so impossible for her to be lying there. The Ginny he knew was beautiful, fierce, and untouchable…where was she now? Surely this girl that lay here now could not be the same.

Malfoy cleared his throat. "Where's everyone else?"

"With the mediwizards," Hermione explained, choking on her own voice. "They haven't even looked at Ginny yet. Ron," she tugged on her boyfriend's arm, "we should go find your parents. Let Harry be alone with her for a while."

"It's not Harry I'm worried about." Ron's dark stare was unabashedly fixed on Malfoy.

Malfoy's signature sneer was now firmly set on his pointed face. "What is it, Weasley? Afraid Potter can't handle me without you here? Don't flatter yourself."

"Why you—"

Hermione's face creased. "Ron, come on!"

Harry turned towards his friends, his face set in determination. "I'll take care of her, Ron."

Ron and Harry held each other's gaze, each taking a sort of reassurance in the presence of the other. Ron nodded reluctantly, allowing himself to be pulled out the door by Hermione. With a soft click of metal they were gone, leaving Harry and Malfoy alone with the sleeping girl.

Harry turned back towards Ginny, and kneeled down next to the bed. She was so pale she seemed to fade into the room, and he could see that her chest rose and fell more rapidly than it should.

"Her hair looks darker than it was."

Harry jolted. In his reverie he hadn't realized that Malfoy had walked up on him. The Slytherin was at his side, peering down at Ginny with a look akin to interest but somehow not quite there. Malfoy extended his arm, as if to touch her, but Harry caught him by the wrist.

Malfoy's stare held daggers. "Care to let go of me, Potter?"

"Ron wouldn't like it."

Malfoy snickered, whipping his wrist away. "Oh, well if Weasley wouldn't like it…"

"Where were you this morning, before we met at the park?" Harry's jaw tensed. "You were early. Why?"

"Potter," Malfoy replied archly, looking away, "if you want to ask the question just ask it. Don't try and act noble about it."

Harry looked down at Ginny, and his heart contracted. "I just need to know. I'm not saying that I think it was you; I just…I just need be sure."

"Fine. I didn't do anything to her." Malfoy walked to the other side of the bed, his steps marked with heated offense. "Satisfied?"

Harry gave a soft sigh of relief. "Malfoy, I didn't mean anything by it...really. But, thank you."

"I don't need your thanks, Potter," there was a bite in Malfoy's voice that stabbed at Harry's gut.

He turned his attention back to Ginny, hoping that Malfoy would somehow understand why he had asked. He had trusted the wrong people before, and he'd seen first hand the fallout that had come with it. Quirrell and Bartemius Crouch Jr. had manipulated his confidence for an entire year, and he hadn't known until it was too late. And he knew that Malfoy wasn't someone that he should feel comfortable around—he knew that he wasn't someone that should've been able to get this far under Harry's skin.

Seven long years he and Malfoy had been at each other's throats, fighting tooth and nail over nothing. So many senseless battles fought just for the sake of feeling the contact of knuckles on bone, and seeking out the pain because it was the only thing that seemed real.

Yet where once Malfoy entering a room would've made his blood boil, now his presence was the only thing that was keeping him calm. Something fundamental seemed to have altered between them, without anything actually altering at all.

Maybe he was starting to see what Ginny had seen in him back at Hogwarts. He wished that he could ask her now…

The silence that held the room was pointed and deafening. "Have you ever read the book," Malfoy's voice was carefully controlled, "The Catcher in the Rye?"

Harry's eyes didn't leave Ginny. "No."

Malfoy paused, his grey gaze sweeping over the room. "It was written by an American squib named J. D. Salinger. I don't know why I read it really. Pansy gave it to me for Christmas first year, simply because I don't think she knew what else to get me. It sat in the bottom of my trunk for—Merlin how long was it—four or five years before I actually picked it up."

"What's any of this got to do with Ginny?" Harry asked somberly.

"Maybe if you would be patient you would find out." Malfoy snapped. Harry's bowed his head in attempt to hide the color of his embarrassment. "The book is about a boy," Malfoy continued loftily. "A boy who can't handle the fact that this world is an evil place. And over and over he has this vision—a dream—about children playing in a field of rye. In his dream, the field is on the edge of a cliff, and his job is to catch the children who are about to fall off, hence the title."

"It's…his job?"

"You're not the only one who has a pathological need to be a hero all the time, Potter. You share that neurosis with many a fictional character."

Harry huffed.

"But yes he sees it as a job. As a duty, really. You see, to him, falling off the cliff means that you have to accept the evil that exists and will always exist in this world. It means you have to grow up."

Harry could feel Malfoy's gaze upon him, scrutinizing every movement; every reaction. "But what the boy doesn't understand is that falling is inevitable." Malfoy said. "Unavoidable. Accepting evil is just a part of life. The thing is, the boy in the book couldn't handle it…he didn't want to fall."

The words send something dark and foreboding skirting down Harry's spine. He looked up at Malfoy, his throat tight. "What are you trying to say?"

Malfoy's grey eyes narrowed. "I talked to Ginny a lot the last couple of weeks we were at school. She told me a lot of things that I'm not really certain she understood but...she reminded me a lot of the boy in that book."

"You don't know that. You don't know her like I do. She's…she's not scared, she's just…"

"Maybe she's not," Malfoy kneeled down so that his gaze was level with Harry's. "But then again maybe I know her better than you think. You've said yourself that she's seen horrible things—more than most people do in a lifetime. But she wasn't prepared for them, Potter. I saw her when we were kids. I saw the way she looked at you with that fragile hope in her eyes that should've never been allowed to grow. She thought you could save her. She thought that as long as you were around, this war would never touch her." Something in Malfoy's voice made Harry look up—something that had the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. "And then all those people died—her brother died—and everything changed."

Harry's chest heaved in effort to rein his emotions. "But, Ginny—I can't just…"

"Potter…it's not your responsibility to—"

"Yes it is!" Harry flared.

Malfoy's steel eyes softened with something very different than sorrow. He blew out a heavy breath. "You love her, don't you."

Harry's mouth opened, the word 'yes' already formed in his mind, but for some reason no sound came from his throat. He simply sat there, his mouth gaping on the brink of a word he couldn't bring himself to say. "I—" Harry struggled, "if things had been different…"

"If Voldemort had never been?" Harry could tell that Malfoy had trouble saying the name.

The Gryffindor nodded blandly, reaching forward to clasp Ginny's hand in his own.

"I remember when you first starting dating her," Malfoy said, smiling reminiscently. "Back in sixth year. I felt so ignored."

"Trust me, you weren't." Color flooded into Harry's cheeks as he recalled just how many nights he had laid on his bed, watching Malfoy's footprints on the Maurader's Map.

Malfoy chuckled. "Good to know I did all of that sulking for nothing." Malfoy's lips curled into an impish grin and Harry looked away, his pulse fluttering.

After a moment the Slytherin's smile faded. He guided his hand through his sliver blonde locks, pulling them away from his face. "What happened? To you and her I mean?"

What happened? Harry didn't quite know himself. It all seemed like one giant blur now. "Well, if you had an arch enemy who wanted to vanquish you and everything you held dear, and he knew you had a girlfriend, what do you think he'd do?" Harry's smile was solemn. "I didn't want her to be in any more danger because of me."

Malfoy glanced up thoughtfully, "I don't know," he stroked his chin mockingly. "I want to vanquish you pretty badly and I didn't go after her."

"Maybe you were too busy sulking about me ignoring you."

"Or maybe when it comes down to it, I'm just a more chivalrous breed of villain."

Harry laughed, enjoying the brief freedom the sound gave him. "That could be too."

Malfoy waved him off. "You shouldn't have worried though. It was always obvious that you were going to defeat the Dark Lord."

"What?" Harry goggled.

"There's an invariable rule in men's battles. It states: 'The ugly red-eyed snake man can never overcome the intelligent, slender, popular, and handsome hero.' You-Know-Who's death was sealed the second he appeared with that ugly face."

Harry raised a brow. "I hardly think intelligent, slender, popular, and handsome describes me."

"I know!" Malfoy agreed enthusiastically. "Which is why I never understood why I couldn't beat you in Quidditch. I clearly fit the hero description much better than you do. I mean look at me," Malfoy tossed his hair dramatically. "I'm bloody gorgeous!"

Harry snorted skeptically. "Too bad you're too much of a tosser for anyone to notice."

"Don't be a jealous git, Potter, you know you think I'm attractive."

"I don't swing for ferrets thank you very much."

"Then why are you blushing?" Malfoy smirked, playful suggestion lighting his face.

Harry didn't know how red his face could get—he'd never exactly checked a mirror when he got embarrassed—but he imagined his skin closely resembled the color of Ron's hair. His hand tightened around Ginny's as Malfoy stood to lean across the bed.

"Look at that color," Malfoy tilted his head, grinning. "Positively Gryffindor. You should wear it more often."

Harry stilled, his nerves practically vibrating at the other boy's closeness. "Don't mock." he replied childishly. "We're in a hospital."

"Hospitals don't permit mocking?"

"Decidedly not."

Malfoy's breath was moist and warm against Harry's nose. "Why not?"

"We—well," Harry stuttered, "hospitals are a place for quiet and healing."

"Much good it does." Pointedly, he looked down at Ginny. "She's still here."

"Malfoy!" Harry shot forward, hoping his charge would make Malfoy back off. It didn't. They were a barely a breath apart now, and Harry felt his heart flutter so violently it hurt. His hand slipped out of Ginny's. "Just...don't alright?"

Malfoy looked at him for a long moment; his head moving ever so slightly so that Harry could feel Malfoy's hot breath mingle with his own. It reminded Harry of a summer breeze.

"You shouldn't show your feelings so freely," the Slytherin smiled guardedly, his eyes flickering down for the briefest of moments. "People might take advantage."

Harry felt dizzy, as if his lungs weren't getting enough air. His stomach churned, his heart pounded fiercely in his chest, and he felt as if his body might go into shock at any given moment. He couldn't help but remember the feeling of those thin lips brushing against his own. It seemed like a lifetime ago. And then a noise—a soft mewling and a stir of cloth.

Both boys jumped and looked down simultaneously to see Ginny, staring up at them with wide eyes so dark they were nearly black.