"Draco, I thought you were supposed to stay in the hospital wing," Pansy casually noted, trying to read her friend's expression as the Golden Boy left the Great Hall.

"Madam Pomfrey released me this morning," Draco replied coldly, his grey eyes never leaving Harry's back until the doors closed behind him. Forcibly tearing his gaze away, he resumed poking at his breakfast and sulking.

"Are you going to kill him?"

The sharpness of her question jolted Draco out of his reverie. His head snapped up at her, grey eyes burning. Pansy physically recoiled at the severe reaction, immediately apologizing and trying to calm him back down. But her question - innocent enoughas
/it was - seemed to be too much for Draco to handle. He stormed out of the Great Hall, not unlike a certain dark-haired boy had done just a few minutes before.

Swinging the doors to the Great Hall open with gusto, Draco made for the dungeons -

And instead, ran smack into Harry Potter.

The surprise was evident on both boy's faces, but Draco's expression quickly turned to one of disgust. Practically snarling, he shoved past Harry with such force that he very nearly knocked him over, andalmost didn't notice how Harry's expressionchanged
/from one of surprise to one of - had he imagined it? - pity and confusion. Almost.

Harry remained there for a moment longer, baffled by the encounter. Surely everyone knew that he and Draco had never liked each other, but this was strong even for him. Petty threats and constant insults were one thing, but Hermione was right... things had escalatedthis
/year. But why?

Draco hastily retired to the dungeons where he lay down on his bed, rubbing his temples. Are you going to kill him? Pansy's question rattled around in his head, haunting him. Of course she was talking about Potter - who else would she be talkingabout?
/- but her question was just another scathing reminder of what he was supposed to do. He had been asked to kill Dumbledore. He had been given that responsibility. But the thought of killing someone made him sick to his stomach. Draco had neverbeen
/a killer - at heart, he would really rather avoid conflict if he could help it. So why couldn't he do this one thing?

His mind drifting to unpleasant thoughts, Draco decided to take a nap. Although it was only just after breakfast, he already felt exhausted. Settling into his bed and closing his eyes, he began to dream.

"I know you're there, Draco," a voice whispered from the dark. "Let us in, Draco. Let us all in."

The voice belonged to Bellatrix Lestrange, his aunt. He could recognize the slithering skulk of her whisper anywhere. She was outside his door along with the rest of the Death Eaters, waiting to be let in. Waiting for him.

The scene changed. Suddenly he was standing on the astronomy tower, wand outstretched. But it wasn't Professor Dumbledore he was ready to kill; it was Harry. As he stared at his target, he felt his resolve begin to waver. It was as if the last six years of malice and petty hatred seemed to fade away, leaving only the boy with the messy hair and the bright green eyes standing before him. Innocent. Beautiful. Free.

Draco awoke with a start. His clothes were damp; he had been sweating. He rubbed his eyes, trying to forget the dream hestill remembered so vividly. Why the hell had Potter been in his dream? And why had he been trying to kill him? Must've been because of Pansy, he
/reasoned. But the more he thought about it, the morehe realized he could never kill Potter. In fact, it was almost as if his subconscious were... grateful for him.

Draco scowled, disgusted with himself. Grateful for Potter - Merlin's beard. Perhaps he'd better check himself back into the hospital wing. Rubbinghis temples and resolving to see Madam Pomfrey that afternoon, he begrudgingly dragged himself out

of bed. As much as he hated being at school this year, he still had to keep up the appearance of being a student. It was nearly time for Transfiguration - not his favorite class, but at least he wouldn't have to try too hard. And most importantly,
/the chances of seeing Potter were almost nonexistent.

After class, Draco made his way toward the hospital wing. His face in a constant scowl nowadays, he wasn't surprised to Madam Pomfrey cock an eyebrow at him when he entered.

"Feeling alright, Mr. Malfoy?" sheasked him, lips pursed as she attended to an unfortunate second-year after his first Quidditch match. "Not still feeling the effects of yesterday, are we?"

Draco paused, unsure of quite how to proceed. When he had made up his mind to see Madam Pomfrey, it had been with the intention of explaining his odd dream as a side effect of Potter's spell-casting the day before. Now that he was here, however, his logic
/seemed slightly less sound.

"Just a bit of a headache, mum. Wanted to make sure it was nothing serious," he eventually settled on, cringing at how lame it sounded, even to him.

Raising an eyebrow but making no further comment, Madam Pomfrey cast some quick diagnosing spells over Draco before deeming him fit for class and sending him off with a healing draughtand advice to get more rest. Mumbling his thanks, Draco left

the infirmary before he could make a bigger fool of himself and hurried off toward the Great Hall for lunch.

Midway through his meal, a note fluttered down before him, landing neatly on his napkin and unfolding from a bird to a scrip of paper. It read:

You're physically healthy, but you are most certainly not alright. If something's troubling you, talk to Mistress Elmore. -MP

Draco scoffed at the note. Talk to the school counselor? As if. The only reason Hogwarts had a counselor this year was because the parents of some first-year were insistent that their child have someone to talk to at all times. It was only a part-time
/position and almost nobody took advantage of the service; still, Draco reasoned, she couldn't be a bad person to have around.

Mistress Elmore wasof average height, with hazel eyes and dark brown hair which she almost always kept tied back at the nape of her neck. Although her hair was streaked with grey and her face was starting to wrinkle, she was, by all appearances,

quite an attractive woman. A pair of spectacles resided constantly on the bridge of her nose, making her look more like a librarian than a counselor. The spectacles did give her one particular advantage, however; she had the uncanny ability to look
/you right in the eye while simultaneously staring down at you, making every appointment with her equal parts interrogation and confession. Furthermore, Mistress Elmore was a Legilimens; that is, she could read minds. Although she did not advertise
/this fact to her clients, she was always careful not to push too hard during appointments, lest she frighten them.

It was in front of this face that Draco now stood, unaware that his mind was being probed and his memories sifted through. If Mistress Elmore found anything of consequence, her face did not show it.

"What brings you here this afternoon?" she asked, seating herself across from him at the little table in her office. Draco relayed the message from Madam Pomfrey, adding that he personally didn't feel this was necessary.

"A little conversation never hurt anybody," Mistress Elmore assured him. "Now, what seems to be bothering you?"

Although it was never his intention to confide his deepest feelings in a perfect stranger, that is precisely what Draco found himself doing that afternoon is Mistress Elmore's office. Although he was careful to leave out any details concerning Lord Voldemort
/and the Death Eaters, he spared nothing in the way of his current feelings - confusion, betrayal, tension, and moreconfusion. When he had quite finished, he realized his hands were shaking. My father would kill me if he knew about this, he
thought,

/taking deep breaths andtrying to steady himself.

"Mr. Malfoy," Mistress Elmore began, "I believe the majority of your problems can be solved by addressing your feelings rather than suppressing them. In particular, feelings of hatred and anger seem strong. However, these feelings cannot exist without
/equally strong counterparts. That is, you can only hate someone as strongly as you can love them. The more you care for a person, the stronger your hatred can be. Although this is not true in all situations - one can certainly hate without love -
/I believe it is true in yours. Your hate is masking your love, Draco. Address these feelings of love, and the tension will cease."

Mistress Elmore's words stuck with Draco for the rest of the day. Although he tried to dismiss them as being irrational and inaccurate, he couldn't shake the feeling that what she said was true. If that was the case, then what were these feelings of love
/he was supposed to address? As a servant of the Dark Lord, he wasn't exactly practiced in the art of expressing his emotions - particularly the happy ones. Lost in thought, Draco almost missed the boy staring at him from across the Great Hall. Just
/as he was about to eat, he glanced up, his neck prickling at the sight before him. The bright green eyes of Harry Potter met his stormy grey ones, and he suddenly began to understand that hatred and love were inexplicably tied.