I do not own anything here, nor am I making a profit from this. It is purely to pass my time, and hopefully, interest other people. J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter, not me.

Hello all! Thanks for all my loyal reviewers, I love you all! I wrote this chapter within a day after I updated the last chapter, but I have no internet. I'm supposed to be studying for my exam, which is starting in the next half hour, but instead I'm updating for you guys :) feel loved lol

I just wanted to place a warning for the language...I know I swear way too much, and I haven't placed a warning before, but I had to drop the big c-bomb in this chapter - so if it offends, don't read. :P Just thought I would warn you all quickly.

Enjoy!

... And I'm sorry if I ruined it. Something had to happen this chapter for it to progress, and I hated writing it, because I love him too, just don't hate me for it - they're still friends!

So, finally, actually enjoy!

Chapter Twenty - The Beginners Guide to Potions, Learn to Speak German, and…

Harry swallowed nervously as the door opened again, clenching his hands into fists onto the sheets. He hated this, not being able to see. It made him feel weak, vulnerable; as if his body didn't loathe him enough, now it was trying to take the few things that made him feel good about himself away.

Of course, he had done this to himself. He clenched his teeth angrily, frowning. Just yesterday he had thought that he would willingly give his eyes for his life. Now, he wasn't so sure.

Pomfrey had been mortified when they had both turned up at the hospital wing, almost whimpering as she muttered a whispered "Merlin, what now?" Of course, Harry noted with a grim smile, they had both turned up looking entirely fuckable.

Hair messed up, lips red and pouty, blush staining both cheeks…well, Harry was red, at least…and avoiding all eye contact. It didn't look good.

As soon as she had heard his eyesight was going, she had shoved him into a bed, albeit gently, and started testing him, questioning him, demanding to know exactly what had happened. Harry had left out some key bits of information.

Malfoy hadn't, to his complete horror.

The bastard had even sounded smug when retelling how he had snuck up on Harry in the library. The utter prat. However, at least he didn't say a word about how he had pounced on Harry. He didn't really have to, with his smirking, but thankfully Pomfrey was either oblivious, or immune. Harry hoped it was the latter.

That was yesterday.

Potions had been concocted, spells cast, and a frantic Pomfrey checking on him every twenty minutes. Eventually, she had let him drift off into a fitful sleep, not allowing him any sleepless dream drought. It would affect the other potions, you see. And they couldn't have that. Oh, no.

Instead, Harry had to revisit his parents' tombstones, a haunting reminder of the loss he had caused. He saw Fred laughing before being blasted across the room, the high-pitched, cruel laughter echoing around Hogwarts, the rotting flesh of inferi as they reached to pull him under the water, the fire that scared them off, that changed into the room or requirement, chasing him, burning him, burning him…

There was a reason he didn't like to sleep.

So Harry sat up in bed, his eyes wrapped up with a bandage, and waited. He wasn't allowed to open them, to give his eyes a chance to heal; apparently, his magic had been slowly destroying his nerves; the cells were barely alive, the optic nerve had been severed…Harry had panicked when everything turned black, but Pomfrey had ensured him that she could fix it, and would.

Even though she couldn't stand to look at him, it had felt reassuring.

She didn't half annoy him, if he couldn't see her trembling and crying over him. She seemed almost normal again, stern and grumpy but with a good heart.

His opinion of her had changed for the better.

As long as she fixed his eyes.

He didn't consider himself vain; he had shaved his head, for Christ's sake! But, he would very much like to see again. Very much so.

Footsteps echoed through the hospital wing, soft steps that barely made a sound. Pomfrey was in her room, locked in again. And there were no other occupants of the wing. The slamming door had given away the fact Harry wasn't alone anymore, and that terrified him. Had Pomfrey pulled the curtains across, like he has asked her to? Had she…

Hmm, vanilla.

Harry relaxed back into the pillow, sighing. "I wondered where you got to."

"You couldn't possibly know it was me."

"And yet, I did."

The rustling of the curtains moving made Harry flinch slightly, as did the scraping of the chair. Everything seemed too loud, too rough. God, he needed his eyes.

A soft hand grabbed his, Malfoy's thumb stroking one of his fingers. His entire hand tingled, sending tremors up his arm right to pool at his stomach. Malfoy had very talented hands. And though the thought was confusing, as were the feelings screaming in his head, he indulged himself and let the hands do their wonders. It definitely calmed him down.

"What's the verdict?" He asked eventually, hesitantly. Harry swallowed again, not knowing how to answer. He needed to see the blondes face, to see if he was hidden behind that insufferable mask, or if he was worried, or if he was merely curious. He was on definite uneven footing here, a huge disadvantage, and the blonde would use it at his disposal.

"Pomfrey's confident she'll get it back." Harry ended up mumbling, hoping. She hadn't said that directly, but in so many other small ways she had. Maybe.

"Oh. Good. Then I have no qualms about doing this." Malfoy drawled, shifting in his chair. Harry listened intently, not sure what he was going to-

"Hey!" He spluttered indignantly, as the back of his head was slapped. "Hit a cripple, why don't you!?"

"If you insist." Harry jerked away as he was hit again, shuffling to the other side of the bed. He hastily tried to remove his hand from Malfoy's, but the blonde had him in an iron grip; he wasn't letting go, not anytime soon. His thumb hadn't stopped stroking yet.

"That is for being a deluded, intolerable, tool of a muggle." Malfoy said quite calmly, smirking at Harry, he was sure. He imagined the blonde, and saw his eyes blazing silver; oh yes, his eyes would be glinting dangerously right about now. "Tell me, if magic is dangerous, why, oh why, would you even contemplate using it for insignificant reasons? Because you're an idiot, that's why." He finished, talking over Harry as he tried to voice his own reasoning. Malfoy was having none of it.

"Now, give it to me."

For the first few moments Harry thought he was asking him to hit him back. Hell, he wanted to. Really wanted to. But then logic settled in, right before terror.

"What? No, you're not touching it. I'm fine the way I-"

"You are in this hospital bed for a reason, Potter. Give it to me."

Harry was torn; it was like being asked to give up one of his limbs. He couldn't do it. Hadn't he lost enough?

"I…no, you'll never give it back-"

"Here's hoping." Malfoy drawled again, shifting in that bloody chair again. That was really getting on Harry's nerves, the fact Malfoy could be doing anything and he wouldn't know. He could be switching the labels on the potions, stealing whatever was on the bedside table, jeering at Harry whilst sitting right beside him. Harry's mind dismissed it as soon as the thought was formed. "Look, do you want to give it to McGonagall? You would have no hope in hell getting it back then, and everyone else in this joke of a school would probably sell it. I'm sure the vanquisher of the Dark Lord would sell rather well. I'm your best bet."

"I can look after it myself, I have been-"

"And look at the spectacular job you're doing." He replied dryly; he was wearing the smirk, Harry just knew it. "Potter. Give it to me."

Harry grit his teeth, trying desperately to see a way out of this. Malfoy could easily reach over and just take it; it wasn't as if Harry could stop him, after all. Why was he waiting for him to relinquish it himself, then? Some sort of sadistic pleasure in watching Harry squirm?

"…Malfoy…it's…" He didn't even know if he trusted the blonde enough with it; sure, he had seemed fairly human recently, but that could easily be a façade. Even though he found himself doubting that.

"Harry, give it to me."

Oh, yes, sure, as if the use of his given name would change his mind.

"…fine…just…you know, take care of it." Harry fumbled next to him, tightening his hold on his wand before jutting his hand out towards Malfoy, accidently smacking him in the chest. Shit, he was closer than Harry had thought.

He held his breath as Malfoy took it gently, savouring the feel of its lingering magic before it was removed. There. Now he really was defenceless in a castle of students that loathed him.

"Good." He had the audacity to sound relieved. Bastard. "Now I know you won't accidently explode your hand or other such nonsense."

"Glad to know you-"

"I also need reassurance you're not going to simply steal another wand. Don't scoff at me, Potter; we both know you have an obtuse determination." Harry slowly shut his mouth at that. He would have rolled his eyes if he could have. "So, you're going to repeat after me. 'I promise not to use magic again.' Go on."

Harry shifted uncomfortably under that intense stare; though he couldn't see it, Merlin, he could feel it. Malfoy's eyes were icy daggers, ready to maim if he didn't comply. "Why do I have to-?"

"I promise not to use magic again." Malfoy repeated, voice cold and sharp. Harry really needed to see his expression.

"I promise not to use magic again." Harry repeated dryly, not meaning a word of it. If he needed to, he would use magic. He wasn't going to die because of a stupid promise.

"You couldn't have sounded any more genuine." Malfoy sounded amused though, maybe.

"I live to please." He was still stroking his hand softly, that bloody thumb sending tingles down his arm. He swallowed tightly, ignoring the butterflies in his stomach. Was Malfoy just playing a game, or was he actually interested? "However, in the off chance that I didn't mean it in the slightest-"

"You do."

"I could easily break a promise."

"You won't."

"I will."

"You're a Gryffindor, Potty. You're more interested in honour and all that shit, which includes keeping ones word. Even if you did break it, you would act guilty for months on end until you crawled your way to me to apologise. So, I think I have no qualms about the promise; even if you break it, I quite like the thought you have crawling back for my affections."

Harry didn't know if it was a blatant flirt, or if he was reading too much into it. He ignored the last comment.

"What do you care if I use magic anyway?" Harry asked, reaching over to fumble his way for his fake wand. It just felt like a plank of wood; no magic, no tingling. Nothing. "You wouldn't have even known, if you hadn't been stalking me again."

"Potter," Great, his voice was cold again. "If I catch you using magic again, I won't be the one held to the floor having the shit beaten out of them, no matter how bad a day you're having. Understood?"

Harry didn't have a reply for that, so opted to remain silent. Malfoy was messing with his head; it was a jumbled knot of confusion, beginning with the way Malfoy was tracing his hand, and ending with the desperate need to see his eyes. What the hell was wrong with him? He had been perfectly happy to like girls before this year, why was Malfoy mucking everything up? He had been perfectly happy to fantasize about Ginny, not the blonde git from Slytherin.

Now, he could barely stop thinking about him. Merlin, he was going to Wizarding Hell; he should be worried about his eyesight. Instead, he had excited chills at the threat. Something was seriously wrong with him.

"Of course, my liege."

"You had better, peasant."

Harry's lips quirked for the first time in what seemed like hours, dropping almost instantaneously as the doors echoed open again. Someone panted as they paced through the room, their shoes squeaking loudly against the tiles.

Harry could feel himself tensing as those footsteps edged closer, as Malfoy's hand finally dropped away from his. That hurt more than it should, the fact he didn't want to seem to care in public. Whoever it was wouldn't open the curtains, would they?

Fluttering signalled the curtains flinging open again, not as much as Malfoy's snarl, however. "Learn to knock." His tone even made Harry flinch; whoever was on the other end of his glare must be terrified by now. No one pissed off a Malfoy and got away with it.

"Whatever, Mal…Harry, what happened to your eyes?"

It could have been anyone. Dear God, why was it Neville?

"Uh…" Quick, think. Think.

"Potion mishap." Came Malfoy's clipped tone, sounding as if he considered it disgusting he had to answer. He probably did.

"It's fine. Fixable." Harry added, swallowing tightly. Hopefully they couldn't read him so well now that his eyes were hidden. If eyes are the windows to the soul, he should be able to lie and not be caught out. Right?

"Really?" He didn't seem impressed, or reassured. He didn't even seem to believe them; the usually jolly boy's tone was cold, unconvinced. "I just came to give you this; it came for you about half an hour ago; everyone else wanted to open it, but I stopped them. The owl actually gave it to a second year."

Harry went to reach out for the letter, surprised when Malfoy knocked his hand back down.

"I'm not giving it to you." Neville said coolly, apparently standing somewhere to Harry's left.

"Petty." Was all Malfoy said, about to begin another argument. Harry could imagine his sneer.

"Nev, its fine. Really. Just hand it over."

There was a moment of awkward silence before Malfoy sank back into his chair, getting comfortable again. Harry sat in bed awkwardly, fiddling with his fingers. He had the suspicious feeling that there was a silent conversation being held over his head. The pricks, he was sitting right there!

"You've pissed everyone off again." Neville continued, as if Harry had asked. "They know it was you that let the Slytherins in." It wasn't a question, only a disappointed sigh. "And a couple girls came forwards and said you let him in the tower all through the holidays, too. They're all furious, mate." Well, at least there was still a 'mate' at the end of the sentence. It made him feel marginally better about himself. Slightly.

"Your point?" Malfoy drawled, not bothering to deny it either. However, technically, he hadn't done anything either. He was a witness, but not guilty of anything other than watching. That cheered Harry up, surprisingly more than the 'mate' did.

"The point," Neville muttered, sighing again. Harry could picture him running a hand through his hair uneasily, about to give bad news and dreading it. "Is that they don't want you in Gryffindor Tower anymore. They…I've never seen them this angry. It's unbelievable. They…they're being led astray, I think. Too caught up in the moment. Not Ron or Hermione, I think they're just hurt. But the others…it's like they're different people. They're not letting it go."

"And…?" Harry swallowed, not wanting to hear the answer. The dreaded 'but' was practically hanging onto every fibre of that sentence.

"And…well, they've been moving your stuff into corridor, besides the Fat Lady." Neville mumbled, it coming out in a rush. "I tried to stop them, I did, but they're just so angry at you, I don't know what else to-"

"They did what?" Malfoy sneered, the Slytherin within reigning free again. "Those dirty fucking-!"

"Oi, they're still my housemates-"

"Your house is nothing but a bunch of maggoty-"

Harry wasn't listening to their snaps, each one growling at the other. His invisibility cloak was in his trunk. His photo album of his parents. The letter from St Mungo's, telling him he had an incurable…

"Malfoy," Harry interrupted, turning to face where he thought the blonde was sitting. "Shut it for a moment. I need you to get my stuff. Please." There was no forthcoming reply. There was some shifting next to him, but that was all. The crawling feeling of being death-glared at returned, itching over his skin.

"Malfoy, come on, I didn't mean to-"

The door slammed shut again, echoing through the empty hall. Harry winced, the blow worse than being yelled at. Why did Malfoy take everything so personally? He hadn't meant to get involved with whatever fight he was having with Neville, but his few possessions were important to him. Malfoy was the only one he trusted to go and get them; for fuck's sake, he had just given him his wand! How much more reassurance did he want?

"Forget him, Harry-"

"Shut up, Neville." Harry growled, irritation flaring in him as he listened to his friend sit where Malfoy had moments previously. That was Malfoy's seat.

"…Harry, what really happened to your eyes?"

For the love of…!

"I told you what happened."

"No, Malfoy did."

"Then you should believe him." Harry snapped, folding his arms against his chest awkwardly. This was worse than sitting with Malfoy. He didn't realise how much he could read the blondes emotions, but sitting next to Neville was as if he was in a silent room, taking jabs at emotions and failing each time. He hadn't felt this nervous in a long time. Maybe he shouldn't have sent Malfoy away?

"I don't trust him." Well, because that was such a bloody surprise. Harry frowned at that, wondering. Neville had seemed fine with him up until lately, even mocking Harry for his unknown feelings of attraction towards the blonde. Now that Harry had realised he was supporting an enormous crush, Neville had backed away, disapproving. When had that happened?

"Why not? You were fine with him before."

"No, I was fine with you being fine with him." Neville corrected, sighing again. "Now…I'm not so sure. He's not good for you, Harry. He's…well, he's Malfoy."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means he's changing you." For the better. "No, just look at what happened the other day; Gryffindor Tower was trashed."

"It was not trashed."

"And because you let them in."

"You let him in once before."

"Once. Because I thought you needed him. Now, I'm not so sure."

Harry growled to himself, shaking his head. It was hypercritical. Everything.

"Please Harry, whatever you're doing with him, stop. Please. If you're caught up in something, I'll help you get away from it. I promise, I'll help, not matter what it is. If you're being forced to do something you don't want-"

"I'm not some innocent, oblivious little child, Neville! God, you make it sound like I'm being led around by the nose!" Harry snapped, shifting to the other side of the bed slightly. He was making him out to be a decrepit; he could still think and consider things for himself! He wasn't wasting away yet! "I can take care of myself!"

"Every time I see you, you're injured, or sick, and it's always when you're with him!"

Shit.

He was catching on.

Harry swallowed tightly, dreading what he was about to do. He knew what had to be done, and he was going to hate himself for it. He didn't want to hurt his friend.

"He's helping me, you git."

"What do you need help with? Come on, Harry, you can trust me. I'm still your friend, I can help-"

"Nev, I appreciate this attack, I really do, but I can't handle it right now." He managed to growl, and, surprisingly, his friend conceded.

"Fine. I'll stop." He muttered, settling deeper into the chair. "But I don't have to like it."

Harry sighed relief, flipping his head back to his pillow. Thank Merlin. Because he didn't really need the disadvantage of a blind shouting fit; he would undoubtedly lose.

He had to edge away from Neville.

He had to distance himself before he was hurt.

Fucking hell, but Harry didn't want to!

"So, did you have fun the other night?" Neville asked, still much too bitter to mean it. "There were firewhiskey bottles covering the Great Hall."

"I wouldn't recommend playing with Slytherins." Harry whispered, thinking of all that had happened since then. "They play dirty." Making him want to live again; bloody pricks. He had been content. "Anyway, if I did play, and this is not an admission of guilt, then I was completely drunk out of my mind, and therefore, cannot be held responsible for any of my actions."

Neville chuckled next to him, probably shaking his head. He sounded as if he didn't want to laugh. "Merlin, Harry, you're spending way too much time with the Slytherins."

That made him slightly cheerful.

Odd.

"They're a bunch of softies, once you get past their inexplicably murderous exterior."

Neville snorted next to him, amused. "Are they…well, is it the same as when you hang out with us?"

Harry hesitated, frowning to himself. Was it? With Ron and Hermione everything had been so easy, so comfortable. He could say whatever he wanted, and they would either shrug it off or understand. They had moments when he didn't have to say anything, just sit there and accept one another. It had been so straightforward.

The Slytherins, on the other hand, was as complicated as walking a tightrope, without practise, with them slowly slicing up the line. There was nothing simple about them; they judged harshly, let their opinions known, and set out to hurt.

…

But they took care of their own.

Harry had witnessed it time and time again; when the prophet came out with the ridiculous lies about Malfoy's relationship, when they had vigoursly defended Parkinson from Hermione's onslaught…none of them had even hinted that Malfoy's group were the culprits that vandalised Gryffindor tower. An entire house, and yet not a single person would betray the others.

Zabini was fun, he couldn't deny that. Even Parkinson had defended Harry against Goyle, for whatever bizarre reason. Nott had never snarled at him, or even blinked at him twice.

And Malfoy…

"They're just normal teens, Neville." Harry eventually stumbled over an answer, ignoring the scoff from his friend. "Sure, they're a little different, but they act the same as we do."

"I somehow doubt that." He replied evenly. Another awkward silence descended on the two neither one quite knowing what to say. It was unnerving, not being able to see who he was talking to. He knew it was Neville, but at the same time he had a slither of uncertainty in his stomach. Was he happy? Upset? Straining to smile? Was he bored? Trying to find a way out of the room? Harry didn't know how to act, and that was unsettling. This was supposed to be his friend. He should be able to say whatever he wanted.

"So, what are you reading here?"

Harry frowned, shifting slightly. He hadn't known there were any books on the table. They didn't belong to him.

"They must belong to Malfoy." He shrugged, not really caring. So what if the blonde thought he had dull conversations, and therefore needed reading material to keep himself occupied? It didn't faze him. Much.

"Let's look into the life of Draco Malfoy," Neville snorted; there was a sound of books being picked up beside him, their hard covers thumping against one another. "The Beginners Guide to Potions. Ha, so he's not all he's cracked up to be?" Harry's mouth quirked at that. He would have to taunt the blonde later. "Learn to Speak German…why the hell would he have that?"

Harry's heart stopped.

They were his books.

Malfoy must have seen them, and brought them to the hospital wing yesterday when he brought Harry in. That meant the next book would have the title of 'Rare Magical Diseases Guide'.

His friend would puzzle over why Malfoy would have that in his possession. He would become curious. He would ask questions.

Neville couldn't know.

"And for the finale…"

Harry flung his arm out blindly, successfully knocking into Neville and whacking the books from his hand. With his other he helped himself scurry out of the bed, ripping his tangled foot from the blankets.

"Drop it!" He shouted, hand tightening on Neville's shirt and shaking him slightly. He couldn't know. No one else was allowed to know!

"What the hell-?" Neville stumbled backwards, tripping on the chair and sending both of them heavily to the floor. Harry winced as his chin connected to the floor and he bit his lip, cringing as blood quickly filled his mouth. His fucking wand would be really useful right about now!

Harry threw the pain to the back of his mind, his hands desperately searching the floor for the books. He couldn't let Neville see it, he couldn't.

His hand brushed against the cover of one, so he snatched it up hurriedly, pressing it to his body and trying to cover the title with his hand. Damn it all, where were the others?

Neville was smarter than everyone gave him credit for. Harry could see the clogs twirling in his mind, connecting Harry's frantic behaviour and the last book he had picked up. And being a Gryffindor, he wouldn't just ignore it.

Harry found another book, grasping it and praying to gods unknown that one of the two in his hand was the one he needed.

"Accio."

"NO!" Harry dived at the sound of Neville's voice, wincing as the book hit him in his head. With seeker reflexes he thought he had forgotten, his hand snatched out to grasp it, dropping the other two in favour for getting a better grip on this one. It was thicker than the others, felt brand new. It was this one.

But, the book wanted to hurl towards Neville due to the spell. Frantically, Harry crushed it behind his back, hiding the cover desperately. His other hand fluttered about helplessly, trying to find anything to anchor himself with as the pull of the book began shifting him slowly across the ground. His arm was already shaking with effort.

"What don't you want me to see?" Neville yelled infuriately, heavy steps coming quickly towards him. "What could possibly be this bad? What has he gotten you into?"

"Fuck off!"

"Can't you see I'm trying to help you?!"

"Please, just drop it!" Harry yelled back unsuccessfully, his hand finally latching onto the wheel of his bed. He gripped onto it tightly, scurrying away from his friend. He couldn't see it, he couldn't know.

"Know what?"

Shit, he didn't mean to say it aloud. Harry cringed back again, panic controlling his mind. The strain of trying to restrain the book and cling onto the bed was too much; he could feel his hands slipping. He was certain the book had cut his hand, the way it was stinging.

His head was screaming at him to get away, to bloody protect himself for once! He didn't want everyone to know; it would all be for nothing if they found out now!

Neville's hand snatched onto his arm, making him jump with surprise. He didn't know he had gotten so close. He struggled against the hand, his own shaking with the effort to keep the book hidden behind him. He could feel sweat pouring down his neck. His heart was thumping cruelly in his chest, painfully. His bandage was wet; sweat soaking into the rough material. No!

His arm caved a little.

God, had that whimper come from him?

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?!"

A bang from across the room made Harry jerk in fright, almost relinquishing the book. It sounded like an explosion. An accurate description, when he thought back on it later.

"Get away from him!" Neville's hand was ripped from Harry's arm, a heavy thump indicating he had been blasted away from the brunette.

Harry yelped as the volume tried to follow the other boy, jerking his arm in the other direction savagely. It felt as though it was dislocated! He couldn't even summon the energy to be relieved that Malfoy was back.

"Look, I was just-!"

"Get out!"

"Malfoy, be reasonable-!"

"Reasonable? You little fucking cunt, look at him!"

Harry clenched his teeth as the silence rained down on the room, stifling it uncomfortably. He didn't think he would look that bad, all things considering. Maybe if he could control his breathing a bit more, stop the shudders that were overtaking his limbs.

"Oh, shit. I'm sorry, didn't realise-"

"Get out!"

"Fuck, Harry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"Get out!" Harry shuddered again with the strain to hold onto the book and the bed; his hands were numb, he couldn't feel them anymore. He wasn't going to hold on for much longer, and then Neville would see, and he would know…

He was dimly aware of Malfoy shouting curses and jinxes until the doors slammed shut again, stilling the room except for heavy, heavy breathing and gasping.

The door shut, and Harry's hands gave way.

The one clinging to the bed came first, sliding him across the floor cruelly before his left one slipped on its hold on the book, crashing his face back to the floor. The momentum of the book sent him tumbling for a bit, before he finally stopped, gasping for breath. Merlin, his hands and arms were aching.

He heard the thunderous slam of the hardback against the door, and couldn't help the small sob that escaped.

That was too close.

.

.

.

Neville sank to the floor heavily once outside the hospital wing, hands shaking.

What the hell was wrong with him?

Harry's eyes were bandaged! He couldn't see a bloody thing, and here Neville was, tussling with him on the floor. That was such a Slytherin way to fight. Merlin, some Gryffindor he was!

He had never meant to get that unrelenting. He had just…he just wanted to find out what Harry was hiding! His friend was in trouble, and they both knew it. It had to be something involved with Malfoy, and if that bloody book was the only way to figure out what it was, that was fine with Neville. That was what he had thought. Now, it was doubtful.

…

He had just wanted to help; Harry had saved everyone the day he killed Voldemort, and no one bashed an eye anymore. He deserved so much more than being teased, ridiculed and bullied every day…and here Neville was, taking advantage of an injury to try to win one over him.

Harry wasn't going to speak to him again.

Even after the squabble had begun, Harry hadn't used magic. He could have easily won, but he probably didn't want to risk hurting his friend, or escalating the fight. Harry was always going to be a better man than Neville.

Who cared if he had led the Slytherins into the tower? So what if they had changed the décor; it had changed back easily enough; they could have put a permanent sticking charm on it, but they didn't. And here Neville was, ruining a perfectly good friendship over it.

Bloody hell, Harry's face hadn't looked that sickly since after he had attacked the Womping Willow; he had been desperate. He hadn't looked like that even in the final battle. Even when facing Voldemort, had had seemed more relaxed then he just had. It was horrible to realise your friend would rather face the entire world's enemy, and be at ease, then accept your help.

He clenched his teeth angrily, thinking about the Slytherin.

Malfoy had been ruthless with his hexes; his hands had been scorched with some unknown jinx, blisters already erupting between each finger. His tongue had swollen, and was currently somehow glued to the top of his mouth, as though the blonde didn't even want to hear any of his feeble excuses. And his arm looked as though it had been slashed with some giant feline claw; his robe was already drenched with blood.

He had dragged Harry into some sort of mess, and Neville was going to pull him out of it again, if it was the last thing he did. He didn't believe they were a couple, or a fiancé, or even dating. That had to be a cover. They didn't show any affection in public, and hardly spoke rationally or even civilly towards one another. They didn't even brush shoulders in the corridors; couples always did that. Anyway, Harry didn't seem inclined in that direction. He had liked Ginny for years, right?

But what could be so horrible that Harry had preferred the rumours, rather than the truth?

.

.

.

"You're not going to curse Neville."

"And I told you not to speak until I finished cleaning your lip. Utter another syllable, and I'll just scourigify it. Is that what you want?"

To be completely honest, Harry didn't know why had hadn't already. Even Pomfrey would have cast that spell and be done with it; why had Malfoy insisted to wash it with a warm cloth? It was a bitten lip, not an amputated limb.

His lips were tingling with the urge to talk, however. He couldn't do what Malfoy wanted all the time; it wasn't as if he was smitten with him. He wasn't about to follow the blondes orders willingly.

"No." Harry replied evenly, imagining Malfoy's eye narrowing. He had to know it was a challenge, had to be thinking of several different retorts.

"Then stop talking."

"Okay."

Harry couldn't help his lip twitching as Malfoy released an irritated sigh. He could feel icy daggers glaring into his face, judging him, trying to figure out if he was doing it on purpose or if it was accidental. It seemed Malfoy didn't know what Harry was thinking without his eyes; he had finally found an effective way to lie.

"Good."

"Definitely."

…

"Are you quite finished?"

"Almost."

"If you speak once more, I'll never touch those lips again." Malfoy breathed softly against Harry's sore mouth, tantalisingly close. He chuckled as Harry's breath hitched, pulling away after a moment too long to continue dabbing at his lip.

Harry could feel his face heating up, dangerously hot. His hands were shaking softly, with either horror or desire. He desperately hoped for the former, but the want squirming in his stomach said otherwise.

Why would he care if Malfoy wasn't going to kiss him again? Wouldn't that solve some of his problems? Tch, warn away, Malfoy; Harry was immune.

…

He didn't speak again.

.

.

.