Disclaimer: Nope.

Author's Note: Hey folks! I'm back from my honeymoon! I had an absolutely amazing time in England, and I am extremely happy to say that my husband did, too. It was a wonderful way to celebrate our marriage, and I can't believe what good weather we had for it! I hope you guys had a great couple of weeks. I missed you all!

I really appreciated the responses to the last chapter. Some of you liked the confrontation between Harry and Dumbledore while others didn't. Honestly, the reason why I chose to go down this route with Harry's character is because of several things. First of all, he's a lot more cynical than he is at this point in canon. Also, he was never poisoned in canon, and he's definitely reacting worse to it. Also, his feelings about Snape are so jumbled and confused, and he's beginning to question who he really is. And he realizes that Dumbledore only seems to come in when everything's all over. It's his cynicism that is making him be much less trusting of Dumbledore than he is in canon.

I also wanted to address another comment I got. One of my reviewers is concerned that because I'm writing a story where there is so much confused, negative emotion, that must mean I'm depressed. Honestly, I'm not. Yes, there was a period of about twenty-one months when I was feeling really, really low about things, but during that time, I literally couldn't write any fanfic at all. Truth is, that all started to change in November, but fully changed in December, and I started working on this story and my other one, Keep Holding On, again in February. Honestly, I've always just been able to write really angsty fanfics. If you look at my earlier work, you'll see it all over the place, including pieces where I literally give Cho absolutely no hope of being able to move on when she loses Cedric. Thinking back over those pieces, I'm shocked that I wrote such a thing. How dare I give Cho no chance of healing! That poor girl deserves a chance to live the kind of life Cedric would have wanted for her.

In other words, your concern is very much appreciated, but honestly, I'm fine. If I were truly depressed, I'd stop writing again, because my mind wouldn't be focused enough to do so. Thank you so much for asking, though.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter.

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Draco's mind was fuzzy as he slowly opened his eyes. He was haunted by strange shapes and images he couldn't make sense of at first. But he could feel the echoes of fear and horror pervade his senses within moments of waking.

White walls, white bed, white ceiling. Bloody hell. Draco was in the hospital wing. The last time he had been here as a patient was the year before, when he'd played up his arm injury from Buckbeak for all it was worth. It was plain to see that Madam Pomfrey hadn't bought it for an instant, but still, she had kept him in the hospital wing for several days more than he needed to be there. Eventually, she'd sent him on his way, however, but upon returning to school life, he'd continued to play up the injury. He'd gotten a certain thrill out of telling his classmates to do things for him, and he'd even put up with Pansy's simpering sympathy.

Now, however, he did not want to be in the hospital wing. He did not want to be in the hospital wing, because it meant that something bad had happened. It meant the flood of memories that were filtering into his mind must be true. And Draco sure as hell didn't want to come to terms with that.

Blaise's smug, gloating face made its presence known in his mind, his taunts ringing in his ears. The light, joyous, floaty feeling Draco had experienced from the Imperius Curse was next to come to him - Draco had been a puppet on a string, doing everything Blaise wanted. Snape was bursting into the room, and the amazing, buoyant feeling was suddenly torn from him, leaving him with the stark horror of what had happened. Everything had felt surreal as he'd followed Snape and a Stunned Zabini to Dumbledore's office, where the Aurors had grilled Zabini. Draco shuddered as he recalled the terrible plan, and a claw of cold, biting fear stabbed into him at the recollection. If Snape hadn't come when he did ...

Rapid footsteps were making their way towards him, and Draco sighed. He was not ready to talk to anyone. At all. Especially not the matron with her clucking, fussing nature.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy." The woman's tone was businesslike, but Draco had learned to read people. Her eyes were clouded; she was obviously very much bothered by everything that had happened. "Awake, I see. How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Draco said in a monotone.

"I'll be the judge of that," Madam Pomfrey said as she ran her wand over him. Annoyance shot through Draco - why did she even bother asking, if she was going to contradict his answer?

Once her scan was complete, the matron sighed. "You're obviously shaken up," she said quietly. "I think it best that you stay the night here."

Draco glared at her choice of words - Malfoys certainly did not get "shaken up" - but didn't argue. Perhaps it was best - he didn't feel like venturing to the Slytherin common room and having people ask what had happened to him. Zabini's arrest surely would have travelled down the rumor mill by now. It would most likely be in tomorrow's Daily Prophet, he thought with a sneer.

"Would you like anything to eat, Mr. Malfoy?" Madam Pomfrey asked in a patient tone that grated on Draco's last nerve. "Or something to drink?"

"I'm not hungry, but I want some pumpkin juice," Draco said shortly.

Pomfrey frowned at Draco's rather rude tone and lack of manners, but she didn't say anything. Instead, she left his side, returning in about a minute with the requested beverage. "Here you go," she said. "Now get some rest."

Draco took the drink without thanking her and took a sip. It tasted good, and he began to feel more awake. Pumpkin juice had always been a staple for him growing up.

As he drank, more emotions began to come to him, including embarrassment. He, Draco Malfoy, had fainted. Fainted! How completely humiliating. Malfoys simply did not do such things. That was for the Potters of the world, who could not handle when a silly Dementor got too close. Malfoys had too much decorum, too much class. They weren't weak.

Rage replaced the embarrassment as Potter's face swam into his mind. It was all Potter's fault that this had happened to Draco. Blaise had hatched the plot to poison Potter. Would he have included Draco at all if Potter wasn't involved? He remembered what he'd been asked when he'd been under the Imperius. It was all about why he supposedly didn't hate Potter anymore.

Everything always had to come back to Potter. Draco's life just couldn't be normal because Potter just had to poke his nose into everything. Draco couldn't have a normal fourth year because Potter just had to make everything so bloody complicated. And now, the worst thing of all was, Draco had had his life threatened, just like Potter had. And Draco did not, did not, want to have this in common with the other boy. At all.

"Er, Draco?"

And, like Draco's thoughts had bloody summoned him, Potter was at his bedside, saying his damned first name like he had a right to. Who did the stupid, messy-haired idiot think he was? "Are you all right?"

Draco looked at the other boy incredulously, and then his face transformed into a snarl. "Why do you care, Potter?" His voice was acidic with rage. "I reckoned you'd be overjoyed to see me in here."

"Last year, I would have been," Potter admitted easily.

"But not now?" Draco smirked. "Figured you, the Weasel, Longbottom, and the Mudblood would be celebrating."

A brief look of fury crossed the other boy's face, but he somehow tamped it down. Curious. "Reverting back to that again, are we?" he asked, his tone disappointed. "And I thought we were making progress. You hadn't called Hermione that in a while."

Draco sneered. "And so you thought I suddenly had warm, fuzzy feelings about her?" he drawled. "Are you truly that stupid, Potter? Or maybe you're just plain delusional."

Potter moved a few steps closer to Draco's bed, completely unmoved by the blond's vicious glower. "Professor Dumbledore told me what happened," he said in a low, soft voice. "I'm really sorry."

That did it. Confusion at why Potter was speaking to him like they were friends, betrayal at the fact that Zabini, a boy he'd shared a dorm with for over three years, wanted him dead, rage at bloody Albus Dumbledore for being such a thrice-damned old fool and telling Potter what had happened to him, like it was any of his business, and so, so tired from the constant nightmare his life had become, Draco snapped, and lashed out. "Sorry, are you?" His shout rang through the hospital wing. "Sorry? SORRY? It's your fault that this happened in the first place, Potter, so don't you dare - don't you dare ..." He couldn't even finish, his throat was so constricted by anger.

"My fault?" Potter's bewilderment only made Draco angrier. "How is it my fault that Zabini's completely insane and wanted to murder both of us?"

The way Potter spoke about his own death so bluntly struck something within Draco. How could the boy be so cavalier about his own fate? All those near-death experiences ... he must be touched in the head from them.

"Look," Potter said, his tone serious. "We're not friends. I know that. You've spent years being nasty to me, being absolutely horrible to Hermione, and being a complete prick to Ron. And I won't even comment on how you feel about Neville."

Draco scoffed. "If I'm so awful, Potter, then why are you standing at my bedside like some kind of simpering nanny?" he sneered.

"Maybe it's because you're a human being, and your life just got threatened?" Potter answered softly. "Maybe it's because, unlike you, I actually care about other people, even those I don't get along with."

Draco closed his eyes. It was like their library conversations all over again. "Go away, Potter," he said lowly. "I'm tired."

Potter sighed. "Sure, if that's what you want," he replied quietly. "I hope you feel better soon."

And with that, Potter walked away from Draco's bed and back towards his own, leaving Draco feeling even more confused than before.

Slowly finishing his pumpkin juice, Draco sighed dejectedly as Potter's damned words echoed through his head. "Maybe it's because, unlike you, I actually care about other people, even those I don't get along with."

It was all Potter's fault. Draco had used those words as a mantra throughout the entirety of this year, and now, they were deafening. They had to be true, right? It was all Potter's fault. All Potter's fault that he was so confused and hurt and angry and scared and ... and weak.

And Draco had had his life threatened, just like Potter. For the first time, he'd gotten a glimpse of being on the edge of death. And he knew Potter had experienced this, more than once.

And it made him shudder, and feel all the worse because truly, in his entire life, he had never been so afraid. And there was Potter, thinking he could be an understanding ear.

It was all Potter's fault.