Disclaimer: All I can say is, nope.

Author's Note: Thank you so much, you are all amazing. Thanks for congratulating me on my wedding, and as far as updates are concerned, thanks for understanding. You guys are the best! And I'm so unbelievably excited to be getting married. My fiance makes me the happiest bride-to-be in the whole world.

I'm so glad you all liked the confrontation between Ron and Draco. Yes, Draco definitely did start it, but you're right that they brought out the worst in each other. I hope you find the talk between them and Dumbledore interesting. And of course, I love Cedric so much that I had to include him somehow. It's nice to write a fic where he's healthy and alive.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter.

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Draco felt completely wretched when he woke up that morning. He had barely slept the night before, and when sleep did claim him, it was riddled with nightmares of a convulsing, dying Potter lying on the floor, his friends surrounding him. Tears streaked down Granger's face, while Weasley looked like his world had ended, and Longbottom's face had drained of all color. A crowd of gaping students surrounded them, and Draco had been part of it. The scene was surreal, and he relived it over and over and over again as shadows seemed to prowl around him, mocking his very existence.

And that wasn't all that his nightmares contained - oh, no. Draco hadn't been able to help himself - he'd done something that he instantly regretted as soon as it had happened.

After dinner the night before, Draco's morbid curiosity had gotten the better of him. Over the summer, his father had taught him a complicated charm - the Disillusionment Charm. It had taken him the entire break to master it, and needless to say, his father was not pleased. The looks he cast upon his son every time Draco didn't manage to perform it successfully made him flinch; Merlin, he despised when the man looked at him like that.

But in any case, he had now mastered the spell, and he could use it any time he wanted. He felt a smug sense of superiority that he knew a spell many of the students didn't - some of the seventh-years couldn't even do it. Pathetic.

So, after dinner, Draco had mustered up what was left of his nerve and cast the spell upon himself. He'd managed to sneak away from Crabbe and Goyle, but it honestly wasn't that difficult. Those two were stupid enough to not be paying attention to what Draco was doing, especially when it was during a meal. They gorged themselves on food to such an extent that it was sickening. Draco hoped the day would come when their stomachs would literally explode, and he'd never have to deal with those two lumbering oafs ever again.

As soon as he had felt the effects of the spell come over him, he'd made his way to the hospital wing. Why in Merlin's name had he done such a thing? He'd seen what dire shape Potter had been in. Was the stupid fool even still alive? He must be, because if he wasn't, there'd be enough tears to fill the Hogwarts lake if it was ever emptied. No one would be touching their food, and he half-expected that the world would stop spinning.

When he arrived, he cast a charm on the door so it wouldn't make any noise when it was opened. He knew he was taking a risk, as someone might see the door opening and closing even if they didn't hear it. But at this point, Draco was too curious not to see the situation for himself.

Thankfully, it went without a hitch. He was able to slip in through the door without anyone seeing that it moved by itself. The hospital wing was empty except for Madam Pomfrey, who was in her office, and ... and Granger, Weasley, and Longbottom, who were sitting by Potter's bed. Thankfully, Draco had remembered to place a silencing charm on his shoes as well, but it might not have mattered. Potter's friends were so engrossed in their vigil that an all-out duel could be happening in the room and they wouldn't have noticed.

And Potter ... Potter looked terrible. Truly terrible. He wasn't puking up blood or convulsing anymore, but he simply lay there while his friends surrounded him protectively. Draco could sense the emotions in the room; the atmosphere was charged and filled with things that unsettled Draco more than he thought was possible. He could feel the sadness, rage, and helplessness that Potter's friends felt.

And he could not bear to be in that room a second longer - he'd seen enough. Was Potter even going to survive the night? He reckoned he would, since Potter's friends looked calmer than they had that morning. But he knew from what he had learned over the years that if anyone did survive this kind of poisoning, recovery would be a long, painful process. Potter definitely looked like he was going through hell.

He was able to slip out of the infirmary without detection once again, and he was incredibly relieved. Once he arrived back in the Slytherin common room, Pansy was immediately on his tail. "Where have you BEEN, Draco?" she asked shrilly. "I need help with this stupid Charms essay!"

"It's none of your business, Pansy. Leave me the hell alone, for once," Draco snarled at her.

Tears filled Pansy's eyes again, and Draco sneered. "I hate you so much right now," she shrieked melodramatically as she ran from the common room and to her dorm.

"Good!" Draco yelled after her. "I don't like you too much myself, either!"

"Trouble in paradise, Draco?" Blaise smirked at him as he sidled over. Others in the common room were unable to hide their hilarity at the sight of Draco and Pansy's argument. "A lover's tiff, is it?"

"Piss off, Zabini," Draco spat furiously. "Leave me alone."

Blaise shrugged. "Whatever, Malfoy," he drawled. "You're a real piece of crap lately, you know that?"

"Whatever, Zabini," Draco parroted right back. "I'm going to the dorm."

"You do that," Blaise replied peevishly. "I don't care."

Draco stomped to his room, sick and tired of absolutely everything. He'd had just about enough of Pansy's whining. He was sick of Blaise's petulant attitude. He was tired of Nott making snide comments to him every time he turned around. He was incredibly worn out with Daphne and Millicent's constant arguments about their damned cats. He despised cats and couldn't care less if anything ever happened to them. He couldn't stand Tracy's accusations that he was selfish, lacked empathy, and possessed no ounce of compassion whatsoever, and always wanted things the exact way he wanted them, or else. And Crabbe and Goyle were about the two stupidest people to walk on the planet.

Falling onto his bed, he rolled over onto his back, his mind teeming with thoughts. It was a distraction, to think of all the things he was sick of. It hid the real turmoil he was struggling with - it was much safer to be angry than it was to be horrified.

But he couldn't hide from it any longer as the silence of the room deafened him. Potter's convulsing body played behind his eyes, his ghostly pallor a terrible thing to behold. He saw Snape with that ghastly look upon his face as he summoned the bezoar. He saw how urgent his movements were as he Levitated Potter to the hospital wing. And he saw Potter's friends keeping vigil over him, their faces showing just what this was doing to them.

Draco didn't know when it happened, but at some point, he must have fallen into a fitful sleep. But when he awoke the next morning, he hadn't really rested at all. He didn't think he'd slept for long, either. The images from his waking thoughts had haunted his sleep, creating an overwhelming feeling of sickness and dread when he arose from bed.

His head went throb, throb, throb, throb, throb as he got ready for the day. But he was Draco Malfoy. He was sick of showing weakness. It was all Potter's fault. That idiotic fool had done this to him. What spell had he cast? He must have done something to make Draco act so unlike himself. Since when did he care about Potter's well-being? So what if the boy had been poisoned? He brought it upon himself. He kept spouting his Muggle and Mudblood views all over the place. What did he think that would get him? Draco had said it himself when he'd seen him on the Hogwarts Express that first day of first year - that if Potter didn't learn the correct way to act, he'd end up just like his parents.

Draco had barely eaten any breakfast, to the consternation of Blaise. Pansy was ignoring him now, still sore at him for how he'd treated her the day before. Good riddance, thought Draco uncharitably. At least I get left alone this morning.

"Something the matter, Draco?" Blaise smirked. "Lost your appetite? Perhaps you should go to the hospital wing, if Madam Pomfrey can find any time to help you. She's got Saint Potter to deal with, after all. Or perhaps he's finally kicked the bucket?"

Draco tried to laugh, but it came out strangled. "I'd like to hope so," he drawled, but even the tone he had perfected over his years at Hogwarts didn't sound right.

Blaise looked at him oddly. "You're a strange one lately," he muttered.

Draco didn't say anything to that, and attempted to eat breakfast. But with each mouthful, his stomach felt worse and worse. Finally giving it up as a lost cause, he said, "I'm going to Charms. I'll meet you there."

"Fine," Blaise murmured, "although I don't think your faithful minions are done with their food yet."

Draco sneered at Crabbe and Goyle. "Stay put," he told them curtly. "Finish your food."

The two goons grinned stupidly at him, helping themselves to yet more food. Feeling more nauseated than ever, Draco left the Great Hall, his head feeling like it had been run over by the Knight Bus.

He somehow made it through Charms, but Professor Flitwick seemed preoccupied. Probably worrying about Potter, Draco sneered to himself. The school definitely seemed more subdued than usual this morning.

He only felt more ill as the lesson proceeded, and once it was over, it was all too much. He simply couldn't take anymore. The images his waking thoughts, which had turned into nightmares, had produced were too much. Merlin, he hated it all. He hated Hogwarts, with its ignorant students and stupid staff. He hated his Slytherin housemates, who spoke of the same utter nonsense every single blessed day and always got on his last nerve. He hated the Headmaster, with his twinkling blue eyes and too-calm demeanor. Right now he hated Snape, who had had the gall to make him work with Harry bloody Potter. And above all, he despised Harry bloody Potter, whose poisoning was, for some insane reason, haunting him.

"Draco." The boy's cursed voice dogged his steps as he entered the boys' bathroom. "Draco, I can help you. Draco, I know who you really are."

Draco was done. Well and truly done. He locked himself in a stall and bent over the toilet, losing everything that he had eaten. He felt supremely miserable as he retched, over and over and over again.

Malfoys didn't do things like this. Malfoys weren't so damned weak. They didn't throw up pathetically into a toilet bowl. They didn't have nightmares either. And they certainly weren't haunted by phantom voices of their worst enemies saying their first name.

Suddenly, Draco heard the distinct sound of someone shouting an unlocking charm, and the stall door was thrown open.

And Draco was confronted by one of the last people he wanted to see - the Weasel was standing there, a dumbfounded look on his ridiculous face.

The altercation that followed was a blur to Draco. Concerned? The Weasel was concerned about him? What a joke. What a bloody joke. It was completely humiliating. How dare the Weasel see him like this! How dare he barge in on his privacy! Just because he was mooning over Potter didn't mean he had any right to just do whatever he wanted!

And it didn't surprise Draco in the least that the stupid, oafish redhead accused him of being the one to poison Potter. It honestly didn't shock him at all, but it once again made him flash back to the looks he had been receiving all through classes yesterday.

They were all looking at him like he was guilty. The Gryffindors. The Hufflepuffs. The Ravenclaws. All gazing at him like he had concocted that deadly poison. All staring at him like he was nothing more than slime.

But it was the looks from the Slytherins that were, strangely enough, causing him the most distress, and he had no idea why. Their looks were calculating. Assessing. Curious. Some of them even looked at him admiringly.

He should be happy about this, right? They thought him capable of such a feat. They thought he had the skills to brew a potion like that. They thought he possessed enough hatred to pull something like that off. Why, then, did it make him feel sick every time a Slytherin looked at him like that?

It was just too much. "You son of a Death Eater wanker!" Weasley spat. Rage sparked Draco's actions in the next moment as he and Weasley began to duel. Both boys grew more enraged as none of their spells hit the other. Instead, the boys' bathroom became a scene of destruction. But Draco didn't care. For the first time in so long, he felt alive. He was a ball of adrenaline and anger - he was weak no longer.

But then, that stupid, airheaded Hufflepuff Prefect and Quidditch Seeker Cedric Diggory stormed into the room, all indignant surprise, and Draco and Weasley were being marched to the Headmaster's office like they were five-year-olds. As the adrenaline wore off, misery once again took its place, and the headache returned tenfold - throb, throb, throb, throb, throb. The only thing that was any kind of silver lining was that Weasley was looking just as miserable as Draco felt.

"Come in." The strong voice of Albus Dumbledore answered Diggory's knock, and Draco scowled. Bloody Dumbledore. Merlin, he hated the man. He still remembered the anger and embarrassment that had scalded him when the magnificent Slytherin serpent was replaced with the incredibly arrogant, grotesque lion as his House's hard-earned victory was stripped, snatched, stolen from them just because Potter and his little friends had almost gotten themselves killed. And Dumbledore had rewarded them for it! Draco remembered how the Leaving Feast had tasted like ash in his mouth, when the smells had been so appetizing just five minutes before. He remembered how three-quarters of the room had cheered in triumph while several of his housemates had been in tears. And he'd never forget the smile on Dumbledore's face, that abominable, deceitful twinkle in those blue eyes.

And now, as he and Weasley walked into the Headmaster's office with Diggory, he was forced to face him. It was all Weasley's fault. He had caused this. Was it his idea of a joke, to walk in on someone while they were in the toilet?

"Good morning, Mr. Diggory," Dumbledore smiled at the Hufflepuff. "I see that you have brought Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy with you. What seems to be the problem?" he asked kindly. Draco scowled at the gentle tone of the man's voice. His head was still going throb, throb, throb, throb, throb.

"These two have destroyed the boys' bathroom right near the Transfiguration corridor," Diggory explained with a frown. "They were throwing spells at each other."

"Oh dear." Dumbledore looked over his half-moon spectacles at both boys. "Is this true?"

"He attacked me first!" Weasley whined pathetically. "I had just finished using the toilet when I heard someone being sick. I was afraid that someone else had been poisoned, you know ... after ..."

Draco felt his stomach sink. He should have known. Weasley was a jumpy little thing, wasn't he? Of course he would assume that someone else had been poisoned.

"I can help you, Draco." Potter's haunting voice returned to Draco's thoughts, burrowing deep into his most sacred space. The image of his convulsing body filtered through his mind, and he shuddered.

"But Malfoy didn't care that I was concerned about him!" Weasley fumed. "He attacked me with the leg-locker curse!"

"Oh, please," Draco drawled. "Quit with all this being concerned about me drivel, Weasel. You accused me of being the one to poison Potter."

"Mr. Diggory, thank you for bringing these boys to me. You may go," Dumbledore said. "I can take it from here."

"Thank you, Professor Dumbledore, sir," Diggory said politely as he glanced one more time at the two boys before walking out of the office.

Once he was gone, Dumbledore addressed Draco and Weasley. "Now, now, boys," he said in a placating tone that sounded like nails on a chalkboard. "Please refrain from calling Mr. Weasley by that childish nickname, Mr. Malfoy. It is unbecoming of a smart student like yourself. If you insist on using Ronald's last name, you will say it correctly. And Mr. Weasley, is it true that you accused Mr. Malfoy of being the one to poison Mr. Potter?"

Weasley's face flushed in shame, and he looked down to the ground. "Malfoy hates Harry, sir," he said quietly. "I don't know who else would do it."

Draco mustered a sneer. "Typical Gryffindor," he said snidely. "They never wait for evidence - they just go ahead and blame someone who hasn't done anything."

"Oh yeah? And what do Slytherins do?" Weasley retorted, heat rising to his face. "They won't accept help from anyone besides their slimy goons. You were puking your guts out, Malfoy. Excuse me for wanting to know what was wrong."

Dumbledore held up a hand, his facial expression stopping their renewed argument cold. "I do wish," he said quietly, "that house rivalries weren't what they are."

Draco felt a surge of anger fill him. Yeah, right. Like he believed that one. Dumbledore had deliberately made the Slytherins feel like dung while the Gryffindors rode on top of the world. He didn't say this out loud, but if looks could kill, he would be solely responsible for ending the Headmaster right then and there.

"I admit," Dumbledore went on, "that I have made many mistakes. I am an old man, and sometimes forget how children think."

Condescending old bastard, Draco thought furiously. He felt as though he was a toddler who was getting in trouble for stealing a biscuit.

"Mr. Weasley." The foolish old man's voice was gentle, as if soothing two wounded creatures who kept trying to fight each other despite their injuries. "I understand that this is a very difficult time for you. Your best friend went through something very frightening yesterday, and you, in turn, suffered because of what you saw. But fighting with Mr. Malfoy will not help in Mr. Potter's recovery."

Weasley's face filled with guilt. "I let Harry down," he admitted quietly. "He told me not to accuse Malfoy of anything."

So Potter had woken up, Draco thought. Big surprise there. Of course he had survived. He tried to sneer at the news, but for some reason, his face would not form the expression. Bloody hell, why couldn't things be the way they used to?

Something else registered in the next moment. Weasley snapped his mouth shut, but Draco got the gist of what was being said. Apparently, Potter thought he was innocent. And yet again, Draco was thrown into a well of turmoil.

What, you wanted Potter to think you guilty? came a voice inside Draco's head.

I just want things to be bloody normal, came another voice. Before this year, Potter would have accused you the moment he woke up.

Dumbledore nodded. "I am sure that if you explain the situation the next time you visit him, you will be able to explain what has happened," he said, looking at Weasley with a kind expression. "But he is right, my boy. Such accusations should not be made without sufficient evidence. There have been many terrible things that have happened throughout history due to such misjudgments."

He then turned to Draco, and the equally kind look he gave him made him feel even sicker. "Mr. Malfoy," he said gently, and Draco wanted desperately to turn away from that probing, analyzing gaze. "I hear that you are getting on better with Mr. Potter these days. I think you can truly benefit from being in his company. After all, from what I hear, it is already paying off."

Draco felt a rushing in his ears, adding even more agony to the headache that just kept getting worse. "You don't know what you're talking about, Professor," he said, not liking the desperate quality to his voice - he sounded like that all too often these days.

Dumbledore only smiled, and Draco despised it. "I think I do," he said quietly. "Now, I would like to impress upon both of you that duels in any part of this castle, unless they are in a supervised setting or part of a class assignment, are unacceptable. And you have both taken part in destroying school property. It does not matter who started it, or how the confrontation began. You both were active participants in the duel, and could have injured one another. I'm glad that you did not.

"There will be consequences for your actions. I will be speaking with Professor Snape after both of you have left this office and gone back to your classes. I will be asking him to supervise the detentions that you have earned. You will both be restoring the boys' bathroom to normal. Until it is completed, that particular toilet will be out of service. I can't imagine that your classmates will be thrilled to hear of it. Your detentions will be for several hours a night, every night, until the task is done."

"But Professor! You can't!" Draco cried out at the same time Weasley exclaimed, "But I can't serve detention with Malfoy! I hate him!"

"Hate is a very strong word, Mr. Weasley." Dumbledore's voice was stern and unyielding now. "You are not enemies on a battlefield. You are schoolchildren serving detention for destroying school property. And I will assure you that Professor Snape will treat you both equally," he said, his blue eyes on Weasley. "And he will make sure that the situation does not get out of hand. Think of it as an exercise to help you both settle your differences."

"That's not going to happen," Draco muttered, glaring at Weasley.

Dumbledore chuckled, the sternness disappearing from his eyes. "You may just change your mind, Mr. Malfoy," he said lightly before reaching for a piece of candy on the dish that sat before him. "Stranger things have already happened," he said cryptically.

Draco couldn't bear it anymore. It was like Dumbledore was looking into his very soul even while he was acting like a child in a sweet shop, a delighted look on his face as he munched on the candy. "Lemon drop?" he asked, offering the dish to the two boys.

"No," Draco said mutinously, while Weasley shook his head.

Dumbledore openly laughed at the disgusted expression on Draco's face. "That's all right," he said with a smile. "Now, I think it's time you went to your next class, don't you? Although I think that you, Mr. Malfoy, should go to Madam Pomfrey for a headache potion. You do not look awfully well. I will inform her that you are on your way."

Draco glowered at the Headmaster with loathing. He had no choice but to go to the infirmary if the meddling old fool was going to let her know he was coming.

Dumbledore only smiled again, paying the teen's expression no mind. "Asking for help is not a weakness, Mr. Malfoy," he said quietly. "I do hope that you will come to understand that, in time."

And with that, he nodded at both boys, signaling for them to be on their way. "Good luck," he said jovially.

And as Draco left the Headmaster's office and made his way, scowling, to the infirmary, he was afraid to know how much more convoluted things could truly get.