Harry was numb as he stepped into the Slytherin common room, to be greeted with a raucous party celebrating their quidditch team's victory. He had taken his time in returning, wandering the halls in a fugue-like haze for what felt like hours. The party was in full swing. A handful of older students noticed him enter, and while a few offered him concerned of sympathetic glances, others looked at him with distain or annoyance.

Gemma Farley had taken Professor Snape's confirmation of her theory that someone had tried to kill Harry to heart, and had lectured all of the Slytherins who had gathered around Harry on the pitch about solidarity and looking out for one another, no matter who they were. Harry assumed that she had repeated her speech in the common room before the party had started.

One unexpected bonus of the newly added Heir's Room was that the party was spread out a bit, and Harry avoided the cloying sense of claustrophobia that clawed at his senses whenever the entire house was squeezed into the main common room. It was stupid, really. He had lived in a cupboard for most of his life, but there was something about being pressed between so many people, some of whom wished him ill, that made Harry's skin crawl.

Draco bounded up to him, double-checking that Harry was okay, and wasn't on anything other than a calming potion, before handing him a butterbeer. "I still can't believe you almost died," he said, as he shooed some second years off of one of the couches, clearing a space for Harry and him to sit.

"Me, either," Harry replied, staring at the lip of the butterbeer bottle, as he spun it in his hands. Harry was unsure if it was the effects of the calming potion, or if his mind had not yet caught up with the reality of what had happened, but he was filled with an unsteady blankness where he was pretty sure he should be feeling fear, or anger, or relief.

Someone had tried to kill him.

Not for the first time, his supposed, dully. The Dark Lord had attempted the same, when he was just a baby. He had survived then, too, against all odds. Snape hadn't been there to save him that time, either. He wished he knew what had happened, why he had lived.

He was sure it hadn't been a miracle, or something uniquely special about him, like some people claimed. Harry wasn't special. He didn't deserve special treatment.

He was so tired.

Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back against the couch, and took a messy sip of butterbeer, heedless of the trail of sticky liquid that escaped his mouth and traced a line to his jaw, and then down his throat. Carving a path along his carotid artery.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Draco asked worriedly, shifting his weight on the couch, next to Harry. Always next to Harry.

"Who do you think it was? Snape said he thought he knew. Who hates me enough to want me dead?"

"Harry-"

"It's weird, isn't it? I'm still just a kid. I'm not worth all of this trouble."

"I'm sorry that I didn't grab you, in time. I couldn't save you," Draco said, barely a whisper.

Harry sighed, heavily. "It's not your fault. If you had gone over with me, Snape might not have been able to save us both."

"I still feel bad."

"I don't. Maybe you should get a calming potion, too."

"Maybe you should go take a nap."

"I'm fine. Don't want to miss the party, do I? We won."

"I'm only celebrating that you're okay."

"Yeah. I'm great. Do you think third time's the charm?"

"What? I don't know what that means."

"Sorry. It's a muggle saying. 'Third time's the charm.' It means that you're most likely to succeed on your third try at something. People have tried to murder me twice, now. It's kinda funny."

"It's not funny!" Draco snapped. "You aren't allowed to die, Harry. I forbid it."

"Everybody dies, Draco. I'm nobody special."

"Yes, you are," Draco mumbled, punching Harry in the arm. "You're being stupid."

Harry laughed.

Harry couldn't stop laughing. His chest hurt at the force of it. Tears burned down his cheeks as his ribs did their best to strangle his heart.

Draco pulled the butterbeer out of Harry's hand. "Harry? You're scaring me."

Harry stole in a ragged breath. "I scare myself, sometimes."

"I think we should go see Professor Snape."

"He already rescued me once today. He's only good for one save, per customer, per visit."

"Harry…"

"No, it's fine. I'm fine. I think the potion is wearing off, is all. It's all hitting me all at once. I almost fuckin' died."

"Yeah, you did," Draco said, shoving Harry lightly. "It scared me nearly to death."

"Well, that would only be fair."

"You're not funny."

"I'm hilarious. I do stand up on the weekends. Uncle Vernon always claps for me."

"What-"

"POTTER!" Avery yelled drunkenly, from across the room. Harry's eyes snapped open, and his whole body tensed. "Survived, I see. What a pity. Waste of a good curse, if you ask me."

"Wouldn't be the first time," Harry drawled, rising to his feet. "And I didn't ask, so why don't you go bother someone else?"

"I'll say what I want to who I want," Avery snarled, nearly tripping over his own feet, as he stumbled his way over, and grabbed Harry's shirtfront, nearly lifting him off the ground.

"Back off, Avery," Harry said, coldly. He felt no fear, only a dully, aching ember of rage. "if you want to waste your breath, stop stealing my oxygen."

A crowd of students had circled around them. Some were trying to talk Avery down. Some were chastising Harry for antagonizing the older boy. Some were placing bets.

Harry glared at Avery, balefully. He distantly remembered putting a lot of effort into placating the boy, and remaining positive, in the face of adversity. At the moment, he honestly could not remember why he had bothered.

"You don't belong here, Potter," Avery snarled, tightening his grip. "You don't deserve the honor of being a snake."

"I know a snake or two that'd think differently," Harry replied with a harsh snort.

"Your little friends don't count," Avery said. "They're blood traitors, the lot of them, for tolerating the likes of you."

"His friends do so count," Draco interjected, grabbing onto Avery's arm, trying to force the boy to let go. "And I'm not a bloody blood traitor."

"Never thought I'd see the House of Malfoy fall so far," Avery said, knocking Draco aside with a harsh slap.

Harry saw red. He reached out for the closest butterbeer bottle. It was out of reach, until it wasn't. It slapped satisfyingly into the palm of Harry's hand, and Harry slammed it into the side of Avery's head.

Avery cried out and dropped Harry, stumbling back. He clutched at his head, blood oozing between his fingers. "What the hell, Potter?"

Harry was breathing raggedly, filled with a jittery rush. The bright red blood made something in his mind snap. What was he doing?

He pulled away from the sight, falling awkwardly back onto the couch, and buried his face in his hands.

Was he trying to die, now? He had just nearly been murdered, and he had decided to taunt a bully into finishing the job?

A sob ripped from his chest, ugly and raw.

He shuddered at it's strength.

A body slammed into him, and Harry braced himself for pain, but instead a flurry of fists, a pair of arms wrapped around him.

"It's okay," Draco said, pulling Harry more tightly into the hug.

Harry froze, the concept of physical comfort in the face of his embarrassing display utterly foreign to him. "What are you doing?"

Draco huffed. "I'm hugging you, you idiot. You're my best friend, and you need a hug. Shut up and hug me back."

Harry didn't hug Draco back. Even if his arms weren't pinned to his own chest, Harry wouldn't have known what to do. He did relax though, in tiny increments.

He looked up to Avery, who had regained his balance. He had a nasty gash on his forehead.

Idly, Harry ran his fingers along his own forehead, across his scar.

"I'm sorry, you know," he said, as loudly and calmly as he could. "I think they were fighting for the wrong things, but it was still unfair that you lost your parents in the war. I lost my parents, too. I'm sorry that you had to go through that."

"Shut up, Potter. You don't know what you're talking about."

"I don't know the specifics, no. No one else will every truly know what you've been through, but I'm still sorry."

Avery stared at Harry blankly for a moment, before anger twisted his features back into a snarl. "Whatever, you little psycho. I'm going to the infirmary."

Avery left in a huff, Higgs following. Harry had no idea if Higgs was trying to calm Avery down, or simply make sure he didn't pass out on the way to the hospital wing. It didn't matter, Harry supposed.

"Sorry, everyone," Harry said, sheepishly. "I didn't mean to ruin your party."

"You're good," Gemma Farley said.

"Some might even say that was the best entertainment since the game," Pucey said, with a chuckle.

Harry shook his head. "I shouldn't have lost my temper, like that."

"Nah," Flint said, squeezing Harry's shoulder in a painful grip. "Avery needed to know that you have a breaking point, and that you'll fight back, if you're forced into it. It's about time you showed a little backbone, Potter."

Harry deflated with a weary sigh. "I'm tired. Too much partying, I guess. I'm going to bed."

"Have a good night, Potter," Farley said. "We're not going to take what happened out there today lightly, just so you know. Someone tried to kill a Slytherin today, and none of us are going to let that slide."

"We're not going to make you face the danger alone, either," Warrington added, gravely.

Solemn nods rippled through the crowd.

Harry reddened. "Thanks, I guess. You shouldn't go to any trouble on my account."

"Nonsense," Farley insisted. "We're here for you, Harry. Sleep well."

Harry shook himself free of Draco's grip, with a hidden reluctance, and trudged to his dorm.

He really was exhausted.