Potter and his friends were absolutely mental. Abso-fucking-lutely mental.

After the elf had returned with the criminal, Potter and his gang had learned that the locket they needed so desperately, for whatever reason, was in the possession of Umbridge. That horrible old hag, who happened to be one of the most prominent figures at the Ministry. And, Draco couldn't be sure because they never discussed anything in his presence (but he was fairly certain anyway), they were going to try and break in to the Ministry to get it back.

Because they were mental.

Tensions in the house were running high. Granger seemed to be coming to terms with Draco's continued presence, but Weasley was having a much harder time. Together, they had quickly ensured that Draco was fully excluded from whatever they were planning.

The Golden Trio would disappear into an upstairs bedroom for hours at a time, making sure they cast charms so as to not be overheard. Which was fine, really. Why let him stay if they didn't plan on telling him anything? It's not like he had shared all the secrets he knew. Oh wait.

Then, the three of them kept taking turns disappearing under Potter's invisibility cloak (of course he had a fucking invisibility cloak) and leaving the house to do "research", as they claimed whenever Draco was too nearby. Research into what? Salazar only knew.

It was annoying, but what else was Draco supposed to do? He'd clearly made his decision to stay, and he doubted anywhere else would be better. Draco just kept out of their way and let them plan whatever mad mission they thought they needed to complete. And he tried to keep himself busy. He passed time reading some of the books he had found spread throughout the house, practicing spells (especially defensive ones), and sometimes even cleaning the wretched house. He needed to keep his mind busy, distracted. It's not like his new house-mates were much help there.

They made civil conversations at mealtimes now that the elf, Kreacher, was back and able to both procure and prepare food. They would occasionally ask him questions about Death Eaters or want more details about the Dark Lord's plans, and Draco always told them what he could.

At meals, Draco found that his appetite was still severely lacking, but he did try. He knew he'd lost some weight, but it was fine. But he could tell Potter was watching him, so he made an effort to eat enough to keep Potter off his back, at least. Bloody hypocrite. It's not like Potter was ever clearing his plate, either.

Quite unlike Granger and Weasley, Potter had been keeping an unusually close eye on him whenever they were in the same room. It was really starting to get on Draco's nerves. Draco avoided him during the day as much as possible, which really wasn't too difficult. But nights were a different story.

Potter had insisted they continue to share that same bedroom, claiming that it wasn't safe for anyone to be alone in the house at night. Granger and Weasley had agreed and Draco had been outnumbered, so their sleeping arrangement continued. It's not like Draco was really that opposed to sharing a room with Potter, specifically. Save for one thing.

Draco had been having nightmares.

Every night. Multiple times a night. His dreams took him back to the Manor the night he was tortured, to Hogwarts when he thought he could kill Dumbledore, to his birthday, to the café. Pain, fear, loss, death. Over, and over, and over. He woke up sweating, twisted in his sheets, heart pounding and feeling like he couldn't breathe. Sometimes he was silent, but sometimes he shouted or reached for his wand (but he'd taken to leaving it at least five steps away).

And Potter knew, of course, because Draco couldn't exactly hide it. He had asked, once or twice, when the panic had been more intense, but Draco didn't want to talk about it. He wasn't sure he even knew how. Potter never pressed it, but he watched him all the more closely during the day. Sometimes, Draco thought, it was like Potter was waiting for him to explode. Sometimes, Draco thought, he felt like he was about to explode. He'd been keeping his temper in check for the last few weeks, but he didn't know how much longer he could hold out. Still, at least Draco knew he wasn't alone in his restless nights.

Because Potter had nightmares too.

OooOooO

Harry was fairly certain that their plan would not work. It was going to require an absolutely insane amount of luck for them to pull it off. But what choice did they have? The locket was a horcurx. Umbridge had it. He needed to destroy it. So, if nothing else, they had to try. As long as they escaped with their lives, they could always try again.

It was really surprising how quickly the last several weeks had gone. After Lupin left, and Kreacher brought Mundungus, their planning had started almost immediately. They had spent weeks staking out the Ministry, learning about the entrances and how they would get inside. They listened to idle gossip from Ministry employees to find out as much as they could about where to find Umbridge. They had chosen the three people they would impersonate and collected their hairs one at a time. Hermione had perfectly brewed them polyjuice potion and it would be ready tomorrow.

Ron and Hermione didn't seem much more confident than he was, but Harry could tell they were trying to keep his spirits up. They kept their tones optimistic and didn't bring up the possibility of things going wrong. Harry appreciated their effort, truly, but it did little to settle his nerves. And it didn't help that he couldn't stop himself from worrying about Malfoy.

Ever since the night Lupin came, Malfoy had been keeping his distance. Harry couldn't blame him, exactly. Ron and, to a lesser extent, Hermione had made it clear that Malfoy was not welcome to discuss plans with them. Harry had tried to change their minds and convince them that Malfoy could be helpful, but neither of them was ready to trust him yet. Harry couldn't really blame them, either. It's not like they had a pleasant history together.

Of course, they had asked Harry why he'd let Malfoy stay. Harry had given them a half-honest response. Really, he couldn't completely explain it himself, but he just had a gut feeling that they shouldn't send Malfoy away. His position was too vulnerable. They'd tried to press him for more, but Harry wasn't any more forthcoming. He felt a little guilty, but with everything going on, the guilt was easily pushed to the back of his mind.

His friends had, to their credit, been making more of an effort to be polite to Malfoy whenever they were all together, which was usually only at mealtimes. Malfoy tried to stay amicable as well, but it was all very superficial. The four of them existed together on very thin ice. Harry didn't know who would be the first to make it crack.

He was worried it would be Malfoy. Not just that, Harry was worried about Malfoy. Between the nightmares, poor appetite, and general life situation, Harry figured Malfoy's mental state must be in the worst shape out of them all. Malfoy put on a good show during the day, but at night it was a different story. More nights than not he woke up screaming at least once. Harry had asked him about it, at first. But when it quickly became obvious that Malfoy wasn't going to talk, Harry didn't pressure him. After all, Harry was no stranger to nightmares himself. And he knew Malfoy was aware of that, too. It was like a small kind of truce between them. Neither of them asked, and neither of them mentioned it once the sun was up.

Dinner that night was tense. Harry, Ron, and Hermione hardly touched the roast that Kreacher had prepared for him (though Hermiome did her best, not wanting to hurt his feelings). Malfoy, uncharacteristically, didn't even show up to dinner. Harry and Ron occasionally asked questions about their plan for the next day, even though they knew the answers, just because they couldn't stand the silence. Hermione had packed her bag with all the essentials, just in case, and she would all the polyjuice in the morning. They knew their roles, they had their hairs and Ministry robes, they were as ready as they would ever be, and still somehow not prepared in the slightest. The three of them lingered in the kitchen after Kreacher had cleared their dishes, continuing to double and triple-check details. Eventually, though, there was nothing left to be said, and Harry bade his friends goodnight before heading up to his room.

Malfoy was in there, lying on the bed staring at the ceiling with his hands under his head. His eyes flicked over to Harry quickly upon hearing the door and Harry saw him clench his jaw.

"You weren't at dinner." Harry said, but he regretted in instantly when he heard his own voice in his ears. That was stupid.

Malfoy continued to stare at the ceiling. "Astute observation," he replied sarcastically.

Harry walked over to his own bed and sat down, still facing Malfoy.

"What I mean is, why weren't you at dinner? Is everything alright?" Harry asked, trying to keep the edge out of his voice. His nerves were already shot. Maybe he shouldn't have said anything at all.

Harry saw Malfoy's jaw unclench and then clench again even harder. "Wasn't hungry." He said through his teeth. He didn't answer the second part of the question.

Harry gave Malfoy an appraising look. He was never hungry. Malfoy had always possessed sharp, pointy features, but they were currently more exaggerated than ever. Harry could see it in his jawlines, nose, and cheekbones. He bet, if Malfoy removed his shirt (which he never did in Harry's presence), he could count his ribs. Malfoy needed to eat.

"Kreacher made a roast." Harry pressed on in what he hopes was a conversational tone. He was already in it now, might as well commit. "I'm sure he could get some for you if you just-"

"Merlin Potter," Malfoy said angrily, finally sitting up to look at him. "I'm not a child and I can take care of myself. Not like it's any of your bloody business anyway."

"I only meant that, well, you haven't been eating much lately and-" Harry trailed off. I'm worried about you. He wasn't sure how Malfoy would react to hearing that. He broke eye contact with Malfoy and looked down at the floor. He wasn't sure how he would feel about saying it, either.

"I haven't been eating much?" Malfoy retorted, scoffing. "When's the last time you did more than stir your food around your plate?"

Harry looked back up in surprise. What was Malfoy talking about? He'd been eating fine, hadn't he? But they weren't talking about him.

"Ok. I've been a little stressed, sure, but at least I'm not skipping meals entirely now." Harry retorted, feeling his own anger start to surface faster. "But Merlin, Malfoy, look at yourself. I mean are you trying to starve yourself to death?"

Something Harry said must have struck a nerve. Harry saw Malfoy's eyes switch from anger to cold disconnection.

"Like I said, it's not any of your fucking business." He said with a cruel edge to his voice now. "Why do you care, anyway? Do you just have to be such a fucking Savior all the time? You just can't help it, can you?"

Harry considered that for a moment, caught off-guard, remembering when Hermione had once said something very similar. She'd called it a saving-people-thing. Harry was still formulating his response, but it seemed Malfoy wasn't done yet.

"You're so fucking full of it, you know that? You expect me to tell you everything, an open book, and yet you've shared nothing with me in return. What do you even want from me? Why am I even here?" Malfoy rose from his bed and started stalking towards the door. Just before his hand reached the handle, Harry replied, anger finally spilling over.

"That's actually a really good question, Malfoy. Why are you here? If you're so unhappy, why don't you just leave? You know this isn't your only option. No one is forcing you to stay. So, yeah, why are you here?"

Malfoy didn't turn to look at him as he let his fingers close over the handle to yank the door open. Harry only heard a quiet, "Fuck you, Potter," and then Malfoy was gone from their room.

The frustration he had felt quickly left his body, leaving him feeling deflated. Harry briefly debated following him, worried that Malfoy might be angry enough to actually leave. But, he also didn't want to go making things even worse. Instead, Harry lay back on his bed and placed his arms under his head, mirroring the position Malfoy had been in when he first entered the room. After several weeks of calm, he hadn't been expecting Malfoy to be so suddenly hostile.

Malfoy was right, though. They were keeping him completely in the dark. Harry just hadn't realized how much that fact must be weighing on him. After tomorrow, he would have to talk with Ron and Hermione again. He mulled over different ways he could bring it up with them, anticipating their various responses. No matter how he played it out, it didn't go well.

Harry took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He was exhausted to his core. He rolled over and pressed his face into his pillow, willing his mind to stop racing and let him sleep.

It must have been at least an hour since Malfoy stormed out. Knowing he wouldn't be able to sleep any time soon, Harry grabbed his glasses with a sigh and sat back up. He just needed to know whether Malfoy had left, that was all. He slipped out the door and started down the stairs, figuring he'd start in the kitchen and work his way up. He didn't even make it all the way down before he encountered Malfoy sitting in an armchair reading a rather dusty book. He's here. Harry was a little surprised at the immense rush of relief he felt.

Malfoy must have heard Harry approach, but gave no outward indication. Harry stood at the bottom of the stairs and nervously brought his hands together. He felt quite foolish. He took a cautious step forward.

"Look, er, Malfoy," Harry began. Malfoy continued to ignore him, idly flipping a page in his book and moving his eyes over the next page. Harry hesitated, not sure of what he really wanted to say. 'I'm sorry' didn't exactly work, and he wasn't sorry about anything he said anyway. 'What the hell is your problem?' was just too obvious.

Malfoy, giving up his pretense of ignoring him, closed his book with a dramatic sigh and looked up to Harry. He briefly met his eyes before flicking his gaze down to Harry's hands.

"You're bleeding, Potter." He said bluntly. Harry looked down. Shit. He was actually bleeding quite badly. He hadn't even realized he'd started picking his nails again. Malfoy drew his wand and pointed it at Harry's hands. Without saying a word he cast a silent healing charm and Harry felt the skin on his hands stitch itself back together. Why would he do that?

"You know," Harry said, examining his hand. "I've always been shit at nonverbal magic. Hermione's great at it though."

"That's not surprising." Malfoy said coolly from across the room. Harry could tell he was still waiting for an explanation for the interruption.

"Right, well, I just, er, I needed to talk to you about tomorrow." Harry said, grabbing on to a sudden burst of inspiration. Really, they did need to give Malfoy some warning that they'd be gone the next morning. He should have considered that sooner.

Malfoy quirked an eyebrow but otherwise didn't respond.

"We are going out for a few hours tomorrow morning. Me, Ron, and Hermione, that is. But we should be back by lunch. I just didn't want you to worry or...something."

Malfoy simply continued to stare at him. Harry could feel his face starting to burn and began to back track towards the stairs.

"So, erm, g'night then." Harry said, face blazing. He took a step up the stairs and immediately tripped, catching himself with his hands. He regained his balance as soon as he could and bolted up the rest of the stairs, Malfoy sniggering behind him.

What an absolute disaster. Harry buried his face back into his pillow as fast as he could, covering his ears and blocking out the world.

It couldn't have been more than thirty minutes later when Malfoy re-entered their room and quietly got in bed himself.

It was at least two hours after that when Harry finally managed to fall into a fitful sleep.

Then, Harry didn't know how much later it was when Malfoy woke him up screaming. It was different though, something about his scream tonight made Harry's hair stand on end. He scrambled for his wand.

"Malfoy?"

"No. No no no. I didn't mean to! I didn't..."

"Lumos."

He could hear Malfoy sobbing, but couldn't see him. He jammed his glasses on his face and got out of bed, approaching cautiously.

"Please, I'm so sorry."

"Malfoy..."

The sobbing was turning into coughing, coming from the other side of the bed. Harry took several steps closer. "Draco, it's alright..."

The coughing turned into retching. Harry could see him now. Malfoy was on the floor, on all fours, tears streaming from his face. Harry didn't know what to do.

Malfoy threw up. Harry winced, swallowed, and crouched down next to him.

"Scourgify."

Malfoy sat up and slumped against the bed, breathing heavily. He was drenched in sweat and his face shining with tears. Harry conjured a glass of water and set it on the floor before sliding down the side of the bed next to him. For a while, neither of them spoke.

"I know you don't really want to talk to me right now," Harry started softly. "But-"

"I killed my parents." Malfoy whispered, eyes still closed. Harry fell silent at once. "In...in my dream. I killed them. And I was laughing about it. I was happy they were dead. And then I-" he stopped and swallowed, opening his eyes. "I turned and saw myself on the ground. I was dead too. I realized I wasn't myself. I was...him. And then, I saw even more bodies. I didn't recognize them all, but there were so many. And I knew I had killed them all. You...you were one them, too." He trailed off. Harry realized Malfoy had started shaking. He moved over just enough so their arms touched. Malfoy jumped at the contact, and looked at Harry with wide eyes. Harry didn't move. Then, to his surprise, he felt Malfoy lean into him.

Harry knew what it was like to have dreams like that. And worse.

Malfoy reached for the water and took a small sip, spilling multiple drops with his shaking hands.

"I'm pathetic." He mumbled so quietly, Harry wasn't certain he was meant to hear it. No, you're not Harry immediately thought in response.

Harry reflected back on their earlier conversation, how Malfoy hadn't been included. He'd been isolated, kept in the dark. He'd been suffering silently for weeks. Harry had been watching him, waiting for him to break instead of trying to help him stay together.

"Sometimes I have dreams like that too." Harry started, his voice near a whisper. "Well, not exactly, I suppose. You-Know-Who and I, our minds are sort of connected. Sometimes, I get inside his head. It happens a lot when I'm asleep."

Malfoy was still shaking, but Harry could tell he was listening intently to every word.

"Before fourth year, I saw him kill a muggle in an old house. I didn't know at the time that what I saw was really happening. Another time, in fifth year, was inside his snake when he attacked Mr. Weasley at the Ministry. He's also put things in my head before. He made me think he had Sirius at the Ministry, that he was going to kill him. So I rushed off like an idiot to save him. Sirius hadn't been there at all, but he came to save me and he died. All for that stupid prophecy he didn't even get to hear anyway."

Malfoy's shaking had calmed some. He turned his head towards Harry. "A prophecy?"

Oh shit. Harry froze, staring into Malfoy's grey eyes. Their faces were very, very close.

Well, what the hell? Harry turned his face away before he continued so he could concentrate.

"There was a prophecy in the Department of Mysteries. It broke before he got to hear it, nut I heard it later in Dumbledore's office. 'Neither can live while the other survives.' Basically, one of us has to kill the other. I don't really have a choice, I have to figure it out...somehow."

Harry closed his eyes and let his head fall back on the bed. He could hear Malfoy's steady breathing next to him, and realized the shaking had nearly stopped.

"I'm here because you're here." Malfoy's voice was soft now, tired. "Which I know sounds absolutely fucking ridiculous." He added with a hollow laugh. "I don't really know the rest of the Order people. I mean, I guess I know Lupin...but not really. It's...everything has changed for me. Everything. And...just...the evil you know. Right?"

Harry's lips quirked up at the corners. He turned to face Malfoy again. "Think I'm evil, Malfoy? I mean, I guess I did just tell you that I see into You-Know-Who's head." He'd meant it as a joke.

Malfoy stared hard into his eyes. "No. No I don't think that." Malfoy's eyes were burning with something he couldn't identify. Harry wasn't particularly cold, but he felt a shiver run down his spine. He held Malfoy's gaze, unable to break it.

Eventually, Malfoy looked away, staring blankly at the wall. "You should get back to bed. Busy day tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah..." Harry replied distantly. Neither of them moved. Harry felt like something was still missing. They continued to sit in silence. Harry's eyelids were starting to feel heavy. He let his head fall back.

Tap tap tap

"Harry, are you in there? It's nearly time to go."

Harry woke with a start. His glasses were lopsided and his neck felt very stiff. He...wasn't in bed? He sat upright, raising his head off Malfoy's shoulder. Malfoy's...shoulder...

Bloody hell.

Next to him, Malfoy was stirring as well. Harry quickly slid himself farther away, and watched as Malfoy's expression changed from calm to confusion to shock. Before he could say anything, Harry said, "So, er, I guess we fell asleep."

Malfoy looked up at him. Once again, when their eyes met, Harry had a hard time looking away.

Harry was about to say something else when when Hermione knocked on the door again. "Harry! Really we can't be late!" She sounded frantic. Harry checked his watch. Shit, she was right. He jumped up quickly and started for the door. He hesitated just before leaving and turned back to Malfoy, who was still coming to terms with having woke up on the floor.

"We shouldn't be gone more than 3 hours."

Malfoy nodded.

"I'm sure, if you want, Kreacher can make you breakfast."

"Right."

There was more he wanted to say, but there really wasn't time. "Malfoy..."

"Harry James Potter, if you don't open this door in ten seconds!"

It would have to wait. Harry shot one last look at Malfoy before racing out the door.