I can't sleep anymore. They took my potions.

It seemed Malfoy's first attempt would be antagonizing Harry into murder, and Harry was reluctant to admit he was doing a damn good job of it.

"Malfoy, I swear to God." He rattled the bathroom door with a violent jerk of his arm. It didn't budge.

"Fuck off. I'm not going." Malfoy replied. There was something jammed under the handle-a chair probably, seeing as Harry's was missing from his desk.

"Malfoy, please," Harry strained the words, stepping away and pointing his wand. "I will vanish the goddamn door if you don't come out right now." They were already late for Malfoy's mind healer appointment, and he could practically see the disapproving scowl McGonagall would give him as if this whole fiasco was somehow Harry's fault.

"Don't you dare," Malfoy spat back, his voice muffled through the wood.

Harry cast, disappearing the hinges and catching the door with a levitating charm before it could hit the ground. He leaned it against the wall as his stolen chair clattered violently against the floor between them. Draco glowered, standing in the darkness of their unlit bathroom.

"Let's go."

"No."

"Malfoy," He snapped, "Why the fuck don't you want to go to therapy?"

Malfoy sneered, crossing his arms protectively over his chest. "I'm not one of your groupies. I don't have to explain myself to you, oh savior." His voice dripped with familiar sarcasm, and Harry scowled. Their relationship was back to this then.

"Actually, you do, Malfoy. Or did you forget why I'm stuck with you?" Harry picked up the chair and shoved it back under his desk.

"I don't need this, I don't need you, and I don't need a fucking mind healer, so just back off!" Malfoy's chest heaved, and Harry wanted to scream at him. He couldn't possibly be such a self-entitled bastard to think he was the only one affected by his shitty attitude, and yet here they were, like the war had never happened-like nothing had changed. Malfoy was just as selfish and arrogant as ever, even if he had learned to hide it better.

"Are your problems just so simple then?"

"What?"

"Did you get a bit of pushback for the whole Death Eater thing and decide it was easier to kick it than become a decent person?" Malfoy flinched, his knuckles white on his arms, and Harry kept going, "Nothing there for a therapist to solve, I suppose."

"You don't know a single thing about me, Potter." Malfoy snarled, and Harry pointed his wand. He would levitate the git to McGonagall's office if he had to.

"But I'm pretty sure I do." He had crossed a line and was being cruel now, but he was so tired and frustrated that a large part of him didn't care. "I'm pretty sure I know you well enough to know you came up against the slightest bit of resistance and tried to bail, running away from your problems like you always do. I know you, and I know you're a fucking coward when it matters."

Draco's face remained steady, his eyes dark. "Fuck. You."

"Not exactly proving me wrong, are we?" He cracked his neck, wand extended. "Now, would you like to walk, or am I going to hex and drag you there?"

Malfoy stepped out of the bathroom and shouldered past.

The guilt hit him almost immediately after McGonagall's door shut behind Malfoy. He had been silent and taciturn for the entire walk there, but with one last glance behind him, Harry saw how pale he was, how young and frightened he looked, and he regretted every vitriolic word he'd spat at him. How could he have lost it like that? He didn't necessarily think he was wrong, but to say it out loud to Malfoy in his state was unacceptable—just another example of how unfit he was to be trusted with this.

He started down the stairs, unsure what to do for the rest of his Saturday. As much as he hated to admit it, being Draco's shadow had given him a certain amount of predictability that he needed to function. Without him, he was adrift with too many options and no goal to distract him from his own thoughts. He was a hypocrite, and he didn't want to look at himself. He didn't want to be himself. So he shifted, not waiting to clear the Headmaster's stairwell to shrink into his dog form, his worries shrinking with him.

It wasn't that he was mindless as a dog or couldn't think clearly, but his emotions were blunted somewhat, the sharp edges of his thoughts worn down to something tolerable. He remembered what he had done, everything he'd seen during the war, but the dog's mind was incapable of feeling the levels of sweltering shame and panic that Harry was. His memories were momentarily docile, and it was his favorite part of being an animagus.

He slunk through the halls, careful to keep to the shadows, but even as the rare student noticed him, they didn't react. Their gazes didn't linger. His presence was odd but not noteworthy, and Harry relished in the feeling of their eyes sliding over him as if he was just another oddity of the castle.

With nothing better to do and a reluctance to shift back quite so soon, Harry wandered onto the grounds, sniffing at the scent of a gopher until he settled in between a large nest of tree roots at the edge of the forbidden forest. He let his mind go blank, his ears twitching at the constant buzz of life around him. Branches creaked, and leaves rustled; A deer was spooked by something and took off at a run somewhere far away; students chatted by the quidditch shed, their happy laughter and gossip blending into an incoherent mush in Harry's mind.

After a while (it was hard to keep track of time as a dog), the clamor of sound was interrupted by a familiar pair of footsteps in his periphery: One tall and lanky, his feet hitting the dirt with a clumsy confidence, the other small and sure, her gate faster to make up for the difference in height.

Harry opened his eyes just as Ron and Hermione reached him.

"Harry," Hermione sighed, her hands folded. Harry vaguely knew why she looked so disappointed in him, but any guilt he should feel was dull and unimportant, so he stared as Ron crouched down to pet his head.

"Bloody adorable, you are."

"Ronald-" Hermione scolded.

"What? He is!"

"Harry, please change back."

But Harry didn't want to. There was a dam in his conscious holding back all the negative emotions, and as soon as he became himself again, he would be flooded by everything he didn't want to feel. He leaned into Ron's hand, exposing the side of his neck to give him better scratching access.

It was Ron who spoke this time, "Harry, mate, you've gotta change back."

Something about the unusually gentle tone of his voice convinced him, and Harry sat up, letting the quiet cacophony of sounds melt away into guilt and shame and terror as he became Harry once more.

"There he is." Ron smiled.

Hermione sat on a gnarled root and wrapped her arms around him.

"How'd you know where I was?" Harry asked. He'd only been a dog for a few hours, but his voice felt scratchy and hoarse from disuse.

"We couldn't find you, so we checked the map," Hermione said, still holding him.

Harry nodded blankly.

"Did something happen?"

"I had a fight with Malfoy," Harry said, closing his eyes. "I yelled at him." He could feel more than see the brief eye contact his friends shared over his head-the concerned looks they tended to exchange on his behalf. He used to be embarrassed by their need to parent him, but he'd long since understood it was less about him and more about how a couple communicates with each other.

"Oh, Harry, that happens to everyone." Hermione soothed, "No relationship is perfect right from the start."

Harry's brain ground to a halt. "Wait, what?"

Ron chuckled, "You remember how much 'Mione and I used to fight. And Hell, if you're not going to fight with Malfoy, who would? Merlin knows he needs the attention or he'd wither away."

"Ron, what are you talking about?" Harry's face was pale.

"You and…Draco," Hermione said as if it cost her something. "We know, and it's okay with us, Harry. We just want you to be happy."

"Could've been happy with literally anyone else-" Ron muttered, and Hermione thwacked him over the head. "But we're okay with whatever you want."

"I'm not dating Malfoy." This time, Harry watched them share a look.

"Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure I'd know by now if I was." Harry wanted to laugh. This was objectively hilarious but also entirely understandable as he thought about the last week. Ron and Hermione had seen Harry sitting with Malfoy at every opportunity, walking him to class. Harry carried his bag at one point (because Malfoy wasn't feeling well, but they didn't know that). Of course, they thought they were dating. Want to head back to the dorm? Harry had whispered to Draco over Dinner. Oh god.

"That's ridiculous." He said anyway.

"Well, if you do end up…together, we just want you to know that we're behind you," Ron said like he didn't believe a word out of Harry's mouth. "As long as I don't have to kiss him, we're good."

Harry gave him a look. Then Harry gave Hermione a look. Then Hermione gave Ron another look over his head. Harry snapped. "We're not dating!"

They nodded placatingly, and Harry changed the subject.

They stayed outside for another hour, chatting peacefully in the maple tree's roots about nothing in particular. It was easier with them around. Invasive memories were less forceful, and his thoughts focused more on the present. He knew he could rely on them, but he also knew that they were a unit now, and he was their friend. He couldn't ask them to be this for him.

"We should go." Harry finally said, casting Tempus. Draco would be waiting for him in McGonagall's office any minute now. Harry would have to apologize. He wasn't especially excited about this, but he would do it just to make the hopelessness on Malfoy's face disappear from behind his eyelids.

Draco wasn't speaking to him. He was quiet most days, but this was pointed, intentional silence and nothing Harry said seemed to make a difference.

"Is your therapist nice?" Harry asked, leaning back in his chair and flipping his wand from one hand to the other. He'd already attempted a scrapped-together apology, and Malfoy had what could only be described as a physical revulsion to the idea of it. (Harry only got a few words in before he had to stop, afraid Malfoy would hurt himself trying to flee.) Now, he was just saying things to say things.

"Hermione sees one. She's always going on about hers. You'd think they could cause world peace the way she talks about it." Harry ruffled his hair, trying not to openly stare in Malfoy's direction. He was sitting in his bed, back to the headboard with his head cradled between his knees. Harry couldn't tell if he had a migraine or maybe it was just his way of feigning privacy in their tiny shared space.

"She's tried to set me up with him, but it's never felt quite right. Maybe you'll finally be able to convert me." Harry scratched his chin, "she'd love you forever if you did." Malfoy said nothing, the only indication he was even awake was the uneven rise and fall of his shoulders.

Harry changed tactics. "Is there anything you want to do today?"

Nothing.

"We can go down to the lake if you want. The weather is pretty good."

Malfoy snapped, "Potter, do you ever shut up?"

"Apparently not." Harry grinned.

"Well, it's a skill you should learn."

It seemed like that would be all he had to say, and Harry let out an exasperated sigh. "Malfoy, I'm sorry, alright?" He didn't move, which was probably the best reaction he could expect, so Harry continued, "It's not easy for us to be in this situation, and I just got so frustrated, but I shouldn't have lost my temper like that."

"Ah, yes, you must be suffering." Malfoy was watching him now, the rigid set of his shoulders making Harry swallow. There was no unease in the eye contact. Malfoy looked calm and empty, and while Harry couldn't quite put his finger on why, Malfoy looked dangerous, like a snake about to strike.

"That's not what I meant," Harry said, sitting straighter in his chair.

"But it's true, isn't it?" Malfoy drawled, moving to the edge of his mattress so his feet touched the floor. A shadow fell over his face, but Harry could tell he was still looking at him. "There's an easy solution, you know." When Harry didn't respond, he continued, "I know you've thought about it. How much better this year would have been if I just finished the job the first time."

Malfoy stood and walked over to Harry's bed, picking up the long, thin box that McGonagall had placed there the week before. Harry couldn't move. He should say something-stop him-but he couldn't. A part of him needed to know what Malfoy would say next.

"You know no one would blame you. You can say I overpowered you-or no, that's not believable." Malfoy was in front of him now, holding out the box, and Harry took it, his arms numb. "You can tell them I stole it while you were asleep. You'd get what you wanted, and not a single person would care."

Harry stopped breathing, Malfoy's grey eyes boring into his, a hint of a smirk toying at the edge of his mouth. He held out his hand, pale, slender fingers catching the light as he spoke quietly, his voice dripping with a sickly sweet venom. "So go on, Potter. Give me my wand."

Harry's fingers gripped the box, his body rigid with fear but unable to look away from Malfoy's expression. Harry was terrified, not by the man in front of him, but by the honesty he could see glistening next to his own reflection in the steely grey eyes he'd grown so familiar with. He means every word of it. If Harry handed over his wand, Malfoy would use it to end his life. There wasn't a hint of doubt in Harry's mind, and he had never been so shaken.

"What the fuck-" Harry choked out, unable to even fathom a better answer.

Draco sighed, his face going blank. "That's fair." He retreated and slumped back onto his mattress, all tension melting out of his posture until he looked nothing like the desperate man he had been only moments before. "I keep forgetting how noble you Gryffindors are."

"Did you-" Harry didn't even know what he wanted to say, "Did you really think I would go along with that?"

"Someone else would have." Malfoy waved a dismissive hand towards the ceiling. "Wrong audience, I suppose."

"Malfoy-"

He didn't let Harry finish, his voice coming out a bit too high and strained like something was sitting on his chest. "We really don't need to dwell on it, do we?" He spoke quickly as if he was afraid of Harry interrupting, "Now I know you're good, noble Gryffindor, and you already knew I was fucked up, so we can just move on and pretend it never happened."

But Harry hadn't known. Malfoy had seemed depressed in the past week, but no part of his behavior made Harry think he would actually try anything. The quiet voice in the back of his head that insisted McGonagall was overreacting was silent in the face of this new revelation. Malfoy wanted to die, and Harry felt like a fool for only now realizing how serious it was.

"We don't need to talk about it," Malfoy whispered in a voice so quiet it could have been a prayer.

Harry sniffed, and then he coughed to clear his throat. His eyes were burning but that wasn't very helpful at the moment. "Do you want to go down to the lake before Dinner? The weather was nice today."

Malfoy took several long breaths before answering, "Okay."