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Whimpering in his sleep, The-Boy-Who-Lived was deep in the hell they called dreams. He was surrounded by corpses, everyone who had died, hating him, blaming him. Their mouths open in silent screams of pain, eyes burning red..

Gasping, Harry fought with the sheets tangled around his legs, still caught up in the terror of his nightmare. Finally getting free he curled up against the headboard, letting the tears cascade down his cheeks yet again as he rocked slightly, hugging his knees. Dead. He simply couldn’t believe it. Thinking back over all the adventures he, Ron and Hermione had.. His eyes bulged. Hermione!

Scrambling weakly out of bed, Harry rushed as best he could, intent on seeing the
Headmaster.

“H-Harry?”

Startled, Harry couldn’t help but jump. Gulping slightly he turned his wild eyes on an equally pale Neville.

“H-Harry, thank god, I, we were w-worried”

“H-hi Neville. I need to know, I-is? Is she? Mione, is she?”

Shaking Harry flinched when Neville moved towards him. Noting this Neville kept his distance but tried to look reassuring.

“Hermione’s okay Harry. She’s not coming to Hogwarts until next week. H-her parents wanted to keep her home for awhile. S-she’s too upset. Um.. H-Harry where a-are you going?”

Turning away from the stairs Harry looked back at Neville. In a quiet voice he explained,

“He never told me Neville. No one told me about, about”

Shuddering slightly he squeezed his eyes shut tight.

“Thank the Gods she’s ok”

Harry swayed on his feat, nausea and dizziness overtaking him. He felt so weak, like he could crumple at any minute. Seeing Harry go slightly green around the edges Neville panicked.

“H-Harry, I think y-you should go see M-Madam Po-”

Rushing forwards with a speed he didn’t know he possessed, Neville barely managed to catch him in time.


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Harry stayed in the hospital wing for the remainder of the week. Insisting he was fine, he had managed to keep Madam Pomfrey mostly away from him.

Hermione had arrived the day before but had not visited. Harry didn’t know anything else about anything else that was going on outside the hospital wing but this time his isolation was welcomed. He slept very little at night, his dreams filled with the faces of the dead. He couldn’t eat, and vanished the food off his plate to avoid questions.

Sighing, Harry pulled on some clothes. Dumbledore had come to him the night before. He hadn’t said much, sure he had gone on about hero’s and virtue, but Harry hadn’t been listening. He did catch onto the real reason of the visit though. He had to go back to classes.

Grabbing his cloak Harry shrugged it on. He didn’t have to wear uniform anymore as he was in 6th year, but he liked the feel of it resting on his shoulders. A bit like he imagined a mothers hug to be.
Giving a great sigh Harry shut his eyes briefly. He really really didn’t want to do this.


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Potions. What a surprise. It was always the same. Whenever Harry’s life seemed unbearable, it got worse. He was late, of course. The potions class room was in the heart of the dungeons, and there were a lot of stairs.

“Ah, well what a surprise! It seems our resident celebrity has finally decided to grace us with his company”

Sarcasm positively dripped from the potion masters words, trademark sneer firmly in place. Obviously, some things never changed. Harry didn’t know whether to laugh of cry.
Ignoring his professor, Harry made his way into the classroom only to stop again. Hermione was sat in her usual seat, eyes red and puffy, bushy hair everywhere. She looked awful.

“Hermione” Harry whispered. Oh gods, thank god she was alright. Thank-

“Potter”

Confused, Harry looked around to see who had spoken, only to realise it had been Hermione.

“What? H-Hermione? Are you ok? W-wha?”

“Don’t. Just don’t!” Hermione glared at him, eyes sparkling dangerously. “Don’t talk to me Potter! Don’t, D-don’t..”

Bursting into tears she pushed past him and out of the room. Harry stared at where she had been sat. Her books still rested on the table and her stool had toppled back onto the floor. He could feel his last spark of hope die out. His best friend, hated him. Blamed him. He had seen it in her eyes.

“Mr Potter”

Startled, Harry spun around. Stumbling slightly he managed to catch himself on the edge of the desk.

“Mr Potter!” Snape was getting irritated. “Get to your desk and set up your cauldron! Instructions on the board”

Sighing in weary resignation, Harry moved to an empty desk at the back of the class.

“Oh and Mr Potter? 5 points will be take for your tardiness”


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Lunch was unbearable. All the Griffindores grouped around Hermione. Harry didn’t mind the solitude too much, it was the hostile looks and not too quiet whispers that got to him.
Not even pretending to eat he sat with his eyes downcast. He knew they where talking about him, about Voldemort. It was painfully obvious. Just that morning a muggle town had been devastated. The only sign of life was the Dark mark that had hovered above. Also, he discovered that somehow the prophecy has been leaked. Everyone knew.

Surprisingly the Slytherins had so far left him alone. Malfoys taunting had even stopped. Harry didn’t know why, if anything, now that the prophecy was common knowledge, he had expected to be bombarded with trap after trap.

Pushing away from the table, Harry slowly left the Great Hall and headed outside to sit by the lake. His entire body ached. The steady blood loss from his cutting and the dangerous lack of food was slowly killing him. It seemed only his magic was sustaining him.
Folding his legs up against his chest and wrapping his arms around then Harry stared off into the distance.

“You know Potter, we really aren’t all that different”

Still staring intently forward, Harry made no move to respond to Malfoys presence.

“Both of us are highly talented Wizards, Both of us enjoy the same things, Quiddich for example, and both of our lives are totally screwed up”

Now THAT got Harry’s attention. Shifting his gaze to rest on the blonde boy he waited for him to explain. As Malfoy sat down next to him, he didn’t disappoint.

“You see, our lives are both portrayed to be perfect. Ideal. You are Harry Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived. Famous and loved by all. I am Draco Malfoy. Son and heir to the richest Pureblood family in Wizarding England. Respected and envied by all. And yet, under that façade, we both suffer. We cry, we bleed, we scream. And no-one hears us. Ignorant to our torture we are overlooked as melodramatic or egotistical. Shunned because of the smallest lies. No, our lives are far from perfect”

He seemed to deflate slightly. Looking intently into Harry’s lifeless eyes he grimaced.

“I know what you think of me. Draco Fucking Malfoy. Stuck up rich bastard. Though I assure you I’m not. A bastard I mean”

Pausing to chuckle darkly at his own twisted joke, Malfoys eyes glazed and he scowled.

“Sometimes, sometimes I wish I were you know. A bastard. Id be disowned, shunned, thrown out. Id be free. You see, my life is hell. It’s a burning pit of angry flames and there’s no escape. I have everything I ever wanted. Everything that is but love and kindness. My mother, oh my sweet mother. Sickly sweet. She is the centre of her own little universe. She cares only for herself, the latest perfume, of fashion. Not for her son. I am a necessity. Otherwise I am fairly certain I would have been terminated in the womb. Aborted like nothing. Why should she risk her perfect figure for something as trivial as a child? No, I am merely an heir. Then there is my father.
My fucking father. The perfect Pureblood. Groomed, glamorous, smart. I should be so very proud to be his son. And I was, for a time. Blinded by my strict upbringing, I was a clone of dear old Lucious. Since I was small, I’ve had it drummed into me. I am Draco Malfoy. I am a Pureblood, I am better than anyone else. I tried to please my father as best I could. A regular little suck up. But then as I came to Hogwarts, I wasn’t good enough. Whenever that mudblood Granger beat me in exams, or I lost the snitch to you, oh id hear about it. Id be beat black and blue. Told the same things over and over again. I am a Malfoy. Malfoys don’t come second to ANYONE. Especially not a mudblood or muggle loving fool.
I’ve come to hate my father. Yes hate. I cant stand to be near him. For fear of what will happen, and for loathing of what he has done to me. It got worse too, when the Dark Lord returned. My father had always praised the maniac, but now at his return, I am expected to as well. I must not only be the perfect Pureblood, I must also be the perfect Death Eater. I must follow our Lord. Bow down to every whim. Kill for him, Torture for him. Give my life if necessary and without question. I’ve seen it you know. There was a meeting at the manner, in the summer. I couldn’t sleep and took to wandering the many halls. He was there. And there was my father, crawling and kissing the bottom of HIS Robes. I was stunned to say the least. I may have hated my father, but I still at least held a form of respect for the man. But seeing that!”

Malfoy lapsed into silence. He was breathing heavily and his fists were clenched tightly at his sides. It had been difficult for him to say all that. To betray his family.

“I have no wish to follow the Dark Lord, or my father. Don’t get me wrong, I am proud to be a Malfoy. The fact that my father is a disgrace will not tarnish my family name, I wont let it. I am not exactly a light Wizard though either. I like to think of myself as Grey. The best of both. And finally? I don’t hate you Harry Potter. As I have been raised to. As I am expected to. I personally have no reason to. As I have said before, we are both so very alike”

Standing abruptly, Malfoy turned and walked back up to the Castle. Watching, Harry mused on what he had heard, before also making his way slowly back.


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