Come Undone

Body


Disclaimer: none of the character, unless otherwise specified, belong to me. The Harry Potter universe belongs to one J.K. Rowling and affiliated establishments. No money or other profits are being made from this. Gee, I wonder why not.

Warning: sex, violence, maybe drugs, I haven\'t decided, other questionable situations and etc. note the NC-17 rating; it\'s not just for kicks. Also, go away if you\'re offended by homosexuality. I don\'t want to hear about how dirty and sick I am, I already know.

Notes: I\'ll bet you all thought I up and died, huh? Well, I didn\'t! And I haven\'t let this go, although it is currently going in directions I had not initially anticipated it going in. I\'ll do my best to update more frequently. Heh. Ah... right. This is the original version as was posted on fanfiction.net before it got the boot. After much searching, I finally found it (at the Team Rocket and Shinigami Castle for those who care to know; I also believe my other shite is there as well) and bring it to you. I\'ve been recieving mail about it for a while. I\'m extremely flattered to say the least that so many people find this a nice story. Parts of it really piss me off (namely chapter 2, but I\'ll be damned if I\'m going to re-write this bastard) but I\'ll do my best to fix my fuck-ups in upcoming installments. Thanks and cheers!

Come Undone

Blood From a Stone

"People kill one another because they love one another too

much. Jealousy, envy are always at work, no matter what

one does. The result is a constant. Yet everyone claims to

be seeking peace." Stieglitz

All his life he had struggled to please the man, but to no avail. It seemed that no matter how hard he tried, he always fell just short of his goal. Failing to bring home the glory of the Quidditch or House cup at the end of each year, Draco could see the disappointment etched into every molecule of Lucius\' person. It was that disappointment that was the worst punishment of all and made him feel like an even worse failure.

Failing to best Harry Potter at anything was the worst by far. More than anything else, it was Harry Potter who brought Draco no end of misery. Potter had rejected Draco\'s proposal of friendship and Lucius only became more disappointed in his son. He couldn\'t even succeed at gaining one boy\'s companionship; how was he supposed to succeed at anything? Lucius had said. Since bringing Potter to their side had failed, Draco was simply to beat him. Beating Potter meant that Draco could finally give his father what he wanted, and he wanted his father to be proud of him more than anything else in the world.

For the first fifteen years of his life, Draco was tutored in the Dark Arts. It started out simple enough with researching his topics. By the age of five, Draco had learnt the Dark Lord\'s expectations and understood what that would mean for him. At eight he knew every hex and curse in the books and even a few others that Voldemort had entrusted to Lucius. Though witches and wizards who were unthe the age of eleven were forbidden to practice magick, Lucius had found ways of overcoming that particular boundary: Draco practiced with Lucius\' school wand inside the walls of Malfoy Manor. Malfoy Manor was undetectable by the strystry\'s \'magickal radar\'. So, by the age of ten, Draco could successfully cast nearly every hex, curse, and the counterspell for each. Now, at fifteen, he knew how to summon spirits, throw the Imperious Curse, brew the most complex potions without a single flaw, and even cast the Cruciatus Curse. He was more successful at his young age than even his father had been.

Not long after Draco\'s fifteenth birthday, the Dark Lord rose once more and he was no longer to be tutored in the Dark Arts; he was to become a contributing member of Voldemort\'s underground society. At sixteen, he was to be inducted into the Death Eaters. All that was required of him was a very simple task: collect a few drops of the Boy Who Lived\'s blood.

Upon returning to Hogwarts on the first of September, Draco took note of the profound change that had occurred within his rival. At the end of their fourth year Cedric Diggory and the rebirth of the Dark Lord as a child might. But he was no longer just stunned it seemed. He was numb, a zombie and nothing more. His eyes used to be a brilliant green, but they seemed somehow dulled. His skin used to be healthy and pink and now he was grey and sickly looking. The boy who used to smile and acknowledge everyone was stoic and cold. Not once did he ever smile and he never laughed. Jaded far more than even Draco, it seemed that something within Harry had died over the two months he\'d been away from the wizarding world. He seemed to have aged a hundred years in two short months. For the first six months of the year, Draco took no action. He merely watched him, learned him, absorbed every action and mannerism that identified Harry Potter as Harry Potter.

Befriending the boy was simply out of the question. His father had made damned certain that he was fully aware of that particular fact before he allowed him to board the train. That was the only limit he had been given. At the time, it seemed like hardly a limit at all. Being friendly with the boy had never seemed a viable option to Draco since Potter had refused the hand he\'d extended in friendship on the train to Hogwarts before they began their first year. Rejection was the final straw. Potter had blown his chances and now he would suffer the consequences. Who needed friendship when you had the kind of money and power that the Malfoys had? So, it seemed that there was no end of possibilities to accomplish his mission without having to get close to him.

Disappointing his father was a fate worse than death so far as Draco was concerned. His father was a ruthless man and that sentiment never faltered, even for a second. If anyone disobeyed his orders or failed to come through with an assignment, they were sure to be paying a very hefty price. Mishaps and misunderstandings could not be afforded. Allowances were never made, not even for a fifteen-year-old boy. Every single time he had ever let his father down, Draco had suffered the consequences and paid the price because letting his father down meant letting the Dark Lord down, as well.

Sometimes, he mused, his father and Voldemort were one in the same; they were one person in two bodies. One body was meant for giving orders and the other was meant for carrying them out. Since Voldemort had been reborn, Lucius was his henchman. When it came to punishment, Lucius seemed the more volatile creature. Whenever Draco had received a punishment, he hobbled away from his father. He was lucky, he was told and he knew it to be true; most of those who received punishments were lucky if they could crawl away from Lucius.

Voldemort, on the other hand, had always treated Draco with some measure of reservation. It would appear that the Dark Lord was not as infallible as Lucius perceived him to be. Whenever Draco was in the presence of his father\'s master, that master seemed uneasy if not outright nervous. Due to this, Draco never feared Voldemort quite like he knew he should. But then again, Lucius was the more volatile personality.

Glancing down at his left hand, which was missing a finger, he was reminded of how imperative it was for him to complete his mission. He really had to get Potter to bleed and soon.

*****

Potter had been injured during a Quidditch practice sometime before Easter holiday. He\'d been caught up in a crosswind and hurled into the stands. He was battered without a doubt, so it seemed only logical for Draco to visit him. Perhaps he might steal a bandage or even a blood sample from Pomfrey\'s stash. His time was almost up; he hadn\'t a moment to spare, so he made his way to the hospital wing.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Malfoy?" Madame Pomfrey asked upon his arrival.

"I came to visit Pot- Harry."

Raising an eyebrow, Pomfrey looked very skeptical. "And may I inquire as to why you are here?"

"I heard he was injured and just wanted to give him this," he replied, holding up a small stack of parchments. "He really does need his homework, doesn\'t he?"

"All right. But only for a few minutes," she reluctantly consented.

"And where might I find him?"

She nodded her head in the direction of a door that meant that he was in a private room. "Thank you," he said. Flashing her a winning smile, he proceeded to enter the tiny room.

Harry lay in the bed, looking ten times more fragile than Draco had ever seen him. Though there were few visible symptoms of the boy\'s injuries, it seemed to Draco that Potter looked worse than he ever had before and that was saying something. His skin was shrunken to his bones; he looked frighteningly anorexic. (Draco wondered idly if he weren\'t.) Pink lines that signified the healing of scratches and gashes covered every inch of his skin. His right hand lay on top of the covers over where his stomach must have been. It seemed like the arm of a child, although far too long and the hand too big for that to be the case.

For a moment, Draco had the intense Slytherin because he could just shake it off. Every time Draco was hurt, it went straight to his core. Potter, it seemed, rarely noticed his injuries and when he did, he never seemed perturbed by them in the slightest. He took everything with a kind of mindless grace.

The memory of missing his finger was still too fresh in Draco\'s mind. Mentally shaking himself, he cautiously approached the bed.

"Potter?" Draco half whispered.

Harry opened his eyes and stared blankly at his adversary.

"Ier brought you your homework," he mumbled, holding the papers at arms\' length. "At least, whatever I could get."

The boy in the bed did not respond. He simply continued to stare right through Draco, chilling him to the core. "Why?" he asked in a hoarse voice after an eternity had passed.

A pang of fear and doubt rushed through the Slytherin, almost causing him to abandon his mission altogether. He imagined Harry\'s gaze was boring holes into his brain and he doubted that he could have stood his ground. The image of a seething Lucius was the only thing that kept him there.

"Can\'t have Wonder Boy falling behind, now, can we?" he replied in a tone that he hoped sounded sarcastic.

Harry had caught the moment\'s hesitation and the lack of conviction in his visitor\'s words. "What do you want?" he asked. His monotone voics scs scaring Draco more and more by the minute.

"Love, peace, and harmony. Just take the bloody papers." He was becoming more and more frightened the longer he stood there. Lucius\' punishments seemed pale in comparison to the empty pain of Harry\'s gaze.

So far as Draco was concerned, Potter was not a person; he was a thing. He was little more than an obstacle at best. At least, he was five minutes ago. But when Draco looked down at him, what he saw was a creature far more troubled and shattered than he could ever hope to be. He saw all the trials Harry had been put through and the toll they had taken on him. His soul was a thousand years old in the body of a child. The monotone of his voice and the vacancy in his eyes told a tale far more vulgar and disturbing than anything Draco could ever even fathom. His once supple features had turned gaunt. His once vibrant presence had turned sour and mute. Harry Potter wasn\'t a thing, but what he was, Draco didn\'t know.

Extending an arm, Harry took the parchments from his blonde counterpart. The motion was pained; it took every ounce of his strength to fulfill it. His arm fell once the papers were in his fingers. It was more than he could bear. Every fibre of his being ached with the effort to exist and to extend that into real effort was far too much for him to stand. A small groan escaped him as his whole body went completely limp, exhausted, and his eyelids fluttered shut.

Without even thinking about what he was doing, Draco bent and gathered the scattered papers. Harry\'s arm was still stretched out; he was too tired to pull it back to his body. Draco\'s mind became obsessed with the need to leave the infirmary, to leave Potter be. One more moment with the broken creature was more than he thought he could stand. He placed the stack of homework on the table beside the bed and turned to leave. The image of Harry with his arm outstretched and helpless was burned into the backs of his eyelids and it was more than he could bear. He turned around and took Harry\'s hand in his own. The contact sent pangs of an unfamiliar feeling through him, like he was touching something of the highest order in the universe. For a split moment, he allowed himself to indulge in it as he brought the arm back to its body. He gently lifted the blanket, placed Harry\'s arm underneath it, and tucked the blanket back in.

Some mad desire to touch Harry threatened to overwhelm him. He wanted to run his fingers through the raven strands of the sleeping boy\'s hair, caress his milk-white cheek, kiss his pale lips. Even while he was thinking this, another part of Draco\'s brain was cursing him for wanting such a thing. How could he justify sullying one of the most beautiful creatures on god\'s green Earth? And still another part was wondering when he\'d gone mad enough to think either thought. At that moment, he thought he had finally truly lost his sanity, his purpose, his mission, and his dignity.

No, he reminded himself, he had no dignity, with or without Potter. His father had made sure of that. But it was all in his best interests. His father was a great man who knew what he was doing. He was just preparing Draco.

Without a backward glance, Draco left the hospital wing, Harry Potter, and the memory of his mad desire behind.

*****

Nine months into the year, and still Draco had not fulfilled his task. Time was running out and he was in a constant state of panic. His father was sending regular owls, asking him of his progress and threatening his failure. According to Lucius, failure was inevitable. Disappointment tainted each and every owl he sent. He\'d had such high hopes for the boy. Draco wasn\'t worthy of the Malfoy name, Lucius said. Such a sad failure in a family of such great and powerful wizardsLucius never failed to mention how he hated to have to punish his son. But he still had a month. He still had time to complete it. He still had time

For three months he had been obsessively tracking Potter at every corner, waiting for him to slip up. For as much danger as Potter put himself in, he never seemed to bleed at a convenient time. At one point, Draco had taken matters into his own hands- he had stabbed Potter with a penknife when they were paired in Potions, but had lost his vial at the critical moment. It seemed that his options were running out and he simply couldn\'t afford to let that happen. He\'d already been wearing his father\'s patience thin.

Herbology was never one of Draco\'s favourite subjects but he did have it with Potter, so that was one positive point. \'Good god, Malfoy, since when was being paired with Potter a good thing?\' he asked himself as he watched his lab partner carefully pull apart the seed pod of a particularly nasty breed of Mandrake. The pod snapped shut just as it was fully opened, pinching Harry\'s finger in the process and breaking the skin.

"Shit," Harry muttered under his breath.

Some wild part of Draco\'s brain became obsessed with the red liquid that was silently seeping down Harry\'s hand like some mad vampire who had been starved for years on end. Without missing a beat, he casually offered a handkerchief to his bleeding partner. Not having the presence of mind to refuse the odd courtesy, Harry accepted it and wrapped it around his bleeding appendage, stopping the flow.

"You really should be more careful, Potter," Draco drawled as he watched his white handkerchief slowly turn bright red.

"I suppose you could do better," Harry stated in the monotone that had become almost like his signature. What at one time would have been a challenge was now no more than a simple statement.

Reaching across the short expanse of table that separated them, Draco picked up the pod and set it in front of him. With his index finger, he began gently stroking the hinged side of the pod until it was fully opened. He placed a small stick at one end of it so that it couldn\'t close.

"Satisfactory?" he asked insolently.

"Indeed."

They continued working in silence until Sprout announced that class was almost over and they should begin cleaning up. Once all of their seeds were placed in the container with the rest of the class\', they followed their classmates out of the greenhouse.

"Not to be rude, Potter," Draco drawled, "but I would like my handkerchief back."

Without a moment\'s hesitation, Harry unwrapped the bloodied cloth from his hand and held it gingerly in front of him. "Sorry \'bout the blood," he muttered before turning away and continuing to the castle.

"No trouble at all, Potter. No trouble at all."

Visions of his father smiling proudly at him were running rampant through Draco\'s mind as he followed Harry back to the castle. He could see his father opening an envelope and finding the bloodied cloth inside. He could see the wicked smile that meant he was finally pleased with what his son had accomplished. Lucius would be happy because he would have what he wanted. Rewards were not what Draco was after, though he was sure that he would be provided with whatever he asked for. All he wanted was for Lucius to be proud of him. Nothing was worth more than that. He would collect thousands of gallons of Potter\'s blood if that was what the man wanted. Anything just to feel like he did it. Anything to avoid punishment.

Instead of heading to the dungeons and Slytherin tower, Draco headed directly for the owlry. He stopped just outside the door and took out several parchments and an envelope. He scribbled a note on one of the papers, wrapped the handkerchief in the other, and placed both into the envelope. Completed with this part of the task, Draco continued on his way.

As soon as he pushed the door open the scent of bird excrement, rotting creatures that had not been fully consumed, and feathers hit him. He hated the owlry. It was by far his least favourite place in Hogwarts. Every time he walked through the door, he briefly considered erecting a perch in the dorm for his owl, but he knew it wouldn\'t happen. He hated the thought of her having to stay there with all those other filthy little mongrels. Though Draco was nothing short of completely apathetic towards literally every living thing, his owl was the one and only exception to that rule. He spotted her on a perch near a window, sitting beside a huge snowy owl.

"Give this to Lucius, Pie," he told her as he tied an envelope to her leg. She hooted dutifully and flew out the open window.

"He\'s going to be very happy," he told Hedwig (though he didn\'t know her name was Hedwig or that she belonged to Harry) as he scratched her neck and watched Pie fly off into the distance. Hedwig hooted appreciatively at the gesture and Draco smiled. Maybe this owl was an exception to the rule, as well. "Here," he said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a few small treats. "If Pie likes you

Hedwig\'s delighted hoots followed him to the door. He was very pleased with himself. He\'d managed to get Potter to bleed, pleased his father, and made a new friend (even if it was just a mangy owl), and all within the course of an afternoon.

Unfortunately, Draco\'s high spirits only lasted a short time. He\'d gone down to the lake after leaving the owlry, feeling too good to spoil his mood by returning to Slytherin Tower, Pansy Parkinson, and his homework. He was almost asleep in the warm afternoon sun when Potter chose to interrupt his relaxation.

"Nice to see you didn\'t get yourself all ruffled. Send your goons to do your dirty work, instead," Harry said, his voice icy.

Draco opened his eyes to find a seething Harry Potter standing over him. "What in bloody hell are you talking about, Potter?" he asked, genuinely confused and exceedingly irritated.

"You know exactly what I\'m talking about," he hissed as he held his arm out. Blood was streaming down it and Draco thought that now would be the perfect opportunity before he remembered that his mission had already been accomplished.

"Pomfrey will be able to do more for that than I can. Bugger off," he finished, closing his eyes. Upon receiving a not-so-gentle kick to his ribs, he jumped to his feet. "What the fuck do you think you\'re doing?" he demanded, all semblances of indifference and peace gone.

"I want an explanation," Harry replied, his tone still cold and angry. He continued to hold his arm in front of him, clearly not bothered with the pain.

"I can\'t even tell exactly where you\'re bleeding from, Potter; how the hell do you expect me to tell you how it happened? You should know, seeing as you were there."

The same manic urge to run that had seized him in the infirmary was coming back, full force. He honestly didn\'t know what had happened to make Potter bleed like that, and he didn\'t really care. He had nothing to do with it, and that was the god\'s honest truth. But seeing the anger, the hatred, the pure emotion in every fibre of Harry\'s being was frightening him into submission. The boy hadn\'t shown this kind of emotion since the end of the previous year. Once again, the intimidation he\'d felt in the infirmary was resurfacing with a vengeance. Draco\'s legs threatened to collapse beneath him if he didn\'t start moving them soon. He contented himself with tapping a foot.

The two boys stood, silently willing the other to back down and admit fault. Harry\'s eyes burned with anger, the only emotion Draco had seen there all year. Draco was scared and feeling hunted, but he refused to back down. Control over his own body was far more important than silly little impulses to flee. After what seemed like an eternity, the emotion left Harry. He was blank once more.

"You really don\'t know." It was not a question. It was a very simple statement that signified to Draco that Potter was admitting fault, though he wasn\'t necessarily apologising.

"If you\'d listened to me the first time I told you that-" he stopped abruptly. "Wait. Did you say Crabbe and Goyle did this to you?" he asked. He was confused. They nedid did anything without his approval. And he certainly wouldn\'t have okayed this. An act such as this would have not only put them under suspicion, but probably get them expelled.

"They-" he stopped. Harry swayed a bit before Draco steadied him with a hand on his shoulder. "Fuck." He looked at his red arm, up at Draco, back down, back up.

"Yes, Potter, that is blood. And if you don\'t get along to the infirmary, you\'re liable to bleed to death," he stated. He was quite oblivious that he had placed a hand on the other boy and was holding on to him still.

"Ahm M-mal-f-f-foy?" Harry gasped. His eyes had become the size of small saucers and he was beginning to panic. His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. He was hyperventilating.

It became apparent to Draco that Potter had lost quite a bit more blood than even he knew. He finally became aware of the hand he\'d placed on the other\'s shoulder and decided that he had to help Potter. There was no way he could make it to the infirmary by himself, so Draco wrapped the Gryffindor\'s good arm around his shoulder and his arm around Harry\'s waist. The same tingling sensation that he had experienced in the infirmary was returning, though he forced it to the back of his mind. He himself was starting to panic. If they thought he did this to Potter

"Potter?" he whispered. He had to keep Harry talking. He thought that if he didn\'t have a distraction, he would not be able to get them all the way to the hospital wing. Raising his voice, he said, "Potter, acknowledge me when I\'m talking to you."

"I\'mHow\'re you feeling?"

Not about to admit that he was as close to hysterics as the boy he was carrying, Draco simply answered, "Aside from having you so close to me, I feel just great."

Laughing uncontrollably, Harry was really starting to scare Draco. In the last fifteen minutes, he\'d seen more emotion from him than he had all year. All year, Harry hadn\'t responded to a single taunt. He hadn\'t smiled once. He hadn\'t laughed, even for a moment. Now he was bleeding like a stuck pig and leaning against Draco for support while he laughed maniacally. The sound was slowly driving him mad. The situation was slowly driving him mad. He was touching Harry like he\'d never touched him before. He was touching him like a friend might, though he was feeling anything but friendly at that particular moment. All he wanted was to drop the boy he was half-carrying and run for his life. He wanted nothing more in the world than just to get away from Harry\'s derangement. Thousands of lashes from his father\'s whip seemed like a more pleasurable way to pass the time than listening to another\'s insanity surface. After having watched his classmate die and the Dark Lord reborn, the idea that a simple, fixable wound would be Potter\'s undoing seemed nothing short of completely ludicrous at best. After all that the boy had survived, Draco was frightened beyond fear that all it could take to make Potter snap was a silly little cut.

Every person they passed on their way to the hospital wing turned to them. No one seemed to react. Not even Weasley and Granger, who simply gawked until they were out of sight. Draco wondered when they would catch up to them and relieve him of his burden, but gave up hoping for it when they reached the second floor and they still had not showed up.

"Potter, stop laughing," he said hoarsely.

"Sorry. Sorry. Didn\'t mean it. Sorry." He was definitely hysterical now. His voice was grotesquely cheerful and it made Draco want to sick then and there.

"Stop talking, Potter," he demanded, though he lacked conviction. "What did they do?" Draco asked in the hope that an actual subject might make the mad apologies finally cease.

When Harry spoke, he sounded far more rational than he had not five seconds earlier. "They knocked me down and held me there and cut me and they have my arm in a jar and they ran off and they laughed and I was so angry at you and thanks for helping me and-" he continued with an incoherent stream of words.

More apologies followed and Draco wondered where the hell the hospital wing had gone. It was taking far too long to get there than it usually did. The staircases to the second floor didn\'t usually move. Mostly the staircases to the upper floors were the ones that moved the most. And the flight that led to the hospital wing was never anywhere than it should have been. That staircase was the only reliable one in the whole of Hogwarts. Why was it taking so long?

\'There it is!\' Draco screamed to himself.

Finally! They had finally reached it, and the door was open! Before they had even crossed the threshold, Draco was screaming for Madame Pomfrey. She came running, Harry was gone, and he was walking down the hall.

Where had the time gone? Why was it such a blur? Draco stopped in front of the gargoyle that served as the guardian to the headmaster\'s office, not having the slightest recollection of his journey there.

Before he even knew what had happened, the gargoyle had jumped aside and he was running up the stairs. Without knocking, he threw the door to Dumbledore\'s office wide open. He came face to face with a number of people including the Headmaster, Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape, Filch, Professor Sprout, Professor Flitwick, and Remus Lupin. All were staring at him, some more perturbed than others.

"Potter," he gasped to the small congregation. "Gotta talk to you

"What about him?" Snape snapped at him.

"Now, Severus, calm down," Dumbledore said patiently. "Sit down, boy, sit down."

As Dumbledore conjured a pot of tea and a small tray of cups, Remus Lupin surrendered his seat to the panting and frightened Slytherin.

"Crabbeandgoylecuthimuphe\'sgonemadididn\'tdoitiswear," he said so fast that no one understood.

"Calm down and speak slowly," Dumbledore ordered as he passed the boy a cup of tea, which he accepted with trembling hands.

After taking a sip of the steaming tea, he took a deep breath. "I was down by the lake and Potter was bleeding and he accused me of ordering Crabbe and Goyle to cut him up but I didn\'t and I brought him to the infirmary and I think he\'s gone mad."

A stunned silence fell over every person in the room. Lupin was the first to speak. In a panicked tone he asked, "Is he okay?"

"No, you idiot, he\'s pretty fucking far from okay!" Draco snapped. He was not aware of the tears that were streaming down his face -and had been since he\'d left Harry with Madame Pomfrey- or the tea that was spilling over and burning his hands.

"Calm down, son," said Dumbledore. "It\'s all right."

"You call insanity \'all right\'?" Draco snapped, but quickly shook his head. "Sorry, Sir," he whispered.

"What leads you to believe he\'s insane?" McGonagall asked irritably.

"Considering that he hasn\'t shown a single sodding emotion all year and his arm was gushing blood, I think it rather peculiar that he was laughing at the top of his voice, don\'t you?"

"Draco, there\'s no reason to be rude," admonished Snape quietly.

"It\'s all right, Severus," McGonagall told him. "So what is all this about Crabbe and Goyle, then?"

"He told me that they cut him and they had his arm in a jar but I know it was still attached so I have no idea what that means."

"You say you had no prior knowledge of this?" questioned the headmaster over his steepled fingers.

"Of course I didn\'t. I may not like Potter" -at that remark, Lupin and McGonagall snorted and Snape and Filch fought off smiles- "but I don\'t want him dead, either." He wasn\'t all that sure if that was true or not, but it sounded like the right thing to say, so Draco paid no more attention to it.

The headmaster sighed. For a moment, he sat thoughtful before saying, "Mr. Filch, will you please clean up any spilt blood before panic ensues?"

"Of course." He left, Mrs. Norris following at his heels.

"Remus, you will please send an owl to Snuffles and let him know what happened. I would like you to come back here immediately thereafter." Lupin stood and left without a word. "Severus, will you and Minerva please round up Mr.\'s Crabbe and Goyle and bring them up here?" They too left without a word. "And will you two please find the place that this allegedly happened at?" he addressed Flitwick and Sprout. Once they had gone, Dumbledore acknowledged Draco once again. "I apologize for my staff\'s irritability. They are not pleased with a multitude of things that have needed to be addressed for some time now," he explained.

"I apologize for my interruption," Draco replied quietly.

"It is quite all right, my dear boy. I am rather relieved that you did. Now, before I forget, I would like to discuss Mr. Potter\'s accusation," he said, growing sincere. "You give your friends orders, correct?"

"All due respect, Sir. They are not my friends. And no, I do not give them orders. If I can\'t do it myself, I do not expect anyone else to do it for me." Though this statement was not completely truthful, Draco felt it necessary to defend his position. Lying is a harsh indictment and one that Draco was not particularly fond of, so he felt that sticking as close to the truth as possible was the best plan of action. "They ask my permission for everything and they do nothing without that approval. I hate it, but it\'s the way it is. If they had asked me if it was okay to cut him up, I can assure you that I would have not given that approval under any circumstances. After Herbology, I went to the owlry to send my father a letter and I haven\'t seen them since," he explained, trying to get himself under control and not sound suspicious.

"I see. How is it that you happened to run in to Mr. Potter, then?" he asked with infinite patience. Not a single word was spoken in an accusatory manner; he was simply voicing his curiosity.

"I was laying out by the lake and Hpotter started accusing me of putting them up to something or other, and I told him that I didn\'t know what he was talking about. He showed me his arm and then he started hyperventilating and I had to carry him up to the infirmary. I didn\'t talk to either one of them all day, Sir. I didn\'t get paired with them once and right after Herbology I went to the owlry. I didn\'t even put my stuff inside," he explained. As an afterthought he added, "Actually, everything is probably still out by the lake."

Turning in his chair, the headmaster peered out the window to see that a bag, a hat, and an owl were sitting together on the shore. "And looking unharmed, as well. Fine owl, you have," complimented Dumbledore.

Draco unconsciously sat straighter as he replied, "Thank you, Sir."

"What\'s its name?" he asked, doing a fantastic job of changing the subject. Though most of those he talked to found his topics of conversation rather eccentric, he knew that that was the best way to really get inside one\'s mind. He would find a topic that put them into a particular mood and set them at ease. It was manipulation, but no one got hurt.

"Piewackett."

"Ahh, very interesting. Where did you come up with that?"

"History book. Piewackett was the name of a cat that was a witch\'s familiar in one of the illustrations," Draco replied.

"You enjoy history, then?" Dumbledore asked with no small measure of genuine surprise.

"Enjoy might be a bit strong, but I do find it quite intriguing," replied the Slytherin with a dry note.

"Then you have heard that history repeats itself," said Dumbledore meaningfully.

"Indeed I have, Sir." Draco wasn\'t really sure of what to think or what the headmaster might mean by that.

"In fact, history is repeating itself as we speak," the headmaster continued, eyes boring into Draco\'s.

"D-" Draco cleared his throat. "Do tell."

"Though the Minister of Magick is quite adamant in denying it, the Dark Lord has risen again. Even as we speak, he is building his ranks once more." He paused, waiting for something from Draco. He seemed to have paled considerably at the mention of Voldemort. Taking note of this and filing it away for later consideration, Dumbledore continued. "You are too young to remember the times when Voldemort was strong, so I do not necessarily expect you to understand the implications of his rebirth. Nevertheless, I do expect that you know about the terror he caused." Draco nodded. "As history does tend to repeat itself, you then understand that he will cause terror again. These are dark times, Draco, and we must all be on guard. This is why it is so important that you leave no details out," he finished gravely.

Sighing a bit tiredly, Draco began recounting the story. "I left Herbology and went to the owlry to send my father a letter. I didn\'t want to go inside yet -because it\'s such a nice day- so I went down to the lake. I don\'t honestly know how long I was down there before Potter showed up."

"And when had you seen him last?" asked Dumbledore.

"He was my partner in Herbology," he explained.

"I see. Continue."

"So I was laying there with my eyes closed and Potter said something about getting, and I quote, \'my goons to do my dirty work for me\'. I had no idea what he was on about so I told him to bugger off and he kicked me."

"Why would he think that you would send them to do such a thing?"

"Well, Sir, Potter and I don\'t exactly have a spotless record, now do we?" Draco drawled in a condescending manner that Dumbledore tactfully chose to ignore. He nodded for him to continue and he did. "So then he showed me his arm and-" at that point, Draco stopped. The idea of Harry being that seriously injured stirred up some kind of emotion that he wasn\'t altogether familiar with. The memory of Harry\'s red arm was all too fresh in his mind. Pushing whatever it was that was distracting him to the back of his mind, he continued. "-and I couldn\'t even tell where he was actually hurt, there was so much blood. I told him that I didn\'t do it and he believed me. Then he like, figured out that he was really hurt and he started panicking or something because he started hyperventilating. I didn\'t know what else to do, so I helped him up to the infirmary, and here I am."

"And where does his madness, as you put it, come into play?" the headmaster asked, his demeanor turning far lighter than it had been five minutes earlier.

"Well, after we started walking, I tried talking to him, but he started laughing. It wasn\'t like aLucius laughing in the same manner came to Draco\'s mind, but he shoved it aside without really acknowledging it. "He laughed like that most of the way there and didn\'t stop until I asked him what happened."

"And what did he tell you?"

"He told me that they pinned him down, cut him, and put his arm in a jar. Then he got all crazy again and I couldn\'t understand a word he was saying. His arm was pretty gross, but I know it was still attached, so I don\'t really know what he meant." Draco fell so deeply into the memory of that afternoon that he momentarily forgot that he was talking. "Potter never scares me. But he scared me. He\'s like a zombie one minute and a madman the next. What is wrong with him?" he muttered.

The voice of the headmaster forced him back to reality instantaneously. "Harry has been through harder times than you or I, Draco," Dumbledore said. Though his words were spoken in little more than a whisper, it sounded like a scream to Draco\'s ears.

Draco was strongly tempted to start screaming at the headmaster. He had been through some pretty tough mother fucking times. How many scars did he have? There was no lightning bolt on his forehead, but he had plenty of others. There were the four tiny crescents on his thigh, the long and thin puff of tissue from his elbow to his wrist, and the missing finger that were by far the worst. Then there were thousands of others that no one else could see and most of the time he ignored them. It was at times like these, however, that he paid the most attention to them. Times like these when some dumb cunt was telling him that someone else had it worse; Harry Potter had it worse. Harry Potter didn\'t have any parents, so how the hell could he have it worse? He didn\'t have anyone there to beat and berate him day after day. He didn\'t have two months of seclusion and \'tutoring\' to look forward to at the end of every school year. He didn\'t have to memorize the Dark Lord\'s creed, his vision, or his practises. Harry Potter didn\'t have to pretend to moan in ecstasy when he was actually moaning in pain. Harry Potter had friends and family and he was loved. Draco had nothing, no one, and nowhere to go.

Most of the time, Draco could pretend that his father was a great man. Most of the time, he could forget all the things he\ost ost at his father\'s hand. Until he glanced in the mirror and saw his father, twenty years younger, staring back at him. He could forget until he clenched his fist and felt that it was incomplete. He could forget until Potter crossed his path.

But then, as always, Draco was reminded of all the things his father had given him. He played seeker on the Slytherin Quidditch team, played on the latest and greatest racing broom, slept under silk sheets, passed his classes with minimal effort, and all because his father wanted to ensure his happiness. \'He wants to ensure my loyalty,\' he thought bitterly. And he was doing a damn good job of it, so far as Draco was concerned.

A quick knock on the door signaled the arrival of Draco\'s former companions and startled him out of his thoughts. "Please come inside," Dumbledore half shouted.

The door opened and in filed Snape, Crabbe, Goyle, and McGonagall. "Ah, lovely to see you," the headmaster said cheerfully, though the look on his face belied his hostility. "Draco, you may retrieve your things now," he said pointedly.

"Thank you, Sir," he muttered as he stood. He looked the headmaster in the eye for the briefest of moments and for the briefest of moments, he could see what the world saw in Albus Dumbledore. He saw the genuine feeling and the righteousness that set him apart. And he also saw why his father hated him so desperately. But, for the briefest of moments, he realised the error of his father\'s ways before it was so quickly shoved aside.

As he made his way to the lawn where his bag and owl were waiting, Draco found his thoughts had turned once again to Harry Potter. The image of Harry\'s bloodied arm and the fear on his face was permanently burned into Draco\'s mind. It was a sheer miracle -he thought- that Harry had made it over to him in the first place with the way he was bleeding. It was sheer miracle that he didn\'t pass out or worse.

Piewackett flew right to him as soon as he stepped out the door. "Hullo," he muttered as he caught her on his arm. She stuck her leg out so that he could detach the parchment that was tied there. He untied it and put it in his pocket before he walked the distance to his bag, snubbing Pie and earning a harsh nip from her. His father\'s confirmation news could wait until he was in the dorm.

Shouldering his bag, he immediately turned back to the castle. As irrational as he knew the thought was, he didn\'t want to stay outside for fear that some other bleeding wraith might show up and demand his assistance. He began walking without a particular destination in mind. Having paid no attention to where his legs had carried him, Draco was rather surprised to find himself standing outside the hospital wing door. What surprised him further was that he pushed the door open, coming face to face with Madame Pomfrey.

"What can I do for you, son?" Madame Pomfrey asked quickly. She was apparently on her way out.

"I came to see Harry," he replied without thought or even a moment\'s hesitation, surprising himself yet again.

Madame Pomfrey pointed to the same door she\'d pointed to the last time Draco had gone to see Harry. "I will be back shortly. Please don\'t stay long; he needs his rest," she said distractedly as she passed him.

For a moment, Draco merely stood and stared at the door. He wasn\'t all that sure he wanted to go behind it, but even as his doubts were surfacing, he was walking through it. Harry lay in the bed, looking even worse than he had before. Aside from looking terribly anorexic, he also looked completely drained of blood. His skin was almost translucent and of a slightly greyish colour. His left forearm was wrapped in white linen and laying on top of the blanket.

Taking a seat in the chair opposite the door, Draco let his bag slip from his shoulder to the floor. Elbows rested on his knees, he leaned forward and placed his chin in his hands.

"You keep looking worse and worse, Potter," he whispered, more to himself than to Harry. "It\'s a wonder how the girls here keep falling over you like they do. Famous Harry Potter can look like death and still he\'s wanted. Doesn\'t mean a whole lot when you\'re laying in a hospital bed, though, does it?" He sighed deeply as he gazed at Harry\'s prone form. "I didn\'t come here to fawn over you, you know." He chuckled lowly to himself. "That would be a sight, wouldn\'t it? Draco Malfoy swooning over Harry Potter. There\'s one for the headlines, eh?"

He fell silent, trying to think of something to say. He still was not completely sure why he had gone to the infirmary in the first place or even why he\'d chosen to remain there, though he was increasingly glad that he was. The infirmary was one of the only places that Draco ever actually felt safe. Normally, being in Potter\'s presence would have given him no small measure of discomfort, but something had changed since their exchange earlier in the afternoon. It was the combination of those factors that led Draco to believe that it would be acceptable for him to stay.

Relaxing into the chair, Draco took his first real look at the room. A small table stood beside the bed where there was already a small collection of tokens from Harry\'s closest friends. Several pictures lined the walls, most of them depicting only natural scenes; no people were running between them. Light blue curtains hung loosely around the single window, under which a vase of flowers that Draco couldn\'t recognise stood.

"Nice room, Potter," he said after a considerable silence. "I\'ve never gotten a private room before. Then again, I\'ve never nearly died before." This statement wasn\'t totally true, so he quietly added

Suddenly, the full implications of that statement struck the Slytherin boy. Usually, he managed to conceal his contempt for his father, especially from himself. Without warning it surfaced, but

Grey eyes scanned the boy in the bed, and finally came to rest on Harry\'s bandaged arm. "You scared me, you know," he found himself whispering truthfully. "I thought-" he choked. Quickly recovering himself, he continued, "I thought you were going to die."

Once the words were spoken, it was as though something clicked in Draco\'s brain. He was surprised to find that they were true and that he didn\'t feel guilty for feeling the way that he did. With the realisation that Harry had nearly died being coupled with his present appearance, the gravity of the situation finally seemed to occur to the boy. It seemed to Draco that all of his conceptions of the Gryffindor were terribly wro
&
&;I\';I\'m sorry they did that to you," he whispered sadly. "They shouldn\'t have done it. I wouldneverever do that to you, Harry. Really I wouldn\'t," he almost pleaded.

Another thought occurred to Draco, causing him to frown deeply. "You really offended me, you know. I like fucking with you, Potter, but I wouldn\'t ever hurt you like that. I just like making you uncomfortable; I don\'t really hate you."

Even as he spoke the words, he knew them to be the truth. There was animosity, oh yes, there were gobs of animosity. Draco\'s ill feelings toward Potter had little to do with his father. Potter angered Draco because he had things that Draco never had and never would have and he never appreciated them like he should. He had friends who would stick by his side to the day he died. Draco had servants. Potter had a family. Draco had guardians. Potter had strength of mind and heart when Draco was scared and susceptible. Essentially, Draco envied Potter his virtues.

"I\'ve never allowed myself to acknowledge that. I\'m supposed to hate you. It\'s my duty," he spat, feeling disgusted with himself. Once again, the contempt he held for his father surfaced, but this time he did not push it aside. "I wanted you to be my friend. But you said \'no\'. Just as well," he sighed. "Lucius would never have allowed it anyway."

His gaze fell once more on the bandaged arm. Shame fell like a blanket over him. Feeling safe in the confines of the infirmary, he allowed himself to indulge in his honest thoughts and feelings. He allowed himself to savour the feeling of shame like it were the sweetest treat in the world. Shame gave Draco an opportunity to feel human, to feel real, and to feel like himself. He looked into Harry\'s face and

"So this is what you feel like. I have wondered. I didn\'t really pay much attention before. I was rather preoccupied with getting you here." rub rubbed the back of Harry\'s hand with his thumb, smiling wanly. "You\'re soft"Ah, you can\'t," he reminded himself as his smile faded. "You\'re unconscious."

Once again, he fell silent, contemplating the boy in the bed. Thoughts he knew he had no right to think were coming to him involuntarily. Friendship was an almost alien concept to Draco. He imagined what it might be like to have a friend, Harry Potter. He pictured Harry with a smile on his face; a smile that Draco had granted him. The boy fell so deeply into his own mind that he forgot his father, his father\'s expectations of him, and he even forgot that he was Draco Malfoy.

"Since you are unconscious, I don\'t suppose you\'ll object to my touching you. You haven\'t yet. And I\'m not trying to take advantage of you, Harry; I just like the way your skin feels. I\'m not allowed to touch anyone that I want to," he confessed sadly and almost inaudibly. "I might get used to it and that just simply cannot happen." He sighed and leaned in closer to the bed. "Good, Ha, Harry," he whispered, "you feel so good. Someday, if I ever manage to get away from him, I\'d like to get used to touching you. If you didn\'t mind, of course." Before he even realised what he was doing, he raised Harry\'s hand to his face. "But seeing as that will never happen, you\'ll forgive me

Very gently, Draco pressed his lips to the back of Harry\'s hand. All thought simply left him as he fell into the physical sensation of being so intimate with his rival. The tingling he\'d experienced through his hands became ten thousand times more intense; he began drowning in the visceral reaction to the Gryffindor. Every nerve in his entire being was aflame and in some remote corner of his brain he thought that at any moment he might simply turn to ash and blow away.

Finally breaking the contact, Draco stood, still holding Harry\'s hand. He tucked it in -much like he had done once before- pushed his chair back, and shouldered his bag. He had made it to the door before he turned back to the bed.

"Get better, Harry," he whispered. Then he disappeared out the door.

Once the door had clicked shut, Harry opened his eyes.

*****

Here is where I would normally put the thanks for reviewing, but I don\'t have the slightest idea who reviewed in the first place. I do know Rubicon, Just Silver, and MiniMe reviewed, so thanks a lot, guys! As for the rest... I\'m sorry. I suck. I know. I\'ll do better in the future. : )