Harry Potter 1. Returned a Changed Man

**Well, I worked my butt off until closing last night, got home and fell asleep around 12, and then was woken again around 2 by some idiot trying to car-jack (loudly and poorly, without success, I might add) my neighbor's car. The only thing the unfortunate bastard DID manage to do was wake me up and irritate my Borzoi, who started barking out the downstairs window until I hauled my butt out of bed to go quiet her. Twice.**

**Needless to say, I was not happy…yet somewhere in all of that the plot bunnies woke up as well, and decided that they might as well get to work right then and there. So 3 in the morning found me hastily scribbling down notes on loose-leaf so that I could go to _sleep_ (ah, wonderful, precious sleep) but still be able to get up and write this for you in the morning. I hope that you enjoy.**

**Sorry Duckies, this is not going to be nosebleed or squealing fodder…it is a relatively (comparatively?) serious short story, and while there will be a suggestion of Drarry, it will be the _suggestion_ of male-on-male attraction, and not the suggestion of shagging-wildly-in-broom closets.**

**IMPORTANT!!! For all of you who just skip right over the author notes, you might wanna pay attention to this. I am almost completely disregarding the 7th book. I repeat; I AM IGNORING THE LAST BOOK. This means that, for all you sticklers out there, this will not match up with Rowling's storyline. I'm sorry, but I needed the leeway. Dumbledore is dead, but he was killed by deatheaters, not snape or malfoy, and his demise is in no way relevant to this story. McGonagall is headmistress, Snape is potions master, etc, etc...there was no sectumsempra cast by Harry on Draco, no nefariuos plotting on the slytherin prince's part that will make Harry obsess over him. But worry not, I'm not going to mutilate the plotline into something fluffy that ends with Voldie prancing through a feild of flowers and proclaiming his love for the world. **

**Disclaimer:...geez…they're not mine, okay? I shisted them off of J.K. Rowling…*pouts* only the plot is mine.**

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He had come back.

Potter had come back.

The whole school was buzzing with the news, and the speculation as to where he had been for the past 6 months was running rampant. Draco scowled, irritated that the Golden Boy could cause such a stir simply from walking into a room and sitting down like he had never left. Okay, so perhaps that wasn't _quite_ what had happened, and as long as he was being honest, he was curious as to where he had been hiding too... but this was a bit ridiculous.

Potter had shown up at the start of school and gotten on the train, same as everyone else. He had been given his schedule, he attended his classes, and he was just as upset as everyone else was when Headmistress McGonagall announced that in order to promote house unity, all inter-house Quidditch games were to be cancelled, but impromptu games would be permitted. He did his work, laughed with his friends, and fought daily with Draco, same as he had for the past 6 years. Until, that is, he didn't show up for one of their scheduled duels about a month into the school year. Draco had looked forward to calling him a coward at breakfast the next morning, but he hadn't shown up there either. Neither did he come to class. For the first few days, the students speculated that he was sick, but as the days turned into weeks and the professors refused to say anything on the matter, the situation slowly became clear. Harry Potter had disappeared.

At first there were rumors flying about secret missions, or abductions by the Death-Eaters and the like, but Draco was of the opinion that the so-called "Chosen One" had simply run away. Eventually even the rumors died down, and as the months passed, many were sure that without their champion the war was as good as over. Draco was fine with that, and if he sometimes missed fighting with the cowardly prat, well, he would never admit it.

But now he was back.

They had been taking dinner in the great hall, and the conversation revolved mostly around the student-organized Quidditch game that was going to be held the next day. Everyone was, of course, placing their bets on Malfoy to catch the snitch…after all, without Potter around he was the best Seeker the school had. He was busy gloating about this inside, when someone entered the Great Hall and started walking towards the Professor's table. Draco took no notice at first, but as the room settled into startled silence, he too looked up…right into a pair of solemn green eyes.

Okay, so maybe Potter hadn't been looking at _him_, rather just sweeping the room with his gaze, but it felt to Draco like there had been the briefest moment of communication between them. It was a bit of a shock to his system, seeing Potter standing there before the Professor's table, not saying anything, just simply staring at McGonagall as though waiting for her to make a move. After a few tense moments, she rose out of her seat and inclined her head in his direction, her greeting given in a quiet voice that carried easily throughout the hall. "Welcome back, Mr. Potter. I will see you in my office after dinner, but you may take a seat with your housemates now."

Potter nodded to show his assent, and then went to take his place between Weasley and Granger at the Gryffindor table, amidst quiet cheers and a smattering of applause. Draco stared openly at him, along with the rest of the student body, all still too shocked to really process what had just happened. There had been no fanfare, no speech or display or explanation of any sort. In fact, the Boy-Who-Had-Just-Returned hadn't said anything at all. Not a single word…but there was something different about him. Draco frowned. He had spent his entire school life studying and making life hell for the Golden Boy –know your enemy and all that- and he fancied that he knew Potter better than even his friends. Yet this boy…this young man who had just walked in…he didn't know him. He looked a bit like Potter; the same messy hair, the dorky glasses slipping down his nose and the lighting bolt scar emblazoned on his forehead, but something was off. He didn't walk like Potter, he didn't stand or hold himself or look at authority figures like Potter…and looking over at him interacting with his friends…he didn't smile like Potter either. This person was a complete stranger, and that, even more than the quiet, inner sense of relief that came with Potter's return, was what shook Draco to the core and convinced him that perhaps he had better go to bed early.

The next few days went on pretty much as normal…Potter was occasionally there during meals, but he didn't attend the classes with the rest of the Gryffindors, and Draco could feel the inexplicable knot of tension in his chest relax a little. So what if Potter's smile and walk were a bit off? Perhaps he had been imagining it; after all, he was in shock from having Potter's presence unceremoniously forced upon him again. His eyes were playing tricks on him…and what did it really matter? Everything else was still the same. It made no difference to him if the Chosen One was back or not…at least, that was what he told himself whenever he caught his thoughts drifting back towards the strange feeling of mild alarm that he got whenever he laid eyes on Potter. It wasn't very hard to convince himself that nothing had changed.

Then came the potions class that proved him completely wrong.

It was double potions with the Gryffindors, and once again Potter had not deigned to join them…not that Draco really cared. They had been in class for the better part of an hour, working slowly through a rather complex potion used to help control the effects of a werewolf's bite, when the door to the dungeon room opened and three students stepped through. They moved forward into the smokey room, two in front and one hanging slightly behind. Professor Snape rose from his desk like a bat out of hell, displeasure in every line on his face. The room stilled, and every pair of eyes turned to look with interest and pity at those foolish enough to show up to Snape's class late. He stalked forward, stopping and standing quietly at the very head of the room, glaring at the unfortunate latecomers in undisguised contempt, his lips curling into a sneer.

"Weasley. Finnegan." The two in front winced as he called their names, steadfastly looking at the suddenly interesting floor. "Don't even bother to insult my intelligence by attempting to come up with some pathetic excuse for your late arrival." They both seemed to shrink further into themselves, Finnegan biting his lip harshly, most likely to keep from blurting out some form of the excuse Snape didn't want to hear. "Detention. For the both of you. And 50 points from Gryffindor…each." He smirked at them, satisfied that they were suitably ashamed of losing points for their precious house. "Take your seats." They slunk towards their respective desks, sliding in beside their potions partners.

It wasn't until they were seated that Snape turned his attention towards the remaining tardy student. He opened his mouth to dole out another set of punishments, but stilled and closed it again with an audible snap. Potter stepped forward and, unlike his housemates, stared Snape directly and brazenly in the eyes as he stood quietly, waiting for him to say something. Draco looked at him with barely concealed interest, noting with surprise that while his stance was uncharacteristically casual despite the tense situation- robe open and hands hooked in the pockets of his muggle jeans- there was a subtle air of confidence around him that Draco had never associated with the lanky Gryffindor before. A long moment passed, and there was a feeling as though there was a silent power struggle going on in the room. Suddenly, Potter's stance was revealed for what it was; not casual, but rather, defiant. There was a challenge in his eyes as he looked at Snape, as though he held all the answers and, because of that, he owed the other man nothing- not even respect.

Snape's sneer turned into a frown, and he inclined his head ever so slightly, as though acknowledging Potter's challenge. Draco's eyes widened…never had he seen his godfather back down to _anyone_, much less a student. Yet here he was…what in Merlin's name was going on?

"You're late, Mr. Potter." Came the quiet statement.

Harry's eyebrow quirked upward. "Yes. I do believe that I am."

"I trust that there is some fantastic explanation for your tardiness to my class?"

"There is."

"I see. Care to enlighten the class, Mr. Potter?"

Harry looked at him for a heartbeat, and then smiled quietly, a smile completely devoid of happiness but suggesting the existence of some private joke. "No."

There was a gasp from one corner of the room, in the direction that Longbottom was sitting in, and Snape's displeased expression turned strained. "Sit down, Mr. Potter."

Draco's jaw dropped open just the slightest bit, and he wasn't alone in his astonishment. It mattered little to him what the rest of the class thought of this exchange, though. He sincerely doubted that they understood what had just happened half was well as he did…and even he was struggling to comprehend it. All that mattered was that Potter was standing up to Snape and _getting away with it_. This could not, would not, happen…it simply wasn't acceptable. He felt that it was his duty to speak up and voice his protest, so that was exactly what he did.

"Don't you think that's a little unfair? After all, Professor, you took house points away from the other two, why should Potter be any different?" Almost every pair of eyes in the room flickered to him, and then turned back to the two facing off, to see their reactions to what they had all been thinking. Snape looked at him for a moment as well, but the gratitude Draco had been expecting wasn't present in the man's dark eyes. Potter didn't even bother to look at him, but the corners of his mouth tipped up, and Draco was hit with the feeling that somehow, he had just made everything worse.

Harry's eyes seemed to spark for a moment in the dim dungeon light, hidden though they were behind his glasses. "Oh yes, _Professor_," Potter practically purred, "that wouldn't be very fair at all. And we wouldn't want _any_thing to be _unfair_." His voice held a bitter note in it, and Draco's eyes narrowed as he tried to figure out what had caused it. His thoughts were interrupted by the potions master clearing his throat.

Snape's face made it seem like his next words were going to physically hurt him, and his glare turned positively murderous. "There will be…no points taken from Gryffindor. Take your seat Potter."

Harry's voice was sickeningly, sarcastically sweet. "Of course Professor…whatever you say."

He took his seat next to Weasely, slouching down with his legs folded up in awkward angles beneath the desk and his hands still in his pockets, his arms all akimbo. He looked gangly and clumsy, yet despite his smallish stature and apparent lack of coordination, he radiated power. Draco shook his head, trying to understand how he was doing it. All Potter was doing was _sitting_ there, in a way that made him look a bit like a puppet with its strings cut, and yet there was this _air_ about him…and Draco couldn't tear his eyes away.

Potter was back alright...and he was about to turn Draco's world on end.

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well, there you are. the first chapter, with perhaps...one or two more to follow. comments and suggestions are welcomed and encouraged.

until next chappie....


	2. Broken Pieces of a World all thier Own

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**Hello duckies. Here's the next installment in my little ficlet born from sleep deprivation and a bit of inspiration from electricpurple.**

**Disclaimer: I wish. Need I say more?**

**Enjoy**.

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The days passed quickly for Draco, as he found Potter the object of an obsession that somehow transcended their simply school yard rivalry. It was like the Golden boy had gone and underwent some sort of extreme personality change, or had his blood replaced with slow-moving molasses. Nothing, absolutely _nothing_, bothered him. No matter what Draco said or did –or anyone else, for that matter- the dark haired boy simply took everything in stride. He would brush off derogatory comments towards his looks or heritage with a small, secretive smile and a careless wave of his hand, and treated taunts about his friends in pretty much the same manner. Draco had lost count of the number of times he had set out to get some sort of reaction from Potter, only to end up watching as the infuriatingly unruffled prat would dismiss him and calmly talk the furious Weasley out of trying to pummel his face in.

Eventually he just stopped trying, his taunts and attempts at starting a spat became half-hearted, and he began to devote his time and energy to studying the enigma that was this new Potter. The other boy by was by no means an imposing figure- he was several inches shorter than the 6'2" Draco, and his limbs were slightly too long for his skinny body, making him seem a bit gangly and uncoordinated. But despite being thin, he was covered in sinewy muscle and surprisingly agile. He rarely made a move that was unnecessary, and he held himself in a way that radiated power, whether or not he consciously knew it. When he walked into a room, everyone looked, when he spoke, everyone listened, and he was very rarely ever seen alone.

If he wasn't with his two sidekicks, he was in the middle of a knot of Gryffindorks, or awkwardly wearing some girl on his arm. He was always, always surrounded by admirers or friends, and he always seemed so content to bask in their attentions. Seemed, being the operative word. He _seemed_ to be happy, but Draco knew better. He watched him from a distance, and he saw it, even if everyone else couldn't…or perhaps they just refused to see. They didn't want their Golden Boy to be anything less than perfect, but Draco had never bought into that. Perhaps that was why he could see it now, the way that Potter's laughter looked forced, or how his smile never reached his eyes. Draco rarely ever saw him by himself, but he couldn't help thinking that he looked like the loneliest person in the world.

Still, despite all the time that Draco spent watching this stranger with Potter's face, he couldn't for the life of him understand what it was that was so very different, why suddenly nothing he did could affect the other boy in any way. Something had seriously changed, and the entire dynamic of their relationship/rivalry was off because of it. And that put Draco off-balance, and he distinctly resented Potter for having enough power over him to be the cause of that. So he threw himself back into taunting, upping his insults and jibes so that they were so distinctly, horribly personal that it left even his fellow Slytherins speechless. There were moments when the poison that spewed from his mouth disgusted even him, yet Potter remained unfazed. He was beginning to despair of ever gaining some form of a response from his rival when he saw a sign-up sheet posted in the Great Hall for an impromptu Quidditch game that afternoon, and Potter had put his name down as the Seeker for one of the teams. Draco didn't even have to think twice about it, he immediately signed himself up as Seeker for the opposing team. His flying skills had improved greatly since Potter had left, and this was the perfect opportunity to show him what he was capable of. They would fly against each other like they used to, but this time the outcome of the game would be different. This time Draco would be the one to claim the snitch, to win for the first time against Potter in a very tangible way. Then Potter would have no choice…he would _have_ to acknowledge him.

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The afternoon sun was warm on Draco's Quidditch leathers as he waited impatiently on the pitch, broom in hand, for Madame Hooch to finish checking out the teams and give them the go-ahead to play. Potter was standing opposite him, talking absently to that Irish poof of a Gryffindor (Filligan? Finnegan? It didn't really matter) and enjoying the feel of the sun on his upturned face. So far, he hadn't glanced in the key-up Draco's direction once, and in moments they were going to be flying against each other for the first time in a long time…didn't he feel the need to size up his competition? Was he so very confident that he would win? Did he not have the slightest niggling of doubt in his mind? Draco ground his teeth in frustration, irritated that the hour he had spent before this match trying to make himself appear as confident and imposing as possible was going to waste. He hadn't done anything to his hair, knowing that he looked good when it was wind-tossed and loose, and he had donned his best leathers, his personal ones and not the house ones he used to wear, like Potter had. His broom was the latest, top-of-the-line model, polished until it gleamed beautifully, and his stance, his expression, his careless hold on his broom handle were all designed to give off an aura of confidence he wasn't completely feeling. Yet still, Potter didn't look at him.

Finally, Madame Hooch stepped forward into the middle of the pitch, let loose the balls, held up the tiny flittering snitch in her hand, and let it go. The quaffle was handed off last, but neither Draco nor Harry were paying attention to it…their eyes were focused solely on a glint of gold flickering above and to the right of them. They took off from the ground almost simultaneously, oblivious to how synchronized their movements would seem to anyone watching, oblivious to the game starting, oblivious to the students in the stands or the bludgers flying around, oblivious to anything but each other, and the elusive snitch. They spiraled upward, looking around for a hint of gold, unconsciously circling nearer and nearer to each other, both determined to spot the snitch first. Suddenly there was a glint out of the corner of Draco's eye, and by the way he sensed Potter tensing, he knew he had seen it too. He rolled and dived towards the stands, turning and twisting midair to follow the erratic path of their quarry, Potter slowly gaining on him from behind.

They were neck and neck, flipping and diving and using every fancy maneuver they could think of, yet always side-by-side. Time seemed to slow, and the world faded away into a muted background, the snitch appearing and disappearing, and moments being broken up between the searching, and the chase. Every chance he got, he was showing off all his new skills, showing off his broom, and showing off himself, all for Potter. The world revolved around Potter…around Potter and the tiniest hint of gold on the horizon. A world where all there was for them was the seeking, the searching, the competition, the thrill of being alive, of being in flight, the barest awareness of the potential for danger. Soaring high above the world and all their obligations, it vaguely occurred to Draco that this was how it always was, the two of them, constantly competing. He was always there, always chasing Potter, always close enough to touch him, always inches behind. Always chasing after Potter…Draco shook his head. That wasn't right…he was chasing after the snitch. The snitch. Not Potter, the point wasn't Potter, the point was the game, the golden snitch, the…another glimpse of gold, and seeker reflexes kicked in. But before he took off, he looked for Potter…looked for him and caught his eye. The other boy was finally looking at him, looking right at him and hesitating too. Green eyes sparkled with the life that had been missing all these weeks, and an infectious grin spread across his face. A grin that lit up his eyes and transformed his whole face…a real smile like he hadn't worn since he got back…a smile all for Draco. The Slytherin couldn't help it, he laughed, the thrill rushing through him and a feeling of elation he subconsciously knew had everything to do with the dark haired boy smiling at him. Another companionable grin was shared between them...then gold called to them once again, and as one, they took off in pursuit.

The chase lasted for only a few moments, then suddenly Draco lost track of the snitch. He hovered high above the stands, Potter only a few feet away, both looking around for that hint of light. Suddenly Potter chuckled, and the sound shivering down Draco's spine with the sheer sincerity of it, and he looked over to catch his eye again. The Golden Boy had such grace when he was on his broom, back straight, grip loose and familiar, his leathers well-used and well-loved, and his windswept hair framed in a halo by the light of the dying sun. His glasses were slipping down his nose, and those amused green eyes met Draco's squarely, before the grin swept back across his face and he very deliberately winked at him. Draco's mouth fell open in surprise, but before he could voice a question, and with no more warning than that conspiring wink, Potter fell off his broom.

Well, he didn't so much fall as _dive_ off. And Draco watched in shock as he plummeted hundreds of feet towards the ground below, his face full of excitement…watched, and worried, and wondered what the hell had just happened…and thought that Potter had never looked more magnificent. He hesitated only a moment before diving after the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Torment him, pushing his broom as fast as he could to reach him before the ground did. He knew that he wouldn't make it in time, could feel it and was strangely panicked because of it…Potter was only a hundred feet off the ground now, and dropping fast. Then suddenly something whizzed past Draco and toward the falling hero…something wooden, broom-shaped, and lighting fast. Potter reached up a hand and grabbed his broom, coming to a jolting stop and hanging a scant few feet off the ground.

Draco landed a moment after him, his face flushed from the dive and his breath coming in pants as he stared hard at the grinning boy now standing triumphantly on the pitch. He could hear people coming, could hear the voices and the confusion and panic from the stands, but his focus was still on Harry. It was still just the two of them, and he took a step forward, stopping a few feet away, stormy grey eyes demanding an explanation. The grin seemed to grow impossibly wider, and Harry stretched out his hand across the distance between them, something clasped tightly in his fist. Incredulousness spread across Draco's face, and he opened his hand to receive the fluttering snitch from a very self-satisfied Gryffindor. He stared at the tiny little ball for a moment, then raised his eyes and shook his head at the other boy. "You idiot…" he chastised, his voice full of relief and grudging awe. He chuckled quietly. "You complete idiot." They shared another smile, the excitement of the game still with them…then the announcer yelled out that the snitch had been caught as teammates and referees swarmed them…and just like that, their bubble was broken.

Hands clasped their shoulders from behind, and brought with them an acute awareness of who they were and what was expected from them. Draco's smile turned into a sneer, and Potter's eyes dimmed as his smile was turned onto those congratulating and fawning over him. For he was Potter again, as though he had never been Harry at all, as though smiles had never been shared, as though that connection had never been made. Yet Draco could still feel that connection lingering there, could see Potter glancing at him from the corner of his eye, could feel the cold metal of the snitch in his hand. He could still feel it, and yet he knew that he was going to have to completely sever it to keep up appearances…and for some reason that thought saddened him. Irritated at himself for feeling that way, he brushed aside the thought that playing Quidditch hadn't been that fun in a long time, and lived up to his reputation as Potter's rival.

"So tell me Potter, were you trying to show off, or trying to do us all a favor and off yourself before the Dark Lord does it for you?"

Potter's head snapped up to look at him, and there was something suspiciously like disappointment in those deep green eyes before they were shuttered and his face became care-free and impassive.

"Is that the best that you can come up with, Malfoy? Or has being beaten to the snitch by me yet again robbed you of your famous wit?"

Draco blinked in surprise, having not expected any sort of response out of the dark-haired boy. "What?"

Potter sighed, crossing his arms and rocking his weight back on his heels as he stared off into the air somewhere vaguely over Draco's shoulder. "I thought that when I came back you would have at least improved at _something_ Malfoy. Yet I'm convinced you're still only doing so well in potions because Snape likes you, as far as I can tell, you still have no real friends, most of the school despises you, and you still can't catch a snitch to save your ferrety life. At the very least I would have expected you to have come up with new insults in my absence, but apparently you haven't even managed to do that. In fact, if anything, you've only gotten more pathetic since I've been gone."

Draco's mouth fell open in shock, his mind completely blank and no response at his disposal. Since when did Potter not only respond, but taunt and mock back? Where had he learned to look and sound so completely…Slytherin? Potter let out a quiet, humorless chuckle, nothing at all like his carefree laughter only moments ago, and reached out to tap Draco's jaw closed with a careless hand.

"Didn't your mother teach you that it's rude to stare in-between her lessons on pure-blood superiority and how to act like a complete prick?"

Draco sputtered, unable to think of anything to say, and Potter smiled at him condescendingly. "I'll tell you what Malfoy, you go away for a spell with your goons here, and when you can think of some semblance of a witty retort, or really any reply at all, you come find me. I'll be in the Gryffindor common room, celebrating wiping the pitch with you yet again."

With that, he let go of Draco's chin and turned back to his friends. In moments he was swallowed by a crowd of laughing teammates and Gryffindors, lost to a thoroughly off-balance Draco's view. They set off towards the castle, and Potter never once looked back…and Draco couldn't understand why he wanted him to.

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**Alright my oh so wonderfully patient readers...there you have it. 2 more chapters to go...until next time!**


	3. Wearing Pain like a Halo

**Alright my freaky darlings…here we are again, with the next installment of this little ficlet. We're halfway there now…and I hope that you enjoy.**

**Warning: hints of maleXmale attraction…etc, etc…it contains nothing that would bother anyone except the most prudish of readers…but I've got to out that warning out there anyway.**

**Disclaimer: nope, no ownership here…phooey. **

**Now on with the story!**

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Coming down from the high of flying in a good game of Quidditch always left Draco feeling slightly out of sorts, but it was nothing compared to the strange elation he had felt when flying with Potter…the abrupt severance of whatever companionship they had shared when miles above the world had left him feeling decidedly bereft…and he didn't like what that implied at all. So to say that he was in a foul mood was like saying that Snape was usually just a little grumpy. Draco had found that being in his common room was insufferable…those that weren't mocking him behind his back for being bested _yet again_ by scar-head were simpering niceties and condolences into his ears…like he gave a flying flobberworm what they thought. Being in his room wasn't much better. While he enjoyed the solitude that having his own prefect's room provided, midnight found him restless and unable to sleep. Muttering angrily under his breath about idiotic insufferable gits and their stupid ability to unsettle him, he slipped his robes on, not bothering to change out of his silk sleep pants or don a shirt, strapped his wand into his wrist holster, and exited his portrait hole in the hopes that a walk would be able to clear his mind.

He headed towards the upper levels of the castle, knowing that entire floors were empty and would provide him with the space to roam undisturbed that he was looking for. He lit his way with a witchlight, wandering slowly and aimlessly down dusty corridors, trying his hardest to repress the memory of the feeling of _rightness_ he had experienced when for that brief amount of time he and Potter had almost been…friends. Was that what it would have been like, his treacherous mind wondered, if he had been the one to meet Potter first, instead of the Weasel? Is that what it would have been like if Potter hadn't been such a bloody feel-good Gryffindor and accepted his hand when he offered it back in first year? Would they have spent all these years exchanging smiles and Quidditch techniques instead of insults and punches? What would it have been like…Draco stiffened, irritated with himself for even starting to pursue such a ridiculous line of thought. What was he, turning into a Hufflepuff or something? Potter was the enemy of the Dark Lord, he associated with the kinds of people that Draco had been taught from the cradle were beneath him, and he was a stupid, irritating, speccy prat on top of it all. He made Draco's life miserable, and the mere idea of a friendship with him was laughable.

Scowling darkly at the floor, he prowled among the corridors for several hours, his thoughts and wounded pride leaving him completely unable to seek the comfort and peace of his bed despite the fact that it was nearing 4 in the morning, and he had yet to get any sleep. Limbs heavy and thoughts muddled, he didn't even notice that another person was coming down the lonely hallway towards him until they were only a few feet away. Startled, he came to a stop, staring in incredulous and sleepy shock at the physical manifestation of the problems plaguing him. If he had been more awake, he might have noticed that the other boy seemed surprised and slightly displeased to see him too, but as it was he could only see the other's presence as a deliberate attack on the peace he was looking for. "What the hell are you doing here, Potter?" he managed to growl out, mercury eyes narrowed and focused on the slightly smaller boy standing before him in the dim corridor.

Green eyes sparked with irritation, and then quickly dimmed as the mask of indifference slipped back over Potter's face. "Last I checked Malfoy, anyone was allowed to walk in the hallways. It is a public area, after all."

Draco sneered, his eyes full of undisguised spite and his tone making his opinion of the brunette very clear. "Yes, but last time _I_ checked, it was well after curfew, and yet here you are, far from your common room."

Potter frowned. "You're out after curfew too Malfoy."

Draco's sneer turned into a smirk, and he crossed his arm and stared down his nose at his rival, convinced that he had the upper hand and therefore finally back on familiar ground. "I'm a prefect, Potter. We're supposed to patrol the corridors." Surprise and a brief flash of remembrance flickered over Potter's face, as he realized the truth behind Draco's words. Chagrin soon followed, and then like a slate his face was wiped clean, devoid of any interest in his words at all. It bothered Draco that this new Potter was so good at schooling his emotions. He had gotten used to deriving most of his enjoyment from their fights over the years from the feelings and expressions that adorned Potter's face. It was how he judged how well he was intimidating or irritating the other boy, and it was how he judged which days it was better to make a dramatic exit before he happened to lose. Now…now he didn't have that aid to rely on, as most of the time he could only get the briefest glimpse to clue him in to what Potter was feeling. He hadn't realized how well he could read the other boy, or how used he was to doing so, until that crutch was taken abruptly away from him. Had he been more awake, perhaps he would have known to tread a bit more carefully…but as it was, he simply continued on, undeterred by the green-eyed boy's stony expression. "In fact, as a prefect, it's my duty to make sure that no students are out after curfew…and yet here you are. Whatever shall I do with you? Hmm? Should I take house points?" He paused to gauge Potter's reaction, but after receiving none, continued on. "Or perhaps you would like a detention? Would that be more appropriate, oh glorified Chosen One? Would you prefer to spend the next month cleaning cauldrons for Snape, or would you like to spend your precious time with dear Mr. Filch?"

Harry's face was bored, his arms crossed over his chest to mimic Draco, and he seemed as though he could care less about what Draco was talking about, but there was a spark deep in the eyes that he couldn't quite identify. It wasn't anger, it wasn't anything even close to that…in fact, it almost appeared to be…longing? For what? Draco discarded that thought immediately, being neither awake enough nor comfortable enough with the concept to find the inclination to follow it further. Unsatisfied with the lack of response, Draco pressed further, taunting, simpering. "Well Golden Boy? What's the verdict? Or does the thought of spending an inordinate amount of quality time with those gentlemen please you so much that you are unable to choose between them?"

"Do whatever you like Malfoy."

Draco blinked. "Whatever I like?"

A slow nod of a dark head, and there was that strange spark in those eyes again… "Yes. Whatever you like. You can't touch me anyway, so you might as well garner _some_ enjoyment out of it."

He tightened his jaw, recognizing that bored drawl as being one he had often adopted in their exchanges throughout the years. Since when had Potter started using it? Father had always said that imitation was one of the highest forms of flattery, but Draco didn't find it quite so flattering when it was being used against him. "Why Potter? Because you're "special"? Because you were Dumbledore's little favorite suck-up? Do you think that no-one will speak against you now? Because their precious little Savior can do no wrong?" Deep green flashed, briefly, and Draco felt a thrill of accomplishment…so he had hit a sore spot, found a crack in Potty's new mask. Before he could press his advantage, however, Potter began to speak in a low voice, filled with chocked emotion despite the careless tone he adopted.

"No Malfoy. Not because of my position, not because of the scar on my forehead. Not because I'm somehow above breaking the rules…you can't bother me because I don't care what you do. Because all this?" He gestured at the air between them. "All this doesn't matter. You, us, this stupid rivalry…it doesn't matter, none of it matters. So do whatever you like Malfoy, because nothing you do are say matters to me. You can't touch me."

Any other time, any other place, any other Potter, and Draco would have called that as a pathetic bluff, a façade to hide behind so that embarrassment was spared. But not here, not tonight…not this stranger with Potter's face. The sheer honesty ringing in that light baritone was enough to wake Draco's sleep-addled brain up. It wasn't a bluff, it wasn't a front…Potter honestly _didn't care what Draco did_. He had been waiting all these weeks for him to crack, to give up this new personae and give in to his taunts, to show that he was bothered, but now he understood that he never would. Because there was nothing to crack, nothing hiding behind that indifferent mask. Draco paused. No, that wasn't right. There was something behind that mask, there was a lot of pent-up "something" hiding away inside of Potter, and none of it was anything that pertained to Draco. It made him feel small, it made him feel somehow abandoned, it made him feel angry, but most of all it made him desperate to know who this…this man standing before him was. He wanted to know the secret, the strange emotion lurking behind those deep green eyes...he wanted to know, and the fierceness of that need scared him. It was like peeking at a present before it was time…he knew that if he looked inside it would forever alter his view of the Golden Boy, but he couldn't stop himself. He had to know.

"What happened to you? Who…_are_ you?"

It was like a switch had been flipped, and suddenly there was no mysterious stranger standing before him…there was only Potter, but it was still a Potter he had never seen before. The solemn young man scrutinizing him through slightly narrowed eyes was full of emotions teeming just under the surface, but unlike the touchy-feely Gryffindor he grew up with, this man was completely in control of himself. Draco felt as though he was being measured, as though this was the Potter under that mask he'd been dying to crack, and he had decided to reveal himself and was now deciding if Draco was worthy. It was such an abstract feeling, and Draco vaguely wondered when he's gone and become so melodramatic and sickeningly poetic within the confines of his own mind, but all of his thoughts faltered and stopped when Potter opened his mouth and began speaking. His voice was quiet, but it carried easily to Draco's ears in the silent corridor, his face serious and his tone so earnest that Draco knew, somehow, that he hadn't told this to anyone else before.

"Ever since I was a born, and circumstances beyond my control turned my life upside down, I have been making sacrifices for the world. As a baby, my parents were sacrificed, and my Godfather was taken and locked away. I grew up in my own personal hell, never knowing who or what I was, and not enjoying all the things that children should. At eleven, what seemed like a miracle came into my life in the form of a half-giant with a pink umbrella, and for a little while I thought that I could _perhaps_ be happy. I thought that surely, after losing my parents to a madman whose name no one would say, and spending my early years with the poor excuse for human beings that I call my aunt and uncle, I had earned some happiness. A whole world was opened up before me, and suddenly I was special…suddenly I was _loved_. I had friends, and money, and clothes that actually fit. I had a real bed to sleep in, and a mentor who watched over me like he was my grandfather. I had new power, a place I was glad to call home, and what seemed like a never-ending supply of new chances stretching out before me. Then an egomaniacal, freaky, racist, half-blooded _nutter_ decided to enter my life, _again_, and fuck everything up. For the first time in my life I experienced what it was like to be mocked by people I actually cared about, I learned how it felt to watch my precious friends get hurt for my sake, and I learned that it was my so-called "destiny" to kill a man. My happiness was sacrificed right then and there. My wonderful magic was now a "weapon" to be honed so that I could take a life…my loyal friends would hurt themselves again and again because of me, I would often be called crazy…and I now had real enemies. Not my great git of a cousin who loved to me feel like utter shit, but grown men and women who wished for me to be dead. _Dead_. I was only eleven."

Potter paused as though gathering his thoughts, and Draco saw so many different types of pain shadow across his face…he swallowed loudly, his throat suddenly dry. The sound seemed to start Potter up again, and he gazed blankly into the air a little above Draco's shoulder, seemingly completely immersed in his memories.

"It was painful, but I was still optimistic. I had faith that I would gain the happiness I deserved, and despite my fear sometimes, I never doubted that I would win against Voldemort in the end."

Draco flinched reflexively at the casual use of the dark lord's name, but Potter continued on, oblivious.

"Over the years I have made countless more sacrifices…my godfather, my safety, the safety and lives of those I care about, whatever innocence I ever possessed, my mentor…and my happiness never seemed to last long. How could I have a relationship, when I had no idea how my life would pan out? How could I be a good friend, when I was constantly the source of pain? How could I allow a new family into my life when they might be taken away? How the hell could I be _happy_" he seemed to spit out the word, "when everything I love ends up tainted or dead?" He shook his head, his eyes fierce and infinitely sad, as he looked right through Draco at something only he could see.

"Then finally, finally, I understood. I was focusing on the wrong thing…it didn't matter how much I think I deserve happiness…fate rarely doles out what people actually deserve. I could try to strive for happiness all I liked, but all I was doing was avoiding the truth. My life, my happiness, is not my own. You know why? Because in order to achieve happiness, you have to be a least a little selfish. I don't have that luxury. Because the happiness of everyone in the world is my responsibility, thanks to some ridiculous prophecy made before I was even born. All those people out there, the nameless, faceless masses, they're all depending on me, whether they know it or not. They all expect me to be their savior, their hero…and I have no choice but to be that for them. Because there is no-one else to play that role…only me. Everything insignificant think I do can affect the outcome of the final battle, and that affects the world. My life is ruled by their expectations, and there's no room for selfishness." He sighed, a breath of air infused with regret, and then suddenly pinned Draco with his gaze.

"The worst part is the uncertainty. When will it happen? When will the battle be? When will it be my time to die? To make the final sacrifice? Tomorrow? The next day? An hour from now? What will I do? There is a major decision coming up, and everyone is expecting me to make the right one. What if I don't? Everyone's lives are going to change…mine, yours, people I care about, people neither of us will ever meet. You have a decision to make too, you know. What will yours be?" He chuckled, the sound holding no mirth in it.

"My childhood was taken away. My adolescence was a sham. My adulthood is something I was forced into…and tomorrow might be beyond my reach. Who knows? I certainly don't. But if tomorrow is the final day, what decision will you make, Malfoy? I may not know what I'm going to do, but at least I know what my life was about, I know what I was worth, and I know that I accomplished something. If tomorrow was your last day Malfoy…could you say that your life was worth living? What have you done with it?"

Draco opened his mouth to shoot off a reply, wondering when the conversation had become about him, but he couldn't seem to make his mouth work. Potters words seemed to stick somewhere inside of him, and slowly worm their way done into his mind. He stood frozen, the minutes ticking past as he struggled to process everything that had just been dumped on him. He vaguely heard Potter sigh, but he wasn't jerked out of his unsettling thoughts until he felt cool fingers wrap around his own and tug on them gently. Shocked, he looked at Potter, who had a strange look on his face, somewhere between pitying and understanding, and was meeting his eyes squarely. Draco blinked, so completely caught off guard that he could do little more than that by way of reaction, and absently noted that all the anger and harshness had drained out of Potter's face, and that his green eyes were almost…soft. He opened his mouth, but like before could find nothing to say. Potter sighed again, quietly, and then tugged on Draco's hand once more before turning and walking down the corridor. Draco stumbled forward, unsure of why he was letting Potter lead him anywhere, but still unable to form a coherent protest. It was like everything was muffled, and the world around him no longer really existed. Lines seemed to blur before him and his thoughts whirled, the only thing that was clear was the now-warm hand holding securely onto his own and pulling him along. He felt a small surge of unexpected gratitude for Potter-would he have been able to move had the dark-haired boy not decided to make him?- but it was quickly lost amid the swirling maelstrom of distressing thoughts that were clouding his head and crowding out the world.

Potter was right…Potter was absolutely right. Who even knew what would happen tomorrow, or the next day? When would the Dark Lord call on him to take his mark? When would he have to start committing the same atrocities that his father and the other Death-eaters did on a daily basis? When that call came, would he be able to answer it? Would he survive being marked? Or could he seek help and protection from the ministry? Would he have the strength to do that? Would he be killed for even considering it? Would they even offer him protection? What had he done to deserve it? What had he done with his life? He was only 17…what had he really done? Irrational, childish panic began to cut through the haze he was in, and he suddenly wished that there was someone he could lean on, someone he could rely on to tell him what to do. Someone…but there was only Potter.

He focused on their joined hands; surprised as he always was by how much smaller Potter was than him. This boy walking in front of him had been his rival, his obsession throughout all of school. They had fought and thwarted each other at every turn, and his presence had always seemed so large to Draco. Yet when everyone else in their year grew in height and muscle-mass, Potter stayed the same. He was so small, yet there was such strength in him. Draco had to fight the unwelcome urge to lean on that strength now. It was all he could do to keep following after him. Potter led him through the dark corridors, his steps sure and unhurried as he headed towards…wherever they were going. After a few minutes, Draco simply stopped caring, and retreated back into his thoughts, knowing unconsciously that Potter wouldn't let him trip and fall. The air got progressively chillier, and Draco roused himself enough to realize that they were in the dungeons. Why would Potter willingly come to the dungeons? Unless…but that was silly. It was almost like Potter was walking him home…oh. Potter stopped at the portrait concealing the entrance to Draco's prefect rooms, and then turned toward the blonde expectantly. When Draco didn't react, he tilted his head and motioned at the door with his free hand. "The password?"

Draco just simply stared at him, still really unable to understand exactly what was going on and trying to figure out how Potter knew where his private rooms were. Potter just sighed and turned back towards the portrait, a small frown playing about his lips. The large silver and green anaconda in the portrait uncurled itself from the branch it was draped over, and hissed impatiently. Much to Draco's surprise, Potter hissed back. The anaconda reared back, tilting its wedge-shaped head to the side in what Draco decided was a reptilian mixture of surprise and curiosity, then hissed again. Potter replied, and Draco shivered slightly at the sultry sound, suddenly hyper-aware of Potter's slender hand in his own. He was just about to yank his hand away and tell Potter to get lost when the portrait hole opened abruptly, and Potter shot him a triumphant grin before tugging him over the threshold. Caught by surprise for what seemed the hundredth time in the last half-hour, Draco shot a glare at the treacherous portrait and stumbled after the Gryffindor into his living room. He looked around for a moment; seeming to take in the décor (which Draco irrationally hoped received his approval…that was an unexpected thought he would have to analyze later) then spotted the door to the bedroom and made a bee-line for it. Draco had no choice but to follow his rival, and was forced to admit to himself that this was most definitely the oddest night he had ever had. Then as Potter pushed him forward and sat him on the edge of the bed before proceeding to kneel and unlace his dragon-hide boots, Draco decided that the night was about to get even odder.

Potter gently pulled off his boots and set them next to the bed, then looked up at Draco, one of the blonde's feet still resting against a slender thigh. Draco's thoughts took a dive into the gutter, and he jerked away from Potter's touch, trying desperately to gain some grasp on the situation and shying away from the scenarios playing out in his mind- most of which involved Potter on his knees as he was now, and none of which were normal for a straight boy. He was disturbed by himself, and confused as fuck, so he fell back onto his fail-safe, the one thing that had always made sense: picking a fight with Potter.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, scar-head?" He snapped, mercury eyes flashing as he glared down at the kneeling boy. Green eyes snapped up to meet his, surprise and anger rising in their depths, and immediately Draco felt better, more balanced. This, he knew. This he could handle. Potter's eyes were fairly glinting, and so much emotion swirled inside of them as the dark-haired boy pinned him with his gaze. This is the way that Draco liked his Potter, brimming with emotion and focusing on Draco with a single-minded intensity that the Slytherin secretly envied. This was the way that things were supposed to be; with him and Potter here in this moment together, living only for each other, seeing only each other…dredging up the strong, poignant emotions that no-one else could make them feel. The Potter from the hallway Draco didn't understand…he was too jaded, too distant, almost as though he were seeing right through Draco. It made him feel as though suddenly he was insignificant, and that wasn't acceptable. This Potter, though…Draco knew exactly how he was going to react to his tone and rudeness, and then they would fall into the usual rhythm of their relationship, the well-known choreography bringing with it a sense of security and the base that Draco needed to balance himself on now.

Potter rose to his feet slowly, leaning forward and getting up in Draco's face, his stare intense and hard. Draco braced himself for the harsh words that he knew were coming…but all he got was a small sigh. Frowning, Draco realized that while Potter's gaze was intense and focused on him, there was no anger in his eyes…in fact; there it was again…that strange softness…

"I'm doing for you what I wish someone had done for me. My world was rocking, but I was in a tent in the middle of the woods and all alone. There was no one to see if I was alright, no one to make sure that I slept, no one to possibly understand. I wish that there had been. So I'm going to be that person for you. After all, who else is going to understand? That is what I'm doing."

Draco was confused for a moment, and then he realized that Potter had answered his question. Answered his smart-ass, deliberately aggressive question…in a calm, conversational, almost…caring tone. They had played this game for years, and it was just like Potter to go and break the rules. He should have gotten angry, they should be fighting…Draco didn't know how to react to an almost companionable Potter. Potter seemed to understand, much to Draco's relief and chagrin, and he placed a light touch on Draco's shoulder before turning and heading towards the door, calling "Get some sleep, okay?" over his shoulder as he went. This was good, Draco's pride told him. Potter was leaving and now he wouldn't make a fool of himself in front of the green-eyed boy again tonight. He would be able to scrape together his dignity, think over what had been said tonight, and be calm, collected, and witty again come morning. This was good, Potter leaving quietly was good. He should just let him go…

But Draco's treacherous mouth betrayed him. "Why are you doing this?" Potter stopped with his hand on the doorframe and turned back to look at Draco through surprised eyes. "Hmm?"

"I don't understand…why are you being so…nice?" Draco frowned, meeting Potter's eyes squarely even as he cursed himself for prolonging this rabbit-hole-esque situation. Potter only raised an eyebrow- something else Draco figured that he had picked up from their quarrels together…it made him look mischievous- and cocked his head slightly. "We should have been fighting by now." Draco helpfully reminded him. Potter only smiled, a little sadly, and a little affectionately, before crossing the room to sit on the bed next to Draco. Draco stared at him, taken aback by Potter's sudden casual proximity, and watched as the Chosen One worried his lower lip, obviously searching for the right words to say. Then Potter turned his torso around to face him, and caught Draco up with the sincerity in his eyes.

"I know that these words are unwanted, especially since they come from me, and, let's face it…we aren't the best of friends." He shot Draco a small grin. "Believe you me; this situation is weird for me too. But even though these words are unwelcome, and even though they might go unheeded, you must never doubt the sincerity of them. Time is running out, and I don't know if we're going to get anymore. When the clock stops, I don't know what decision you will make, or what decision I will. Maybe it will be the right one…I certainly hope so. I don't know if we'll face each other from opposite sides, or if we'll somehow end up fighting together. I don't know if either of us will live. But…if by some miracle we both make it out on the other side, I look forward to arguing with you in the future."

Harry shot him another one of those gentle, sad smiles, rose off the bed, and reached out to push Draco back against his pillows. Draco could only stare, wide-eyed, the hand against his bare chest was warm and gentle, and somehow Harry's words had taken the edge off of the panic building up in him. He never would have imagined that anything like this would have happened- that he'd be tucked into bed like an errant child by _Harry Potter_ of all people. Hell, he could barely understand that it was happening now. Yet there he was, hovering over him like some sort of one-man guardian angel, with his vibrantly green eyes, that dark halo of messy hair, and those damned glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. A pale hand rose to gently push them back into place, and Draco realized with a start that it was his own. He jerked his hand back, almost guiltily, but Harry didn't comment. He only smiled as he stood up and ran a hand through that hair, his body angled towards the door.

"Go to sleep Ferret." He said, and then quietly left the room. A moment later, Draco heard the portrait hole open and shut, and then he was alone. He sank back fully into the pillows, waiting for the irritation at being called 'ferret' to come. It didn't. Something in the tone of Harry's voice had made it sound more like a term of affection, instead of an insult. And…when had he become 'Harry'? Draco shook his head, running a hand through blonde locks before freezing and pulling it back to stare at it accusingly. Apparently Harr-Potter wasn't the only one picking up mannerisms. No matter. It was no use thinking about such things right now. As much as it galled him to do what Potter had told him to do, just this once, he would listen. He rolled over onto his side, closed his eyes, and slept.


End file.
