Disclaimer: I'm using lyrics by Bright Eyes – 'An Attempt to Tip the Scales'. The lyrics were not written by me, to my utmost dismay. :p

Author's Note: ♥ Aww, my reviewer's are awesome.

Enjoy...

xXx

Harry yawned, rubbing his closed eyes with his index finger and thumb. It had been a long day, and a once dull ache in his temples had steadily increased to a consistent pain behind his eyes. Thrusting his bag onto the end of his bed, Harry shrugged off his robe cloak, loosened his tie, unbuttoned his school shirt and slipped them off his torso. The strenuous Quidditch practice he had just endured had taken its toll on his tense body, the muscles in his back, arms and legs tightened and stretched uncomfortably, like his limbs had been twisted in directions they were not created for. With a certain lack of refinement, Harry stumbled into the Dorm bathroom, the newly cleaned room smelling of detergent that reminded Harry of the muggle world. He loosened the black watch on his left wrist, noticing the time was 6:47pm. Excellent. He had a good three hours to himself before Ron, Seamus, Dean and Neville would be retreating back to the dorms.

Looking up, Harry stared at his reflection in the clean mirror, observing the red bruise appearing on his left shoulder which he had newly received from a bludger that afternoon. 'Did I look like this when I first came here?' Harry wondered, trying to imagine himself as a first year, walking for the first time through the gargantuan doors to the Great Hall. Settling on the fact he had undeniably grown somewhat in those five or so years, Harry smiled at his reflection. Indeed his general features were still there; his lightning-bolt scar still extended down his pale forehead, swathed by his bangs of hair. Yes, that was another thing that had never changed. His black flop of messy hair, which his Aunt Petunia had been so eager to trim but never could, had stayed the same. Only now, he looked to have grown into it. When he was eleven years old, frail, short and skinny, his hair stood out ridiculously, making his head seem far too big for his body, like he was viable to tumble over at any given moment. However, now in his fifth year, as he looked at himself in the bathroom mirror, Harry looked at himself almost curiously. He was still thin, however he had accumulated slight muscles in the right places, a perk of being a Seeker for the Gryffindor Quidditch team for a number of years. His shoulders had broadened slightly, chest gaining slender muscles in place of skeletal bones. His skinny arms developing slim muscles in their uppers.

However, these slight muscles were only noticeable if one were to look very carefully at Harry, or if he did not have his shirt on. Otherwise, he was his normal self. Same penetrating emerald eyes, shaded by long black eyelashes; Same light skin, now slightly tanned with colour from the sun; He had just matured. Grown. Developed; His face showing that of a fifteen year old boy – beautifully sculptured and figured. His jaw-line accentuated elegantly from his neck, wisps of dark hair curling around the soft skin around his face in an untidy yet handsome way. Yes, he had definitely grown into his hair.

Smirking, Harry grabbed a towel from a cabinet, pulled down his pants and jumped into the shower.

xXx

The Infirmary was filled with inky blackness, a stark contrast to its usual pallid cleanliness. The moon hovered in the dark sky just overhead, blanketed in dusty clouds that threatened the creation of snow, and sprinkles of flickering stars. Gentle moon beams streams dully through the see-through curtains, providing the only light source in the large room. The glass windows were beginning to frost at the corners, stretching up as the night grew colder, as the warning of snow increased.

Draco lay on his side in bed, staring vacantly at the window, his left cheek resting against his cold hand on the pillow. His skin was paler that usual, the moonlight making it seem pasty and ashen. He was the only one in the Infirmary, and could hear the light snores of Madam Pomfrey in her bedroom next door.

Draco had not stopped thinking about his Fathers earlier visit. It hung in his mind like a cold shadow, never quite leaving his thoughts no matter how hard he tried to think of other things. He had even read ahead in his Potions book, but he found himself reading the same line over and over, and the words never even registering. His conversation kept replaying over and over in his mind like a broken record, gnawing away at him, making him feel even sicker than when he had first come into the Infirmary. He had not eaten in days. And the last time he had eaten, he had thrown the food up. Madam Pomfrey had tried to make him eat that evening, but Draco could not even bear to have the food in his mouth without gagging. All of Draco's refusals to eat had now begun to take obvious effects on his body. After his Father had left, Draco grasped his hands together, finding bruise marks when he let go. His skin was now extra-sensitive from his lack of calcium, and any pressure against his skin would be extremely painful and leave marks. His eye lids had darkened, along with the area around his eyes, which were dull and lifeless. His pale, almost skin-coloured lips were swollen from his pursing them together and running a gentle hand through his soft white hair would result in several hairs falling out.

Madam Pomfrey had him on a health revitalising potion, but its treatment, although effective, took time. It was the only thing Draco had been able to keep down, and that was only because Madam Pomfrey had almost forced it down his throat. The school nurse was becoming very worried for the Slytherin boy, who was becoming more and more waif-like each day.

Swallowing, Draco pulled himself into a sitting position, gripping tightly to the side of the bed with shaking, petite hands as he got to his feet, struggling to stay upright. 'How could that meeting with Father have such an effect on me?' He wondered, slowly sitting down on the soft windowsill, his long, thin white hands parting the curtains. His breath whooshed out like smoke, gathering on the freezing glass in front of his lips as he stared out onto the Hogwarts grounds, the black tree's of the Forbidden Forest shivering in movement from the wind. Draco drew a blanket from the nearby bed and pulled it around his shoulders, glad for the extra warmth in the cold air. Pulling his knees up to his chest, Draco leant against the window, his breath tumbling out in wisps of white air, plastering against the glass in circles, before dissolving and leaving the transparent window.

'As if they had never been touched,' Draco thought distantly, his large grey eyes fixated on the glass. Raising a slim, white hand, Draco placed it against the icy window, sliding it down and leaving the long tracks of his fingers in the frost. Staring out through the clear windows, Draco could see tiny white snow confetti falling from the gathering clouds until the glass misted and he could see nothing. 'I've touched nothing at all.' Draco shut his eyes, his shaky hands grasping hold of his shirt. Tomorrow the school would look like a winter wonderland. It didn't excite Draco as much as it would others. Draco had always disliked the snow. He had always been a fragile child and the extremely cold weather conditions had always been difficult for him to handle. His lack of body fat had left him with little to no resistance against the snow. Draco smirked as he recalled the previous winter. It was the first Christmas he had spent away from Malfoy Manor. Lucius gave Draco specific orders to stay at school and not return home to his mother. Draco could not say he was heartbroken over the idea; after all, spending Christmas alone was better than spending it with his Father. He had become used to his own company and not expecting the company of others. During that particular Christmas, however, Draco had enjoyed some much needed quiet-time, which he did not experience that often. The only other people at Hogwarts during those two weeks were a few Professors, the Hogwarts staff, the original bunkers of Hogwarts, and a handful of students who had opted for staying at school rather than going home. Crabbe and Goyle had considered staying at the news that Draco was, but Draco himself insisted (a little too enthusiastically) they go home.

However, despite his comfortable exterior with his circle of 'friends', coming to Hogwarts was a shock for him – the veneration he received from his fellow Slytherin's was completely new to Draco. He had spent his childhood alone, with only the company of adults, servants or the children of wizards who barely spoke a word. Lucius had boasted proudly that Malfoy's were held in high regard, and Draco never doubted it, seeing the way he was treated when other wizards were at the Manor. Draco had never expected he would be treated the same way by his peers. He found out swiftly that he was well-known among the circle of Slytherin families, and swiftly become used to it also. Throughout his years at Hogwarts, it had become custom for the Slytherin's to treat him as their superior, whether Draco liked it or not. Soon, he had grown to accept it. However the longer time he spent alone, the more he disliked being in the circle of his aristocracy. Those holidays he had spent in solitary made him realise how much he preferred being alone rather than being trailed by students he did not even like. So as this year had worn on, Draco had slowly broken free from the ties of his fellow Slytherins. He made sure it was not a sudden or terribly noticeable metamorphosis, rather gradually stepping away from the inner circle of the Slytherins. Bit by bit, Draco cast himself into the shadows, now only being recognised since he had distanced himself so greatly. The other Slytherins had not seen the process, just the outcome.

Well, in the dark we're just air

So the house might dissolve

But once we're gone, who's gonna care

If we were ever here at all?

Draco stared at his small handprints as they dissolved into nothing, his left hand coming up and feeling his right shoulder. Everyone was saying he was becoming more and more of a ghost these days, even his father (although lacking any feelings of concern), and Draco knew it aswell. It didn't bother him so much, however. Infact, it gave him a slight thrill to feel the sensation of losing flesh. It was his disappearing act, and Draco Malfoy did not like the sound of a reappearing act one bit.

xXx

"Draco?" A tentative voice asked over the slight creaking of a door.

"Since when did you call me that, Potter?" Came the short, yet bored reply, it's trademark droll making Harry roll his eyes and shut the door behind him.

"Good. You're still awake, I see...Why are you sitting at the window?" Harry asked, sitting down on top of Draco's empty bed. Draco turned and looked at the dark haired boy, his long fingers drumming on the arm rests of his seat.

"I like the sky at the moment." He said with a slight shrug, ignoring the strange look he was receiving from Harry. "So. What do I owe this visit?" He asked, his voice, not vindictive or callous, but rather curious.

Harry shrugged, leaning back on the bed and resting his hands behind him, propping himself up. "Snape has been asking for you. You had a nasty fall the other day."

Draco chuckled, "I never do things half-arsed."

Harry had to agree with the boy there. There was a silence, not uncomfortable or nervous, but rather a silence that followed what had been said and was waiting for what was to come next. They sat there in the Infirmary, just...being there.

"My Father is at Hogwarts." Draco suddenly said, rubbing his elegant jawline with his right hand.

"I noticed." Harry said shortly, feeling a little uneasy talking about Lucius Malfoy, let alone to his own son. Besides, Harry could have always sworn Draco would be happy about his father being at Hogwarts, he had someone else to help him bully around people, right?

Blinking, Draco stared back out the window, his eyes becoming dull and lifeless as if being switched off. He hated this feeling; like he was just an empty shell, void of feelings and emotions and anything of substance. "It feels like I'm tying an apple to my head and handing him a bag of arrows and a blindfold." He said in a monotone voice, his stomach contracting, his ribs curling in, feeling like they would break from the weight of it all.

"I..." Harry started unsure of how to continue. What was he meant to say to that? He was finding out Draco Malfoy did not hold the esteem he had made out he held for his father.

"I feel like that sometimes..." Harry suddenly muttered.

Draco scoffed. "Okay, Potter." He said, bitterly.

"Are you familiar with Plato's theory of the origin of love?" Harry suddenly blurted out. Sitting back, he clasped his hands together and stared at the white floor infront of him. "Plato theorized that once, there were three sexes. Children of the sun, children of the moon, and children of the earth. Each individual were attached to another by their backs and they were whole. So they all had four hands, four feet and one head, with two faces facing opposite directions.

"Zeus got worried, thinking that they were getting too strong and defiant, so he sent down firebolts and separated them. Apollo sealed up a wound and brought it round to our stomaches, now being our bellybuttons. And so all these people were scattered and they all lost their other halves they had once been attached to, therefore being... just a part of themselves. Spending the rest of their lives roaming the earth in search of their other half." Harry swallowed, "That's how I feel. Like...I'm only part of myself, left behind by something better..."

Shaking himself, he quickly said, "Sorry...Kindof lost track of things there, didn't I?" He asked, still looking at the ground.

Draco was staring at him, his eyes no longer empty or bare, but rather confused. Opening his mouth, he said softly, "And making love is like trying to pull yourself back together. Finding that other part of yourself."

Harry blinked and nodded slowly, looking back to the ground. A few moments passed as the boys merely sat there, feeling not so alien to eachother.

Standing, Harry ran a hand through his messy hair and turned, walking to the door of the Hospital Wing. "Snape said he wants you to read the rest of the chapter in the Potions book." He said before shutting the door behind him and walking back to his dorm, feeling uneasy. Had that all really happened? He never imagined having a conversation with Draco Malfoy, let alone a civil one. He had said things even himself didn't know he was feeling. He spoke with that blonde-haired Slytherin as if he were talking to Ron or Hermione. Sure, he had been afraid of the boy jeering him, but at the time, it didn't matter. All that mattered was releasing those words he had been pining away for so long until they had been closed behind a door deep inside of himself, long forgotten. However now that was replaced by something else, something he couldn't quite manifest the meaning of. Something comforting and warm and soothing. 'So...why is it leaving me as I walk further away from the Hospital Wing?' Harry wondered, his stomach tightening painfully. 'No...'

xXx

Draco watched the door close, the footsteps echoing down the hall, becoming gentler and gentler until they were gone. His silver eyes moved to his long fingers, drumming on the chair rest. His coral lips, once straight and lazily sitting in an emotionless position on his perfect face, quirked into a slight smile as he stood slowly, walked to his bed and slid in, pulling the covers to his shoulders.

xXx

Jen: Arg, that took me forever. So sorry. ; But incase you didn't know, I got inspiration for this chappie from Hedwig and the Angry Inch! Best movie. There's a song on it called 'Origin of Love' and I'm going to post the lyrics.

Origin of Love

When the earth was still flat,
And the clouds made of fire,
And mountains stretched up to the sky,
Sometimes higher,
Folks roamed the earth
Like big rolling kegs.
They had two sets of arms.
They had two sets of legs.
They had two faces peering
Out of one giant head
So they could watch all around them
As they talked; while they read.
And they never knew nothing of love.
It was before the origin of love.

The origin of love

And there were three sexes then,
One that looked like two men
Glued up back to back,
Called the children of the sun.
And similar in shape and girth
Were the children of the earth.
They looked like two girls
Rolled up in one.
And the children of the moon
Were like a fork shoved on a spoon.
They were part sun, part earth
Part daughter, part son.

The origin of love

Now the gods grew quite scared
Of our strength and defiance
And Thor said,
"I'm gonna kill them all
With my hammer,
Like I killed the giants."
And Zeus said, "No,
You better let me
Use my lightening, like scissors,
Like I cut the legs off the whales
And dinosaurs into lizards."
Then he grabbed up some bolts
And he let out a laugh,
Said, "I'll split them right down the middle.
Gonna cut them right up in half."
And then storm clouds gathered above
Into great balls of fire

And then fire shot down
From the sky in bolts
Like shining blades
Of a knife.
And it ripped
Right through the flesh
Of the children of the sun
And the moon
And the earth.
And some Indian god
Sewed the wound up into a hole,
Pulled it round to our belly
To remind us of the price we pay.
And Osiris and the gods of the Nile
Gathered up a big storm
To blow a hurricane,
To scatter us away,
In a flood of wind and rain,
And a sea of tidal waves,
To wash us all away,
And if we don't behave
They'll cut us down again
And we'll be hopping round on one foot
And looking through one eye.

Last time I saw you
We had just split in two.
You were looking at me.
I was looking at you.
You had a way so familiar,
But I could not recognize,
Cause you had blood on your face;
I had blood in my eyes.
But I could swear by your expression
That the pain down in your soul
Was the same as the one down in mine.
That's the pain,
Cuts a straight line
Down through the heart;
We called it love.
So we wrapped our arms around each other,
Trying to shove ourselves back together.
We were making love,
Making love.
It was a cold dark evening,
Such a long time ago,
When by the mighty hand of Jove,
It was the sad story
How we became
Lonely two-legged creatures,
It's the story of
The origin of love.
That's the origin of love.