Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter series or any of its characters.

A.N.: This story is basically a continuation of 'I'm Always Here', partly written from Draco's point of view. I tried to show how he feels about Clarissa without warping his character too much, although I'm not sure how I did xD

Anyway, enjoy!

Draco opened his eyes to darkness. The dim light filtering in from outside the partially open doors of the infirmary barely reached the foot of his bed. He was lying on his back, the white infirmary sheets pulled up to his chin as he stared up at the arch of the ceiling, which seemed to continue endlessly into the darkness above.

The air was thick with humidity despite the summer breeze that filtered in from an open window. Draco found himself idly wondering if it was tension he could feel in the air. With that thought came a mounting sense of dread that rose up in his stomach. He'd been trying, futilely, to suppress the feeling and put off his mission for as long as possible though he knew it was inescapable. He would bend to the Dark Lord's will.

With a heavy sigh and a mounting horror, Draco pushed himself into a sitting position. His legs swung off the side of the bed, the cool chill of the floor rising up to tickle the soles of his feet even before they touched the uneven stone. He stared into his lap a moment, then steeled himself and made to rise.

His eyes lifted as he pushed to his feet and Draco froze, temporarily stunned when his gaze settled on Clary. She was curled into an old wooden chair, her short dark hair spilling partially over her face as her head lay propped at an odd angle. For a terrifying moment Draco thought she was dead. That in his attempt to put off his mission Voldemort had gotten impatient. But even as he watched her, her chest rose and fell and she shifted her arms tighter around herself where they lay crossed over her ribs.

He sighed, sagging against the bed behind him as reality sunk in and chased his nightmares back. He frowned, annoyed at his own reaction even as he realized that she had truly kept her promise; she was here when he woke. Even after years of knowing her, the fact still surprised him and drove a dull guilt into his chest. Briefly he thought of waking her, shaking her and sending her away so he could carry out his mission.

Yet the hand he stretched out towards her did not shake her. Instead it settled on her cheek and brushed the hair from her face carefully. He was mildly aggravated that such a gesture could generate such comfort, turning sharply and walking briskly to the door.

When he reached the large double doors of the infirmary he slowed to a stop. He nudged open the door, a loud creak echoing out into the halls beyond, and stood in the doorframe solemnly. He turned back to the thick darkness of the infirmary. From his place bathed in the light of the hall beyond, the room seemed made of shadows whose only definition came from the deeper darkness cast by the shifting light. And within that darkness sat Clary, her chair placed just beyond the light's reach so that even as Draco stretched out his arm his shadow could not touch her. For a wild moment he considered climbing back into bed. Ignoring what needed to come and simply hiding away in the darkness with her.

Somewhere in the maze of corridors at his back a door slammed loudly and he jumped. He whirled, silver hair flashing in the torchlight as his icy eyes scanned the halls he had come to know so well. He looked back at Clary over his shoulder and sighed. He would allow himself this much at least.

. . . . .

Clary woke slowly from a sleep as heavy as dense fog. Through the haze of dreams she was already forgetting she felt something cool touch her forehead before retreating quickly. A chill had settled around one of the fingers of her left hand, though her own drowsiness prevented her from processing the sensation fully. Somewhere nearby a door slammed and the light hitting her eyelids cut off abruptly. It was the darkness that woke her.

She jumped awake in the old chair she'd placed beside Draco's bed, the old wood beneath her groaning under her. The bed was empty, the pristine white sheets thrown back to the foot of the bed.

Frustrated and angry, Clary folded into herself. Elbows on her knees she pressed her firsts against her eyes to stop the tears she knew were coming. The silence of the infirmary, which at one time had seemed almost pleasant to her, now weighed heavily on her back. The tears welled up against her eyelids and Clary fought furiously to force them down. She rubbed her fists, knuckles white, against her closed eyes.

She stopped abruptly when she felt the cold bite of metal dig into the ridge of her eye socket. Confused, she pulled her hands from her face to inspect the ring she now inexplicably sported. Her breath whistled from her throat at the sight of it.

Curled around her left hand's ring finger was a ring she had come to know intimately. The silver snake curled around her finger to knot with it's own tail. One emerald eye peered out at her on a constant vigil. Stupidly, she wondered how it could look so pristine, when more than one Slytherin boy had received a black eye for trying to steal it. After all, his family's ring was one thing that Draco guarded venomously.

Clary lurched to her feet, her dark hair swinging into her eyes from where it had been brushed behind her ears. Somewhere in her mind she knew she could catch up to him. She was to late to stop the carnage of the Death Eaters, but she could go with him. She need only find him.

She took a few wobbling steps towards the door, her legs trembling, before she stopped herself. She was terrified of them. Terrified of what they had done and would do. Somewhere in her heart she realized that Draco had done her a service by leaving her there. She would not survive the darkness that now inhabited the Malfoy Mansion.

She looked back to the ring, curled tightly around her finger despite how well it had fit Draco. Frowning, Clary realized that the ring should not have fit her at all.

"He charmed it…"

The whisper fluttered past her lips unbidden, voicing the thought she could not quite process. Somewhere in her mind, something clicked and she realized why she had been given the ring. A small, sad smile curled her lips and her shoulders slumped. She took a few tottering steps backwards, sinking onto the abandoned recovery bed when the back of her thighs met the soft material of the bed linens.

With one final aggrieved glance at the oak doors of the infirmary Clary curled into Draco's bed, pulling the sheets up to her nose and burying her face in his pillow. She would wait for him, no matter the time it took.

So... success? Or not? Please review!