Disclaimer: I own nothing of Harry Potter and I make absolutely no profits from what I write. Besides the concepts of the Harry Potter world, which belong to JKRowling and Warner Brothers, all the text in this story, unless otherwise quoted, is written by me.

Prologue

Draco Malfoy is staring straight ahead with a passive expression on his face. He's trying his best to keep from shaking, but he's finding it difficult under the circumstances. This is his final trial, and whatever the Wizengamot decide today will shape the rest of his life. The charges against him are severe, including being an active member of an illegal hate association and aiding and abetting in murder.

The room appointed for his final trial is dingy, dark and frigid. Everything about the space is bleak, from the lack of windows on the sweaty walls to the lonely, wooden chair that waits for the accused. Draco sits in it now, clenching his fists tightly over his lap, hoping to hide his shaking hands. He's already endured two weeks of this torture. What's the point of sitting through this when it's perfectly clear to everyone that he's guilty? His darkest secrets are exposed for the world to see, and the evidence against him is mounting and heavy.

"We now call our final witness to the stand."

Draco is momentarily relieved to learn that this is almost over, but his stomach lurches unpleasantly at the sight of Harry Potter walking past him, his hair disheveled and his robes a mess. Of course, why would he bother looking presentable for this? Draco almost laughs at his misfortune: he may be getting the kiss after all.

Potter doesn't even have the nerve to look in his direction as he takes his seat only a few feet away in the witness bench. He looks uneasily at the crowd in front of him, squinting as dozens of photographers take their money shot.

"For the record, can you please state your full name, age and address?" The Head Wizengamot member, Doge, begins.

Potter quickly scans the Wizengamot committee, seeming to recognize some of them. "My name is Harry Potter, I'm 17 years old and er… currently don't have a permanent address. I'm staying with my friend's family, the Weasleys."

As soon as Potter begins speaking, dozens of quills can be heard scratching furiously on parchment. Doge smiles reassuringly at Potter. "Thank you for coming on such short notice, Mr. Potter. I first want to ask, what is your relationship to Mr. Malfoy?"

"We were classmates at Hogwarts."

"Would you say you two were friends?"

"No - not at all," Potter says shortly. "We never got along."

"And why is that?"

"Well," he hesitates for a moment, "there was house rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor and it was rumoured his family had connections to Voldemort. But honestly, more than anything, Malfoy was a bully." Draco stares stonily at Potter, unable to believe what he's hearing. Is he trying to get him killed?

"Can you please elaborate?" Doge asks.

"Yeah. Malfoy was prejudiced against muggleborns. He gave some people a hard time at Hogwarts, like calling my friends 'mudblood' or 'blood-traitor' –" The crowd audibly gasps and a scatter of flashes erupt to document this moment. Draco can only hang his head and blankly stare down at his white knuckles, feeling the last rays of hope drain from him. Potter wants him dead. Harry Potter has the power to make it happen. "But -" Potter continues, and Draco looks up at him again, "even though he's a git– that's not way he's here."

"Quite right," Doge says almost pleasantly. "Evidence suggests that Mr. Malfoy became a Death Eater when he was 16 years old. Did you ever personally see Mr. Malfoy's Dark Mark?"

"Yes, at the end of the sixth year."

"Did he show this to you?"

"No. He showed Albus Dumbledore on the night he died." Cue for another round of audible gasps and scattered flashes, but all Draco can do is slowly shakes his head in horror. Potter wasn't even there that night!

"Are you suggesting that Mr. Malfoy has a role in Albus Dumbledore's death?"

Potter seems to take a moment to gather his thoughts, before he unexpectedly glances at Draco. Draco digs his nails into his palms as he fights to keep his expression neutral. A cold, harsh truth washes over him: I'm going to Azkaban.

"No, he isn't capable," he says at last, shocking Draco, who lets out a shaken breath he didn't realize he was holding in.

"How can you be so sure of that, Mr. Potter?"

"I -" Potter becomes visibly uncomfortable, "I already gave my account of what happened, but a lot of it is not public knowledge yet… do I have to say it again?" Draco frowns in confusion, clearly he's been left uninformed.

"If you please, Mr. Potter, summarize what you have told the Aurors earlier."

"Alright. Well – the thing is – Dumbledore's death wasn't actually murder – per se." Draco stares as Potter incoherently stammers. Even Doge is looking at Potter as if he's gone mad. All that can be heard at that moment are flashes and urgent quills.

"That's… not a reasonable statement, Mr. Potter, considering the fact that Severus Snape cast the Killing Curse on Prof. Dumbledore. You saw this yourself."

Potter nods in agreement, "Yes, I did. But Dumbledore was already dying-"

"So are you suggesting that Draco Malfoy and Severus Snape killed Prof. Dumbledore out of the goodness in their hearts?" Doge seems to be giving Potter a smile that's both disbelieving and amused. How cute, Doge must be thinking, our hero has such a gentle, trusting heart.

Potter sighs loudly and Draco has no idea where he's going with this. "Severus Snape was a spy for Dumbledore," he blurts out at last. The whole room seems to spin in chaos: writers begin demanding more details, family members loudly object, and even Doge loses his composure. But to Draco, well…as shocking as that is to hear, it would explain a fair bit. Before Severus killed Dumbledore, Draco had suspected as much. But even after that night, there were those rare times when Draco felt something didn't add up – like when Severus knew just the right amount of information, or how his style of obedience was painted with purpose rather than loyalty. Perhaps only Draco could see the cracks in his mask because he was hiding himself.

"I have proof," Potter says, dragging Draco out of his thoughts. "He was on our side the entire time. He fooled us all, especially me. But Dumbledore made sure of that, he needed Snape to be a convincing spy."

"The Aurors have yet to confirm this, so I'm afraid I cannot allow this to sway our verdict in this case," Doge says to the rest of the committee.

"But if it's not murder, why should Malfoy be accused of it?" Potter interjects.

"Mr. Potter, please avoid speaking out of turn. It doesn't change the fact that Draco Malfoy attempted to kill Albus Dumbledore on numerous occasions. There are several accounts of his failed attempts, in which his fellow classmates, friends of yours, were severely injured. Prof. Dumbledore was acutely aware of how dangerous this person is." Doge points at Draco unnecessarily. "You mentioned in your report that Prof. Dumbledore forced you to hide on the night he was killed. He did this because he knew you would be in danger if you faced Draco Malfoy."

Potter snorts, before he realizes how utterly inappropriate that reaction is and schools is expression to be serious. What a cocky, little shit. Potter sits up straighter in his chair before he replies, "no, Dumbledore was hiding me from the other Death Eaters. Dumbledore wasn't worried about Malfoy. He knew that Malfoy's job was to kill him, but Malfoy couldn't do it. The problem with this is that Dumbledore had already planned out his death: it was the only way to secure Snape as a spy, keep Malfoy alive and give Voldemort a false sense of hope. All this, combined with the fact that he was already dying, made Dumbledore realize his apparent murder was the only move he had. So - he asked Snape to do it, since he knew Malfoy … didn't have it in him." Potter turns to face Draco unexpectedly, his expression earnest, "I saw you lower your wand, and I knew then too."

Draco openly flinches at this, his mind trying to make sense of what Potter's saying. He remembers pointing his wand at Dumbledore's slouched chest, threatening to kill him. He remembers the fool trying to help him. I can help you, Draco -

"Mr. Potter, please refrain from speaking to the defendant!" Doge demands loudly before gathering thoughts, "Let's assume you aren't mistaken and everything you say is true. That means that Prof. Dumbledore knew about Draco Malfoy's dilemma and did nothing to stop him from hurting others. Does that seem rational to you?"

"Prof. Dumbledore didn't do anything in order to protect Malfoy, and also Snape's secret. He knew that if Malfoy showed any hesitation, Voldemort would kill him." A look of shock overcomes the Wizengamot committee, clearly this isn't going as they had planned. Potter, who seems aware of their frustration, carries on relentlessly. "I don't like Draco Malfoy, if anything I despise him, but that's not good enough of a reason to punish him. Although I can't trust him, I definitely can't condemn him, because he… he's also a victim of this war."

"- Thank you, Mr. Potter." Doge cuts Potter off sharply, needing him to stop talking. "I would like to take this time to call a recess. Mr. Potter, you are excused."

The room erupts in an incessant chatter as Potter gets up to leave. The reporters practically throw themselves at his feet as he begins to walk away. The confusion Draco feels makes his head heavy and his ears buzz noisily. Everything Potter has said weighs heavily on his chest, making it difficult to breathe. He looks to Potter for some explanation of what the fuck just happened, some clue as to what he must be thinking, but his steps are quick and desperate, needing to get away. As Draco watches him, he feels this moment being seared into his memory: the slight tilt of Potter's face as he begins to look back at him, but as he hurries out of the courtroom, he never does.

Chapter 1: Into the Woods

Harry can't quite believe that he's back on the Hogwarts Express, heading for a final year of school. The ministry made it clear that he could graduate without his last credits, and that a position is available as an entry Auror if he wished for it. But Harry needs some time to get his bearings back. He still wants to be an Auror, but not straight away, not after everything that happened mere months ago.

"Harry? Are you listening? You've got that far away look again."

"Oh, sorry, Ginny. Just got lost in my thoughts."

"Do you think they'll allow us to share a dorm?" Ginny asks slyly. The Ministry made it a priority to repair the damages inflicted on Hogwarts during the final battle. New dorms were added to accommodate the students who are returning for an eight year.

"I doubt it," he replies with a smirk, "even if I am the Chosen One." Checking to see that no one is looking, Harry plants a quick kiss on Ginny's cheek.

She laughs and pushes him away playfully, "we'll just have to be sneaky, like normal teenagers."

He smiles, but it makes him wonder if anything in his life will ever be normal. Maybe things will settle down now that he's back at Hogwarts. The other students will quickly bore of seeing Harry Potter do every day, normal things. How exciting can it be to watch someone eat, walk or study, after all? "I think it's going to be okay" he says mostly to himself. Within just a few weeks, people will begin to forget what happened at Hogwarts. If he's lucky, maybe he can too.

Harry is roughly pulled away from such thoughts when he feels the train begin to slow at an alarming pace. He can see everyone around him pause momentarily, listening to the harsh screeching sounds of the brakes. "We couldn't be there yet!" Neville exclaims while shoving Pig into his cage. Luna's eyes can be seen above her upside down book, looking intently outside the window. Turning his gaze, Harry can make out dark figures almost blending against the night. He stands up instinctively with his wand ready in hand. As the train streaks to a halt, commotion and loud voices are heard outside their compartment. What sounds like panic is heard, but it's too far away to distinguish what's going on. Ron, who is closest to the compartment door, slowly opens it and peaks his head outside.

"Ron, wait!" Hermione says anxiously, her new edition of Hogwarts: A History forgotten. "I think they're inside."

Ron turns to look at Harry. With silent understanding, he nods at Harry's next words, "I think we should see if everything's okay. Ginny, maybe you could stay with Luna and watch the first years."

"I don't see why they can't lock up behind us." She stands up and takes her wand out. "If you're going, I am too."

"I need you to stay here with the first years," he explains a little more forcefully than he intends. That doesn't persuade her, so he continues, "it's probably nothing anyway - Just for precaution. Please?"

She looks to Ron and Hermione with a pleading look; when nothing more is said, she sits back down grudgingly. "Okay, whatever you say."

Harry knows she's upset, but he can't think of that right now. "We'll be quick," he says before leaving with Ron, Hermione and Neville.

They begin walking through the corridors, and the screaming that was heard only moments ago is gone, replaced by an eerie silence that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. All the compartment doors to either side of him are closed shut, most likely locked. But he could see shadows under the cracks of the doors. No one seems to be speaking or moving. Why is everyone so afraid? Towards the end of one corridor there seems to be one compartment with its doors off its hinges, placed obscurely on the floor. But that isn't what makes Harry stop in his tracks. A familiar green light is spilling out from that compartment.

Before facing the room, Harry pauses to listen for any voices. Although he can't hear anything, he still raises a protective shield as he faces the compartment. What first catches his attention is the source of the green light. The window on the opposite end of the room is broken, and through it he can see the image of the mocking green skull against the dark sky, with a snake emerging from its mouth, seeming to slither ever closer. He hears someone gasps behind him. Everyone stares up at the Dark Mark, unable to move or speak. Finally, Neville takes a step into the room and casts a Lumos spell. Harry's attention is momentarily averted to a still body on the floor. He doesn't have time to see who the person is before he hears a blood-curdling scream coming from outside.

Without a second thought, he races to climb through the broken window. Stepping over the tracks, he barely acknowledges that glass is crunching under his shoes. Harry breaks into a run towards the edge of the woods. He can hear footsteps behind him, but he doesn't have the frame of mind to tell them to go back.

The forest begins to thicken as he goes deeper, making it nearly impossible for him to run through it without tripping. Slowing down his pace, he holds his breath to better listen to his surroundings, even as his heart thumps loudly in his ears. Whoever had left the train to follow him was no longer by his side. After another 10 minutes of stumbling between branches, he sees a source of light in the distance. Being mindful of every step, Harry edges closer to the light. He begins to hear low voices arguing amongst themselves.

"Rook, we need to go–"

"Not until we're called!"

Harry is now close enough to see two figures in long cloaks wearing dark masks, hovering over another person who is barely moving except for his uncontrolled twitching. Harry should have waited for one of his friends to catch up to him. Now he has to take down two wannabe Death Eaters by himself.

"Stupefy," he whispers, aiming his wand at the closer one.

While the jet of red light hits its mark, it also gives away Harry's position to the second Death Eater, who twists his wand and shouts, "Ardere Oculus!"

Harry, not recognizing the spell, ducks out of the way. But his attempt is futile because several jets of white light emerge from the caster's wand in an array of directions. He puts his shield up at the last moment but one ray of white light penetrates it, hitting him. A blinding pain burns his eyes, making him crouch over even as he manages to put up another defence shield before a stunning spell hits him. Through burning tears, he open his eyes. The Death Eater must have sucked out all light source from the space, leaving the forest eerily dark. But Harry can still hear hurried footsteps approaching him.

"Expelliarmus!" he casts before throwing his body against the Death Eater. They stumble towards the cold ground and Harry manages to put his whole weight on the man's torso. Taking an educated guess, Harry throws a punch where a face should be.

"ACK!" he hears the man gasps. Oops, he must have punched him in the throat. Well that works too.

Before the man can regain his composure, Harry stuns him. He'll bring him back to Hogwarts where they can question him properly. "Didn't you know?" he sardonically asks the still figure as he stands up. "Voldemort's dead."

Thinking the best course of action is to get the other student and himself back to the train as soon as possible, he casts an illumination spell in the direction of where he last saw the person lying on the ground. Nothing happens. "Lumos!" he says again with urgency. The spell has never backfired before. Was something wrong with his wand? "Lumos! Lumos!"

"Potter," - a muffled grunt.

"Who's there?"

There's silence for a moment, before the voice wheezes, "we need to go."

Relief washes over him as he realizes that he must be the student that the Death Eaters abducted. "Okay, just keep talking. I think something happened to my wand. Do you have one on you?"

"No."

"Lumos," he tries one last time.

"I can see you," the voice manages.

"What? How can you? Its pitch dark."

Harry can hear him coughing again. "If I can see you but you can't see me, what does that tell you?" he rasps.

Wait a moment, Harry knows that tone of needless sarcasm. "Malfoy!?"

"Yeah." Harry can hear the sound of leaves crunching as Malfoy lumbers nearer. "We need to go!" Malfoy urges behind a cough.

"But what do you mean … you can see?"

Malfoy is now standing in front of him by the sound of it. "You're blind, you git," he hoarsely whispers before grabbing Harry's wrist and apparating them both away from the forest.

When he arrives at Hogwarts, he first looks to the stars. More than the landscape itself, the stars tell Draco where he is. At Hogwarts, it always amazed him how close the sky looked. Sometimes he felt that if he could fly high enough, he could touch ether. Against the darkness, he begins to see the faint outline of the front gates of Hogwarts. "We're not far. Should take 10 minutes if we hurry," he says in his general direction. How did he manage to start the year like this? Taking a stroll with Harry-bloody-Potter.

The silence between them thickens as the minutes pass by. Draco glances at Potter and scoffs in annoyance. The stupid prat has a stony expression and seems to be walking as if he's not momentarily blind. What could he expect, a little loss of vision to faze the Hero? Draco can't help but smirk when Potter swears angrily under his breath as he stumbles for a third time. "You're slowing us down," Draco drawls as he walks by him.

Once they're finally inside, Draco feels a little less tense. Maybe he's imagining it, but Potter looks less tense too. They continue walking silently in the same direction. It seems that the surest thing to do is to report what happened. When they approach the stairs leading to the Headmistress's office, Draco doesn't bother telling Potter to watch his step. Potter slams his foot against the bottom marble stairs, causing his whole upper body to fumble forward in a comical fashion, to which Draco can't help but snigger.

"Shut up!" Potter hisses to the empty space beside Draco. His face is flushed and his hands seem to have received most of the blow from his falls. "You could have said something, you prat."

"And you would have listened?" he replies with mock sweetness.

"What choice do I have?" Potter snaps. And without waiting for a response, he begins to stubbornly climb the stairs.

Potter knocks urgently on the door, not knowing that it's already ajar. "Thank goodness you're here! Please come in quickly." Prof. McGonagall ushers them in. "The train should be here any moment now, but I would like a full report before I see to the students."

As they take their seats, Draco waits for Potter to begin. But Potter pinches his lips together and glares vacantly in front of him. Taking the hint, Draco summarizes what happened as tonelessly as possible, "I felt the train stop and I heard yelling coming from outside. We then heard loud voices in the hallway, so they must have forced themselves in. Blaise had the foresight to lock our compartment, but whoever was on the train forced himself through the door, knocked it straight off its hinges. And then… One moment I was sitting there, the next moment my head breaks through glass. They must have hexed me out of the window, and that's when I blacked out. When I regained consciousness, I was laying in the forest and Potter was dueling one of them."

"Wait. Then who screamed?" Potter asks tersely.

"I did - when my head bashed through a window."

"No, in the forest. Before I caught up with you, I heard a scream."

"Don't know what to tell you, Potter. As I said I was knocked out." He glares at Potter's confused expression. Why is he always meddling?

Draco notices McGonagall's eyes looking at him inquisitively. She doesn't say anything for moment, seeming to wait for him to continue. When it's evident that he won't, she asks, "Other than that nasty cut on your head, are you sure you didn't experience any other injuries, Mr. Malfoy?"

"I'm sure," he replies coolly.

"Do you have any idea why you were a target?"

"No."

"Did you recognize your attackers?"

"No."

"Very well." She gives him a levelled look before turning to Potter. It's nauseating to see her expression change to something not unlike worry when she looks at him, "Mr. Potter, can you tell me what you remember?"

Potter's version of the events sounds so much more detailed than his, he muses. Draco is glad that he kept in the bit about the broken window, as it seems Potter had noticed the glass outside. But when Potter mentions hearing the scream, he holds in his breath, waiting for someone to question his story. He subconsciously presses his fists into his lap. He can still feel the effects of the curse pinching his nerves.

Pushing his knuckles into his right eye, Draco tries to suppress his growing headache. He doesn't know if he can take another second of Potter's whining. He lies back against his bed and wills himself to ignore him.

"Unfortunately only the caster can reverse the effects of the spell," Madame Pomfrey explains for the thirteenth time that hour.

"There has to be another way. You said yourself that there's nothing actually wrong with my eyes."

"I unfortunately don't have any answers. I'm in contact with a specialist about your situation, so we should have some more information soon. In the meanwhile, you should stay put."

"And how will that help? We have to find the person who did this and make him reverse the spell!"

Draco scoffs to no one in particular, still pressing his knuckles into his eyeballs.

"What now?" Potter snaps at him.

"How exactly would you find him? In case you missed to notice, Potter, you're bli–"

"I'm aware, thanks!" Exasperated, Potter stands up from his bed and makes a point to leave.

"No, Mr. Potter, you must stay in the wing!" Madame Pomfrey urges as she tries to put him back in bed.

At that moment, McGonagall opens the front door with Potter's sidekicks in tow.

"Harry!" Granger cries as she throws her arms around him. "I can't believe this!" The Weasel looks earnestly concerned, and seems at a loss of what to do.

"I'm fine, Hermione. It's only temporary."

Seeing them gather around him like a flock of sheep is more than Draco can bear. He sits up on his bed to close the curtains around him, unintentionally catching Weasley's eye.

"You!" He shouts at Draco "You're behind this! What filthy scheme are you up to now?" He makes a move towards Draco's bed, but is stopped by Madame Pomfrey and Granger.

"Mr. Weasley, please refrain yourself! If you cannot act civilly, I'll have to ask you to leave."

Weasley visibly takes in a deep breath and nods curtly, to which Draco only sniggers. It always amuses him how he can get under people's skin without even trying. Weasley's face flushes an ugly shade of red when he catches Draco's smug expression.

"Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy, you're going to have to stay the night here so that Madame Pomfrey can keep a close watch on you, just so ensure there aren't any further complications," McGonagall states, sternly eyeing the Golden Boy.

Potter slumps back into his bed ungracefully, finally shutting up. Draco, who already predicted as much, shrugs as arrogantly as he can muster and closes his curtains around him pointedly.

Draco had already resigned to the fact that his life is unfair, unjust, and cold. All he knows is how to survive the cold and how to hide within it. He's glad no one's cares to visit him in the Hospital Wing, he's glad for the curtains that shield him, and most definitely, he's glad that the one person who could see the holes in his story is blinded by his hatred for Draco.

Harry can't help but feel relief when his friends leave close to Midnight. He knows he should feel grateful for their concern, but the reality of the situation is just too much to bear. He has only been in this state for the past few hours and he's already worn out. The effort of trying not to fall over every time he moves about has made his entire body stiff and weak. Even more exhausting is the effort of trying to stay calm, of not letting the never-ending darkness get to him.

He lets out a slow, silent breath. How did he let this happen? Why does he feel the need to save the day? It's not like – it's expected of him anymore. Everyone has been telling him he can relax now, that everything's going to be easy from here on out.

Harry presses his pillow onto his face.

Stubbornly crushing the panic that's growing in his chest, he attempts to think logically about his priorities – but dammit he needs Hermione's help with that because all he wants to do it run out of the Hospital Wing and find whoever did this to him – but not before punching Malfoy in the face.

Swallowing his impulses, Harry sits up and faces Malfoy's bed. He knows his best bet of finding any sort of lead is mere feet away.

Resigning to a sleepless night, Harry carefully steps onto the cold tiled floor. It's interesting how he never noticed that the floor of the Hospital Wing was tiled before. The marble feels like ice as he walks slowly to Malfoy's bed, his hands outstretched before him. He touches a light fabric that must be the drawn curtains. Pausing for a moment before opening them, he listens closely for any human sound. "Um… Malfoy?" he whispers to his general direction. There's no response, of course. Malfoy probably has the luxury of easy sleep. Should he wake him?

He then hears a whimper and his hand freezes in mid motion. He pulls his ear closer, moving the curtain a fraction, thinking maybe he misheard, but it happens again. Oh crap, is he crying? Listening closely, it doesn't seem like Malfoy's even awake. He can hear him tossing and turning in his sheets and one barely audible word: "N-No."

Before he understands what he's doing, Harry rips the curtain open and urgently presses his hand onto the sleeping Slytherin's chest. He feels the other boy jolt awake and quite suddenly Malfoy is clawing Harry's hands off, hoarsely whispering, "What are you doing?!"

Harry doesn't know. "I need to ask you some questions," he says without any emotion.

"Can't wait 'til morning?" Malfoy retorts rather aggressively, "you know, when the sun's up? Oh right, you can't tell the difference."

"Why were those Death Eaters after you?" Harry interrupts him.

There is a momentary silence before Malfoy replies carefully, "what makes you think they were after me?"

"You said as much to McGonagall, they were looking for you. What do they want with you?"

"How am I supposed to know?"

"Well, did they say anything about their plans? What do they want?"

"Potter," Malfoy sighs dramatically, "why would they disclose their 'master plans' to me?" Harry could practically hear the quotation marks.

"You were a Death Eater," he says coldly.

"Yes, note the past tense." Malfoy grits between his teeth, "now can you piss off and let me sleep? I really don't need your hero antics this early in the morning."

Something about Malfoy's snippety, dismissive tone makes Harry's unreasonably angry. He doesn't understand why, but Malfoy always has that effect on him, "I know you know something! It's no coincidence that Death Eaters stopped the train and came looking for you."

"I really don't know." Harry can hear something in his tone that sounds almost like a lie. "I'm going to ignore you now." He begins shifting in his covers and closing the curtains around him, but Harry's hand instinctively moves out to stop him.

"You must have recognized them, their faces or their voices? Who are they?" Harry presses.

"No idea."

"How is that possible?" Harry snaps.

"It's not like we had Death Eater tea-parties. Most often I couldn't tell who was behind the mask. I'm guessing they're not even registered with the Ministry."

"Meaning…"

"They don't exist." Malfoy says flatly.

Harry knows Malfoy is keeping something to himself, but he can't put his finger on it. Trying to swallow the frustration that is beginning to seep through, he chooses his next words with care.

"I just find it strange that their main concern was getting you."

At these words Malfoy snorts with disdain, "Because I'm not worthy of it? Because you were on the train?"

"No - I only meant -"

"That you're an arrogant prat who won't let me fucking sleep?"

Harry doesn't have a chance to retort. He can hear the heavy doors beginning to unlock at the other end of the Hospital Wing. As quickly and carefully as he can manage, Harry runs back to his own bed. He comes upon it far sooner than he anticipated; tripping into his curtains and covers. (He can distantly hear someone snorting in the background.) Just as the doors open, Harry manages to pull the covers over himself. Someone seems to linger there, possibly watching for any signs of life. Harry, who feels like 11 years old again, pretends to be sound asleep. After the doors closes shut, he continues to listen for any other sounds, but find none for the rest of the night, not even the heavy breathing of another person sleeping.