Harry hasn't spoken to Dean or Ron or Neville since last night. He didn't even come back to the dorms. He just stayed in the kitchen, staring at a bowl and wishing he was more powerful.

He knows they can see the dark circles under his eyes as he sits at the table for breakfast.

He's grateful that they don't mention it.

He doesn't fill his plate with food. Instead, he just stares at the bowl on the table, wondering if he'll ever be able to stop the Death Eaters, stop Voldemort.

He thinks about Parvati. Professor Sprout. Ginny. Hermione. Cedric. Seamus. Their faces flash across his eyes, smiles and laughter and a thousand memories wiped away within a moment. 

They don't deserve this, he thinks. They don't deserve someone as weak as me as their savior.

His eyes travel up from the bowl, and meet Draco Malfoy's.

He doesn't bother to wonder why the boy was staring at him. They seem to share a thousand words, none of which Harry know. It's as if the concept gets across, but it is spoken in another language, one far to complex to fully understand.

Malfoy nods once, and his eyes return to his food, although he doesn't eat it.

To be fair, Harry doesn't eat his either.

*************************

Malfoy doesn't bother to jump when Harry enters the kitchens and comments on his red sweater.

"Have you tried it?" is his only reply.

"Yes," Harry responds, sitting down. "Nothing."

"Do it again."

Harry stares at the bowl Malfoy has set in front of him, and tries to break it.

Nothing happens.

Malfoy tries next, his eyes focused in concentration in a way that can only be described as breathtaking. 

Harry knows what is coming next, but that doesn't change how terrified he is.

Malfoy hesitantly holds out his hand, pale fingers outstretched to Harry.

Harry takes it.

He focuses on his own energy, and realized he feels another presence, which must be Malfoy. He opens his mind to connect with it, allowing the surge of power to envelop him.

Once again, the bowl shatters.

Harry's fingers drop away from Malfoy's, and they stare at the remains of the bowl together.

"What does this mean?" he barely dares to ask quietly, the question echoing in the silent room.

The answer echoes even more, in Harry's own head more so than the room.

"I don't know."