"You okay?" Harry asked as the bathroom door swung open.

"Do I look okay?" Malfoy muttered.

Harry didn't take it personally, Malfoy was a little shit in the morning anyway, the fever just made it a bit worse.

"You just took a while is all," Harry said, walking beside Malfoy as he slowly made his way back to bed. He held out a hand that Malfoy could grab or that Harry could catch Malfoy if he fell.

"I couldn't decide what would hurt more, holding it or sitting on the seat," Malfoy said bitterly, sinking down on the edge of the mattress.

"Holding-" Harry stopped himself as realisation dawned, "I'm pretty sure I didn't need to know that."

"Don't ask next time then," Malfoy said.

"Wait. Before you lay down..." Harry said before Malfoy could move.

Malfoy glared at him with all the stinging vitriol of a kicked puppy.

"You need to take your potions first," Harry said, unstoppering the first bottle and filling up the little glass.

"Don't want to."

Harry held out the glass, "You won't have enough energy-"

"For what? Convalescing?"

"For taking a bath," Harry said.

Malfoy stared at him blankly.

"Hermione sent bitterroot balm, it was used for burns and skin abrasions before Benson's Curative Salve was invented. She says it acts as a barrier and soothes so she thought it might work for you" Harry picked up the jar and unscrewed the lid of the thick green goo, "I'm supposed to put a little on your skin to see if it works first and make sure you don't have an allergic reaction."

Malfoy held out his arm without prompting, and Harry wiped a dab of the balm off onto his skin.

"How does it feel?" Harry asked.

"...It didn't hurt when you put it on," Malfoy said, staring at his arm.

"Tell me if it starts bothering you, and I'll wipe it off," Harry said. He swapped the jar for the glass of nutrient potion, "Here."

Malfoy turned his head away like a little kid.

Harry sighed, "Come on, Malfoy."

"What does that horrible potion have to do with a bath, and what does a bath have to do with bitterroot balm?" Malfoy asked.

"There isn't enough balm to cover you, and it doesn't work if it dries out so Hermione thought dissolving it in a bath would be the best way to use it. As for the potions, I'd rather you didn't drown in six inches of water-"

"How sweet," Malfoy said flatly.

"So you should probably have enough strength to get out if you need to," Harry finished and held up the potion again, "I made you some tea to wash the taste away so just take it."

Malfoy reluctantly took the glass from Harry. He took the potion like a shot and held it out for Harry to refill it with the strengthening potion which he took just a quickly, grimacing as he swallowed. Harry swapped the shot glass for a cup of tea, too sweet and left to cool until it was only very slightly hot.

"Better?" Harry said.

Malfoy stuck his tongue out at him.

"Delightful," Harry said. "Do you want to try the bath?"

Malfoy nodded, sipping at his tea.

"Alright I'll be right back," Harry said, grabbing the jar of balm.

"Make it cold. As cold as you can make it," Malfoy called after him.

-

-

"Is it cold?" Malfoy asked.

Harry looked up from where he was kneeling beside the heavy cast-iron claw-foot bathtub, one hand in the water the other on the knobs as he adjusted the temperature, "I said I'd be right back."

Malfoy shrugged faintly and then winced. "What does it matter if I wait here or out there?"

"Standing takes more energy than sitting," Harry said.

Malfoy rolled his eyes.

Harry started adding globs of bitterroot balm, swishing his hand through the water to dissolve it and turning the water a murky green colour.

Malfoy put his fingers in the water with a frown, "That's not cold at all."

"It's lukewarm," Harry said, "Hermione said cold water might make you shiver, and the last thing you need is your body trying to warm you up right now."

"Fine," Malfoy huffed. He grabbed the bottom of his tee-shirt and pulled it over his head in one quick moment, swearing viscously under his breath as he did. He dipped his foot in the water, then stepped into the tub.

"You're, um, still wearing-"

Malfoy looked down at plain black boxers of Harry's that he was still wearing, hanging loose on his hips, "If I take them off, you'll leave."

"I was sort of thinking you could manage laying in a bathtub on your own regardless," Harry said.

"What if I drown?" Malfoy said.

"You're not going to drown," Harry said.

"I could drown on purpose to make you feel bad," Malfoy said, bracing his hands on the side of the bath and lowering himself into the water.

"You don't like getting hurt, so I doubt it," Harry said.

Malfoy frowned at him, "I might get hurt if I thought it was worth it."

"Oh, and this is worth it?" Harry said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"No," Malfoy said. "Will you stay anyway? I'll be bored otherwise."

"Is it working? How do you feel?" Harry asked since he hadn't intended on leaving unless Malfoy wanted him to.

"Like I've been turned into a soup," Malfoy said.

Harry almost smiled. He had to stop himself, "Come on, Malfoy."

"There's less pain where the water is. It doesn't hurt to touch the bath but the shorts are still a little rough. And I'm unbearably hot, thus soup."

"You're more swamp than soup," Harry said. He transfigured to the empty jar into a large plastic cup, filling it up and pouring it over Malfoy's shoulders.

"Rude. ...If I were a soup, I'd be something classy, like minestrone or a nice gazpacho... maybe a french onion soup," Malfoy said absently, his eyes closed, "Pour it over my head?"

"I probably shouldn't get it in your eyes," Harry said.

Malfoy tilted his head back, "Then don't."

Harry poured it over Malfoy's hair where it clung like a thin film of jelly, tinting Malfoy yellow-white hair a greenish-yellow, "Like this?"

"Again, please," Malfoy said, "Here's the real question, what sort of soup would you be?"

"You must be feeling better if you have the energy to be ridiculous," Harry said, refilling the cup.

"It's not ridiculous it's- it's interesting," Malfoy said. He patted his cheeks with his wet hands, tracing around his eyes and up to his forehead.

"Well, I like soup with a lot of potato in," Harry said.

Malfoy sighed, "This isn't about what you like to eat. It's about what soup embodies your soul." He stretched his hand up as if imploring to the heavens.

Harry snorted, "Maybe potato embodies my soul."

"You would be a rustic soup," Malfoy said.

"Isn't rustic just a fancy way of saying poor?" Harry asked.

"No," Malfoy said with a huff, slipping down further in the water, his knees poking out, "It's to refer to the sort of goings and doings of country folk."

"Goings and doing? So everything then?" Harry said.

"I think you'd be a beef stew," Malfoy said.

"Ah," Harry said, "So you're saying I'm a cow then."

Malfoy flicked his hand at Harry, spraying him with murky green water as Harry laughed.

-

-

"Isn't there a soup made with seaweed?" Potter said.

Draco looked over to where Potter was sitting against the side of the bathtub, "Why are you talking about soup?"

"We talked about it earlier," Potter said.

"Hours ago," Draco said. He held his hands up, his fingertips wrinkled and pruney from sitting in the water, but he didn't want to get out, not until the fever broke. Being slimy was horrible, but it was better than everything he touched hurting so much he could hardly stand it.

"Miso soup?" Potter said.

"Miso soup is made with miso, you dolt," Draco said absently.

"But it has seaweed in it sometimes, doesn't it, you rude little shit," Potter said, glancing over at him.

"Sometimes. Why are you obsessing about seaweed in soup?"

"It smells like seaweed in here, don't you think?" Potter asked.

Draco frowned and sniffed at the air and then, far more cautiously, at his hand and recoiling with a face that made Potter laugh.

"It smells awful is what it smells like," Draco said.

"The ocean always smells awful," Potter said.

Draco sighed, "When the tide is low, I suppose. But weren't we being preoccupied with soup again?"

"Oh, right," Potter said, and then there was a sound, a stomach grumbling, gurgle that might have normally been very quiet but echoed around the tiled room. Potter laughed, "I guess that's why I was thinking about soup again."

"Did you eat this morning?" Draco asked.

Potter shrugged, "I guess not. I just got carried away with things."

"Go eat," Draco said.

"What about your being bored?" Potter said.

"I've survived it before."

Potter tilted his head up to look at Draco somewhat upside down, "Have you?"

"I have," Draco said confidently.

"Hard to believe," Potter said.

"Go eat," Draco said more firmly, "I'll be fine. You said it yourself, I'm not going to drown in six inches of water. You'll literally be right below me if I need anything."

Potter pushed himself to his feet and stretched his arms above his head with a groan that Draco watched with all due appreciation.

"You sure?" Potter asked.

"Of course," Draco said.

"You want anything from the food tray?" Potter said.

Draco narrowed his eyes, "What, like the soup? No."

Potter grinned faintly, "Alright."

"Bring some water back with you," Draco said, "Cold water."

"I could get it now."

Draco shook his head, "After is fine," he waved Potter off, "Go on. The last thing I want to do is sit here listening to your stomach gurgling ominously like some sort of unattended cauldron."

Potter touched his forelock with a cocky grin and went downstairs, leaving the bathroom door open, presumably so he could hear if Draco shouted.

Draco crossed his arms on the edge of the bath, water dripping onto the floor in soft plips. He rested his cheek on one damp arm. The metal under his skin was warm. It felt like he was single-handedly keeping the water and cast iron bath heated even after hours. His head felt too heavy on his shoulders. He missed Potter already.

He spread his fingers again, studying his wrinkled pruny fingers, brushing his thumb over one fingertip. A bead of skin rolled with the touch, thin and loose like a peeling sunburn.

Draco's eyes widened. The skin underneath was sensitive, like the delicate skin on his wrist, but not painful. He sat up, running his hands over one another, little balls and rolls of dead skin gathering in his palm that he quickly washed off in the water. He experimentally slid his hands over his legs, with the same result. Most importantly. It didn't hurt. His skin was still a little warm but the pain, what was left of it, seemed to have ebbed to only a faint ache crawling up his neck and over his head.

Draco set to work, using his hands to rub all the dead skin from his body, keeping wherever he was working under the murky water so he wouldn't have to see himself shedding his skin like some sort of reptile. He had just finished his arms and shoulders and was about to try his neck when his chest filled with a terrible prickling pressure that left him gasping in shock and griping the sides of the bath with both hands as it filled his head with a sharp burning pain. Then it was gone, lesving him feeling faintly light-headed in its wake.

Something fell onto his shoulder, clinging and heavy. Draco forced his eyes open, grabbing it with shaking hands. A large clump of hair. His hands flew to his head, coming away with handfuls of hair, clinging to his skin, wet and stained greenish, sticking to him even as he tried to shake it off in ever-increasing panic.

Draco surged to the end of the tub, jerking out the plug, and turning on the water. His hands fumbled for the cup Potter had transfigured, holding it under the water and dumping it over his head before it was even full, shuddering at biting cold water. He shoved the cup back under the faucet, filling it again and again, pouring it over himself as his breathing echoed around the room, a rasping gasp of blind panic until he couldn't feel any more hair sticking to his skin.

Yellow hair filled the drain, tangled and somehow completely foreign in his minds unwillingness to recognise it as his. Because it couldn't be. Because it was too horrible to be-

Draco squeezed his eyes shut and reached up, pressing a single finger to his scalp, expecting skin and finding... hair. His eyes flew open, and he grabbed a strand pulling it down in front of his eyes. It was- and it was attached, he jerked on it experimentally. But it wasn't blond. Even wet, the hair now growing from his head was distinctly white, catching the light in a slightly strange, almost silvery way that seemed so unlike his hair- what had been his hair...

He breathed in. Feeling his whole body wavering uncertainly, faint and shivering from cold. Potter.

He could call Potter-

Draco opened his mouth, but his voice died in his throat as his eyes focused on his foot. His perfect, unscarred, unmarred foot. He looked at the other foot in case he had remembered wrong, but it was also unmarked. He searched for the scar on his knee, the mark on his palm, the faint scratches on his forearm- all gone. He froze and slowly turned his arm over, but the dark mark was still there.

It was fainter and smoother, but anyone looking for it would be able to recognise it.

Draco looked down, the sectumsempra scars were the same.

It had taken everything he cared about, the things that made him him, marks of his life and experiences that he valued and loved and wanted- and left him with only reminders of the worst of him.

He sucked in a ragged breath, followed by another, and another, heavier, turning into gasps, turning into sobs. He grabbed the side of the bath and pulling himself up. Draco crumpled onto the floor as soon as his feet touched the floor, cold tile pressed against his skin as he curling his arms over his head and cried in great heaving sobs.

-

-

Harry heard the water turn on overhead and rolled his eyes. Of course, Malfoy would add cold water as soon as he left.

The water kept running.

Harry stood up.

There was a sound and Harry was headed towards the stairs before he could even guess what it might have been. He just... had a bad feeling.

"Malfoy?" Harry called.

He didn't hear a response and headed up the stairs. He could hear the water better, it sounded strange like it was hitting the bottom of an empty tub rather than a full one.

"Malfoy?!" Harry practically ran to the open door, saw Malfoy crumpled on the floor and rushed over, dropping to his knees in front of him, "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

He hesitated and then laid a careful hand on Malfoy's back, "Chickadee?"

Malfoy lifted his head for a brief moment, tears streaming down his face, before he grasped Harry shirt with both hands and buried his face in Harry's chest.

As far as Harry could see, Malfoy wasn't hurt, and his fever had broken. Something had happened. Something maybe he couldn't fix or didn't know how to. He summoned a towel, wrapping Malfoy up in the soft white fabric and holding him close.

-

-

Draco could feel Potter carefully tracing over his hand, drawing down one finger into the valley between and up again. His touch was certain, his skin a little rough and he hadn't said anything since he had bundled Draco into bed. Draco would have studied Potter's expression, but he had pulled the comforter over his head. His hand was, in fact, the only part of himself outside his bundle of blankets.

His skin felt as sensitive as a baby's. Draco's eyes ached from crying, his cheeks unpleasantly dry from the track of tears upon his skin. When he had walked the short distance to bed, the floor had felt so rough that it hurt the soles of his feet. He had hoped the last fever would be the end of it.
At least the bed was soft again, a place of respite once more.

"You better not like it," Draco said softly.

Potter twitched in surprise, "Oh, you're- I thought maybe you'd fallen asleep."

Draco pulled the edge of the comforter down to his chin "Did you hear me?"

"Yeah. Like what?" Potter asked, as if he didn't know.

"The changes. You're not allowed to like them," Draco said.

Potter's face twisted in confusion, "...It's not like that much changed."

"UGH," Draco groaned, sinking down into the blankets so only his eyes showed, "Everything changed."

Potter raised his eyebrows, "Looks the same to me."

Draco tugged on a messy lock of hair accusingly, "This is not the same."

Potter's expression remained nonplussed, "It's still pale?"

"White. Like an old person. It used to be blond. Now I look like a weirdo. People are going to think I was cursed." Draco said.

Potter's mouth twitched with a smile, "It was kind of strange even before."

"It wasn't strange," Draco said with a frown.

"I mean, if you look around the school, nobody's nearly as pale and blond as you. You kind of always stood out," Potter said.

"It's not the same," Draco said, "And I hate it."

"Pretty much the same," Potter reached over, brushing the hair off Draco's forehead, "It's still really fine, and I bet it still gleams in the sunlight the same way."

Draco stared at him.

Potter pulled his hand back and looked away in embarrassment.

"You know..." Draco said slowly.

"Don't-"

"I used to think you were the straightest boy I'd ever met-"

"Malfoy-"

Draco went on relentlessly, "You think my hair gleams in the sunlight?"

Potter grimaced, pushing his glasses up so he could cover his eyes with his hand.

"That's extremely gay, extremely-"

"Can you not? I get it. I really do. So if we could-"

"Do you? Get it," Draco asked, "Because I could go on."

"I- No, I do," Potter said, "Can we not talk about it. Ever?"

"Fat chance," Draco said.

Potter sighed.

"You were the one who said you wanted to get to know me first," Draco said.

"It's been a delight," Potter said.

Draco narrowed his eyes, "You say that word a lot, and I'm never entirely certain if you're being sarcastic or joking."

"Or mean it?" Potter said.

"I know what sincerity sounds like it and that's not it," Draco said.

Potter frowned, "That's.... I do mean it... but I'm also joking, sort of."

Draco sighed, "That doesn't make any sense."

"You're- you're frustrating but in a good way," Potter held up a hand before Draco could do more than frown at him, struggling to find the right words, "I don't want easy. I don't- I mean, sometimes easy is good, but not in everything, in other ways I think-"

"You're terrible at this," Draco said.

Potter smiled hesitantly, "Yeah. But you keep making me do it."

"I don't make you do it," Draco said.

"You said you didn't know who to trust and I want you to trust me, so I have to."

Draco felt his face get hot and pulled the blanket over his head again.

"Oh. I know what it is," Potter said, "Talking to you feels like duelling, like I never know what to expect, and it's hard sometimes but in a good way."

Draco rather agreed, but he'd be damned if he was going to admit it, he was already too weak to Potter as it was.

-

-

Harry looked at the pile of blankets with a bemused smile, hoping he'd managed to distract Malfoy from being so upset.

"Blushing doesn't sting anymore, right?" Harry asked.

Malfoy suddenly sat up, hitting Harry awkwardly across the face with a pillow.

Harry grabbed hold of the pillow so he wouldn't be smacked again as he laughed, but Malfoy pulled it back, clutching it to his chest. He looked strangely young as he sat there with his shoulders hunched, his hair half falling in front of his eyes, but at least he wasn't huddled under the blankets anymore.

"Stop looking," Malfoy said.

"At what? You? All of you?" Harry asked.

Malfoy pressed his chin down into the pillow, turning his arm over, his voice soft, "You could see veins before," he traced a finger up to the inside of his wrist over his pale skin that, as he had said, no longer showed the faint blue lines of veins running under the skin. "And I used to have arm hair, fine but... I wonder if I can even grow a beard now..."

"Could you before?" Harry asked.

"...No. But when I was fifty or so, I might have been able to. Now?" Malfoy touched his chin, "Look at this, as smooth as it was when I was baby."

"Hmm," Harry said, "I'll make sure to mourn for the possibility that you maybe would have had a beard in future."

He expected to get snapped or pouted at, but Malfoy just slouched over further onto his pillow.

"What's...." Harry hesitated and then summoned up his courage and went on, "What's wrong? What's really wrong?"

Malfoy bit his bottom lip, holding his hand palm up and pressing his thumb onto the faint lines, "...Once I was arguing with Theo about thestrals versus unicorns versus abraxans. I was gesturing a bit too excitedly and somehow stabbed myself with my quill, and there was a mark, even after it healed, a little smudge of ink under the skin." His palm was unmarked.

Malfoy turned his arm over again, "And, the first time I met Millie's cat, I'd never really interacted with a cat before, she said I was too rough, and it scratched me. I was too scared to pet it after that, but sometimes it would lay next to me against my leg." There were no scars on his arm.

"And there was a scar on my knee from where I fell and a one on my foot from -" Malfoy broke off, taking a shaky breath on the edge of tears.

Harry held out his hand, and Malfoy reached out to take it, but his hand stopped halfway. He just stared at it, studying like he wasn't sure he'd ever seen it before. "You probably think this is stupid. You always say, 'It's still you' but-"

"I don't think it's stupid," Harry said quickly, "I just mean that you're still the same person underneath. Like no matter what changes, you're still the Malfoy I've always known."

"Am I?" Malfoy said softly.

Harry shifted to the edge of his seat, catching Malfoy's hand out of the air and holding it tightly though Malfoy didn't squeeze back."What do you-?"

"I don't know," Malfoy said hopelessly, "I feel like there's a stranger that's taken over my body, but then it's always been there. And how much of it is me or becoming me? How much of this horrible new thing makes up me? What am I? Am I Draco Malfoy or a veela? And if- if it's both- if it's part of me do I have to accept the violence of it- the predator, the animal of it-" he blinked, and a tear slipped silently down his cheek, "What if all the bad things I've ever done are because I'm a monster? What if I can never be more than that? If I want to change and I can't, if I'm tainted by this forever..."

Harry shuddered.

And stood up.

"don't run away," Malfoy said, barely above a whisper, his eyes locked on Harry's with an unnerving knowing in them.

"This is- It's not about me- It's not-"

"I don't care, tell me," Malfoy said, another tear ran down his cheek, and he hurriedly wiped it away.

"I want to help you-" Harry protested weakly, every inch of his body screaming to go, to run or fly or walk until his the feeling was drowned out by exhaustion.

"Can't I feel the same?" Malfoy said, "You've already carried such a burden of my suffering."

"It's not. It's not a burden," Harry said.

"Then it won't be for me either," Malfoy said.

Malfoy's grip on his hand was firm but not so tight Harry couldn't have pulled away... but the thought of pulling away, the expressions he could imagine on Malfoy's face if he did, sunk heavy in his gut like a lead weight, pulling him stiffly back down to his seat.

Harry breathed for a long time, looking at the toe of his shoe, his mind a blank even as he began to talk, his voice strangely flat even to his own ears. "You know, when I was a baby, and Voldemort died, the first time?"

"Yes," Malfoy said simply.

"My mother protected me, and it reflected the killing curse, but it... it broke part of his soul when he died," Harry pressed a shaking hand to his forehead, sliding hard against the scar there and tangling carelessly in his hair. "It ended up in me."

Malfoy's hand twitched, but he stayed silent; Harry was grateful for that, he wasn't sure he would be able to say it otherwise.

"It's gone now," Harry said it again, to try and reassure himself, "It's gone... But sometimes I can't keep from thinking about who I might have been if it hadn't been there. Would I have been a better person...?"

Malfoy squeezed his hand encouragingly.

"I don't know- I- When I started school here, my head would hurt, like it was splitting in two when he was close by, and in nightmares. After he came back in fifth year, sometimes I could feel what he felt and see what he saw and-" the words caught in his throat and he shuddered so hard he wanted to fold over on himself. "Sometimes I can almost still feel it like it left a stain inside me... I feel dirty, but I can't scrub it away, and I can't talk to anyone about it, I mean hardly anyone knows and those that do, they don't understand... or they just don't want to hear it, to taint the image they have of me, the hero."

Malfoy tugged on his hand, and Harry followed his pull, moving onto the bed. He closed his eyes as Malfoy cupped his face, his thumbs brushing across his cheeks to wipe the dampness from them Harry hadn't even realised he'd cried.

"Sorry," Harry said weakly.

"For what?" Malfoy asked, his own voice sounding just as fragile.

"I should be better."

"You don't have to," Malfoy said.

"...I'm supposed to be taking care of you," Harry said.

"Not anymore. No more than I should be taking care of you," Malfoy said.

"But-"

"I don't need a hero," Malfoy interrupted.

Harry squeezed his eyes closed, a few more tears escaped and were caught by Malfoy's careful touch.

"I like you this way..." Malfoy said and then let out a little huff of a laugh, "It's still you."

Harry opened his eyes. Malfoy's smile was uneven, cut with his own crying. He leaned forward, hesitating before pressing his lips to Harry's forehead, cool and soft against his skin. Harry expected Malfoy to be blushing when he pulled ba but he was calm.

Harry reached up and pressed a hand over Malfoy's, "Is now a good ti-"

Malfoy dipped forward again, pressing their lips together, noses bumping as he realised belated to tilt his head. Harry had to wonder how much experience he had or if he had any at all. Malfoy had hardly pulled away when Harry chased after to kiss him again. His lips were very soft, and he made a little surprised noise when Harry kissed him that Harry felt to the tips of his toes.

"Of course it's not a good time," Malfoy said as he pulled back, his lower lip pushed out in a faint pout, "We're both crying, you fucking turnip."

Harry laughed and got a handful of hair pulled for his trouble.

"Shall I just assume you're always going to pick the most awkward, unsuitable times to be- be like this," Malfoy said.

"Romantic?" Harry suggested.

"It's not romantic, it's inconvenient," Malfoy said.

Harry laughed again.

Malfoy sighed. "And... I know it's not exactly the same but," he held out his arm and the silvery scarred outline of the dark mark, "I know what it feels like to be stained by that man."

"Could I-?" Harry asked, his hand hovering over the mark.

Malfoy hesitated and then nodded, looking like he was bracing himself.

"It's fine if you don't want me to," Harry said.

Malfoy silently guided Harry's hand down, shivering as he touched the pale skin.

"Does it hurt?"

"Not anymore," Malfoy said, "Not physically anyway.... Sometimes I wish I could just cut it off me."

Harry looked up, "You wouldn't-"

"No," Malfoy smiled faintly, "I don't like pain, remember?""

Harry nodded.

"There are sheep farms around the Manor-"

"Sheep?" Harry asked.

"-There are sheep farms," Malfoy glared at him, "-and In order to keep track of whose sheep are whose, they mark them with colours, green and blue and red... I feel like one of those sheep when I look at this, marked to control me, so others would see it and know..."

"You're not a sheep," Harry said.

"It's...of course not, it's just a feeling," Malfoy said.

"I mean, for one thing, Voldemort isn't a farmer type, he's more like a wolf and wolves don't make good shepherds. And this," Harry slid his hand down over Malfoy's scar, "isn't paint, this is more like... like when they used to brand cows with hot irons. If anyone's at fault its the wolf."

"The wolf," Malfoy said flatly.

Even though he said that Harry couldn't quite shake the words 'like lambs to the slaughter' from his mind. Both of them had been raised only to be offerings, to serve a single purpose that very nearly killed them.

Malfoy shivered.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked.

"Just cold," Malfoy said.

Harry grabbed the back of his jumper and pulled it over his head.

"What-! Potter! Don't-"

Harry slipped the jumper over Malfoy, cutting off his protests until his head managed to poke out the collar with a glare. "Look, your hair still gets all staticy the same way," Harry said brightly.

"You are a horrible, wretched, human being-" Malfoy fumed.

"Give it back then," Harry said.

Malfoy shoved his arms through the sleeves, "Fuck off."

Harry laughed.

Malfoy looked down at the jumper in dismay holding the sides out like a kite, "This could practically fit two of you."

"It's not that bad," Harry said, "It was the jumper Molly gave me in first year. I started to grow out of it, but I didn't want to get rid of it, so I tried to charm it bigger. It didn't quite work how I meant it."

"That seems an understatement," Malfoy said.

"It's still bloody comfortable though."

"I suppose," Malfoy conceded.

"How about some food? I could send the elves a patronus," Harry said.

Malfoy nodded.

-

-

The house elves sent up what was becoming Malfoy's normal tray, with enough food for two or three people or a very hungry Ron. Despite the amount of food, Malfoy worked through it with the same diligence he directed at his homework, which Harry dutifully teased him for and was glared at in turn.

They got ready for bed not long after, both exhausted from everything that had happened during the day. Malfoy kept on Harry's jumper, and Harry climbed into Malfoy's bed without asking. There was still some lingering feeling of nervousness from the sheer newness of it all, but they both knew each other well enough to know they'd speak their mind if the other did something they didn't like.

Malfoy pulled the comforter up to his ears after wrapping himself around Harry, his cheek resting on Harry's shoulder.

"My arm's going to go numb," Harry said.

"That sounds like a terrible problem for you," Malfoy said, waiting for Harry's sigh before wiggled further down, "Less bony here anyway."

"Right, because my utmost concern with you using me as a pillow was your comfort," Harry said sarcastically.

"Ought to be," Malfoy said.

Harry snorted. "...You know this is a terrible habit. I don't know what I'm going to do after we have to leave."

"Keep doing it," Malfoy said.

"I think Ron'd kill me if I snuck you into the Gryffindor tower every night," Harry said.

"I'd probably die first from the sheer horror of that much red on everything," Malfoy said.

"As if green is much better."

"Green is a natural colour, grass is green, trees are green," Malfoy said, "You know what's red?"

"Your face when you blush?" Harry suggested.

"Shut up, you," Malfoy said, blindly reaching up and smooshing his hand over Harry's face.

Harry grabbed his wrist and pulled it away, "Very mature of you."

"Says the one who brought up my blushing, as if that was relevant at all," Malfoy muttered.

"You asked what was red," Harry said.

"I meant, naturally, in nature," Malfoy said.

"Aren't you? I mean we're all animals technically," Harry said.

Malfoy sighed and scrubbed his cheek against Harry's chest, "....Anyway. I have a private room, is what I was trying to get to."

"A private room? Are you a prefect or did all eighth year Slytherin's get a room?" Harry asked.

"I am the only eighth year Slytherin," Malfoy said.

"The blond, um, Greengrass? She came back," Harry said.

"Daphne? Would you have us sharing a room then?" Malfoy asked.

"No. I'd rather you have a private room."

"Exactly," Malfoy said.

Harry reached over to the side table and found his wand, dousing the lumos. The moon was still fairly bright only a few days past full, letting a faint glow through the small windows that seemed to catch on the edges of things. What light there was seemed to linger on Malfoy's hair, so it almost glowed in the shadowed room.

"Sometime... will you tell me about your scars?" Malfoy asked quietly.

"Mine?" Harry said.

"When you pulled your shirt off I saw a few," Malfoy said.

"There are more than a few," Harry said.

"...I'm in no rush," Draco said. "Scars are important. They carry stories with them."

Harry wrapped his arm around Malfoy, "Maybe you should write them down, the stories that go with your scars. That way you won't forget them."

"They're mostly stupid," Malfoy said.

"Not if they're important to you, chickadee," Harry said.

Harry felt Malfoy press his cheek against him, "...chickadee... why do you call me that?"

Harry blinked at the darkness, "You don't remember?"

"Would I have asked if I did?" Malfoy said with a huff.

"Oh. Umm. After we talked to those veela teachers from Beauxbaton, you were pretty out of it," Harry said.

"I remember talking to them..." Malfoy said.

"I carried you back up to the tower-"

"I- Yes."

"And I was teasing you-"

Malfoy huffed a laugh, "Shocking."

"-about you being a little bird, and I sort of got attached to chickadee," Harry said. "Does it bother you?"

"It's... embarrassing but not- not in a bad way," Malfoy said, and then yawned which made Harry yawn.

"You called me all sorts of bird names as well," Harry said.

"Hmm..." Malfoy said sleepily.

"Every black bird you could think of," Harry said, and added hopefully, "I thought...starling was rather nice."

But as he waited in the darkness, Malfoy's silence and his even deep breathing told Harry that he'd fallen asleep.

Harry sighed, "...never mind."