"Why didn't you just use your broomstick?" Draco was sitting at the Slytherin table that evening at dinner with Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson, Gregory Goyle, and Theodore Nott, and Pansy didn't understand just why Draco had walked all the way to Hogwarts with Harry Potter.

"Because, Pansy," Draco started, pausing for dramatic effect. "Harry Potter is ill in the head right now, and I didn't feel like having to be responsible if something happened to him."

The way he spoke, it was arrogant, venomous even. It was exactly the way he always spoke of Harry Potter when his friends were around. He needed them to believe that he thought Potter was the scum of the earth. And at one point, maybe Draco Malfoy did believe that himself. But now, he refused to let them believe that his views had very much so changed.

Pansy stared at him oddly after that, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"He's ill-headed? Perfect. I think it's well past time that Harry and his crew weren't in the spotlight. Let Draco Malfoy have the spotlight for once." Pansy said snidely, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Yeah! They've had seven years too long. Malfoy for the win." Goyle agreed, gnawing rather aggressively at a piece of roast mutton. Malfoy only grimaced, staring awestruck at Goyle as he finished off the bone, and then glanced towards the Gryffindor table, where the students seemed happier and fuller of life. The center of attention, as usual, was none other than Harry Potter, who sat recollecting his side of the venture to Hogwarts with Draco.

Occasionally, Harry and Malfoy would make eye contact, which led them both to awkwardly look away. Malfoy was frustrated by the whole ordeal, and wanted nothing more than to hear just what Potter was saying about him. Then again, he always wanted to know what Potter was saying about him.

"Malfoy!" Pansy exclaimed, and it was then that he realized his friends had been trying to get his attention for a full minute now.

"I'm sorry, what?" He asked, turning back towards his housemates.

"You look a bit pale. Are you sure you don't need to head back to the dorms? I'm sure Slughorn won't mind you heading back early." She frowned, and Draco shook his head dismissively.

"I'm fine, Pansy. Just a bit distracted, that's all. My legs feel as if they're on fire still. I just want to sit." He announced, taking a spoonful of rice into his mouth.

»»»

From across the Great Hall, Harry sat and watched the back of Draco's head worriedly. Something was off about Malfoy, and he was determined to find out just what that was.

"Something's not right with Malfoy." He announced, causing Ron and Hermione to look up from their dinners.

"I've been telling you that for years! He's a snake, mind you he is a Slytherin, but still." Ron stated, glaring at the back of Malfoy's intimidating, perfectly gelled platinum blond hair.

"No, I mean, yes, he is questionable. It's just- on my walk with him, he was just so different. I don't know..." Harry trailed off, glancing towards him once more.

"Different, how?" Hermione asked. "Was it because he wasn't pointing a wand at you, preparing to use the killing curse and finish you off because Voldemort couldn't?"

"No," Harry huffed, agitated that he couldn't get his point across. "He seemed sympathetic. He just- he saw me in the condition I'm in and he saw-" He paused. His friends didn't know about the scars. He played with the sleeves of his jumper nervously.

"What did he see?" Hermione asked, and Harry gulped nervously. He shuffled in his seat, Ron's gaze dead-set at him.

"Well, Potter, looks to see like you're doing better. No doubt you'll have everybody drooling over you in less than a week." The boy in question had appeared at their table, standing right behind Harry and his unruly black hair.

When Harry turned, he glanced into Malfoy's eyes and saw only malice. The grey irises had a stormy taint to them, and Harry questioned if Malfoy could see the disappointment in his.

"What's it to you, Malfoy? Looking to steal the attention, again? Well, you're not getting it! You're nothing but a snake." Ron snapped, rushing towards Harry's side defensively. Harry frowned, and pushed Ron away after a moment.

"Ron, enough." He then turned towards Malfoy. "You know what? I'm sick and tired of your bloody mood-swings. If you've got a bone to pick with me or something, tell me and we'll work it out! All this hostility, I can't handle it right now. I need peace."  And with that, Harry paused for a moment, but Malfoy said nothing. So, he walked out of the Great Hall and off towards the dormitories.

"Now look what you've done, Malfoy. He's sick, and you've gone and upset his peace. Get out of here, you prick." Ron seethed, pushing Malfoy rather aggressively from their table.

Malfoy took the push. He deserved it. He didn't understand why, but whenever he talked to Potter, it just naturally came out rude. He hated it. He hated being an arse to the kid who'd really done nothing wrong to him. After Ron returned to the Gryffindor table, all eyes remaining on the ginger and the blond, Malfoy stalked out of the room hurriedly.

He set off to see if he could find Potter, or rather Harry. He could vaguely recall reading a poem when he was younger, and in that poem, a question was asked: 'Do I dare disturb the universe?' Yes, Malfoy dared. He would keep daring until he knew precisely what was wrong with Harry Potter, and if there was any chance in helping him.

He did find Potter, but not the way he would've liked to. Just as he was about to head towards the Gryffindor dormitories, he found a person lying in the corridor, shoe sticking out from around the corner. Malfoy quickened his pace, and gasped at the sight of a pale, fainted Harry Potter lying on the dirty floor. Without a second thought, he lifted the dark-haired boy and ran off with him to Madam Pomfrey's, not bothering to tell the Weasel or Granger.

»»»

Down. Down Dumbledore fell, from the top of the Astronomy Tower. Down he went, and there Harry screamed. He fell to his knees, voice being ripped from his throat as he watched the wicked Potions professor mutter those six syllables, ending the greatest wizard to have ever lived's life.

Dumbledore's death was always the hardest to relive. Long, white hair flowing against gravity as he fell. Slow motion. Purple robes clung to the old man's body. Harry wept. He'd lost yet another person he'd looked up to dearly. That's all Harry seemed capable of doing: losing the ones he loved. He screamed again, but no sound came. His glasses slid from the bridge of his nose, and he fought against invisible restraints.

He fought and fought, and felt a warmth. The warmth wasn't supposed to be there. It wasn't there when Dumbledore had actually died. He'd felt nothing but cold, and now, he was warm, and a soft hushing sound filled his ears.

"Mum?" He croaked out, though he knew it wasn't her. His mother was dead, and it had been long enough since her screams had plagued his ears.

"Quiet, Harry." The voice came, and it was definitely not his mother. He rocked against the sound, attempting to free himself from his slumber. How long had it been since he'd last slept?

When his eyes opened, he found his long limbs tangled around another person's, and he freaked out, fresh tears staining his cheeks. He felt the pad of a thumb brush against his cheeks, wiping away the tears, but his eyes were unfocused. When the tears stopped blurring his vision, his green irises came in contact with gray. It was then that Harry realized who he was tangled with, and quickly detached himself, regretting the loss of warmth. Why was Malfoy here, and why were the curtains up and surrounding his bed?

"You." Harry sputtered, nearly falling out of his bed. Draco Malfoy had been lying beside him. "Why are you in my bed?"

"You fainted, Harry, and I couldn't just leave you there. When's the last time you got a proper night's sleep?" Draco asked, and Harry had to think long and hard about it. He couldn't remember when, but the last time he'd felt the most at peace while sleeping had been that night at the inn with Malfoy; a little less than a week ago.

"I don't know." He didn't want Malfoy to know that he'd felt safe with him beside him. He couldn't know. It was wrong, and Malfoy shouldn't have been sleeping beside him, and he shouldn't have been in bed with Harry now.

"You're exhausted, Potter. I- I brought you here and before I left, you latched onto me." Draco stated, trying to play it off as the hero.

"Why were you in my bed?" Harry asked, even though Malfoy was still in his bed. The blond thought for a moment of how he could play this one off. In reality, he hadn't wanted to leave the dark-haired boy alone until he'd known he was okay, but Harry couldn't know that.

"I was cold, and didn't feel like trekking all the way to the dungeons, so I slithered in beside you." Malfoy stated, speaking so nonchalantly that he almost believed it himself.

"What time is it?" Harry asked.

"Early. Now, would you please stop talking so we can get some more rest before classes start for the day?" Draco asked, and Harry grimaced, but shut up and turned the opposite way from Malfoy. Surely, Madam Pomfrey would question the two boys if she saw them in such a state, but with Malfoy here, Harry couldn't help but admit that maybe he did feel just the littlest bit better.