Summary: Draco's world has been turned upside down, and he is left searching for a ray of light. "So many facets to admire, time prohibits our naming them all!"--The Daily Prophet. SLASH

Rating: R

Warnings: This fic is not for anyone under 15 years, unless you have an amazing level of maturity (like my sister, Farseeker—check out her fanfiction, 'Harry Potter and the Power of Will'!). Nor is it for homophobes. The story will contain slash (male/male romantic pairings), het, rape, torture, psychological manipulation and torture, and coarse language. If there's anything there you absolutely can't stand, please don't read (can't believe I just said that).

Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters and The Story So Far are property of J. K. Rowling and Warner Brothers, and I have no intent of contesting that right, especially since both have done extremely well in creating and maintaining the spirit of said characters and story. In case either one happens upon this story one day: congratulations and please don't sue me! I mean no harm.

Pleas: Reviews would be nice; flames are also welcome. I will make a spirited attempt to reply to every single one, but I can't guarantee it. Flamers be warned: I will be very logical, pedantic and probably curious in my response. It can be a nuisance, but you'll have to learn to live with it.

All Torn Down: A Broken Hallelujah

....

Maybe I've been here before:

I know this room, I've walked this floor,

I used to live alone before I knew you.

I've seen your flag on the marble arch,

Love is not a victory march;

It's so cold and it's a broken hallelujah.

Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah.

.....

Maybe there's a god above

And all I ever learned from love

Was how to shoot at someone who out-drew you

And it's not a cry you can hear at night,

It's not somebody who's seen the light,

It's so cold and it's a broken hallelujah.

Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah.

Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah.

--From Hallelujah, Ó Leonard Cohen; Rufus Wainwright

As the Hogwarts Express clacked steadily across the country, Draco Malfoy stared out the window of his compartment, absently toying with the lip of his left sleeve. He started at the sound of the carriage door being slid open, and his head swung around to see who was there. His lip curled.

'Oh, no special carriage for poor little Potter and his friends?' he sneered. 'It must be so hard for you, having to find a seat with the rest of us.'

Behind Harry's shoulder, he saw the Weasel's face go red with anger. He could almost see Mudblood's hand restraining him, although she looked furious, too. Potter glared at him coolly before shaking his head and pushing the door closed. Draco sat back with a barely perceptible sigh of relief.

'Chicken,' he muttered, but his heart wasn't in it. He fiddled with his sleeve for a few moments longer before giving in and pulling the cloth right back so he could glare at the thing on his wrist.

Gods, but it burned. He almost wished Harry had decided to sit in here, just so he didn't have to think about it. Although that would have led to a fight, and Draco wasn't in the mood at the moment.

Crabbe and Goyle had spotted the food trolley going by ten minutes ago, and they wouldn't be back any time soon. Draco glanced at the mark again.

Oh, the hell with it. Draco stood suddenly and shoved the door aside. He might as well go and follow the trio. With any luck they'd hex him to the point of oblivion, and he wouldn't have to think until they reached school.

The three of them looked up as Draco entered the carriage, and their Oh-Gods-not-bloody-Malfoy expressions slotted smoothly into place. Ron reached for his wand automatically.

'Get out of here, Malfoy,' he grated. Draco stared at him impassively, dislike stirring inside him like that damn Nagini when she was hungry.

'No, I don't think I will. It was a relatively free country last time I checked.' He sat opposite them, never taking his gaze away from the Weasel. Oh yes, and what a fitting morsel for the wretched snake...

Ron's knuckles whitened against the wood of his wand. 'I said—'

Hermione placed a calming hand on his shoulder almost absent-mindedly. 'Why are you here, Ferret?'

Draco's hackles rose at the nickname, but he kept himself under control. He forced himself to smile at her as he watched Harry through his peripheral vision.

'Well, Mudblood, when two people love each other very much...' he started, and was gratified with a scowl from her that spoke of raging storms.

'Stop acting like Goyle,' she snapped. 'Even you aren't that dense.'

Draco could almost feel himself going pale. It took every ounce of self control he had not to whip his wand out and turn her into a toad. 'I came here,' he said, his voice set with steel, 'because I was bored.'

She shrugged dismissively. Silence reigned for a while in the carriage. Harry, Draco noticed, hadn't taken his cool gaze from him since he'd entered. Draco frowned slightly. Something had changed in him since last year.

Diggory died and Voldemort's back, you twit. It's the same thing that changed you...

The unrelenting gaze irked him. He needed to prod Potter into doing something...Draco stared at the ceiling. A slow smile transformed his delicate features.

'So...nice holidays?'

Weasel's eyes narrowed. 'Why are you asking?'

Draco shrugged. 'Just making conversation. It's something wizards with breeding learn.' He glanced from Ron to Hermione. 'Did you two spend much time together?' His eyes rested on Granger. 'Spend much time around your boyfriend's Hole?'

Ron jumped up, his face almost as crimson as his hair. 'It's Burrow, you foul-mouthed little skunk—'

'Ferret,' Draco corrected him lazily.

'—And there is nothing going on between us!'

Granger hadn't moved from her seat, having frozen as soon as he'd spoken. Draco thought he saw something wet sparkle in her eyes as Ron finished. He smirked. The match-breaker strikes again!

And there it was. He'd barely caught it, but there was a flash of anger in Harry's eyes.

'Oh, come on, Weasel,' he drawled. 'Everyone saw you two trying to play cat and mouse last year. It really was pitiful.' He paused, his smirk widening slightly. 'So, have you kissed yet?' His eyes widened as he heard Granger gasp. 'Or has it gone even further...?'

Ron forgot all about his wand. His fist blurred as it rammed into Draco's face.

'Ron!' Hermione cried.

Draco lifted a finger to his lips tentatively. Its tip was red when he brought it away. He looked at Hermione through the pale strands of his fringe. 'Shocked, Granger? Worried that your pet Weasel might have actually hurt me? Don't. This is nothing. You have no idea what true pain is like, little mudblood.' His eyes narrowed cruelly. 'But you will. When Voldemort gets yo—'

'Stupefy!' Harry's voice cracked suddenly. His wand was pointed at Draco's chest, and his eyes were blazing.

Draco fell back, a half-smile curving over his face.

When Draco came to, the carriage was empty, though he could still feel the train's motion beneath him. The blood had dried on his lips and as he sat up he ran his tongue over the cut, trying to lift as much as possible. He could hear a teacher's voice calling up the corridor for students to get ready for their arrival. He staggered back to the carriage where Crabbe and Goyle waited, having sated their gastronomical desires some time ago.

'Where were you?' Goyle asked as he entered the compartment. Draco shook his head.

'Don't ask. Just don't.'

The boy shrugged boorishly and watched with a blank expression as Draco hoisted his trunk. He stared at the pair with a revulsion that he barely bothered to disguise. It wasn't as though it would register with them, anyway.

Tweedle-dum and Tweedle-dumber, he thought. God give me strength.

'The train will be stopping soon,' he said slowly, hoping the message would sink in within ten minutes, which was about the time he judged they had left. 'You should get your things ready.'

The pair must have really studied over the holidays. They made it out of the carriage in seven minutes.

The Sorting Ceremony was more subdued than Draco remembered. As each first year went under the Hat, there was an almost tangible tension in the air. Every time the Sorting Hat announced, 'Slytherin!', there was a group sagging in the other three tables, and even among some of the teachers. Draco scowled. Slytherin may have a bad reputation, but this was sheer idiocy. He'd seen plenty of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs at the Dark Lord's gatherings; even a few Gryffindors. Yet most believed that the only darklings among them were from Slytherin. They had no idea what a delicate lie that was.

Dumbledore rose to give his traditional speech, which was shorter and less merry than anything Draco had heard from the old man before. He must have been hearing exactly what Voldemort had got up to during the break. His gaze shifted to Snape, whose eyes were black pools. Draco shuddered and stared down at the table.

Finally the end of the Ceremony, and the one part of it that Draco could ever actually allow himself to enjoy, came: the singing of the Hogwarts anthem. If he plugged his ears and closed his eyes, he could almost pretend that he was the only one singing. He had adapted the song to a waltz he had heard once, long ago, and whose tune had stuck in his mind with the tenacity of a postal stamp to its envelope.

It was with a shock that he realised everyone else had finished well before him. Damn Weasley twins weren't around to cover him with their awful dirge! He felt his face flame, fully aware that he had an unusually sweet voice for a boy his age. Nevertheless he finished with a flourish and a smirk. No one would care if he smirked. There was nothing new about a Malfoy showing off. He glared particularly at three bulging sets of eyes across from him at the Gryffindor table.

When they were dismissed, Pansy Parkinson hurried to his side--after elbowing Crabbe away. Draco groaned inwardly; she had been batting her eyes since they'd sat down. She smiled at him as they paced with the rest of the serpentine crowd towards their common room. He merely glared. 'What?'

'Aren't you looking forward to sharing another class, Draco?' Her eyes sparkled with fake adoration as he paused in shock, receiving a bang on the leg from a first-year's trunk for his trouble.

'Ow! Damn. Say what?' he hissed through his teeth as he rubbed his leg. She giggled.

'Weren't you listening to Dumbledore?'

'I find very little reason to pay attention to that fool.'

Pansy nodded as though digesting a profound truth. 'He said that Magical Healing has been made compulsory this year. Even if it means you have to give up one of your other subjects to fit it in.' Her eyes widened slightly. 'They've never been so strict before, have they?'

'I wouldn't know; I've only been here the past four years.'

'Well, I suppose it wouldn't be so bad, except that...'

'Except that what?'

She wrinkled her nose. 'They've put us with the Gryffindors.'

Draco rolled his eyes. 'Probably hoping some of that goodness will rub off on us.'

The corridor was suddenly filled with the sound of Pansy's high-pitched, wheezy laughter. Draco shuddered. If there was anything worse than her empty-headed giggling, it was a full-on laugh. He gritted his teeth and ploughed on through the crowd, hoping to get away.

No such luck; she'd caught up with him again in a few paces. 'Still,' she murmured; 'I bet you'll do really well in Healing, with those beautiful hands of yours...'

She moved to take hold of one of said hands, but Draco flinched away. Pansy looked hurt, though she took the hint. They didn't say anything more until they reached the Slytherin common room, and even then it was merely a curt 'Good night' from Draco as he stalked to the boy's dormitory.

Draco's trunk thudded at the foot of his bed and he flung himself headlong onto the mattress. He flicked the curtains around him shut and stared at the bedstead for a long moment, fighting a stinging sensation in the corner of his eyes. It didn't work.

Oh for God's sake, give it up. It's just another school year, it's not as though you haven't worked out how to survive them by now...

The tears rolled down his face unchecked. Draco bit savagely into his pillow to keep anyone else from hearing his sobs.

Draco's head shot back from the pillow. He gasped for air. How long had he lain like that? He might have suffocated....he found himself wondering whether that would have been so bad, and shook himself. It was important not to think like that.

It was morning. He picked up his wand and padded to the common room. No one else was awake yet, so he sat in front of the fireplace, muttering a few words with his wand pointed at the hearth. Flames rose up, flickering and golden, and he watched their complex, twisting dance contentedly for a few moments, until the door to the girl's dormitory opened and Pansy slipped into the room. She glanced down at Draco bemusedly as she walked over and sat down beside him. 'What happened to your robes?'

Draco blinked and looked down. The cloth covering him was crumpled and twisted. He shrugged. 'I went to sleep without changing.' He tapped his robes with his wand and muttered a quick spell to smooth the fabric. 'Better?'

She nodded. 'Much. Quidditch is coming back in this year. They're holding try-outs for every position because so many of the players have graduated now.' She looked sidelong at him. 'You'll be trying out for Seeker, won't you?'

He nodded without really paying much attention to her. Of course he'd try out for Seeker. He'd get it too; no one else had the nous to believe they could beat the mighty Gryffindor Potter. Well, they'd see...

'Draco, are you all right?'

'Hmm?' he looked up. 'Why?'

'You're...different this year. Nicer to me, for one thing.' Her mouth curved in what she probably thought was an arch smile. 'I'm not sure that I really like it.'

'Masochist,' he said absently.

'Only yours,' she said in an overly sweet tone that made him wince mentally. 'But really, you are all right, aren't you?' She tried to place a hand on his arm and he pulled away from her. 'You'd tell me if something was wrong, wouldn't you?' He just stared at her uncharacteristic, apparently genuine concern. Pansy leaned towards him suddenly, peering at his mouth. 'How did you get that cut?'

Draco flinched away from her questing gaze. 'It's nothing. It doesn't matter.' He raised a finger to the cut instinctively, and the sleeve of his robe slipped down his arm. Pansy gave a low whoop when she saw what was on his wrist.

'He accepted you! He really did! Draco, I'm so proud.' Draco cringed; if she gushed any more she'd have to find herself a riverbed. The worst was she actually, actually meant it. 'You and the Dark Lord—you'll conquer the world one day!'

He grunted in a non-committal manner and Pansy frowned again. 'There really is something wrong, isn't there? Draco?'

The flames leapt in his brooding eyes for a long while before he answered: 'I'm sick of coming back here every year.'

Pansy nodded earnestly. 'I understand. You want to get out and really begin doing things, don't you? But it's all right. There are only a few years left, and then—'

'What time is it?' Draco cut her off, unable to stand any more of her vapid chatter.

'About two hours before breakfast. Why?'

He got up. 'I'm going for a walk.' He'd left the room and was twisting away through the halls before she could follow him.

Draco missed breakfast. He wasn't in the mood to tolerate the inane chatter that always seemed to surround the Great Hall on the first day of the term. He certain as hell didn't want to talk about his holidays. So when he was sure the dormitory was empty, he returned to get ready for the first class of the day and set off across the grounds, steeling himself to meet whatever ghastly challenges Hagrid had dreamed up for Care of Magical Creatures this year.

Hagrid was hauling a crate of something noisy away from his cottage when he spotted Draco heading towards him. 'Malfoy,' the half-giant huffed gruffly. 'Yer a bit early, aren't yeh?'

'Does it really matter?' Do you really care?

Hagrid's huge shoulders bunched together and he continued to haul the crate away.

I thought not.

The big man swore as the box jumped out of his hands and bounced on the ground. Draco folded his arms primly. 'You really shouldn't use that language in the presence of students, sir.'

'Shut yer mouth, Malfoy, and make yeself useful. Help me with this thing.'

Rolling his eyes, Draco grasped the crate. He gasped, realising quickly why his teacher had been having so much trouble. It wasn't that the box was particularly heavy; simply that whatever was inside kept bouncing around with such force that it was hard to keep a hold.

'Ye Gods,' Draco breathed, fascinated in spite of himself. 'What is it?'

'Yeh'll find out with the rest of the class when I open the box. Come on, we need ta get 'em away from any hidey-holes.' Hagrid manoeuvred them carefully towards an open space of lawn. Glancing up briefly, he saw something behind Draco's shoulder and drew in a deep breath.

'Harry, Ron, Hermione!' Draco jumped at the sudden volume of the man's voice. 'Hi!'

Draco gritted his teeth as he set the box on the ground and the Dream Team chorused their various versions of 'Hi, Hagrid'.

'Well, if it isn't the noble Draco Malfoy, actually doing some decent work for once,' Ron said in a sarcastic imitation of Draco's own drawl as he turned around. 'But don't worry. You won't have to worry about doing something so common for a while, what with that pretty little voice of yours.'

Draco actually growled. 'Shut up, Weasel,' he rasped. 'Or I might decide to repay you for that little incident on the train.'

If looks could kill, they would both have exploded. Hagrid waved a hand between them hesitantly, almost as though he actually thought it might drop off. 'I'm not having fightin' in my class on the first day back, right? So whatever's happened, yeh can both just drop it fer now. Remember what Dumbledore said last year: we're only as strong as we're united.'

'Yeah, well,' Ron muttered, looking away. 'He's probably already joined the Death Eaters anyway.' Draco's nails bit nervously into the flesh of his left hand at that. Ron noticed, and must have thought he wanted to fight. 'Go ahead, Ferret. Give me a reason to smash you, and I'll—'

'Ron, just leave him.' They both jumped at Harry's voice. Ron looked at his friend incredulously.

'What? But he's—'

'We have better things to worry about.' Draco was uncomfortably aware of Potter's penetrating gaze on him. He exploded in frustration.

'Oh, for God's sake! It's a pretty poor day when I'm pulled out of a fight by the princely Potter!' He pushed past as the rest of the class caught up with them, being careful to knock Ron hard with his shoulder. Draco wove through the crowd to the back and turned back to watch the class, scowling. His eyes narrowed. Just how long had Potter been watching him?

Hagrid was explaining something to the class, and Draco tuned his voice out automatically. If there was anything important in the speech, he could learn by trial and error later. Or with Pansy. He shuddered at that thought, stealing a glance at her keen face nearer the centre of the group. She wouldn't admit it even under Veritaserum, but she really enjoyed Care of Magical Creatures.

The class craned its collective necks as Hagrid bent down to pry away the lid of the box. Draco, still curious, sidled around the edges of the crowd to get a better view. The lid came away suddenly, and something black streaked towards him at high velocity.

'Shit!' Draco yelped, clapping a hand to his stinging eye. 'What the hell was that?'

Hagrid straightened up as more of the things began to shoot out of the box in every direction. 'Yeh know, yeh really shouldn't use that sorta language in the presence of teachers, Malfoy.'

'Don't mess me about, Hagrid! What was that?' Draco could hear the Weasel and Mudblood giggling. Damn, damn bloody damn.

'If yeh'd been listenin', yeh'd know we're lookin' at imps today,' Hagrid said impatiently. 'They're extremely fast little buggers, excuse my French, Madame Maxime's been teachin' me a little too much over the school break.' The class tittered at that. 'They're always lookin' fer somewhere ta hide, which means boys had better watch that they keep away from their trouser legs.' He said this in a slightly raised voice, to remind the class. Longbottom yelped.

'Too late, sir,' he said with a pained expression on his face.

'It'll work out how to get out pretty quick, Neville,' Hagrid assured him before turning back to Draco. 'Yeh've got ter catch one by the end of the lesson. Yeh'll be workin' with that imp for the rest of the year.'

'Brilliant,' Draco muttered. The same black streak rushed past him again and he leaped for it. To his own amazement, he caught it. 'Yes! Ow! Damn.'

'Malfoy, if you keep swearin' I'm going to put you on a detention.'

'The—' Draco fought to keep an automatic curse from leaving his lips. 'The thing bit my thumb!'

'Poor ickle Drackie,' Ron snorted a few metres away. He'd already caught a little green monster. It complemented the colour of his hair quite well, and was contentedly pulling at tiny fistfuls on top of his head.

'Shut up, Weasel.'

'Ferret.'

'Muggle-lover.' Draco tried to concentrate. Come on, you're the Slytherin Seeker, this should be simple compared to the Snitch! The streak was heading back towards him. He leapt again and was dragged along the ground for several metres. He saw the creature open its evil little mouth, and grabbed its overlong ears just in time. 'Try it and I'll pull them off,' he hissed. The imp began to chatter in a tiny, high-pitched voice that seemed to allow for a hundred syllables per second.

Hagrid was striding towards them. 'There's no need to treat 'em like that, Malfoy.'

Draco got up without releasing the imp's ears. 'If it's going to work with me, it's going to do it my way. That doesn't mean bitten thumbs, black eyes or grass stains.' He frowned. If he listened closely, he thought he could almost make out what it was saying.

'....letgoyastupidlittledickhead...'

'It's swearing at me!'

'I ain't surprised, the way yer treatin' it.' Hagrid firmly took Draco's hand away from the imp's ears. It stopped squeaking and glared at him.

Draco waited silently until Hagrid had moved away from them before murmuring in a deadly tone, 'Try anything and I'll squash you.' It poked its tongue out at him. Draco grimaced and looked around at the rest of the group. A few people were still chasing blurs, but most of the class had caught their imps and were now trying to cope with the little fistfuls of mania being so close. Draco raised his eyes to the sky. Just one question, he thought. Why...?

He dropped the imp and it rushed back to the box. Draco turned around and began to walk away. He could hear shouts from the class behind him, but decided he really didn't care what they thought. Then he heard Hagrid's voice, growing louder, and he realised the half-giant must be running after him. The last thing he wanted at the moment was to be caught. Draco broke into a run. He fled to the castle.

Potions was the next lesson. Having quickly tired of skulking past other teachers and classes, Draco arrived a quarter of an hour before time. Snape looked up from a mass of crucibles and bubbling liquids as the door banged behind him.

'Early, Draco,' he commented.

'Sir.' Draco sat at a desk and waited. Snape poured something foul-smelling into the mixture and turned to watch the boy. Draco returned the gaze steadily. Finally Snape said, 'Since you're here you might as well get started. Open your book to page ninety-three and read the next four pages, then set everything up the way I have. You'll be making a Sleeping Potion. Make sure you bottle it carefully when you're done, because you'll be using these in Healing.'

Draco was almost grateful that the Potions Master hadn't pressed him. By the time the rest of the class arrived he was searching in a cupboard for a crucible and a jar of dried slugs. Half an hour later Draco set the bottled potion on Snape's desk.

'Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. Would you mind bottling the Erumpent Exploding Fluid?' Snape indicated a pile of jars and a vat of muck on a bench to his right. 'The sixth years will be using it in the next session, and I'll never get the jars full in time with this rabble distracting me. Be careful to use gloves, because it sticks like—' There was an explosion behind him and he turned around, already snapping, 'Neville Longbottom! How many times do I have to tell you to add the slugs before the newt eggs? Ten points from Gryffindor!' Snape stalked away, muttering.

As Draco picked up a jar, he thought he heard a Gryffindor mutter, 'Teacher's pet.' He ignored the speaker.

By the end of the lesson Gryffindor had managed to lose a further thirty points. Draco peeled the gloves from his hands as the other students filed out.

'Draco, a word, please.'

He turned to see Snape leaning against his desk, arms folded. 'Sir?'

'I hear you ran out of Hagrid's class. You're either much less intelligent than I'd given you credit for, extremely brave, or highly preoccupied.' Draco shrugged. 'I want you to know that if you ever try the same thing in one of my classes you'll have detention for the rest of the term and it'll be fifty points from Slytherin.'

'Is that all you wanted to say, sir?'

'No, actually it isn't. Pansy seems exceptionally worried about you. She seems to think something terrible happened to you over the holidays.' Snape cocked his head to the side. 'I just wanted to remind you that I'm your house supervisor. If there's anything you want to talk about, you can come to me.'

Is that so, Two-face? 'I don't have anything to say, sir.'

'Then you may go.'

Quidditch trials were being held during lunch. Draco was the only one who offered to be Seeker, so he got the position by default. It didn't really surprise him, although he would have liked to have been able to test himself against someone. They said Potter was exceptional, but that didn't make perpetually losing to him any easier.

Crabbe and Goyle tried out with him. They each made Beater without too much trouble. While not particularly nimble on their brooms, the power with which they hit the Bludgers was astonishing, and it was reasoned that they could be trained which end of the pitch to direct the balls at. Draco chewed his lip in frustration. Did the two brutes have to follow him in everything?

Surprisingly, Madame Pomfrey wasn't the teacher of Magical Healing. Instead, when the class stepped into the room that had been set aside for the new subject, they were met by a tall, thin man who was perpetually rubbing his hands and murmuring to himself. He called himself Fletcher.

'Welcome, welcome,' he gasped, smiling toothily at the class. 'Your Sleeping Potions will be arriving shortly. I'm afraid we haven't any human patients as yet, although that may be rectified once the Quidditch season starts—' by some amazing feat of facial expression and flexibility, he managed to give the impression of winking at Potter and Draco simultaneously, '—so for now we'll read some preliminary information from your workbooks, and when the potions are here I'll demonstrate some simple procedures on a few imps who have met with, mmm, accidents during the day.'

The books were dry as dust and kept quoting sources and wizards Draco had never heard of. It was utterly impossible to understand for the most part--so of course, across the room, Granger was completely engrossed. At the top of the first page was a dictionary definition of healing, just in case they forgot: the art of restoring a person or persons to health; of freeing them from pain, disease or anxiety.

Draco looked at his hands. 'Freeing them from pain'? He remembered gloomily what Pansy had said to him the day before, and knew she was wrong. He'd never do well in this class; he'd probably fail.

There was a knock at the door, and a trolley was wheeled in by a pair of sixth-years with long-suffering expressions on their faces. The potions, and the imps, had arrived.

The first patient was black, and wore a recognisably mean expression.

'This one won't require a potion. It's incurred some slight bruising about its ears, you see how delicate they are? Whoever was handling this one will have to be much more careful in the future.' Draco slumped in his chair. The little imp, whose eyes had been darting suspiciously about the room, caught sight of him. It opened its mouth wide and began to pour out a squeaky litany. Fletcher, quite unconcerned, reached for the trolley and placed a cork in the creature's mouth to stop the noise. It went cross-eyed in surprise. Draco snorted with laughter.

'While it is important to keep the patient as comfortable as possible during any operation,' Fletcher murmured, 'One must sometimes set...boundaries. It simply won't do to have one's concentration suddenly upset...is there something wrong Mr, uh, Malfoy?'

Draco's laughter died at the look on the professor's face. He had obviously heard a few things about the Malfoy name. 'No, sir,' he muttered.

'Very good then. Now, if you will watch carefully...'

Draco really did not want to go to dinner. But after missing the previous two meals, his stomach was beginning to make threats. He waited until most students had left the Great Hall before making his way to the Slytherin table. He was surprised to see Potter, Weasel and Mudblood sitting at the Gryffindor table. From the way Weasley was grabbing every morsel within reach, they hadn't been there long. Draco swept past them, scowling. He grabbed randomly from the Slytherin remains and stalked out without a word. He could eat in the common room.

Draco heard conversations being hushed as he entered. His eyes swept the room, and met the gazes of his classmates on every angle. 'Yes?'

'Are you...all right?' Crabbe rumbled in his ear. Draco glared at him.

'Of course.'

'Only,' Blaise Zabini said, 'Pansy's been saying all sorts of things...she's beside herself...'

'You weren't at breakfast or lunch either,' someone else volunteered. 'So we thought...'

'And there was that thing with Hagrid and the imp this morning...'

Draco looked around him again. Most of the Slytherins were leaning toward him, eyes alight with morbid curiosity. A few were looking at him with genuine concern, and he shuddered away from those quickly. A couple looked on the brink of sniggering at him. How touching.

He backed away. Once outside, he spun and hurtled through the corridors. He could find somewhere else to eat. Somewhere else to sleep, for that matter. He wasn't going in there again.

It turned out that Pansy had been talking about their conversation that morning, about her suspicions that something had happened to him during the holidays and the cut on his lip. Rumours began to whisper throughout the school, some Ravenclaw dropped his father's name, and by the end of a month he was being brutalised by Lucius and had probably incurred some kind of brain damage, accounting for his moodiness. Draco couldn't walk down the hall without gaining at least five pitying looks from those around him. He found that he was actually beginning to enjoy his perpetual arguments with the Dream Team, to whom the rumours were only so much ammunition. At least they didn't bother to treat him like a piece of thin glass.

Thank Gods for Quidditch.

The first match of the season was against Gryffindor, in a week's time. Draco trained maniacally—it was an excuse to keep out of the castle and away from other people. And he was determined to beat Potter.

The day came. The stands were packed; the Gryffindors were screaming like a horde of wild beasts. So sure of victory. Draco sniggered.

A roar went up as the teams made their way onto the field. Madam Hooch stood in the centre and waited for them to take their positions before she blew the whistle. The brooms rose into the air.

'And it's Slytherin in possession, Chaser Larson speeding down the field there, doesn't look like anyone's going to catch him—' in place of Lee Jordan, a Hufflepuff boy was commentating. He looked extremely nervous. '—Gryffindor's Weasley seems to be catching up now, but no, Larson moves to score—and a wonderful block by Gryffindor's Keeper! Gryffindor in possession now, Weasley moving at a nice pace, dodges a Bludger—beautiful pass to Nat Denner—Denner passes back and they're moving up the pitch together, look out, Slytherins are catching up—'

Draco listened with half an ear as his eyes swept the field, searching for the Golden Snitch. It wasn't anywhere to be seen. Potter hovered a few metres above him on the opposite half of the field; he plainly hadn't seen anything either. Draco glanced back down at the other players as a roar went up from the Gryffindor crowd. They were screaming 'Foul!', and he could see Ron Weasley pulling himself back up onto his broom. Potter had dipped down a few feet and was yelling furiously. Not far away, Madam Hooch had flown up and was having a heated argument with Goyle. Draco swore. How could one person be so stupid? Although the look on Ron's face was one he would treasure for a long time to come.

'Free shot to Gryffindor, Weasley shoots, Slytherin try to block—no good—and—Yes!! GOAL TO GRYFFINDOR!'

Of course. Bloody Goyle. But Slytherin was soon back in possession and Draco turned his attention back to the Snitch, or rather to his lack of it.

'Gryffindor catching up to Slytherin fast—what's this? Gryffindor's Seeker has gone into a dive!'

Draco plunged after Potter, squinting ahead of him to catch a glimpse of the Snitch.

What the hell?

He pulled up suddenly, knowing it was a feint. Harry veered away and shot back up above the field.

'Move it, Malfoy!' Weasley's voice cracked as something red hissed past Draco's ear. He barely had enough time to get out of the way of Weasley's broom as it shot after the Quaffle. Draco propelled himself upwards, and was gratified to see Ron knocked by a Bludger hit by Crabbe a moment later.

'Gryffindor's Beater fields the Bludger excellently, knocks it back towards Slytherin—Beater Goyle fields and shoots it back—'

The Bludger hurtled upward at a sharp angle. Draco watched its trajectory and stiffened involuntarily when he saw it hit Potter in the chest. The Gryffindors screamed. Harry shot backward, but he righted himself quickly and resumed his position.

'LOOK OUT!'

Draco had forgotten about the other Bludger. It was only the commentator's frenzied cry that alerted him to the fact that it was pelting towards him. He swerved out of the way barely in time.

'Bludger misses Slytherin's Seeker by a hair—wait—yes—no, it's coming back around!'

Draco didn't have time to get out of the way. He bent low over his broomstick and prayed, letting out an explosive breath when he felt the Bludger breeze past above him. Then—he saw it, a flash of gold near the centre of the field. Draco shot toward the Snitch with a whoop of triumph.

'Slytherin's Seeker appears to have spotted something—Gryffindor's Potter follows him in a steep dive, and—yes! There's the Snitch!'

From the corner of his eye, Draco saw a black blur speeding his way. He veered quickly away to miss the Bludger, and Harry caught up to him. They were locked together, neck and neck...almost everyone in the stands was on their feet and howling. Draco nudged his broom forward through sheer willpower and stretched out his left hand. He felt a rush of excitement--he was going to do it! The Snitch was almost in his grasp.

Suddenly Potter's broom jerked forward and his hand brushed Draco's straining fingers as it shot out to snatch the Golden Snitch from him. Draco gasped and spun his broom away.

Draco paused before descending to the ground, breathing deeply to calm his jangling nerves. He swooped low and dismounted. The Gryffindors were howling like beasts again; they had their victory.

He didn't wait for the rest of his team to vent their disappointment on him. Draco stalked away from the field and didn't look back.

When Draco curled in a stony corner of the castle that night, his gaze rested on his left hand as his eyelids slid low. He stared first at his wrist, then at his fingers, until sleep caught up with him and threw him into chaos.

Draco dreamed he was surrounded by howling creatures, but he couldn't tell what kind. Sometimes he saw a feather, or a hint of fur. Four legs, two? Or six? He couldn't tell. Claws raking at his face, teeth and hot breath on his skin. He saw human faces, eyes and features he recognised but couldn't name, dancing in and out among the crowd.

Draco turned to get away from them, and he saw a break in the crowd and a flash of gold far away. He began to run towards it. The beasts disappeared and he reached out, straining to touch the glimmer, but something was batting against him from behind. He turned again and a dark blur hit him in the face. Falling back screaming, he could only watch as the darkness spread around him. The gold was lost. The inky void shifted, until he could make out a snake-like face and a cruel smile he knew far too well. There was a green flash of light and Draco heard someone screaming his name....

The dream repeated itself until morning, and when Draco woke up the images were scratched into his mind with needle sharpness.

For the first time in weeks Draco ventured into the Great Hall when he knew the tables would be full. He winced as he entered; he'd forgotten how loud people got. He hurried to his seat between Crabbe and Goyle, and ate quickly, ignoring the stares and muttered comments of those around him. He was about to leave when the owls flew in. Draco watched a large tawny owl circle the room before dropping the envelope it carried into his hands. It immediately flew out again, and Draco knew it probably wouldn't pause to rest in the Owlery. It was his father's.

He stared at the Malfoy family seal stamped on the envelope, motionless. Pansy leaned toward him. 'He's been sending the same letter since last week,' she muttered. 'But he wouldn't drop it when you weren't in the room. Well? Are you going to open it?'

Draco shook his head slowly. 'No.' Later he would find a convenient fireplace in which to leave it.

Magical Healing wasn't going well. The class was studying reiki, an ancient Asian form of healing using energy from the hands. Until now they had been covering the history and theories behind it, but today Fletcher had decided to allow the students to put their knowledge into practice.

'Fortunately reiki uses harmonious energies to heal,' Fletcher murmured, 'Meaning that an injury per se is not required for the experiment to work. Reiki properly performed will result in a deep, inner restfulness in the patient and, when a patient is seriously injured, can be very useful in calming the person before an operation.'

Not telling us anything we don't know already, Draco thought impatiently. Get on with it.

Then the Professor said it. Those few, dangerous words. 'You'll be working in pairs.'

Draco was paired with Granger. She advanced on him with a mildly disgusted, resolute expression. Draco backed away nervously.

'Keep away from me, Granger,' he muttered, glancing about the room. Fletcher wasn't paying them any attention; he was deep in conversation with Neville Longbottom. Apparently the boy was doing amazingly well, he had certainly acquired the position of teacher's pet in short order. Potter and Weasley, having been paired together, were watching him carefully. The look on Ron's face couldn't have been darker if someone had taken to him with a pot of black ink.

'Oh, come on,' Hermione said, irritated. 'It's not as though I'm going to hurt you. Let's just get this over with as quickly as possible.' She reached out suddenly and Draco jumped back.

'Keep your filthy hands off me, Mudblood!' he snarled, brandishing his wand. He saw the Weasel crossing the room at high speed, followed by Potter, but he didn't care. He couldn't let her touch him. 'I'm warning you—'

'What the hell do you think you're doing, Malfoy?' Weasel hissed, moving protectively in front of the Mudblood. 'Put that thing away!'

'Then call your bloody gorgon off!' Draco's eyes skirted back to Fletcher. He hadn't heard them; was still talking to his star pupil. Bloody Gryffindors steal all the limelight.

Ron's face went white. 'You—'

'I mean it! I'll hex you both!' Ron's fists clenched, and Draco opened his mouth, ready to invoke a spell. A hand gripped the tip of his wand and turned it sharply away from the pair.

'Enough, Malfoy,' Potter growled. 'Hermione's just trying to do her work. What's your problem?'

Draco glared at him, breathing quickly. Oh God, those damn eyes! 'You,' he breathed through clenched teeth. 'You are my problem.'

'Right.' Potter took a step forward. 'I'm sick of this. I want an end to it, Malfoy. If I'm the one you've got it in for, then it's easy.'

Draco looked at him steadily, not understanding. 'What do you mean?'

'A wizard's duel. Tonight, here at midnight.'

Draco stared at him uneasily, then nodded. 'All right. But—' He had a sudden idea. 'Come alone. No seconds.'

'What?' Weasley hissed.

Draco jabbed a thumb at Crabbe and Goyle in the corner. 'I won't bring them, if you don't bring them.' He gestured at Ron and Granger. She clutched at Potter's arm.

'Harry, don't do it! He's—'

Potter shrugged her off him gently. 'Done,' he said quietly.

Draco actually smiled. Granger and Weasley would try to talk him out of it, of course, but Potter was a typical Gryffindor: as good as his word.

'Good.' He glared at Hermione. 'You keep away from me.'

After dinner, Draco risked a quick detour into the Slytherin common room. He went straight to his dormitory, placed his wand in his trunk and got out again before anyone could speak to him. Draco went straight to the Healing room. He sat on Fletcher's desk, absently banging his heels against the blocky wood. He could feel the corner of the envelope in his pocket and grudgingly fished it out. He stared again at the seal. Draco hadn't been able to find a place to burn the letter—at least not anywhere he wouldn't be seen. Reluctantly he broke the seal and read the letter inside.

Draco,

Remember that you are still at Hogwarts for a purpose. Voldemort wants you to monitor the movements of Potter and Dumbledore. Report what you find back to me. If you have any opportunity to disrupt their schemes, proceed. Keep in close contact with Snape; if you are caught he'll be the one to help you.

May the Dark Lord's final ascendance be great.

Remember: Be a man. Be a Malfoy.

Lucius Malfoy

The words glinted silver on the page, and Draco knew that if anyone else had read them, they would have appeared to be a normal, fatherly message to his son. He read the last line again with a sick feeling. His family's motto: Be a man. Be a Malfoy. What a stupid, stupid collection of words. They meant nothing. Nothing!

Draco tore the note up and shoved the pieces deep into his pocket, not wanting to leave them where they might be found. He steepled his fingers and stared gloomily at the toe of his shoe. What was he going to do about Potter?

He must have remained like that for hours, only looking up when the door opened and Potter stepped into the room. Harry closed the door quietly. His eyes narrowed when he saw Draco.

'Where's your wand?'

Draco slid from the desk, walking quickly towards him. 'I didn't bring it.'

Harry glared at him uneasily, but didn't back away. 'What now, then? Are you going to reduce this to a brawl?'

'No.' Draco took a final step forward, closing the distance between them. He hesitated only for a second; then moved swiftly. Draco's left hand cradled Harry's head as he moved in, pressing his lips against Harry's. He closed his eyes, afraid to see the immediate reaction. Potter's wand twitched automatically, but Draco's free hand slid down, interlocking their fingers and forcing him to drop it. As gently as he could, Draco nudged Harry against the wall. His hand shielded Harry from the cold hardness of the stone.

He should stop, he knew. Harry wasn't returning the kiss; he was trying to push Draco off with his free hand. But he didn't want to leave this sweet warmth. Draco parted his lips very slightly and ran his tongue along the line of Harry's mouth, searching for a soft spot, a way in. There was none.

He tastes like Heaven.

At last Draco relented, opening his eyes slowly as he withdrew.

'Harry...'