NOTE: I'm re-editing this, so the chapters are coming down. I'll re-upload about one or two chapters a day. Should be done by Tuesday. (That "Crabbed" thing was really getting to me...)

Standard disclaimers apply. I own nothing, no money being made...all that jazz. Read, enjoy, review.

Draco sighed and leaned against the wall, his hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers. Glancing around the corner, he half-hoped he wouldn't see Crabbe and Goyle. They were getting more and more unbearable now that they'd discovered they both harbored secret passions for Millicent Bullstrode.

With another sigh, he turned towards the Great Hall, resigning himself to eating breakfast alone--a fact that didn't bother him in the least. It seemed it was easier to be alone these days. There wasn't anyone glaring at him, or asking him if he was OK. Or talking to him about his father, or the Dark Lord.

With a small smile at Pansy, Draco dropped onto the bench several feet down from her. She was all right to talk to every now and then, but he just wasn't in the mood for conversation. Sighing again, the blond poked at his food, his eyes wandering across the Hall, landing on a green-eyed boy who currently looked as miserable as he felt.

Welcome to the club, he thought, pushing his plate away and standing back up. You think life it tough, Potter? Just try living on my side of the world. Wandering towards the dungeon class room for morning lessons, he felt the familiar numbness settle over him. It had been like that since he found out about his father. Just an empty place inside him that should have felt something, but that felt nothing.

He wasn't sure if he should be glad, or upset, or indifferent. He hated his father. He hated the Dark Lord. But he also hated change and variance. While he was adaptable, he didn't like being required to adapt. The summer had been hell, punctuated by visits from Severus and mood swings from his mother. One minute she was as calm as could be and the next she was angry about something, snapping at Draco and anyone else stupid enough to go near her. So he'd adapted. He'd gone to staying in his room. Or outside. He'd spent the warmer days in the shade of the trees on the edge of the forest that surrounded the grounds of Malfoy Manor. He would bring his books out and just stay there for hours, writing his essays in silence.

Then there were Severus's visits. He'd stopped by about once a week to make sure they were doing all right. Sometimes Narcissa would snap that everything was fine and he was only being under foot, popping in at all hours of the day when decent people were trying to get on with their daily doings. Other times she would thank him for coming and led him into one of the sitting rooms, offering him a drink (which he never accepted) and closing the door behind them. Sometimes Draco would hear her crying when she was with Severus. She never cried at night, or when she was alone. Only with Severus.

When he was done being bullied by, or comforting, Narcissa (depending on her mood), Severus would go to Draco and ask him about school work. Was he nearly finished? Did he need any help? Did he have everything he needed? The conversation never touched on his father. They'd had enough private conversations over the years for Severus to know better than to bring it up. The times they spent together were often passed with Draco doodling on a spare scrap of parchment, nodding every few seconds, or ignoring the man completely, just staring sightlessly into the blank spaces between the words of whatever textbook was closest when Severus walked into the room.

Over those short times of dead conversation, Draco had come to find comfort in the man's deep, smooth voice. Half the time he didn't even hear the words, just the steady presence of something. It made things bearable and, whether Severus knew it or not, Draco was grateful. He never cried over the situation the way his mother did, but if he were going to, he would do it with Severus, the same as her.

Pushing the class room door open, Draco wasn't surprised to find Severus at the front of the class, studying a thick book as words wrote themselves on the blackboard behind him in his own, scrawling cursive. Severus looked up for a moment before turning his attention back to his book.

Once more grateful for the man knowing when not to say anything, Draco just sat in his usual seat and took out his textbook. Opening it to a random page, he stared at the words.

Hamilton Kepple was the fourth member of the explorative team responsible for the discovery of--

Draco was pulled out of the irrelevant drabble his was reading when the door opened. The sound of slow steps down the stairs to the front of the room kept his attention just enough to make him read the same line three more times before looking up when the chalk stopped writing on the board. Harry Potter was standing in front of Severus's desk.

"Umm, sir?"

"What is it, Potter?"

"Professor Dumbledore said I should talk to you about, umm, my extra classes."

"You may see me later. You'll be late for first period."

"I didn't get my schedule this morning." He seemed to be talking more to himself than Severus when he said this.

"Then I suggest you see your head of house," the man replied, still not looking up from his work.

There was a moment of silence before Harry said, "Yes, sir."

The steps up the stairs were slightly faster and the door closed more roughly than was necessary. Looking up again, Draco found Severus to be looking at the door with the twist of a sneer on his face.

"Professor?"

"Yes?"

After a second, he shook his head and looked back at his book. "Nothing."

Severus went back to reading his book and the click and scrape of the chalk on the board resumed.

"Harry, there you are! You ran off before Professor McGonagall passed out our time tables."

"I didn't notice," he answered absently.

"Well, I got yours for you, but I think there was a mistake."

Scowling, Harry took the offered paper and scanned it quickly. What sort of mistake-- There it was. Right on the first line. Monday morning, period one, double Potions with Slytherin. "I shouldn't have made NEWT Potions," he said. "I didn't have a Potions book on my list."

"When she gave it to me Professor McGonagall said to send you up to see her. Maybe she has a book for you."

"If I go now I'll be late."

"If you turn up at Potions without your book Snape'll manage to take a hundred points off by asking you questions you couldn't possibly know the answers to. If you're late, he'll only take ten points off once."

Glaring at the paper for a second, he nodded curtly. She was, of course, right. "I'll be down soon then," he said before walking away.

"Harry," Hermione called.

He looked over his shoulder at her.

"Smile."

Sighing, he turned back around and jogged up the stairs, taking every other set two at a time. The last thing he felt like doing was smiling.

Thought Harry knew she meant well, he had to force down the annoyance that had been fighting its way closer and closer to the surface. From an explosive exit at the Dursley's to a long summer of being shuffled from Order member to Order member, the events of the passed three months were not piling up in a very flattering manner.

After nearly killing all of his remaining family members when he lost his temper at being ordered back outside to wipe his feet, for the hundredth time, after several hours of gardening under the hot sun, Harry had been swept off to Order Headquarters where Remus had been waiting to tell him how careless he'd been. After that it was a downward spiral of people taking turns trying to cheer him up. One at a time they would come to him with happy smiles and promises that everything would be all right, and one by one he shot them down with snide remarks and sarcastic comments. He'd even gotten nasty with Mrs. Weasley which had not only made him feel guilty, but more angry, so the next victim lined up for the shooting--Ron--had gotten thrown bodily from the room with promises of pain beyond death if he bothered to come back. Ron hadn't spoken to Harry again all summer.

Hermione, for all her caring, had suffered much at his hands as well. She, however, was a little more understanding and tolerant. Her unending patience and reasonable honesty were welcomed on one level, but despised on another. In the moments when he'd been closest to giving up and letting himself be swallowed by guilt and anger and fear, her steady voice had broken into the dark prison he'd made for himself in his third- floor room of Twelve Grimwauld Place. At times he would just sit on the bed, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes narrowed, staring passed her, taking in what she had to say without a sign of gratitude. Other times he would thank her for stopping in. And still others he would push her out of the room as soon as she walked in, slamming and locking the door in her face. But it didn't change anything. She was still there the next morning with an encouraging smile and a tray of toast, eggs, and juice for his breakfast.

Harry had spent hours locked away in the room with Buckbeak, talking to him, stroking his feathers and feeding him. It seemed the closest he could get to Sirius. Part of him felt guilty for taking Sirius's place in the creature's life, but all it took was the grateful glow in his large eyes when the boy stopped to visit to bring Harry back again the next day. He found comfort in being alone with someone. He sensed that Buckbeak was the only one in the entire house who shared his loss. They would mourn Sirius together in quiet hours of study. Sometimes he didn't bother bringing books to pour over. He just wandered into the room in the middle of the night and sat with the hippogriff, enjoying the feeling of leaning into his warm, caring body, finding a few minutes of sleep.

Finding himself standing in front of the door to the Transfiguration class room, Harry took a deep breath. The last time he'd spoken to McGonagall, he'd snapped at her that he didn't need any more sympathy and unless she had something important to say to him, she could just go back to her little mission which, obviously, couldn't have anything to do with him as he hadn't heard anything about it. She'd tried to retort, but the bedroom door was slammed in her face just the same as it had been slammed in Ron's and Remus's and everyone else's. Now standing outside her door, he couldn't help but wonder how hard it had been for her to go to him and offer comfort when she must have spent the previous weeks hearing the tales of terror from Harry's doorstep that every prior well-wisher had endured. Taking a final breath, his opened the door and stepped through.

"Professor?"

Professor McGonagall looked up, studying him over the tops of her spectacles. "Yes?"

"Hermione said you wanted to see me."

"I have a book for you. Professor Dumbledore and myself had a discussion and we felt that you should be allowed to take Potions this year. As you have to continue with Occlumency, we figured it would be the easier to cover your sessions with Severus if you were in his class."

Harry nodded, walking forward to take the book she had taken out of her desk. "Thank you, ma'am."

McGonagall smiled a little bit. "You'll also need to improve in your Potion's grade if you want to be able to continue training to be an Aurorer."

With a bitter snort of laughter, he said, "I don't think they let people who can't control their emotions be Aurorers. But thanks for the vote of confidence."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Potter, they made Tonks an Aurorer. Even with your mood swings I think you stand as well a chance as her. If not more of one. Now get going. You have ten minutes or you'll be late. And I expect to win the House Cup this year," she added.

Forcing a smile, Harry took the book. "Thanks. Professor, I'm sorry. For what I said that day. I was...a little stressed out, I think."

"We're all a little stressed out," she answered calmly.

Nodding, he turned to the door and made his way out to the hallway. He felt better having spoken to her and he was relieved that she was acting as close to normal as possible. He couldn't help but grin a little when he thought of how she'd lord their win over Snape. Feeling lighter, he thought, If I run I can make it to class on time.

Bolting down the hall, dodging students and ghosts, Harry barely stopped himself from barreling into little Professor Flitwick. He called an apology over his shoulder and took the steps down to the dungeons two and three at a time. Skidding to a stop just in front of the class room, Harry opened the door, breathing hard, and made his way to the seat next to Hermione, dropping into place just as the bell rang.

Hermione looked at him questioningly and he turned to her with a grin on his face. Beating Snape out was one of the few joys he still had in life.

She smiled back before facing forward for Snape's beginning of the year threat.

"Well, well, well. Several stupid, careless little children gone. Only attentive, talented little children left. Oh, but what is this? Potter, have you stumbled into the wrong class?"

"No, sir."

Snape glared at him for a moment, as if debating on saying more. Instead, he stood up and surveyed the rest of the class. "This year will be dedicated to learning more difficult potions. Potions that all of you should be able to brew with ease. Any student to be found performing below standards will be removed to a study hall immediately." Black eyes met green ones.

Harry stared back defiantly.

"No exceptions. That said, I expect this year to go by fairly productively. Now, take out your holiday work and pass it forward, then turn to page fifteen in your books."

Slumping in his seat as the class moved into "lecture" mode, Harry tried to pay attention, but found himself zoning out. There was something melodic about the tones Snape's voice made that lulled him into a stupor. Not as badly as Binns's, but it certainly didn't help to have him standing up there for an hour just talking.

When the second hour of the class began, Harry was jolted out of his daydreaming haze by a sharp, "Now get to work. I want a vial turned in, properly sealed, by the end of class."

Harry looked at Hermione with a slightly alarmed expression in his wide, green eyes. "Are we, umm, working in partners?"

Smiling again, Hermione nodded slightly, pushing her open book closer to him. "I'll go get the ingredients ."

Muttering the spell to seal the vial containing his Switching Solution, Draco walked to the front of the room and set it in the rack Severus had on his desk. Back in his seat, he passed the last ten minutes of class doodling on the edge of page twenty-one in his textbook. By the time the bell rang an airy dragon was curled around the page number, about to swallow the last line of print on the page.

Scowling a little, Draco had to admit to himself that it didn't really look that much like any dragon he'd ever seen.

Draco scooped his books into his bag and stood up, stretching and shouldering his bag. Without looking around the room, he moved up to the door, the first to exit the class, his hands shoved deep in his trouser pockets. Walking without really thinking about where he was going, Draco made his way to the Defense Against the Dark Arts room. As he came to a stop by the door, he suppressed a groan of annoyance.

"Draco! How was your first class?"

"It was fine, Greg," he answered, entering the room, not bothering to check if his friends were following him. He sat in the back row of desks and watched, barely amused, as Crabbe and Goyle fought over who got to sit behind Millicent.

The pictures of dragons and grindylows and other odd creatures that lined the walls moved, jeering at the students closest to them. With an annoyed sneer, Draco tore page three out of his DA text, balled it up, and threw it at a werewolf who was leering at him from the dark canvas it was painted on. God, I hate werewolves, he thought, images of the slobbering, evil-eyed creature that he'd seen only too closely in his childhood flitting to his mind.

Draco was seven when he got his first broom stick, a top-of-the-line Comet Two-Sixty. In his childishness, he'd refused to return to the manor when he was told, insisting he was big enough to stay out after dark, flying. When he'd crashed his broom near the edge of the forest, Draco had only enough time to stand up before he heard the low growl and saw the haunting, lantern eyes floating in the bushes. He'd screamed as the thing lunged at him, pinning him to the ground, its hot, foamy saliva dripping from its bristled muzzle onto his face. It bore its teeth at the young Draco, snarling and sniffing fiercely.

Pain shot through his arm just as a shock of green magic knocked the werewolf back into the thick of the underbrush. Searing pain ran through Draco's body and the last thing he remembered before the blackness took him was his mother's terrified voice screeching, "It bite him! Oh, God, Lucius!"

After several weeks at St. Mungo's, and many painful courses of medication, Draco had been cured. But the ordeal had left a scar on his memory and a deep prejudice in his and his parents' hearts. Werewolves were evil. Not matter what anyone said about Wolfsbane Potions or coping therapies.

Glaring at the painted werewolf who snapped at Draco more fiercely, he thought, Whoever painted that has never seen a real werewolf. They're much worse than that tame little thing.

Millicent's deep, rumbling voice suddenly reached Draco's quiet thoughts, causing him to wince. "Who do you think the professor is? There wasn't anyone new at the Head Table yesterday."

"I don't know. Probably some hack-job vampire Dumbledore found wandering in the Forbidden Forest," Pansy said to her friend.

A few minutes later, they found out exactly who the new DA professor was. A short man with a slight build and a shy smile. He introduced himself as Professor Milton and expressed a deep satisfaction at having been offered the position. After that part, Draco toned him out, entertaining himself by scribbling senseless patterns in the margins of his books.

When the bell rang, Draco was once again the first to his feet and the first out the door, leaving Crabbe and Goyle behind to stumble over each other, trying to get closer to Millicent.

Lunch hadn't come soon enough, though Draco wasn't the least bit hungry. Walking through the halls, he made his way to the grounds, throwing his bag on the grassy slope by the lake. He dropped down beside it and stared out at the still water. A cool breeze ruffled his robes. Sighing, he pulled his knees up to his chest and closed his eyes, enjoying the quiet of the day. Everyone else was still shuffling around inside. It would be several minutes before anyone else got around to going outside.

"It's pretty out today."

Draco's eyes snapped open, his head turning sharply. Pansy was standing close behind him, her slender fingers twirling around one of the few remaining leaves on the bush nearest to her. She looked pretty with her cheeks slightly flushed in the cool air, her hair pulled back in a braid, her lips, pink with shiny gloss, parted slightly as she looked down at him.

Ignoring her, Draco looked back over the water. Maybe if he didn't encourage her she'd go away on her own.

"You looked really distracted today." Pansy stepped closer, kneeling beside him. "Are you OK?"

Annoyed, his lip curled in a sneer, Draco didn't answer her. He felt her hand rest lightly on his arm, but ignored the touch, neither leaning into it, nor pulling away.

"You can talk to me, Draco. You know you can." When she still didn't get a reply, Pansy leaned forward and brushed her lips against his cheek lightly. "I love you."

Draco's jaw stiffened. He hated it when she said that. A few years ago he would have died to hear those words from her. But that was back in second year when he had a hopeless crush on her. Third year he'd gotten up the nerve to sit by her at lunch sometimes. Stints with other girls who were brave enough to make the first move gave him confidence enough to ask her out in fourth year. They were an item for several Slytherin parties and the Yule Ball. Somewhere over the summer between fourth and fifth year the newness seemed to wear off for Draco. Whatever childish love had pushed him to leave an anonymous Valentine's Day flower on her pillow in third year was gone. There were other girls for him and other boys for her over fifth year.

Now, with Pansy leaning against his arm, her cool, pink lips hovering inches from his cheek, all Draco could feel was disgust. Disgust with the thick scent of her perfume and with her quietly whispered, insincere, "I love you."

He almost told her to go away, but that would be a sign that he recognized her presence. So he just stared ahead harder, focusing on a patch of bushes rustling in the wind on the other side of the lake.

When he didn't answer her, Pansy sat back a little, her hand still on his arm. "I mean that, Draco. If you need me, I'm here for you." After a moment, she stood and walked slowly back up the slope towards the castle, the sound of her foot falls lost in the wind.

The sound of laughter floated to the edge of the water as groups of second and third years wandered outside. Sighing again, Draco stood up, picked up his bag, and made his way up to the school with lazy steps. He was in no particular hurry to be anywhere, so he shoved his hands in his trouser pockets and strolled up the stairs and through the door, which was thrown open to coax in a breeze and invite students to leave the building ( probably Filtch's doing--anything to tempt the little rats outside).

"Hi, Harry."

Harry lifted his head and looked over at Neville, who'd walked into the room. After escaping from Hermione by ducking out of last period while she simpered to the professor about some technical question, he'd been quite content to be the only person in the dorm room for the last hour or so. He'd collapsed on the bed and buried himself in feeling sorry for himself. Pulled from the painful thought he'd been lost in, Harry wasn't sure if he welcomed the distraction, or was annoyed by it. Neville's sympathetic smile nearly sent him over the edge of the latter.

"Hi, Neville. Good summer?"

"It was all right. Yours?"

"Sucked," he answered shortly, facing away from the other boy.

"Oh. I made it into NEWTs Herbology," he continued, striving for conversation.

"That's great, Neville," Harry replied half-heartedly. He should have been happier for his friend. After all, things never went right for the bumbling boy, but this year was already looking up for him in two ways. One, no Potions. Two, NEWTs Herbology with his favorite teacher. Trying to sound, and feel, more enthusiastic, Harry rolled over and sat up, his messy hair sticking up even more. "I'm really glad for you."

Smiling, Neville said, "I got into NEWT DA, too."

Remembering the plight of "Dumbledore's Army" from the previous year, Harry couldn't help but grin. He'd been so proud of all the members, especially Neville, who had improved more than all the others put together. "We have that tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah. I heard the new professor is nice. Too bad Professor Lupin couldn't have come back. He was really good."

Thinking about Remus brought a twinge of guilt to his mind, so Harry just said, "Hmm," not wanting to invite further conversation on that subject.

"Hermione was in the common room, looking for you."

"Yeah? What did she want?"

"I don't know. I offered to see if you were up here, but she said to just leave you alone if you were sleeping." Neville looked at him questioningly.

Without hesitation, Harry answered, "I'm sleeping."

"Ok. I'll go tell her."

"Thanks." As Neville walked out of the room, Harry dropped back on the bed. Everything was so confused. Especially with Hermione. He really liked having her there. It helped, he thought. But sometimes he just didn't feel like listening to her positive talk about moving passed things and dealing with loss. She was great, but not today. Harry just wanted to wallow in peace.

Aside from the feelings he had about Sirius, something else had happened over the summer to confuse him. It had come at the worse possible time from the worst possible person.

FLASHBACK

Harry leaned back against the headboard of his bed. The pillows were flattened from him sitting on them for the passed few hours and the blankets had all been shoved on the floor. The blinds were closed, leaving the room a darkened tomb. He had no idea what time it was and he really didn't care.

Having moved his room up to the third floor, Harry managed to get away from all the voices down stairs. That, however, had made it more difficult to hide from his thoughts. The silence was deafening and drew him more and more to Buckbeak's room, where the soft coos and squawks comforted him.

Standing up, Harry pulled on a pair of trousers, figuring he shouldn't be wandering around in his underwear just incase someone decided to ascend to his hell for a visit. He pulled the door open and walked down the hall, entering Buckbeak's spacious room.

"Hey, Beaky," he greeted, closing the door behind him.

Buckbeak squawked, shifting his weight. He seemed down right happy for the company.

"I know, I haven't been to see you in a couple days. I've been cramming in the last of my homework. Only a couple days and I'm off to school." Settling on the floor, Harry absently stroked the feathers on the hippogriff's neck. "I don't know if I want to go back there. I mean, it just won't be the same. And I'll have to deal with Ron. We share a room at school. No, he still isn't talking to me."

Large, orange eyes narrowed at him in an accusing manner.

"Don't look at me that way!" he cried defensively. "It's not my fault!"

Buckbeak squawked a little, turning his beak up and away from Harry in a disagreeable fashion.

"He shouldn't have bothered me when he knew I didn't feel like talking to anyone. Sure, maybe I was a bit of a jerk, but he was asking for it."

"Maybe if you'd just talk to him, he'd forgive you."

Harry looked back at the doorway where Hermione stood. She had a cute knee-length summer dress on and her bushy hair was up in a sloppy bun. Her lips were curved in a small smile.

"I don't need to be forgiven," he answered, looking back at Buckbeak.

Walking into the room, Hermione knelt beside Harry. "He cares about you. Just like I do. They all do--"

"Then they should leave me alone when I say I want to be left alone," Harry retorted sharply.

"It's hard to watch someone you love hurt so badly and just stand by and not be able to do anything," she said softly. Hermione put a hand on his, something she'd come to do a lot when she found herself talking to the back of Harry's head.

He looked at her.

"Harry, a lot of people love you very much. And they could help you so much if you just let them."

"I don't want anyone's help."

"You don't mind me all the time."

"You're different." He wasn't sure how, he just knew she was.

Hermione smiled, her cheeks turning a little red. "I love you, too, Harry. And I don't want to see you sad. Sirius wouldn't want you to lock yourself away from your friends."

"What do you know about what Sirius would want?" he snapped, pulling away from her and standing. He strode towards the door, his lips set in a straight line.

"I know he loved you. And I know he'd have just as hard a time seeing you suffer as we do!" she called angrily. "Do you think you're the only person who's hurt? The only one who feels? That's just selfish!"

Startled by her raising her voice, something she hadn't done once when dealing with him, Harry stopped and looked at her. There were tears streaming down her face but her eyes were dark and stern, her lips set in a firm line. "I'm not trying to be selfish!" he yelled back. "I just want someone to understand how I feel, but no one can, so it's pointless!"

Tears still streaming down her cheeks, Hermione crossed the room in a few long, purposeful strides. Harry was sure she was going to smack him, but it never came. Instead, her lips, wet with tears, were pressed hard against his.

Harry's eyes went wide and his hands went automatically to her shoulders. He wasn't quite sure what to do. What was it with crying girls kissing him? As his mind wrestled with pushing her away or holding her closer, she pulled away and looked up into his face.

"People would know how you felt if you told them." With that, she walked passed him quickly, her foot steps fading as she retreated up the hall and down the stairs.

Harry just stood for a moment, shocked. He wasn't sure if she was angry at him or not. Looking at Buckbeak's wide eyes, he said, "What are you looking at? It's not like I asked her to do that."

Buckbeak just coed softly as Harry left, closing the door.

END FLASHBACK

Over the next couple days Hermione had been quiet, visiting only to bring him breakfast. When she'd stopped long enough to chat the day before they would leave for the train station, Harry had stopped her when she tried to explain. He said he didn't want explanation. It was fine, they could just both pretend it never happened, end of story. After hesitating for only a moment, she'd nodded her agreement and things went back to normal.

The only problem was that things weren't back to normal. Not because Harry had feelings for Hermione that he couldn't cope with, but because he didn't have feelings for her. He did love her as a friend and he was grateful for her help and attention, but it just wasn't...right. That was the only word he could think of to fit the way it felt. It just didn't feel right.

Harry sighed once again and stood up. He needed to see Snape, so he might as well do it now and get it over with. Hopefully, Hermione was already out of the common room so he wouldn't have to make his excuses around her. And he desperately hoped Ron wasn't down there.

Draco rolled his head back on his shoulders, massaging his neck with tired hands. He was standing out by the entrance hall, helping lost first years find their way to their last classes, directing them to their dorms, or otherwise being the helpful prefect. It was a duty he didn't look forward to, and one the other sixth year prefects passed off on each other as much as possibly. It actually should have been Weasley's turn, but he had a Quidditch team meeting, or something. The way Draco saw it, he needed it badly enough. Why they didn't kick that degenerate off the team was far beyond him. Gryffindor sympathy, or something.

As dinner drew nearer, the crowds in the hall thinned out some, leaving Draco with time to lean against the wall. In his leaning, he caught a glimpse of Potter, hurrying down the stairs from the second floor. For a moment he thought an insult would make him feel better, but when Potter got within shouting distance the spirit just wasn't there.

"All right, Malfoy," Hannah Abott said as she walked up to him. "I'm here to take over for the dinner rush ."

Trying to force a smirk, Draco failed miserably and headed towards the dungeons. A good long shower while everyone else was eating would be nice. Maybe a long, soaking bath, he mused. As he passed Severus's class, he heard Potter's voice. Whining, like always, he thought, peeking in.

"I can't turn in an assignment I wasn't assigned!" Potter snapped fiercely.

"Manners, Potter. And it doesn't matter if you were assigned it or not. Maybe if you came out of your little hidey-hole for two seconds you'd have heard about the class arrangements and been able to get the assignment. I will accept no excuses for undone assignments that could have been completed. Do you understand me?"

"Whatever."

"'Yes, sir,' I believe was what you meant."

After glaring at Severus for several seconds, Potter bit out, "Yes, sir. Want me to curtsey while I say that?" he added nastily.

"That will be quite enough, Mr. Potter. Thirty points from Gryffindor and I will see you tomorrow evening for your" (small laugh and an evil smirk) "Remedial Potions."

"If I needed Remedial Potions you'd never let me in your NEWTs class!" Potter snapped. "That's the stupidest cover I have ever heard!"

"Well we could just say you're in detention for those evenings. It wouldn't surprise anyone who knows you."

"No," he retorted sharply. "It wouldn't surprise anyone who knows you. Sir."

"Twenty more points, Potter, and if you don't get out of my class room this minute I'll make it a round hundred. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Potter sneered, marching up the steps towards the door.

Draco hurried a few steps down the hall and made as if he'd just been walking along. When Potter came out of the room, he smirked. "What brings you down here so late, Potter?"

"Bite me, Malfoy," he snapped, shoving passed the other boy and stomping up the stairs.

Someone's in a bad mood, he mused. Unaffected by the insult, Draco went to the hidden door and said the password. Luckily the common room was empty. No Pansy to avoid. No Crabbe and Goyle to put up with. He walked up the stairs and retrieved a clean set of robes then made his way to the prefect's bathroom. He'd by less likely to be disturbed in there.

As he made his way through the empty halls, Draco enjoyed the hollow clicking his shoes made on the stone floor. It was echoing and comforting. After a quiet journey, he stated the pass word and walked into the spacious bathroom. Finding himself alone, as he'd expected, he set his things on the counter and moved over to the bath. He turned on the water, turning the knob that spread a Calming Solution through the water.

Stretching his tired muscles, Draco piled his dirty robes in the bin by the door and undid his tie. His shoes, socks, pants and shirt discarded, he walked around and felt the water to make sure it was warm enough. The mermaid on the wall giggled, looking at him.

"Oh, shut up," he muttered, pulling his underwear off and dropping them with his other clothes. "Not like it's anything you've never seen."

Draco climbed into the hot water, sighing as he relaxed against one of the sides, his arms resting on the edge of the tub. The Calming Solution went to work quickly, bringing him to a cool feeling of sleepy happiness. The fumes from the potion mingling with the vapor of the steaming water formed a heady cloud over the tub, intoxicating Draco with relaxation.

Sinking into the water up to his shoulders, he let his mind wander to thoughts that he'd been putting at the back of his mind for weeks. Thoughts of his father and what he would do if the man returned. It wasn't as if he was afraid of his father. More of what he would do to gain his father's favor. As much as he hated the man, he respected him, too. In just a couple years he'd be fit to be marked.

But by then, a suggestion voiced itself in his mind, the Dark Lord may not even be in power.

That was a consideration. Dumbledore was strong and Lucius had expressed more than once that their plans had not worked exactly as they'd been intended to. With the main body of Death Eaters locked away, was it just a matter of time before the Dark Lord was caught, or was he a few more steps ahead of the game than everyone thought?

Draco was pulled roughly from his airy thoughts when the door to the bathroom opened. Glaring at the boy who walked in, it was only a matter of nanoseconds before his annoyance turned to out-right anger.

"Shouldn't you be sniffing after Potter, Weasel?" he snapped.

Weasley looked at him, glaring just as darkly. "I'll come back later." With that, the boy stormed out of the room, clearly annoyed that his own reprieve had been cut drastically short.

Whatever emotion he had felt just a moment before melted away as the vapors attached themselves to his brain once again. The soothing scent of lavender and oatmeal that poured from the Calming Solution faucet coaxed him back into his careless state of sleepiness.

I might as well just drown in here, he thought, moving his arms slowly through the water. At least then I wouldn't have to go home to Mother over Christmas holiday. The thought came with a frankness and a matter-of- fact air that he knew it would not have brought if he weren't up to his neck in the heated mixture.

With another sigh, Draco let all thought escape him, lying his head back and closing his eyes. He stayed that way for nearly two hours before, grudgingly, climbing out of the water and toweling himself off, then dressing lazily, and heading to bed, the potion still in enough effect to cause him to walk benignly passed a glaring Weasley without comment.

Harry was half asleep as the rest of the table chatted happily, enjoying the food and the company. He seemed to be the only person not in bright spirits. Even the Head Table was filled with periodic laughter as the little man who was their Defense professor told stories to the other teachers. Sprout was laughing merrily about something he'd said and even McGonagall was hiding a smile behind her goblet of pumpkin juice. Rather unsuccessfully, Harry thought to himself.

"Do you feel better after getting some sleep today?"

"A bit. I have to meet Snape tonight, though, so I think any good it did me will be gone by the time I end up in bed."

"Have you been practicing?"

Harry glared at Hermione, stabbing a potato on his plate savagely. "What do you think?" he snapped.

"Don't get snippy with me because you haven't been doing what you're suppose to." Hermione looked around. "Have you seen Ron?"

"No," Harry answered moodily. Now he felt bad not only for himself, but because he'd been short with the only friend he seemed to have in the world. Great, he told himself. Just rack up those popularity points, why don't you?

"I haven't seen him since Care of Magical Creatures."

"Me neither. Maybe he got eaten by a skewrt." Harry stabbed another potato.

Hermione just sighed and went back to eating in silence.

An hour and a half later found Harry walking towards the dungeons once more. His shoulders were slumped as he thought about Hermione's question. Had he been practicing? Could Buckbeak fit into Mrs. Weasley's night dress? Ha! Not bloody likely. Maybe Snape accidentally poisoned himself, Harry thought hopefully. He wasn't at dinner.

When he got to Snape's office, he knocked on the door.

"Come in."

Great. Aren't I the lucky one? Harry opened the door and closed it behind him.

Snape was huddled behind his desk, reading summer essays still. He looked at Harry over the top of the paper. "Sit." When he finished the one he was on, he marked it and put it on top of the pile on the left side of his desk, then stood up. "Have you been practicing?"

Not bothering to lie, Harry said, "No, sir. I've been a bit preoccupied."

"Well let's just hope you're natural affinity suddenly kicks in then, shall we?" he asked nastily, taking out his wand and facing the boy. "One...two...three..."

An hour later, his head pounding in his skull, Harry made his way down the hall to the dorms. After several unsuccessful tries and after having Snape ask several snide questions about his teary kiss with Cho in the DA room, Harry wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and die. When he crawled through the portrait hole, he came face to face with Hermione.

"How did it go?"

"Not now," he muttered, stepping around her, ignoring the odd looks he got from Dean and Seamus, who were sitting at a paper-covered table by the fire place. His tired, aggravated mood only heightened when he heard her firm steps following his up the stairs. Didn't he get a moment of peace?

Pushing the dorm door open, Harry trudged over to his bed, collapsing. His wand, which was tucked in his robes, jabbed into his stomach as he fell on it. He groaned and rolled over, looking up into Hermione's eyes.

"Harry, didn't last year teach you anything about how serious this is?"

"I said I didn't feel like talking about it right now," he said, rolling back over on his stomach, careful of his wand.

"When are you going to feel like talking about it? The next time Voldemort hands you some fake vision about having Remus locked up somewhere?"

Biting back the bitter taste that rose in his mouth, Harry snapped, "Get out."

In a softer voice she continued, "Harry, I don't want to see you or anyone else hurt. The only way to do that is to trust Dumbledore and do what he says. I don't like Snape any more than you do, but at the moment, doing what you need to involves doing what he says. He's trying to help you too--"

"I said get out! I don't feel like talking about this. Now, or ever."

"Harry--"

Harry stood quickly, taller than Hermione by nearly a foot after a couple much-needed growth spurts. "I know it's my fault he died!" he yelled. "I don't need anyone to remind me of that!"

Her cheeks turning red, Hermione yelled back, "I wasn't saying--"

"I don't give a damn about what you were or weren't saying! Get out!"

Tears welled in her eyes and Harry fought the urge to tell her not to kiss him again. Seeing her that upset satisfied some vindictive need he seemed to have. He wanted someone to be upset. He wanted it to be Snape. He wanted to pound Snape's face into a pulp. But Snape was in his office, several floors below, chuckling about Cho's psycho mood swings, Sirius's death, and Harry's stupidity. So, Harry took his anger out on Hermione.

"You've spent the whole summer whining after me and simpering like a sick hen, and I'm tired of it! I don't need your sympathy, I don't want your comfort, and you can take your fucking good intentions and bring them to your own fucking room! Maybe someone in there will care, but I don't. Now. Get. Out!"

Without another word, Hermione turned and stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Without her hateful glare, Harry suddenly didn't feel justified in yelling at her. He felt rotten and he knew he should apologize. But he also knew if he went to see her, he would just get mad and start yelling again, so he settled for just sinking onto the bed and burying his face in his hands.

Everything was such a mess. Life would be so much easier if he were just someone else.

There was a little shuffling of papers and the groan of wood as weight shifted on the oak chair.

A sigh.

More papers ruffling and being slid together.

And another sigh.

Severus looked up from the essays he was organizing. "Draco, is there something the matter?"

"No," he snapped too quickly. Of course there was something the matter. It was day two of the new school year and it didn't seem like it was going to be any better than day one. In an attempt to get away from Crabbe and Goyle asking his advice about Millicent, Draco had retreated to Severus's office. As he checked off his facts for the DA quiz they were having the next day, he'd grown restless.

The need to talk to someone had been there for years and it was just now really coming to the surface. And here was Severus, the best person in the world to talk to. But still, Draco didn't dare. He just couldn't make himself open up to the man.

Instead of making a comment about not sighing so loudly if he wasn't trying to get someone's attention ( which Draco knew he was wanting to make), Severus just returned to his papers.

That day's classes had gone by fairly easily. Nothing too new. Just orientation for his new electives and reviews from OWLs for regular classes. Now, with dinner behind him (another painful ordeal that involved being sandwiched between his two friends and their sordid love issues), he was curled up in the wingback chair near the fire.

"I think I should be getting to bed. Thanks for letting me come in here."

"You're welcome, Draco. The door is always open, should you feel the need to use it."

Nodding, Draco stood up. As he piled his books into his bag there was a sharp knock on the door.

"Who is it?" Severus called irritably.

"It's me."

Potter? Draco wondered, slowing his pace, hoping he would hear some more of their conversation from the previous night. Now that he wasn't in a potion-induced haze, the fact that Remedial Potions was a cover struck him as more than mildly interesting.

"Come in. What do you want?"

"I needed to ask you--" Potter stopped when he saw Draco, narrowing his eyes at the boy.

Matching his glare, Draco shoved his last book into his bag.

"What?" Severus prompted impatiently.

"Professor Dumbledore told me to see you about borrowing a book."

Recollection lighting in his eyes, the man stood and walked towards the door at the back of his office that led to his private rooms. "Wait there."

"Something for that Remedial Potions, eh, Potter?" Draco asked, smirking.

"Yeah, that's right," he answered in a tired voice.

Bored already with Potter's lack of fight, Draco picked up his bag and pushed by him to the door, his shoulder slamming into the other boy's. Just as he was about to open the door, he was shoved hard from behind, dropping his bag as he hit the door. He whirled around.

"Watch where you're going," Harry snapped.

"You aren't worth it today, Potter." He tried to push by him again, but was knocked back into Severus's desk. "Move."

"I'm not in your way. You can walk around me."

"Bite me," Draco replied.

"In your sick dreams, Malfoy."

Smirking, Draco said, "I wouldn't want you anywhere near me. Probably haven't even had your shots, you worthless, unwanted mutt. You're just like Black. You know what they say. They only good dog, is a dead dog --"

Caught off guard when Harry's fist connected with his jaw, Draco was thrown back into the desk. Standing back up, he lunged at the other boy. Months of anger came out as he punched him.

It seemed that Potter was using his own wells of suppressed rage as he kneed Draco in the stomach as hard as he could.

Holding his gut and gasping with pain, Draco rolled off Harry, bumping into the work table that stood against the office wall. When he'd gotten himself back together, Draco stood up and tried to punch Harry, but the throw was caught and in their struggle for dominance, they both toppled into the table, knocking several vial of purple liquid out of a rack and onto the floor.

"Shit," Harry said, jumping back. The potion from the shattered containers was dripping down the front of his shirt and cover his hands and arms.

Draco's own robes were covered. Small splashes of it had covered his face in lavender dots. Trying to wipe it out of his eyes, he only managed to smear the thick liquid over his cheeks and nose.

"Here it--What the hell were you two doing?" Severus's angry voice erupted from the back of the room. Still squinting, Draco tried to find something to tell him where he was, but only managed to lean on Harry, who shoved him again.

"Both of you hold still, now!" Severus did a quick cleaning spell. "Does it burn anywhere?"

"No, I just can't see," Draco answered, not sure if he was the one being spoken to or not.

"Hmm. Have either of you swallowed any of this?"

"No, sir," Harry's voice came from the other side of the room.

Draco shook his head.

"Lucky for you this isn't a dangerous potion. Just the Switching Solution you made in class. As long as you haven't swallowed any of it, it should have no effect on you. Potter, take your book and go get cleaned up. I will inform you of when your detention is. And fifty points from Gryffindor for fighting."

With a low, annoyed groan, Harry left the room.

"And you, come with me." Severus grabbed the collar of Draco's robes and led through the rooms. There was the sound of running water. "Hold still." A wet cloth was rubbed over his face with a brisk care.

He felt ridiculous, having Severus cleaning him up as if he were a child, but he didn't dare open his eyes with the potion all over his face.

"There." Tossing the cloth in the sink, he turned to Draco with a stern glare. "That will be twenty points from Slytherin and you will serve detention with me tomorrow night. I have some potions I could use help with ."

"Yes, sir." Still feeling humiliated, Draco picked up his bag, careful not to let it touch his robes, which were still covered in Switching Solution, then walked down to the common room. He got a few raised eyebrows as he walked through and headed up the stairs to the bathroom, but no one said anything.

Cleaned up and in his pajamas, Draco climbed into bed. If it wasn't one thing, it was another. Stretching and yawning, he covered his mouth, his finger tips brushing his lips lightly. He fell back on his bed, his eyes closing as exhaustion took him off into a deep sleep.

"Harry, are you--"

"Don't, Neville," he said in a defeated voice, closing the door behind him. The other three boys just looked at him and his potion-soaked robes. "Please, just don't."

Dropping the book on his bed, Harry stripped his outer robes off and tossed them in the laundry bin near the door. He padded into the bathroom, showered quickly, then walked back out into the room, a towel around his waist. Harry rummaged through his drawers until he found the pajama set he was looking for and returned to the bathroom to get dressed. He wasn't shy, being very use to changing and showering in front of others, especially since he'd been on the Quidditch team. He was just painfully aware of the way his roommates were still staring at him after his odd entrance.

Dried and dressed, Harry crawled into bed and pulled the hangings closed around him, blocking any more conversation. He laid his head on his pillow and sat back up quickly as pain shot through his brain. He'd thumped the back of his skull right down on the thick Occlumency book Snape had given him to borrow.

"Ouch!" A deep growl of annoyance escaped his throat as he threw the book through the hangings, hearing it land with a satisfyingly loud bang on the floor somewhere near the door.

It was a while before he closed his eyes, turning his face into the soft, warm pillow. He sighed contently in his sleep as his dreams deepened to blackness.

TBC