quite cheerfully, before he would let anyone touch a finger of Harry's; he would hardly hurt Harry himself and he would know he was doing just that. She remembered Draco in the rose garden, the night of the Pub Crawl, telling her, 'Everyone has one weakness. He's protected elsewhere. Not where she's concerned.'
Hermione had straightened up beside Draco, and was looking not around the room but at him, as if for guidance. Ginny had never seen Hermione look like that — as if she were quite lost. She was always so confident. She, too, looked rumpled, and her face was marked with the traces of recent tears. 'Draco,' she said very softly, and he turned to look at her. 'Are you sure I should go up with you?'
Draco's expression, already serious, did not change. 'Yes.'
'But he said he didn't want me coming near him.'
Who? Ginny thought. Who said that?
Draco glanced up towards the ceiling in exasperation. He seemed to be counting to ten in his head. 'Hermione,' he said. 'You need to tell him what we just saw.'
'You could do it,' said Hermione in a small voice.
'I suppose I could,' Draco acknowledged. 'But I won't.'
'Draco…'
'Either you come willingly, or I knock you down and drag you.'
Hermione almost looked as if she might smile. Ginny didn't blame her.
There was something amusing about Draco's look of total determination.
'You'd hit a girl?'
'Chivalry is dead,' Draco said shortly. 'I'm the proof.'
Now Hermione did smile. It wasn't much of a smile — wobbly and tearful both. But it was a smile. 'All right,' she said. She held out her hand, and Draco took it, almost absently. She began to walk towards the stairs that led to the boys' dormitory, and Draco followed her. As they started up the steps, he turned, and glanced back at the common room. For a moment, Ginny thought he saw her — a look almost of recognition flitted across his face. Then his expression darkened, as if a shadow had come between him and the firelight. He turned back to the stairs, and followed Hermione up into the darkness.
Harry lay flat on his back, staring up into the shadows. He wasn't exactly sure how he had gotten back to his bed, put his pajamas on, and lain down, but here he was. The events of the evening were fuzzy in his mind after the point where Hermione had rushed out of the common room, holding the watch he had thrown at her. He remembered turning back to Ron, who'd looked white and sick and on the verge of throwing up.
Neither of them had said anything, and a moment later, the professors had begun pouring in through the portrait hole. Charlie had been there, Lupin, McGonagall….Harry remembered being taken down to Lupin's office, and Charlie walking Ron off the other way, an arm over his shoulder, casting worried glances back at Harry as he did so.
There hadn't been much discussion of punishment, not that Harry remembered. He was fairly sure he'd told Lupin what happened, and that there had been a lot of shocked silence, and some discussion of calling on Sirius, which Harry had nixed. He didn't want to talk to anyone right now, and that included Sirius. He wondered if Lupin had walked him back to the Tower. He really didn't remember. Much of the evening was like a long howl of static, punctuated by short lucid bursts of sound. Are you all right, Harry? Do you need anything? I'm fine, I just want to go to sleep.
And here he was. In bed, in his pajamas. Curtains drawn, staring up into the flat darkness overhead. Sleep was a faraway country he could not touch. He heard his own breathing, felt the beat of his own heart, and wondered that his body kept on going although all feeling seemed to have stopped. Inside him was a lion on a chain, and if he let it free it would bring the castle down around his ears. Some fierce inner part of him took pleasure in the image — his Magid powers gone wild, the window glass shattering in, the walls shaking apart. But most of him was grateful for the icy control that seemed to have settled over him like the jaws of a trap slamming shut. He did not know where it had come from. Draco, he suspected. But he was grateful for it.
A soft whispering noise made him jump. He rolled onto his side, and saw with astonishment that the curtains on his bed were being drawn back. He blinked as faint light flooded the darkness, and he saw the blurred shape of an arm, pulling the curtains back, a shoulder, the glint of light on fair hair.
Draco.
'Malfoy?' Harry whispered, shielding his eyes against the sudden light.
'What the — ?'
'I need to talk to you,' said Draco, sounding grimly determined.
Harry felt for the glasses on his nightstand, and slipped them on.
Instantly, the world sprang into focus, and he saw Draco standing above him, holding back the bed curtains with one hand, his expression set and grim. And behind him — behind him was Hermione. She had her arms wrapped around herself as if she was cold, and her hair had tumbled forward, almost hiding her expression.
Harry heard his own voice as if it came from a distance. 'I won't talk to you with her here,' he said, and jerked his chin towards Hermione.
Draco looked exasperated. 'Potter…'
But Hermione merely looked stricken. She looked at Harry as if he had slapped her, then looked quickly away. Harry felt a bitter sense of horrible triumph; it went away as quickly as it had come, leaving him feeling sick and ill. Something nudged at the back of his mind then, and he knew it was Draco, trying to think to him as he had been trying to do all night. Harry ignored it. He did not want anyone in his head right now.
'You heard what I said,' he muttered.
Draco opened his mouth to reply, but before he could say anything, Hermione interrupted. 'Fine,' she said, and her voice was slightly shrill with tension. 'If that's the way it has to be to get you to listen, Harry — I'll go.'
'Hermione — ' Draco began, but she was gone, having turned away quickly, and Harry heard the soft sound of her footsteps as she walked quietly away. The dormitory door opened and closed, and as it closed Harry winced, feeling as if something sharp had been driven into his heart.
'Idiot,' said Draco in exasperation. 'What did you have to do that for?'
'You wouldn't understand,' said Harry in a fierce whisper. He glanced around at the lumped shapes in the other beds — it seemed that Neville, Dean and Seamus were managing to sleep through all of this. 'Nobody's ever betrayed you.'
'Oh, bollocks,' said Draco succinctly. 'My father tried to kill me -
remember? If you really want to play at Whinging Sweepstakes, that is.'
'It's not the same,' Harry said in a bitter voice, knowing full well he was being a complete git about this. 'Anyway, I don't want to talk about it.'
'Too bad.' Draco's voice was flat. 'Because there's something you need to hear.'
'Just leave me alone.'
'No. I won't do that.' Draco reached out a hand and took hold of Harry's arm. 'Would you come with me — '
'I said leave me alone!' Harry jerked his arm out of Draco's grasp, and as he did, the water glass on the nightstand next to the bed trembled, shook, and flew off the table, slamming into the stone wall. It shattered, spraying glass and water in all directions. Harry glared at Draco. 'Now look what you made me do,' he added, with illogical fury.
'Harry?' It was Seamus' soft Irish voice, speaking from the other bed.
Harry turned his head and saw that all three of the other boys in the room were now awake, struggling into sitting positions and staring. 'Is everything all right?'
'Fine,' Harry said sourly.
'Is that — ' Seamus broke off, sounding stunned. 'Is that Malfoy over there?'
'No, Finnigan,' said Draco, in a voice dropping with sarcasm. 'It's Santa and his twelve tiny reindeer. You've all been such good little boys, I decided to bring you your presents early.'
'I don't believe this,' said Dean Thomas, his voice fuzzy from sleep. 'How the hell did he get into our
