Harry woke sprawled across the couch of the Common Room. Everything seemed tinged vaguely with grey this early in the morning, but at the back of his mind there was a bright spark of defiant triumph. He had managed a Revealeo by himself. Admittedly, what he had released was apparently being absolutely furious with Snape for burning his entire summer’s work, but it was still a triumph – and, lost points or no lost points, last night had been a sort of triumph all around.

Screw the guilt – screw everything to do with darkness and sorrow and self-recrimination. Toss the bit about Ron and Hermione following him – they did, yes, but they did it because they loved him. Hermione had known it was wrong – known! – and she’d still followed him into the Department of Mysteries. Come to think of it, everyone had been aware he was wrong, with varying degrees of certainty, and they’d followed him.

So he wouldn’t get himself killed.

And maybe, just maybe, getting all huffy because they admired his saving-people thing when it wasn’t getting them nearly killed themselves, was like trying to be bothered about people who enjoyed his wry sense of humor or respected his determination. Maybe growing up doing the saving-people thing had made it a part of him, and if they liked and admired him, well, they had to like and admire that, even though it probably pissed them off, sometimes... the way Harry had to admit that he truly admired Hermione’s dedication to scholarship, even though he wished she’d poke her nose from a book once in awhile and stop sounding like she’d swallowed the dictionary.

Grinning stupidly to himself with happiness, Harry rummaged through his things for clean robes, ending by carefully placing the bauble in his trunk, nestling it lovingly between several layers of robes.

Screw the invisibility cloak, too – it was now his most prized possession.

Harry was doing his Transfiguration homework when Ron emerged from their room, looking sleepy-eyed with his hair sticking every which-way. Ron’s brows raised when he saw Harry, but he didn’t say much of anything at first, merely headed straight for the bathroom to brush his hair and teeth. Hermione toddled out of the girls’ dorms directly afterwards, flashed him a brilliant smile, nearly threw herself into his arms before doing the same. Their reactions made Harry realize it was the first time he’d waited for them to go down to breakfast all term.I, Harry realized slowly, am an idiot. He did not share this brilliant deduction with Crookshanks, who popped up to sit beside him on the couch, purring but shooting him a look that was considerably reproachful. He took the cat on his lap and began scratching him behind the ears, hoping to make up for lost time. Harry set the work aside and removed his glasses, setting them on Crookshanks's head. The cat tried to look up at them, then shook his head irritably and jumped down.

When Hermione popped out of the bathroom, looking cheerful and freshly polished, she scooped the cat up in her own arms and looked over Harry’s homework. “Oh, I think this definition of transconflagurate isn’t quite right, Harry,” she said timidly, looking up at his face for reaction.

When Harry merely blinked at her neutrally, she continued.

“See, er, the way you’ve used it here, it seems like you think it’s that other word, you know, transconglomerate...”

Harry looked down at the paper, saw she was right, and waved his wand at the parchment so that the proper word was now being employed. He didn’t want to think how awful he’d been to Hermione for her to sound so apprehensive – bossy, straightforward Hermione, wondering if it would be all right to correct him – unthinkable! He nodded at Hermione encouragingly, and set to finish his work.

Moments later, Ron emerged, and the three of them descended to the Great Hall. Harry parted ways with them with a smile and a hesitant and subtle brush of each of his hands on theirs, and then he was gone, off to the Slytherin table. 

It was odd, Harry reflected as he withdrew the cutting board from the back shelf of the Potions closet, being friends with Hermione and Ron and being almost-friends with Draco at the same time.He and Draco read directions and talked theory and chopped bits of frog liver, but every now and then Hermione would glance back at him from her position at the front of the room, a glowing little smile on her face

Draco, for his part, acted as though Hermione did not even exist on the same planet as he did. “I’ve begun to think about my end-of-term paper; have you?” he inquired, shifting pale hair out of the way as he bent over their cauldron to toss in the marigold petals.

“Er, yeah,” Harry said, thinking of Snape’s paper. It was a troubling realization that, despite Snape’s suggestion that Harry could ‘follow his work’, he wouldn’t be satisfied with himself until he came up with something completely different – or at least a new angle from which to approach the initial idea.

“It’s a bit daunting, but I’m certain you’ll be fine,” Draco said, eyeing his look of frustrated reluctance.

Harry thought of Draco’s reasoning abilities and grinned. “Maybe you’ll look at it before I hand it in?” He handed Draco the liver, which followed the marigold. The mixture began to emit clouds of khaki-green steam. “Is it supposed to do that?”

Draco consulted the book. “Scrap it, Potter.”

Harry sighed, and Evanesco’d the fledgling potion.

“Switch,” Draco commanded, and Harry took up the spot by the cauldron while Draco began to prepare fresh ingredients. “Honestly, you have no focus, has anyone ever told you that?”

“Snape says it constantly,” Harry replied, flushing. “I know it. It doesn’t help when you talk to me.”

“Would you rather I go all silent, then?”

“No,” Harry said quickly, eyeing the cauldron ahead of them, where Yolande and Hermione were practicing silence themselves. Both girls looked so focused, he was certain a tap on the shoulder would make either one scream – and for one, wicked moment, he was tempted to do just that. Then, Draco handed him a scoop of newt eyes.

“Stir twice counterclockwise,” he ordered.

Once Harry’d done so, Draco nodded at him with approval.

Harry pinked as a spark of pleasure died under a rising tide of embarrassment. He knew he was horrible at Potions, but surely Draco didn’t have to make sure he stirred.

He has to make sure you eat, a small, mutinous voice chimed at the back of Harry’s head.

“I have to talk to you tonight,” Draco said as he tore the marigold petals free of the flower-heads.

Harry stiffened, then sighed. “Yes, sir,” he said. “When and where?”

“Nine-thirty, War Ro... wait a moment. What was that room that we were in last time? It – it changes.”

Harry nodded. “It’s called the Room of Requirement... it changes according to what you need. Why were you there?”

“Looking for you,” Draco replied. “Toss these in, and stir five times counterclockwise. I won’t say anything ‘til you’re done.”

Harry glared at him, then dumped in the petals, watching as they began to dissolve in the juice from the eyeballs. Eugh... Once he’d stirred, he looked up at Draco again. “What-all happened last night?”

“You mean they didn’t tell you?”

“They did, but I meant what happened with you? Where’d you learn to communicate that way? That was brilliant!”

The pale Slytherin eyed him oddly, then frowned, leaning over the cutting board and slicing the liquorice-root. “They didn’t mention that, did they?”

Harry shook his head no.

“I have very good concentration, Potter, which you do not.”

“Don’t tell me anyone with good concentration can do that. That was... what, Legilimency, or Occlumency, or something like them.”

“Something like them,” Draco replied. “Here – four slivers in, timed four seconds apart.”

Harry dropped one in, then counted under his breath. Draco was obligingly silent until each slice had disappeared beneath the surface.

“Now stir thirteen times, clockwise.” Draco consulted their Potions text. “Should be green-gold.”

Harry peered in as a cool, pale mist began to evaporate off of the surface; the potion inside was a burnished gold with a tinge of green. Draco frowned, dropped in another newt’s eyeball and smiled as he watched the color darken slightly.

“Well, whatever it was, thanks,” Harry said. “It was cool, anyway, to–”

Draco didn’t stop shredding the quassia bark with his hands, or even look up. “To what?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Harry said carelessly. “I’d almost forgotten what it was like, I guess.”

“What what was like?” Draco sounded a bit strangled.

Harry turned to look at him, really look, and it seemed to him that Draco was several shades paler than usual, if that was possible, and that his motions were meticulously mechanical enough that Harry knew he was containing some large emotion. “Sorry, you did look sort of trashed I guess,” Harry murmured, feeling like an idiot. “I didn’t realize it was so painful, though, talking to me, or I would’ve tried to move faster...”

Draco handed him the quassia. “Sprinkle over the surface of the brew in a spiral pattern,” he ordered.

Harry took a deep breath, and did so; the potion began to swirl of its own volition, sucking the shreds of inner bark beneath its surface. “Or – maybe it’s just me? Maybe it wouldn’t hurt with other people–”

Draco sighed, then turned flat grey eyes on him. “Harry. Someday you will realize that not everything is about you. And on that day you will become a real boy.” He read the book. “Let sit for ten minutes.”

Harry sat and turned to him, flushing with embarrassment. “Okay, so I don’t get it. But I don’t get it because you won’t explain.”

“And something else you need to understand – I don’t have to explain.”

When Harry snorted, Draco sighed again and shook his head.

“Look, Harry, this isn’t aristocracy or bloody-mindedness or any of the other half-dozen things you’ll label it. I don’t have to tell you what’s going on with me; it’s not your business.”

Harry couldn’t help but realize that this was, more or less, what Professor Snape had told him. I don’t require aid, you know... It was a way of both of them saying they didn’t like his saving-people thing. “Asking if I can help is my way of showing concern,” Harry said. “It’s rather a common way, come to think of it. You ought to try it sometime.”

Draco shot him a dirty glare.

“I mean it, I’m just being...”

“Being what?”

A friend? “Me. It’s me, that’s what I do. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived to Save People,” he added in sudden inspiration. “All Gryffindorian you know. Or do you Slytherins still call it Gryffindorkian?”

Draco did an odd thing and laughed aloud – seemingly against his will, for when he removed his knuckles from his mouth, he shot Harry another Look – even more venomous than before.

“And do you hate to laugh, or something? Because every time I make you laugh or even smile, you look like you want to hit me.”

“I don’t want you to make me laugh. Time’s up and heart-to-heart’s over. Stir clockwise thrice and counterclockwise ten times. Then add the pinch of powdered moonstone and we’re through.”

Harry glared at him, wondering if Draco’s timing was even correct, the way he’d managed it, but did as he was told.

After all, as odd as it seemed lately, he was still obeying Draco Malfoy. 

That night, he made his way to the Room of Requirement, opening the door to find a rather different scene from the initial War Room. There was a small table with a chess board and two chairs, and a set-up that looked vaguely like a pool table, but wasn’t – some sort of wizarding gaming table, Harry supposed. If he wasn’t mistaken, the table shoved up against the wall at the far left had the small pieces and many-sided dice of a role-playing game scattered atop it. There was a couch with fluffy pillows shoved up against the back wall, looking like it’d been removed directly from Severus Snape’s private quarters. Perhaps, Harry thought with a stab of alarm, it had – the Room of Requirement seemed to take what was required from wherever it could find it throughout the castle...Draco was asleep on the couch.

It looked like he’d meant to sit there and wait for Harry; he was in a seated position. His head was resting against a curve of the furniture so that he was barely slumped to the side at all, and his mouth was hanging slightly open.

Harry closed the door silently behind him and moved to one of the chessboards, amusing himself for awhile by moving the pieces first on one side, then the other. It turned out to be a harder game than he had anticipated, trying not to use his self-knowledge to aid one side more strongly than the other. He had to blank his mind before gazing at either side of the board, looking with a fresh perspective each time, or he subconsciously cheated...

Hmm, this is actually excellent practice for Occlumency, Harry decided, gazing at the board with new eyes. Then he defeated himself, white trumping black in a move that surprised even Harry – odd, how that could happen sometimes, your next move coming to you in a flash of insight and you were suddenly the winner. And the loser, Harry realized with a wry smile.

“You didn’t wake me,” Draco said.

Harry started, turning to view Draco and wondering how long the other boy had been watching him. Not long, judging from the sleep-encrusted grey eyes, still slightly unfocused.

“You wanted midnight to come and go,” Draco deduced.

Harry shook his head no, even while wondering whether that had been his plan, subconsciously. “I just figured I should let you sleep.”

Draco moved to seat himself across from Harry at the chessboard. He waved his wand and the pieces re-set themselves. “White goes first,” he said without preamble.

Harry moved a pawn forward.

“I’ve decided what I want from you is nothing less than your deepest secret,” Draco said, moving his knight free of the encircling pieces.

Harry frowned in concentration. “Hmph. I don’t even know what that is.”

“Well, think, and tell me once the game is over.”

Harry played with his bishop, twirling his fingers around the piece before he remembered – Ron had taken him out no less than three times with this series of moves before it had been hammered into him that, as with so many things, the obvious way out was a trap. He moved another pawn on the exact opposite end of the board from his first.

“I suppose it is somewhat limited, what you can actually say,” Draco conceded. “Nothing important about the Order of the Phoenix – oh, don’t look so flummoxed, Harry, of course I know about the Order...” He moved a pawn, the one in front of his king, and Harry’s eyes widened before glaring up at Malfoy. It was obviously a trap, but it looked so much like checkmate. The Slytherin was never moving the bishop that protected Draco’s king.

“Right, so nothing about the Order,” Harry said faintly, moving another pawn.

“Are you ever going to do anything of importance?” Draco sneered, looking at the board. “Are you a Gryffindor or a Hufflepuff?”

Harry caught his breath, suddenly knowing what he would tell Malfoy. His worst secret – the worst, that was, that wouldn’t harm anybody but himself. And maybe, come to think of it, Malfoy. When Draco castled, Harry moved his knight out from behind his remaining pawns, smiling innocently at Draco.

“I know that look,” Draco said, capturing one of Harry’s pawns with the bishop. “You’re plotting.” His eyes narrowed as he examined Harry. “You’ve found a secret that will damage me more than it will you.”

Harry grinned at him. “It won’t damage you.” He moved his other knight, menacing Draco’s bishop. “It’ll surprise you.”

Draco examined the board for a minute, scanning the pieces already there. “And I won’t like it,” he said, and moved his rook forward.

“No,” Harry replied, “you won’t.” He moved his queen two spaces to the right.

Draco glared at the board, obviously seeing the checkmate Harry had in mind, anywhere from five to thirteen or so moves away. He acted decisively and sacrificed his queen to take Harry’s.

Harry glowered at the changed board and moved his rook. “For the final day of my imprisonment, I thought you’d be doing something more diabolical than playing chess,” he said.

Draco lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t tempt me.” He moved his remaining bishop in a protective position before his king.

“Merlin forbid,” Harry said dryly. He paused, looking at the arrangement of the board, trying to look at it with a fresh perspective as he had while playing himself, blanking his mind. He blinked as the board came once again into focus, and castled with his remaining rook.

“In the beginning, there were other questions I wanted to ask you, but after awhile, I figured out the answers on my own. And what I don’t yet know I don’t want to know, for the most part,” Draco replied. “Or you can’t tell me.” His fingers wandered over half the board before he scooted a pawn forward.

Harry immediately moved his knight out of the way and captured Draco’s bishop. Draco took his knight with a pawn before saying anything more. An exchange, Harry thought, but an unequal one.

“For instance: what is it with you and those two?”

Harry blinked. “Ron and Hermione?”

“Yes.”

Harry looked up from the board. “What do you mean? Be more specific.” He moved his bishop. “Check.”

“Which one are you dating?” Draco queried casually, moving a pawn to block.

Harry took it. “Check, and neither, you pervert.”

“I know that now,” Draco said with a smirk. He captured the attacking piece with his king.

“You can’t do that,” Harry reminded him. “That places you in check again.”

“What? Where?”

“The knight.”

Draco squinted at the board. “Damn. Is it mate?”

Harry shook his head, and after a moment, Draco moved his king out of the way.

“I was going to ask you a bit about Sirius Black, really, too,” Draco said.

Harry moved his rook. “Check again.”

“I can see that, Harry.”

“What about Sirius?”

“Who was he to you?”

“My mum and dad’s best friend, and my godfather. Check and mate.”

Draco tsked disgustedly. “I can’t understand how you can be good at this game when you can’t even concentrate for three bloody seconds.”

“Oh, three I can do,” Harry said, “and that’s all I need.” At Draco’s glare, he relented. “You should see Ron, he’s twice as good as me... and he still wants me to play all the time,” he said, smoothing his hair with one hand. “If I didn’t ever get any better, it’d be torture.” He paused. “It keeps getting harder, you know.”

“The Weasel is better than you?” Draco inquired with a nasty laugh. “Goodness, at least he’s good at something.”

“Ron’s good at plenty,” Harry said defensively.

“Ah, yes: loyalty and goodness and passion and honesty,” Draco said, making each word sound an insult – even if, Harry admitted silently, those were Ron’s best qualities. “None of those are exactly life-skills.”

“They are,” Harry said staunchly. “They’ve got him this far, and in one piece.”

“Yes, I’d imagine being friends with you tends to be a bit dicey.”

Harry paused, feeling damaged and not showing it, before replying. “Yeah, having one of the world’s strongest Dark Wizards out for your life tends to make things turn out that way,” he said.

“Bollocks – you’d be this way, anyway, wouldn’t you?”

“I’d still be a Gryffindor, yeah, but that means I’d be setting off dungbombs in the corridors and doing Quidditch and playing in the pond with the Giant Squid, not trying to avoid getting killed,” Harry protested.

An awkward silence fell, while Harry couldn’t help but wonder if the skin of Draco’s forearm was as of yet, unblemished. Do you want me to die, Draco? he thought, but he couldn’t ask, the same way he couldn’t really ask if they were friends, or reveal the accompanying fear – that they were friends because of Imperio, if they were friends at all.

“Maybe,” Draco said softly, and it took a moment for Harry to realize that the other boy was not responding to his thoughts, but to his assertions concerning normal Gryffindor activities. “So, Harry Potter – what is your greatest secret?”

Harry offered up a faltering smile. It had seemed a neat thing to tell Malfoy, at first, but now he was feeling oddly anxious. “You recall the Hat’s Song this year?”

Draco laughed aloud. “How could I forget? It was marvelous!”

“Well – I’m one of those ‘Slytherins in Gryffindor’.”

For a moment, Draco stared at him with a nearly wild incredulity.

Then, he began to laugh. “Oh, very funny. Try again!”

Harry remained stone-faced. “That’s it, Malfoy. The Hat wanted me in Slytherin. It only put me in Gryffindor when I begged.”

Draco’s smile was breaking apart on his face, disappearing, then an echo of it reappearing, finally revealing an expression Harry couldn’t quite interpret. “Really?”

Harry nodded. “You can see why I wasn’t anxious to reveal this to the world,” he said.

Draco eyed him speculatively. “People will pay for this information...”

“But they won’t believe you, will they?” Harry inquired. “I’m Harry Potter! The Boy Who Defeated Voldemort, and all of that! No one’s going to take you seriously,” he tacked on.

Draco smiled slowly at him, his wicked smile, although this time, he was sharing his wickedness with Harry rather than inflicting it upon him. “You are Slytherin, aren’t you? A Slytherin in Gryffindor clothing.”

“Every inch,” Harry said, and grinned his own best, wicked grin right back.