Draco pulled out of the embrace he shared with Harry Potter. He could feel his cheeks reddening, and he turned away from Potter, unwilling to make eye contact.

Why had he done that? Why had he shown weakness to his arch nemesis? Why had he... hugged him?

Draco frantically got to his feet and rushed out of the prefects' bathroom, not looking back at the boy he had left sitting on the ground, even when he called his name, asking Draco to come back. He ignored him, rushing through the halls, not even paying attention to where he was going.

Anywhere but there.

How could he have done that? How could he have allowed Potter to follow him in the first place? Why did he feel... whatever he was feeling?

Draco couldn't think. His mind was shut down, and he wouldn't allow himself to focus. To think.

He didn't stop jogging until he was in front of the Slytherin common room, panting out the password, parseltongue, and slipping into the dimly lit chamber.

"Draco, where were you? You almost missed all of study hour," Pansy Parkinson's sickeningly sweet voice said, the girl appearing right beside Draco. He didn't say a word, simply shoving past the girl to her dismay and climbing the staircase into the boys' dormitory.

No one could know. Ever. Draco scoffed out loud to himself as he climbed. Who was he kidding? Potter was probably already rushing to his little friends to tell them all about how weak he was. Draco shook his head in disgust.

Potter knew too much about his mission from the Dark Lord. Way too much. And if word ever got back to Voldemort...

No. It's out of your control, he thought, finally reaching the door to the boys' dormitory. Luckily for him, it was devoid of people who could see his blatant conflict. Draco never was any good at hiding his emotions, and right then, he was full of them.

---

Harry, on the other hand, was only experiencing one at the moment.

Complete and utter confusion.

What on Earth was that? Did Draco just hug him? And then thank him? Why? And why did he leave so quickly? Was he embarrassed?

Harry sure was. He could tell that his cheeks were flushed, both from the embrace and the yelling after the blond. But his shouts were lost, dissipating to nothing as Malfoy ran through the halls, away from him.

He rose to his feet, slowly and unsteadily, with only one destination in mind.

He had to speak to Ron and Hermione.

That was, of course, his first instinct. But as Harry began to walk mindlessly out of the bathroom, another feeling took over him.

The absolute need to keep this a secret. To keep this to himself, even from his two best friends.

He didn't know what he should do. So, as a compromise, Harry came to the resolve to not tell anyone at the moment, and wait to see if the information he learned would hold any value in the future.

A decision made purely with his brain. That was all. Simple as that.

And perhaps, Harry was thinking about Malfoy's feelings on the entire matter. But only a bit.

He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He was unsuccessful, however, and his brain kept on conjuring the image of Malfoy's panic-stricken face after he had pulled away from Harry. How wide his pale eyes were, how he ran out without a word.

Harry was jerked out of his thoughts as he fell to the hard ground, catching himself with his hands and causing a sharp pain to shoot up his arms.

He brought a hand up to push up his glasses and looked to see a glaring McGonagall.

"Mister Potter, exactly why were you walking away from the prefects' lavatory?" she asked, her eyebrows arched and lips pursed.

"Erm, nothing, professor," he stammered, avoiding her spectacle-covered eyes.

She made a soft, slightly condescending noise under her breath, and he could tell she didn't believe him in the slightest, but didn't comment any further. "Well, Potter, you should get back to your common room before study period is over. Walking around alone in the hallways at a time like this isn't a good idea," she pointed out, shaking her head a bit. Harry knew that she was referring to Voldemort's growing threat, though he didn't know why. It wasn't as if he could get inside of Hogwarts.

"Professor..." he asked reluctantly, "is there something wrong? Something with... Voldemort?"

The woman flinched, almost unnoticeably, at the name, but regained her image of steely calm quickly before answering. "Nothing that concerns you, Mister Potter," she said, her cold, disinterested tone making it clear to Harry that the matter was closed.

Harry opened his mouth to speak, to ask what exactly she meant, but McGonagall was already halfway down the hallway by then.

A he stood there, now alone once again, Harry debated between going to the library or to Hagrid's hut. Both would provide him with an escape from thinking, what with Madame Pince's insistence for silence and constant reading and Hagrid's nonstop talking. But he knew, in the back of his mind, that it wasn't a good idea to avoid his problems by letting distractions overwhelm him at that moment. After a few moments of quick deliberation, he decided to visit the Owlery. Hedwig always provided good company.

After climbing several staircases, and having to wait for some to actually appear where he needed them to be, he made his way to the tall tower with all of the owls. Hedwig stood out immediately, being the only snowy owl in the entire room. She immediately swooped downwards and landed on Harry's arm, her talons digging uncomfortably into his wrist. She nipped her beak affectionately at his right ear.

"Hello," Harry muttered, looking around for the stash of parchment, quills, and ink that was always kept in the Owlery. He didn't know who he wanted to write to, but he thought that perhaps it would be nice to just tell someone, anyone about something. Usually, of course, his mind immediately jumped to the resolve of writing to his godfather, Sirius, but after the events of last year, he knew if was impossible. Harry cringed at the memory of the battle at the Ministry, and shook his head quickly to clear his mind, unsuccessfully.

He shut his eyes tightly for a long moment before opening them again, fixing his askew glasses from where Hedwig had nudged them down his face. He reached over to the small, wooden stool that held all of the necessary items needed to write the letter he was about to send.

He sat down on the dropping and rat bone strewn floor and began to write.

---

Breakfast the next morning was an absolute mess for Draco.

Honestly, he had just been innocently sipping pumpkin juice, ignoring his friends and whatever useless business they were talking about, when the morning post came.

He looked skywards, not expecting to see anything for him. After all, what with Christmas approaching, his parents had no reason to send any mail with him coming home in less than two weeks. He looked away and focused back onto his almost empty plate. He hadn't been eating that much lately.

A large crashing sound emitted right in front of him, and the Slytherin's head jerked up, a sneer already etched into his face.

His breath caught sharply at the sight of a large, pure white owl standing in front of him, one clawed foot stuck in his sidekick Goyle's overflowing plate. Draco's eyes narrowed as his eyes inevitably made their way to the Gryffindor table.

There was only one snowy owl that came to deliver mail in the Great Hall at breakfast. And it was Harry Potter's.

Just as he had expected, the boy's emerald green eyes were already trained on him warily, as if he was trying to gauge Draco's reaction. The blond tore his gaze away quickly and focused his attention on the note tied to Hedwig's leg. He ripped it off as quickly as he could, shooing the bird away and hoping no one noticed what had just happened.

But, of course, that was just wishful thinking.

"Was that Potter's owl?" Pansy asked, confusion and bitterness lacing her tone.

Draco narrowed his eyes at her, causing her to noticeably flinch back. "Does it concern you?" he spat venomously back.

Pansy didn't say anything, only turning away with hurt in her eyes, as if Draco had hit her. In all honesty, she was lucky he hadn't. Draco had the undeniable urge to hit someone, anyone. Especially Harry bloody Potter.

Draco slid off of the bench at the Slytherin table, causing a small screeching sound from the wood rubbing on the slick floors. He walked out of the Great Hall with purpose; he had some dignity, after all.

He listened carefully to another similar sound, to hear if Potter was following him, but he couldn't discern anything over the hundreds of loud voices filling the grand room. He didn't dare turn back.

Once Draco was out of the echoing room, he made his way to the entrance of the castle and sat with his back to the wall, facing the hills that led to the Whomping Willow and Hagrid's tiny hut at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. He pulled out the now wrinkled piece of parchment from where he had stuffed it hurriedly into his robes before he left breakfast. The letter was torn in some places around the edges, and they grew as Draco roughly tore it open and began to read.

Malfoy,

He was glad that Potter hadn't used his first name, like he had in the prefects' bathroom. It seemed almost too personal, which was something he most definitely didn't want to be the famous boy who lived.

Meet me in the Trophy Room at midnight, tonight. We need to talk. Don't worry-- this isn't a ruse. I'll be there.

Harry Potter

Draco scowled to himself. He had to send him a letter for that? He couldn't have just told him in the halls as they went between classes? Why did he always feel the need to be the center of attention, to do everything in the showiest way possible?

He was an arrogant idiot, that's why.

But Draco was going to this so-called meeting. He was going to get Potter off of is back, once and for all. Because his business was hard enough without Potter breathing down his neck every time he got close to succeeding.

He was going.

And he was going to make sure Potter knew that he was better off staying away.

---

"You sent your owl, Potter? Really? How thick are you?"

Harry looked up at the new voice, its sharp and condescending tone all too familiar. He had been waiting for around twenty minutes in the Trophy Room, abandoning his invisibility cloak on the ground once the Marauders Map confirmed that Filch and Mrs. Norris were prowling on the opposite side of the school.

Harry met the pale eyes of Draco Malfoy and grimaced at the murderous glare the Slytherin was throwing at him. "Sorry?" he asked innocently, honestly not knowing what Malfoy was referring to. He was always calling him inferior in some way or another, it wasn't as if any particular instance stood out to him.

Draco raised a high, pale brow. "Are you serious? What were you thinking, sending your owl, the only snowy owl in the school, to your mortal nemesis where everyone could see it?" he asked, eyes narrowed threateningly.

"I--" Harry stammered, knowing that his face was turning red as it always was when he struggled to find the right words, "I-- thought that Hedwig would go straight to your dormitory," he admitted reluctantly. It sounded stupid now that he had said it out loud. An ignorant assumption to make. Hermione would be ashamed.

"Well, you were wrong. Somehow, your damn owl didn't manage to fly through the ground to our common room. Imagine that," Draco pointed out coldly, and Harry flinched at the obvious, undeniable logic. "And now, the entire Slytherin house is suspicious. I've been dealing with questions being thrown at me all day, and I do not appreciate it, Potter," he said, his lip curling up distastefully.

Harry didn't know how to answer. Was he supposed to apologize? No. He wouldn't. Malfoy didn't deserve it. Instead, he sat in unwavering silence until it was interrupted.

"Well, didn't you have anything to say, Potter? Or did I only come for you to act like an idiot, which I see every day anyway?"

While Malfoy's tone sounded nonchalant, his fitful breathing made it quite clear how frustrated the blond was. Harry couldn't see why he was already so angry. They hadn't even spoken about the actual pressing issues they had come to discuss. Namely the fact that Draco Malfoy was a bloody Death Eater.

"Of course not," Harry answered tersely. "We came to talk about the fact that your obviously in league with Voldemort, and how I can help you... not be." It sounded rather dumb when he put it like that.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Have I not made it painfully clear that you can't help me?"

Harry glared at him pointedly. "That's not the message you sent in the prefects' bathroom," he said coolly, looking away at his lap. He hadn't even realized that he was still sitting, in the exact same position that he had been when the Slytherin had arrived.

Harry heard Malfoy's breathing hitch from above him, but remained silent, waiting for his answer.

"That never happened."

Harry looked up, eyes narrowed and choosing to ignore how stricken Draco looked. "What never happened? You never showed that you were a human being capable of remorse? You never accepted my help? Because you did, Malfoy, whether you like it or not."

It was Draco's turn to be silent, his lips pursed so tightly, that Harry was surprised he wasn't crying out in pain from the pressure.

"You can't run away from your problems. And you sure as hell can't run away from me, Malfoy. So stop trying."

Draco turned on his heel and left without saying a word.