I am an utter lunatic, Draco thought as he wrapped his arms even tighter around Harry Potter's nude body.

At first, he was merely bored, but still sane. Someone had to look after the fire, so he had to stay awake and there was little he could do to amuse himself. Staring at Potter's closed eyelids was hardly eventful and Draco had to find something else to pass the time. He went to inspect the various potions in the other room. He riffled through the bottles, trying to find something useful and interesting. In the end he drank a Cheering Solution, not because he believed it would actually cheer him up, but because he was thirsty and the solution tasted like Pumpkin Juice. He did feel a bit better after he had drunk it.

He returned to Potter's side with a shimmering white healing paste and a soft cloth in his hands. He had a sudden desire to heal every cut and bruise Potter had suffered; boredom and the Cheering Solution were surely at fault. Draco applied the paste to the bruise on Potter's jaw, on a cut across his cheek where a branch had hit him while they were walking through the forest, on a bump on the back of his head where Potter must have hit the ground when he fell, and even on Potter's chapped lips that healed instantly when the paste touched it.

He was in the process of wiping off the blood and paste from Potter's face when an awful thing happened. It started slow — goose bumps appeared on Potter's skin, spreading over his arms and chest, and then Potter began to shiver. Draco quickly pulled his cloak from underneath Potter's head and wrapped Potter's shivering body with it.

It didn't help in the slightest. Soon, Potter's shivers intensified, his eyelids fluttering and lips parting to utter moans of distress; Draco could hear his teeth clicking together. It looked almost like he was having some sort of seizure.

Draco threw a few more logs on the fire and then all but lay down on Potter, holding his shivery form wrapped safely in the blanket and the cloak. Potter's condition only worsened.

It occurred to Draco that the shivering could have been a good sign. It could have meant that the curse had released Potter and allowed him to wake up from his deep slumber; he was awake enough to finally feel the chills of his frozen body. But it was small comfort to know that Potter might not die from the curse, but that he might die from hypothermia, instead. Either way, he would die and Draco couldn't give him another potion to warm him up. Every single potion that could have been used to heal such effects would not work well with the potions Draco had already given him. He had shoved too many of them down Potter's throat, already.

Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on one's perspective, Draco's mind refused to shut up about the wonders of body heat. The thought had been buried and hidden in a traitorous corner of Draco's brain ever since he had first wondered how he could provide Potter with extra heat. Minutes ticked by, Potter's shivers showed no signs of subsiding and Draco just couldn't stand looking at his trembling form any more.

Cursing his mind, Potter, and Slughorn for good measure, because none of this would have happened if he hadn't sent them into the forest, Draco stripped and lay down next to Potter, wrapping his whole body around Potter's ice cold, shivering frame. He had to clench his teeth tightly together to stop himself from crying out. Potter's frozen skin threatened to pull Draco toward a frosty death, but knowing that wouldn't happen, Draco pressed Potter's back against his chest and rubbed Potter's skin wherever he could reach.

Draco's attempts to warm up Potter by lying down beside him, completely naked, weren't an indication of his insanity, however. He had to provide Potter with heat and his actions were perfectly reasonable, not to mention successful. However, after Potter's body had warmed and he turned around to sleepily bury his head in the crook of Draco's neck, Draco made no attempt to get up. On the contrary, he wrapped his arms around Potter's back, pressed him closer to his body, and to make matters worse, the fingers of Draco's left hand insisted on burying themselves into Potter's messy hair and refused to stop caressing the soft, black strands compulsively.

But that was not the sure sign of Draco's lunacy, either. He could easily rationalise his behaviour. They were lost in a middle of the forest, injured and frozen and Potter had nearly died; Draco's sudden urge to cuddle Potter silly was surely an expected reaction to a severe trauma. It was perfectly natural.

The thing that convinced Draco he was an utter lunatic was the very disturbing fact that as Potter pressed his front snugly to Draco's side, Draco's body had a very inappropriate reaction. He could hardly blame trauma for it. What made Draco even crazier was that even after Potter made some faint mumbling sounds and began to shift around slightly as though he would wake any second, Draco made no attempt to extract himself from Potter's embrace and hide his nudity and his steadily growing erection. He was purposely pushing himself into an embarrassing situation — who knew what Potter's reaction would be when he woke up and realised Draco was holding him to his nude and aroused body? However, the crazy part of Draco's brain urged him to clutch Potter for as long as he was allowed and worry about the consequences later.

The moment came sooner than Draco would have liked.

Potter grumbled against Draco's neck and slowly raised his head. Unfocused green eyes blinked and stared at Draco incredulously. With brain-freezing apprehension, Draco stared back, waiting for an explosion.

Potter looked much better. There was colour in his cheeks and his healed and cleaned face had lost that terrifying frozen quality. His pupils were too wide and his eyes looked dim. More than anything, Draco wished to press his palm to Potter's forehead but he didn't dare to move. Judging by the warmth of Potter's skin pressed snugly to Draco's, Potter had a fever, but without a wand Draco simply couldn't be certain. As far as he was concerned, the whole cabin was unbearably hot, but he didn't really trust his senses at the moment.

A line appeared between Potter's eyes as he stared at Draco without blinking.

"Malfoy?" he whispered, sounding almost fearful.

"An admirable guess," Draco praised. He decided that all he had to do was claim that everything he'd done, he had done to save Potter's life. After all, it was the truth even though, for some reason, it didn't feel like the truth, but merely fanciful rationalisation on his part. Draco was well aware that Potter might not be grateful in the slightest if Draco had been the one who had cursed him in the first place. He could only hope that if Potter's intentions turned murderous, Draco could easily overpower him. Potter was undoubtedly weak and disoriented.

However, for now, Potter merely looked confused. He looked around the cabin, his eyes widening as his gaze passed over the interior, the fireplace, their bed and finally their nude state and their intimate position.

"Bloody hell." Potter gasped as his gaze reached Draco's eyes again.

"I can explain," Draco said quickly and then winced. He sounded much too defensive. He had to phrase his explanation and apology carefully. Maybe, just maybe, if Draco was convincing and humble enough, Potter would forgive him for cursing him. It was an unlikely outcome, but Draco had to try. Grovelling sounded like a good idea at the moment. It was no time to stress about losing his pride. He did not wish to end up in Azkaban, and Potter was the only one who could save him from that horrible fate.

"Oh, you don't have to." Potter shook his head. His eyes still looked impossibly wide. "It's self-explicatory, I think."

"It is?"

Potter shifted suddenly and Draco made a breathless sound of surprise. It seemed that not only his body had an inappropriate reaction to their intimate alignment; a distinct hardness was poking and scorching Draco's thigh.

Though Draco's shock was substantial upon the discovery, it was nothing compared to how he felt when Potter's face split into a humongous grin.

"Not that I'm complaining, but this is highly embarrassing." Potter chuckled, beaming at Draco as though he had just been told Christmas had come early.

"Er, I agree, but like I said, I can explain." Draco tried to shift around, but Potter rolled on top of him and trapped him beneath his body. "I can also get up and dress before explaining," Draco added, unnerved.

Potter grinned even wider, as though he didn't even hear what Draco had said. "My mind is a scary place." Potter's gaze raked over Draco's face in wonder.

"Er . . ."

"I mean, we're in a cabin. A freaking cabin. Lying in front of a fireplace, covered with . . ." Potter grabbed Draco's cloak and stared at it. "With fur. Actual fur."

After a moment of silence, Draco reached up and pressed his palm to Potter's forehead. "You are delirious," he concluded. Potter was too warm and now that Draco looked at him more carefully, he noticed his eyes were still unfocused. Granted, Potter didn't have his glasses, but that didn't explain why the whites of his eyes were slightly bloodied. The fever must have been a reaction to the Occamy eggs.

Draco's hand slid over Potter's cheek, but retracted quickly after Potter leaned into the touch, with a movement and a sound one would expect from a cat. Draco frowned. Potter needed another potion to lower his fever, but Draco had already given him one that should have negated the effects of the Occamy egg poisoning. It was up to Potter's own body to fight against it.

"Potter," Draco said slowly, trying in vain to get up; Potter weighed a ton. "You need to sleep and get some rest, all right? You're injured and —"

"Sleep?" Potter echoed before he laughed again. "I think I have that part covered. You can't dream unless you're sleeping."

Draco blinked. "You're not dreaming."

Potter gave Draco a withering look; the kind one would direct at someone who wasn't very bright. "Malfoy, we are alone in a bed, naked, covered with fur, in front of a fire, in a cabin. Of course I'm dreaming." Potter's expression grew pensive. "It's a sad fact that I probably should have listened to the Dursleys when they forbade me to watch the telly. Apparently, we're stuck in a cheesy movie from the eighties. It's vaguely embarrassing."

"Potter, listen to yourself — You're babbling," Draco insisted. He did not understand a word Potter had just said.

Potter's expression became so serious, Draco thought he had finally convinced him of the truth, but Potter's gaze was fixed on Draco's throbbing temple.

"You're injured," Potter said, for a moment sounding distressed, but then he burst out laughing again. "Of course you are! Injuries are a must when cabins and fireplaces are involved. A skiing accident, no doubt." Potter chuckled.

"Potter, for fuck's sake, focus," Draco snapped. "You're not dreaming. We're in the Forbidden Forest. You were injured. I found this —"

"Aha!" Potter cried in victory. He had slipped off Draco, reached sideways and found the healing paste next to their makeshift bed. "I just wished for something to heal you with, and it appeared next to us. Not a dream. Honestly."

Draco closed his eyes. "Potter, I placed the paste there — Ow!" Draco winced as Potter applied the paste to Draco's temple.

"Sorry." Potter grimaced, his touch becoming gentler.

Potter's face was dangerously close to Draco's. They shared the same air; air that was suddenly hard to breathe in. Draco's temple tingled as Potter caressed his skin even though there was no need for that — once applied, the paste had an instant effect. Potter's eyes were narrowed and he looked highly concentrated on his task. Draco planned to stop him and get up, but instead of executing that — logical — line of action his eyelashes fluttered and he closed his eyes, enjoying in the soft, tender touch of Potter's fingertips.

"And, look!" Potter said, still gleeful. "Now I found a random cloth. How convenient."

Draco sighed as Potter dabbed at his face, cleaning the paste residue and blood. After all that fear and worry, it felt incredible to just lie down, feeling warm and safe and taken care of. It was a pity Draco couldn't pretend this really was a dream.

The touch of Potter's lips on his temple pulled Draco out of his daze. His eyes flew open.

Potter raised his head, propped himself on his elbow, and grinned down at him; his hand still caressed Draco's cheek. Potter's messy hair had fallen into his eyes, dark locks mixed with his eyelashes; his cheeks looked even pinker and his lips looked unusually full. Though Draco had things to say, they were temporarily forgotten as he spent moments appreciating how very green Potter's eyes were. Without his glasses, framed by his dark lashes and hair, they were greener than ever.

"There," Potter whispered, looking very pleased with himself as he inspected Draco's face carefully. "Perfect."

Draco shivered. There were emotions in those eyes; so clear and so obvious, Draco's throat constricted. Why was Potter looking at him like that? Draco quickly ran through the ingredients used in the potions he had given Potter, but not one of them could have produced the effect of a Love Potion. The effects of the Cheering Solution could have induced such a state — to an extent — but Draco was the one who had drunk it. And now that he thought about it, the Cheering Solution was the perfect culprit. Draco could blame it for the fact that his arms were still wrapped around Potter; one of them was trapped beneath Potter's body while the fingertips of his free hand traced lazy circles over the alluring curve of Potter's spine.

"Why would you dream about me?" Draco asked, his gaze tracing over Potter's shoulders and arms and the top of his chest, which had escaped the cover of blanket and cloak. Illuminated by the firelight, Potter's skin looked golden.

Potter's smile was indulgent. "I stopped asking myself that question some time ago," he said and then leaned down.

Potter will kiss me.

The thought formed in Draco's mind and for a moment he was frozen in complete shock. He tried to free his hands but he wasn't fast enough. At the very last second, right before Potter's lips touched his, Draco turned his head sideways and Potter pressed a kiss to the corner of Draco's mouth. It didn't seem to bother Potter. He pressed soft kisses to every part of Draco's face he could reach; his jaw, cheek, temple, and he even strayed toward Draco's ear, moving down towards Draco's hairline and neck.

"Potter." Draco gasped and turned around. He hastily freed his hand and cupped Potter's face, but not before Potter managed to press one warm, quick kiss to Draco's lips. Draco's stomach did an odd flip-flop.

"Stop!" Draco cried, pushing Potter's face away. His thumb brushed against Potter's lips and Potter's tongue darted out of his mouth to lick it.

With a pathetic choking sound, Draco moved his thumb away. He rose up on his elbow, keeping Potter's face at a safe distance.

The corners of Potter's mouth turned downward. "Honestly, Malfoy. Don't be difficult. You're difficult enough when you're not a figment of my imagination."

"Potter, I am not a figment of your imagination. This is not a dream," Draco said firmly. "Don't you remember our walk through the forest? Where do you think you are?"

"I'm in my bed, in my dormitory. Dreaming." Potter looked utterly sure of himself.

"And the forest? Remember the damn forest? And the pain and the walk?"

Potter frowned. "Um. That must have been a dream, too. An awful one."

Draco growled in frustration. "No, Potter, that wasn't a dream, either. You were cursed. Do you . . . . Do you remember who cursed you?" Draco winced. He wished he hadn't asked that. He wanted Potter to sleep and rest as he ought to, and he didn't really want him to remember what happened if it meant he would start hitting Draco instead of kissing him. Though, in all honesty, Draco would have preferred hitting to kissing. Hitting he deserved, kissing he did not.

"I wasn't cursed; you were," Potter said in a petulant voice of a child, as though Draco had accused him of theft. Draco sighed, but Potter frowned again. "No, wait. I remember." Potter's eyes went round and Draco stopped breathing. "We were attacked by werewolves!"

"Oh, for fuck's sake!"

Potter grinned. "You told me that. And you said we have to go and save Ron and Hermione. And you said something about inviting werewolves to dinner . . . That was strange. Like dreams usually are. And then we were flying through the forest . . ."

"We were not flying."

"It felt like flying. And you were hugging me a lot . . ."

"I was helping you stand!"

"And then the dream changed and we ended up here." Potter beamed. "See? I had a very silly nightmare, but it's over and now I'm having a — well, a very tacky, to be honest — but a lovely dream."

"You know," Draco said pensively, "I think . . . if I smack you and knock you out, the blow won't cause too much damage. You'll definitely fall asleep, then."

"Draco?" Potter looked at him earnestly and Draco's mind stopped working, slowly processing the fact that Potter had just called him Draco. He wished he hadn't. It sounded strange. "Could you do me a favour?" Potter had the nerve to bat his eyelashes.

"What?" Draco eyed Potter warily. However, wariness did not help him.

Potter hooked his leg behind Draco's knees, grabbed Draco's arm, and rolled them over effortlessly. Draco realised what had happen only after he was lying on top of Potter, nestled snugly between his thighs. Potter's legs trapped him there, quickly.

"Stop talking and shag me." Potter smiled up at him. "It's what dreams like these are for."

Draco stared at him. Potter's expression was one of expectancy and excitement; his fervour did odd things to Draco's chest; his heart threatened to burst out of it. The fact that his crotch was pressed firmly to Potter's wasn't helping him think.

Potter wanted Draco to shag him.

That was crazy. Ridiculous. Wrong.

Tempting.

Very, very tempting. Though, until that very moment Draco had had no idea he wanted to shag Potter. But his mind was already full of images. Some of them were familiar; they were the product of Draco's wank-fantasises. He had indulged himself with thoughts like these sometimes, thoughts of having sex with a boy. Some other boy; a faceless, irrelevant boy. Not Potter. Perhaps merely a Potter look-alike. But those were just silly thoughts that popped into his mind while he wanked. They tended to give Draco spectacular orgasms.

But sweet Merlin, sex with a boy was one of his long-time fantasies. One that was utterly wrong and one he had tried so hard never to acknowledge. But the thought of doing it with Potter . . . it was too much to even contemplate. Draco's whole body seized up as though he was on a brink of an orgasm. The air in the cabin became unbearably hot as though someone had set it on fire while Draco wasn't looking.

Draco's gaze swept over Potter's face and his chest; in his mind, his gaze wandered even lower. He thought about wrapping his hand around Potter's cock, about spreading Potter's legs, about reaching behind Potter's balls and pushing his fingers . . .

Draco dragged his gaze back to Potter's eyes. They were filled with an earnest plea; a plea that was hard to resist.

How ridiculous. Felix Felicis was still working. It gave him what he had never dared to wish for — Potter. Potter, who hated him, but in that moment didn't even know it. Potter, who would hate him even more if Draco did as he asked.

Draco closed his eyes, his momentary elation dwindling. What was wrong with him? He had nearly killed Potter; he couldn't just pretend it never happened and shag him. Potter wouldn't have offered if he wasn't delirious.

Trying not to take pleasure in the intimate contact with Potter's skin, Draco leaned down and grabbed Potter's face in his hands, determinedly looking into his green eyes. Potter gave a tiny gasp, his lips parting as he rose up a little, clearly expecting a kiss.

Draco's chest constricted as he shook his head. "No, Potter. I won't shag you. I know you don't believe me, but you're injured and you have to rest. Shagging is the last thing you need. Trust me, you'll thank me later." Draco winced. "Well, no, you probably won't."

Potter's expression fell the moment he realised there would be no kissing. Draco's words merely made him pout again.

"You won't shag me?" he asked as though Draco hadn't been clear enough.

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

Potter pressed his lips together. "Fine, be that way," he said, looking resigned if slightly petulant.

Draco let out a slow breath of relief. That had been easy.

Too easy, Draco reflected as Potter's mouth stretched into a sly grin. In the next second, Potter moved and Draco was suddenly lying on his back with Potter on top of him, trapping Draco beneath his body.

"Then, I'll shag you," Potter proclaimed with a smile reminiscent of a kneazle that had just swallowed a Pygmy Puff.

"No, no, you won't!" Draco gasped, scandalised. For fuck's sake! Potter was injured, where was that agility coming from? Draco had to stop being indecisive and throw him off. Planning to do exactly that, Draco grabbed Potter's biceps and bucked upward. He almost succeeded, but Potter growled and cried, "Incarcerous!"

Draco nearly laughed at Potter's attempt to perform magic without a wand, but his laughter froze in his throat as his hands flew upward and cold manacles appeared around his wrists, binding him to the floor through the mattress. Shocked, Draco looked left and right at his bound hands, wondering if Potter had a point when he had claimed this whole thing was just a dream.

"You can't," Draco breathed. "You can't do this wandlessly. It's impossible!" he said, pulling on the bonds in vain. They wouldn't budge.

Potter laughed. "You're so silly. Of course I can't." Potter shook his head and patted the silver bindings. "But I can do whatever the hell I want in my dream."

Draco stared at him. "It's not a dream, Potter. And this is impossible!" Though, technically wandless magic wasn't impossible, merely difficult. It signified power and lack of control. And Potter had both. His conviction this was a dream must have worked in his favour.

It was not, however, working in Draco's favour. Hadn't he successfully managed to convince himself to do the right thing mere seconds ago? And now Potter strove to ruin Draco's very difficult moral sacrifice. That was completely unfair.

"Potter, release me."

"No." Potter leaned down. "Wait. Did you just say, 'Potter kiss me?' because then the answer is yes." Potter grabbed Draco's face between his hands.

"No, I said no such — mmph!"

Potter's lips pressed against his and Draco had to struggle not to give in and respond. The shock of his sudden imprisonment helped and he managed to resist the assault of Potter's lips and tongue. Potter grumbled, clearly displeased, but he comforted himself quickly by pressing numerous kisses all over Draco's face. He started out fast, which was annoying, but then he slowed down; his kisses turned gentle and lingering and his lips became softer and more supple, and Draco had to press his lips tightly together to stop himself from uttering sounds of approval. That became increasingly difficult when Potter moved lower to press sloppy, open-mouth kisses against the sensitive skin of Draco's neck. Potter's hands strayed downward, over Draco's stomach hips and thighs, caressing and rubbing as he sucked on Draco's neck, probably leaving marks.

Hazily, Draco realised he had fallen silent instead of screaming at Potter to get a grip on himself and stop violating his person. He rectified that mistake the moment he managed to make his throat work again.

"Potter." It sounded like moan and Draco cursed and tried again. "Potter! Stop it!"

"No," was Potter's short reply before he pressed his lips to Draco's left nipple.

Draco held his breath and then shuddered as Potter flicked his tongue over the sensitive flesh. His lips closed around it, sucking gently. It was perhaps a conscious decision on Draco's part to start complaining again only after Potter released his nipple.

As Potter moved to press a kiss to the middle of Draco's chest, Draco regained his breath and cried, "I mean it! Stop it, Potter! You do realise you're assaulting me? That's highly immoral. Not to mention illegal."

"Not if this is a dream." Potter pressed his lips to Draco's other nipple.

"And if it isn't?" Draco asked quickly, knowing he wouldn't be able to talk anymore if Potter began to suck again.

Potter barely raised his head; his lips caressed Draco's nipple as he spoke. "That's not very likely, is it?"

Beautiful suction made Draco fall silent again. He was thankful they had no pillows. He would be tempted to look down at Potter and that would have been highly distracting. This way, his neck hurt too much if he tried to watch and he was forced to stare at the rough cabin ceiling. When Potter moved downward, kissing and nibbling Draco's stomach, Draco tried to free himself from the manacles, but they wouldn't budge. Sweet Merlin, he couldn't just let Potter have his way with him. Though, if he did, then it wouldn't be his fault and Potter couldn't blame him.

"Hmm," Potter said as he reached Draco's hip and bit on it lightly. "You're much more muscular usually."

Draco glared at the ceiling.

"Though you don't taste half as good." Potter kissed Draco's hipbone, moving dangerously close to Draco's crotch, but then he moved up toward Draco's chest again. Draco almost cursed and complained, but he quickly shut his mouth and stayed silent. "And normally, you have scars," Potter added, licking and kissing Draco's chest. "They disappear if I kiss them."

Draco swallowed with difficulty. His throat was dry. "You dream about me often?" he asked, still staring at the ceiling. It was a difficult thought — that Potter dreamt about kissing Draco's scars away. It almost made him feel guilty for continuously mentioning them to Potter.

"No, rarely, actually."

"Oh."

"I fantasise about you often."

"Oh," Draco said again. That was unexpected. He thought Potter was merely randy and Draco was lucky. He thought Potter's dreams about him were something random and unwanted that assaulted Potter's mind. Fantasies, however, were a different matter. Draco's mind drifted toward yesterday.

"Were you . . . um —" Draco gasped as Potter's hands wrapped around his cock. The feeling was spectacular and utterly distracting. It took Draco awhile to assemble his thoughts. "Were you flirting with me in Defence, yesterday?"

Potter laughed. "I was trying to." Potter laughed even harder and Draco raised his head to glare at him. It was a mistake because the sight of Potter straddling Draco's thighs and gripping his cock was too much to bear. Potter had pushed the cloak and the blanket away; his nude body was on display and Draco's gaze fell on Potter's cock — so much more attention grabbing now that Potter was aroused. Draco's mouth watered.

"You were utterly adorable!" Potter exclaimed and Draco tore his gaze away from his cock to glare at him. "'I'll show you something in the forest tomorrow, Potter!'" Potter imitated before laughing again.

Potter might have as well poured cold water over him. Draco stared at him, wondering if Potter was even remotely aware how unfunny that was. Draco had shown him, hadn't he? Just like he had promised. He nearly murdered him, and though Potter didn't remember it now, he would once he recovered.

Potter was looking at him fondly, his hand moving up and down, squeezing Draco's cock and occasionally rubbing his thumb over the wet tip. It was nice, extremely nice, but Draco couldn't concentrate on anything except Potter's eyes. They were full of affection. And the worst thing was, Draco realised the affection wasn't new. Draco had seen it before, but he had never believed it. Potter had fantasised about him, wanted him, even flirted with him. And Draco had cursed him. He had ruined a chance he never knew existed. A chance he never knew he wanted, but now it seemed like the most important thing in the world. He might as well stare at Potter for as long as he could because it was the last time he would get to see those green eyes devoid of hatred. Even if, by some miracle, Draco escaped Azkaban, even if Potter cared for him enough to save him yet again . . . Draco had lost his chance forever.

"Untie me." The words were out of Draco's lips before he even made a conscious decision.

"Hmm." Potter scrunched up his nose as though thinking hard. He shook his head. "No."

"I changed my mind. I want to shag you. Untie me, Potter."

"It's all right." Potter nodded. "I don't mind shagging you." Green eyes danced, full of mirth. "Actually, I don't mind shagging you at all, especially while you're helpless and tied down."

"I want to touch you." Draco could hear the truth and the yearning in his own voice. He hoped Potter heard it, too. He wanted it more than anything and this was his only chance to get it.

The mirth disappeared from Potter's eyes. He bit his lip, looking uncertain.

"Please?" Draco said and as though the word really was magical the bonds disappeared.

Draco all but flew upward and Potter tensed, undoubtedly with another spell on his lips in the event Draco tried to back out of shagging. But Draco had no such intention. Not exactly.

Draco reached out and cupped Potter's cheek, his other hand sneaking around Potter's waist. Potter was kneeling, looking alert and poised to strike, and Draco climbed on top of him and straddled his lap. Relaxing his rigid stance, Potter smiled, clearly pleased by the outcome. He leaned into Draco's touch, pressing his cheek to Draco's palm, reminding Draco again of a cat. Slowly, Draco leaned in and Potter leaned back, and their lips met in a gentle kiss. Draco moved his lips, his tongue darting out to explore the shape and fullness of Potter's mouth. Potter shivered and parted his lips, his hands flying to bury themselves into Draco's hair and pull him closer. It was strange to feel Potter's tongue move alongside his unhurriedly. Draco had expected their kiss would turn into a battle; that they would each try to dominate the other. But Potter seemed content with the slow, tentative exploration and Draco had no intention of breaking the tenderness of the moment. Potter tasted like potions, but sweet underneath the medicine-like flavour and Draco wanted more of that taste. He swiped his tongue over the roof of Potter's mouth, the backs of his teeth, then pulled back to taste Potter's lips again, trapping the bottom one between his teeth, licking and nibbling, before he lightly sucked on the tender flesh.

Potter moaned quietly and his hands moved downward, making goose bumps rise on the skin of Draco's back as gentle fingertips slowly reached his buttocks. The warm touch of Potter's palms on his arse dragged a low moan from Draco's throat and he deepened the kiss in the response as Potter cupped his behind and squeezed his arse cheeks, pulling Draco even closer to his body.

The kiss lasted forever, but it wasn't nearly long enough. Draco's lips tingled as he pressed another quick kiss to Potter's mouth, then moved to the side, kissing Potter's jaw. He liked the feeling of light stubble scratching his lips and he explored the unfamiliar sensation before he bent his head and pressed his mouth to the pulse point on Potter's neck. It beat strong and fast against Draco's lips and Draco closed his eyes, taking a moment to enjoy the feeling. Potter grew impatient; his fingers wandered between Draco's arse cheeks, stroking the tender skin in between, and then pressed against Draco's anus, tentatively exploring the furrowed skin and the tight muscles.

A violent shudder made Draco close his eyes and he pressed several urgent, sloppy kisses to Potter's neck, collarbone and shoulders; the skin there was soft and warm and so inviting it was hard to tear his mouth away, but Potter's fingers grew bolder and explored further. He pressed a finger into Draco's arse, the feeling new and strange, and Draco's limbs lost their strength. Trembling, he quickly reached behind to trap Potter's wrists and pull his hands away.

"Come on, lay down," Draco whispered, his voice so low he barely recognised it as his own.

Potter looked wary as Draco climbed off his lap and pulled Potter down to lie beside him, but he didn't say a word, simply stared at Draco with half-lidded eyes. Potter relaxed the moment Draco kissed him again, more passionately this time, unable to restrain himself. Potter's hands edged towards Draco's buttocks as though he couldn't stop himself from exploring and Draco grinned against Potter's lips before pulling away.

"You're extremely single-minded," he accused, still whispering.

Potter kneaded Draco's arse cheeks and grinned back, his face reddening.

"I spent so much time starring at it, I can't let the chance slip by me," he said and patted Draco's buttocks lightly, the affection of the action heart-wrenching. It almost felt like they were lovers.

Draco forced himself to smile. "Funny. That's my philosophy, too."

Potter cocked his head at him and Draco pressed another fast, sloppy kiss to his lips. With a low moan, he pulled away and moved his mouth downward, never separating his lips from Potter's skin.

The truth was Draco liked sex to be fast and dirty. That was how it always was when he had been with girls and that was how he had always imagined it when he had fantasised about boys. He wasn't sentimental and though he liked kissing, it was merely a means to an end. The end being a quick, hard shag.

But this was different.

This was his first and last opportunity to have Potter beneath him, willing and ready to do whatever Draco wished him to. The chance would never present itself again. He had to take all that he could, though he was well aware there were some things he couldn't accept from Potter. His conscience was guilty enough. But what seemed imperative was to kiss and touch every part of Potter and commit every feeling, every gasp and every shiver to memory.

Draco took his time, trailing kisses over Potter's neck and shoulders, his chest and stomach. His tongue paused to swirl over Potter's nipples, to lick the sweat off Potter's stomach, to dip into Potter's navel and to trace the line of hair that led toward Potter's cock. His lips traced the curve of Potter's hips, his teeth nibbled on the soft skin; he buried his nose into the coarse, dark hair of Potter's crotch and inhaled Potter's musky scent. He licked and kissed Potter's thighs; the skin there was warm, sweaty and soft and Draco found it hard to separate his mouth from it. He pulled Potter's sacks into his mouth, one after the other, sucking on them gently. He took hold of Potter's cock and tasted the wetness that had gathered on the tip. The bitter taste didn't stop him from pulling the head of Potter's cock into his mouth, licking and sucking as though it was the best thing he had ever tasted, even though it wasn't. Draco kissed and licked and nibbled and sucked until his lips felt achy and raw.

Potter was undone. He writhed and squirmed on the bed, begging and moaning continuously. Draco paused occasionally to stare at Potter's sweaty, nude body bathed by the golden firelight. Potter thrashed around, moaning and gasping for air, unable to keep still. His skin must have been overly sensitised, because he shuddered violently at Draco's every kiss and caress. It was fascinating to watch. No one had ever reacted so sensually to Draco's touch before; he had never turned another human begin into such a desperate mass of pure need; though, really, he had never bothered to achieve such a thing.

Releasing Potter's cock and leaving it spit-slicked and seemingly quivering in the soft light, Draco's tongue sneaked lower, edging behind Potter's balls, toward the furrowed, heated skin of Potter's anus.

Potter's reaction was instantaneous. His body convulsed and he shouted Draco's name, sounding half-shocked and half-scandalised. Draco nearly pulled back, thinking he had crossed some line, but Potter spread his legs wider and then stilled as though fearfully expecting more. Draco obliged and pressed his mouth to Potter's entrance, spurred on not by the action itself, which was dirty and wrong, but by Potter's pathetic whimpers and helpless shivers. The wrinkled skin and the tight muscle loosened as Potter relaxed, becoming boneless and looking as though he was lost in his pleasure, and Draco wriggled his tongue into Potter's hole, heedless of the spit that dribbled over his chin as he tongued Potter messily.

Potter's breathing sped up and he clenched around Draco's tongue. Draco quickly pulled away, not willing to let Potter come just yet. Potter whined, but Draco ignored his pleas. He absentmindedly wiped his chin and mouth with the back of his hand and then rose up and settled between Potter's thighs again. He sprawled on top of Potter and looked down at his wide green eyes. Potter was flushed and sweaty, panting heavily as he stared at Draco in wonder.

Busy contemplating whether Potter would push him away if he tried to kiss him with his dirty mouth, Draco's breath was stolen from him as Potter grabbed his head and pulled him down sharply to crash their mouths together in a heated kiss. Moaning ceaselessly, Potter didn't stop kissing him until Draco felt dizzy and breathless. Even after Potter loosened his dead grip on Draco's hair and let Draco lift his head a little, he didn't stop showering kisses over Draco's mouth and jaw.

"The paste," Potter gasped between kisses. "We can use it instead of lube."

Draco slid his lips over Potter's, shaking his head. "No, we won't need lube," he said firmly as Potter frowned at him, looking betrayed.

Pressing another long kiss to Potter's lips, Draco smiled at him, moved a little to the right and reached down to grasp their cocks and align them together. Potter's hips twitched upward as his frown disappeared and Draco pressed down and moved. He closed his eyes as his cock slid against Potter's, but then quickly opened them again as Potter made a needy, lustful sound.

"Not shagging," Potter breathed, though he didn't sound too distressed.

"It will do." Draco smiled and rolled his hips, moving leisurely on top of Potter.

Potter's hands reached down and he grabbed Draco's buttocks, pulling him closer as his legs trapped Draco's thighs. Draco struggled to keep his eyes open so he wouldn't miss a single second of Potter's pleasure, but it was difficult not to close them and lose himself in the beauty of the moment. Their bodies were slicked with sweat and they moved against each other easily, chest against chest and cock against cock, speeding up with every slide. His eyelashes fluttering, Draco bent down and fastened his lips to Potter's in a desperate, awkward kiss, never breaking their ever-increasing pace. Draco's world spun and he struggled to keep his bearings as Potter shuddered beneath him and bucked upward, frantically moving his hips and squeezing Draco's arse so hard it almost hurt. Draco swallowed Potter's screams and then increased his pace, rutting against him mindlessly until his vision turned white and his body shuddered under the onslaught of pleasure.

He could not stop moving; not even remotely embarrassed about the sloppy, wet sounds their bodies made as they slid against each other. All too soon, the pleasant shudders subsided and Potter whimpered beneath him. Draco forced his body to still and then he buried his head in the crook of Potter's neck, trying to calm his breathing and his hammering heart.

After a couple of long moments, Draco raised his head and looked down at Potter. His face still flushed and sweaty, Potter stared at him with a deep frown and questions in his eyes.

"Is something wrong?" Draco asked in an odd scratchy voice. He cleared his throat and bit his lip. Potter's gaze searched his face.

"This doesn't feel like a dream anymore." Potter raised his hand and trailed his fingers over Draco's cheek and jaw.

"It's a dream, Potter. Trust me. This never happened."

Potter still looked troubled. "You're not like this in my dreams. You're more . . . angry." Potter squinted at him then shook his head. "This was a frighteningly sappy dream. I must have eaten something strange yesterday."

Eager to make Potter stop thinking about this further, Draco kissed him again. Potter gasped a little, but then melted into the kiss. He felt boneless in Draco's arms; his movements slowed and Draco reluctantly pulled back. He remembered Potter was unwell and he had to rest.

Ignoring Potter's half-hearted complaints, Draco rose up and reached for the cloth. After he had cleaned their sticky bodies as well as he could, he lay down next to Potter, pulling the blanket over them. Pressing a quick kiss to Potter's lips and grinning at Potter's bemused expression, Draco all but wrapped himself over Potter's body, lowering his head to Potter's warm chest.

Potter's laugh was one of disbelief. "Now what? Don't tell me you want to cuddle."

"Yes, I do, actually," Draco mumbled against Potter's chest. Who cared about dignity? They were in Potter's dream and that meant Draco could ask for every silly thing he wanted.

Potter chuckled, but he buried his hand in Draco's hair, combing through it gently with his fingers; his other hand stroked Draco's upper-arm that rested across Potter's chest. Draco closed his eyes and planned to take this moment with him to Azkaban.

"This ruined my fantasies forever, you know," Potter murmured. "I don't think I can wank thinking about cuddling."

"I don't think you'll ever think of me and wank again, Potter."

"I don't think I'll ever mange to not think of you. Especially now." Potter's voice lowered. "Draco, this was amaz —"

"Shhhh," Draco murmured. He trailed his fingers over Potter's chest. "Please, stop talking." No matter how wonderful Potter's enamoured statements were, it was difficult to hear them.

Potter yawned. "Oddball," he mumbled against Draco's hair, but fell silent.

Draco stared at the fire. If he wanted to keep it from dying out soon, he would have to get up and throw some more logs into the fireplace, but he had no intention of getting up while Potter's fingers were in his hair, stroking and toying with the strands.

All too soon, Potter's caresses slowed and then stopped. Potter's breathing deepened and Draco listened to the sound for a few minutes longer. It was not a bad time to break down and start crying, but his eyes remained dry. Draco sighed and reluctantly got up.

He shivered as he walked around Potter and toward the fireplace. He worried that he had waited too long and the logs wouldn't catch fire. He stared at the fireplace and willed the fire to burn. He wondered if he should go back to sleep or maybe he should dress and look for help. He had no more excuses not to go. Potter was better; he no longer needed Draco's care, but Draco loathed the thought of leaving him.

However, Draco's dilemma was resolved quickly.

From a corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of bright blue light. He spun around, to look for the source, but he didn't have to look far.

Draco stared Potter's sleeping form. Inexplicably, Potter was glowing.

Two years ago, his father told him of the day when Arthur Weasley, accompanied by Aurors, appeared on his doorstep. They had apparently received an anonymous tip and were there to search Malfoy Manor for any incriminating evidence. They found nothing at all, but while they were searching his father's study, the tip of Weasley's wand glowed blue, indicating that the Locator Charm had found the very thing he had been looking for. The Aurors turned the room upside-down, but they had found absolutely nothing. In the end, they were forced to conclude that the Locator Charm was faulty. But it hadn't been. The charm had found cursed objects and lethal potions, but they were hidden in the room by the Dissimilis Charm.

It took Draco several minutes of panic to remember that story. After that, he allowed himself to breathe properly.

Potter was glowing because someone's Locator Charm had found them. And not only that, whoever had cast the Charm had to have been in the clearing. For all Draco knew, the person was standing right next to him, but they were unable to see each other because of the magical wards.

Draco found his discarded clothes and dressed with record speed, his mind working furiously. He hadn't thought about it before, but now that he did, it seemed obvious. Potter and he were missing for hours; it was not likely that the Hogwarts staff sat idly in the castle while Harry Potter was missing. They must have organised a search party, maybe even alerted the Auror Department. There were wizards and witches out there searching for their missing hero frantically.

With his hand on the knob, Draco looked back at Potter's glowing form. For a brief moment, he considered dressing Potter, but he'd had a valid reason for taking off his clothes; no one could blame him for that. Besides, Potter's trousers and shirt were still wet; it would do Potter no good if Draco forced him into his cold clothes.

Decision made, Draco returned to Potter's side and took his fur-lined cloak, then rushed to the door and stepped outside. The cold air and the dark shocked him. He had thought the enclosure was warm when he had first found it, but it felt freezing now. Draco quickly closed the door, worrying about Potter's naked form, protected only by a blanket.

It took a while for his eyes to adjust to the dark. Draco looked around, but he saw nothing but silent trees bathed in the shimmering golden light of the wards. That didn't necessarily mean no one was around. Whoever had found them could have been walking around in circles, confused by the findings of the Locator Charm. Draco's gaze fell on the glowing archway. If he wanted to be seen, he would have to step outside the magical enclosure. There was no other way.

Draco took a reluctant step towards the archway and then froze. A dark figure appeared before him out of nowhere.

The figure was cloaked and hooded; it was impossible to tell who it was.

Unnerved to have a stranger stand right in front of him, the two of them separated by the thin veil of magic, Draco became acutely aware he was unarmed. He stared at the wand in the mysterious person's hand; its tip glowed blue. The figure walked slowly, directing the wand left and right, undoubtedly measuring the strength of the light that changed with every wand movement. Only a few feet separated the figure from the large oak tree.

Draco's gaze scanned the ground and he picked up a large rock even before he had thought things through or made any sort of plan. But it occurred to him that whoever this was, it wasn't necessarily a member of a rescue party. Draco wasn't glowing; this person was looking for Potter and Potter alone. Draco knew that Potter was probably a priority, but there was another possibility. Though he was more than sure he was the one who had cursed Potter, it was still possible someone else was trying to murderer the Conqueror of the Dark Lord. Potter certainly had enemies and perhaps one of those enemies had come back to finish the job.

The figure moved closer to the tree.

Draco bit his lip. He had found the entrance to the cabin; someone else might find it, too. Clutching the large rock in his hand, Draco eyed the figure's glowing wand.

He couldn't take any chances. If the person was an enemy, Draco would be powerless to defend Potter and himself. Now was his only chance to do something. He needed that wand.

The figure stopped walking; the tree and the archway were right in front of it.

The magical wards didn't let anyone inside, but that didn't necessarily mean they wouldn't let anything outside. Draco raised his hand and narrowed his eyes at the motionless figure. Attack now and ask questions later seemed like a good tactic.

Not knowing whether the wards would allow it or not, Draco swung his hand and threw the rock as hard as he could, aiming directly at the figure's head. The wards shimmered as the rock whooshed through them and slammed against the dark, cloaked shape. The person didn't even have a chance to gasp, but instead collapsed instantly to the ground.

Grinning, with his gaze fixed firmly on the glowing wand, Draco rushed through the archway and then took two careful steps toward the immobile person lying on the frozen ground. He snatched the wand away and then, taking a deep breath, he removed the hood from the person's head.

Draco's gaze fell on the pale bloodied forehead and brown hair arranged into an elaborate bun. He stared, horrified.

It was quite possible he had just murdered Professor Eunice Merrythought.

IV.
The Belief
Luck is believing you're lucky.
~ Tennessee Williams

Albus Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled at him merrily. Draco had no idea why the old wizard looked so cheerful; he was dead, after all. Draco tore his gaze away from Dumbledore's portrait and focused on the Headmistress, who sat opposite Draco, behind her desk. Professor McGonagall's lips were pressed into a tight line, which was never a good omen.

"Is that all?" she asked curtly.

Draco nodded. He had told McGonagall everything he remembered. He told her about how he had woken up without his memories, how he had used Felix Felicis and found the cabin, how he had given Potter healing potions and how he had warmed Potter up. He did, however, neglect to mention his original intentions for Felix Felicis, and he certainly didn't tell her what had happened during Potter's dream. As far as Draco was concerned, that would always remain just a dream.

McGonagall lips thinned even further; they all but disappeared from her face.

Draco winced. Now that he had told his tale, it sounded ridiculous to his own ears. If McGonagall didn't believe him, he couldn't blame her. And if she did believe him and nonetheless thought he was guilty, he couldn't blame her, either. Draco had worded his story carefully. He tried not to incriminate himself more than was strictly necessary, but he didn't know how to hint at his possible innocence when he didn't believe in it himself. It occurred to him he could have lied and said he remembered everything and claimed some mysterious cloaked figure had attacked them, but that would have been rather pointless once Potter woke up and told everyone what really happened.

McGonagall made a disapproving sort of grimace.

"Have a biscuit, Mr Malfoy."

Draco stared at her and then looked at her desk and the plateful of ginger biscuits.

"Go on, Mr Malfoy. You have been missing for hours. The kitchens are closed, I'm afraid. Have a biscuit." McGonagall pushed the plate closer to Draco.

The moment McGonagall said the word biscuit, Draco was starving. For a second, he wondered if McGonagall wanted to poison him, but his stomach growled and Draco quickly took a biscuit. He ate it in matter of seconds, eying McGonagall warily. Her behaviour had definitely been strange, though, Draco supposed, one could say the exact same thing about his behaviour.

Earlier, when he had knocked down Professor Merrythought, he had believed for full five minutes that she was behind everything that happened. However, after Merrythought regained consciousness, he realised she was merely a member of the search party. That hadn't calmed Draco down. She insisted on seeing Potter, and Draco had no intention of letting Dirtythought anywhere near her favourite Saviour, who was at that moment defenceless and naked. Merrythought, in turn, thought that Draco was a vicious murderer, who had buried Potter's body somewhere in the clearing. By the time Slughorn and Hagrid appeared with the rest of the search party hot on their heels, both Draco and Merrythought had been in hysterics. Draco calmed down only after Madam Pomfrey arrived. She examined him quickly and shot a spell at him that made him sleepy and calm. Magically soothed, he showed her the entrance to the cabin and told her which potions he had used to heal Potter's injuries. Draco had refused to be separated from Potter, even while under the effects of Pomfrey's spell, but to his utter humiliation, Hagrid had picked him up and carried him to the castle. That had been awfully embarrassing, not to mention uncomfortable — Hagrid smelled funny.

Aurors greeted them when they arrived at the castle and they had accosted Draco immediately. However, McGonagall snapped at them, grabbed Draco and all but dragged him to her office. She left him there for a few long, terrifying minutes and then returned with the news of Potter's condition. Potter was asleep and Madam Pomfrey assured everyone he would be all right. Professor Merrythought had suffered a minor concussion, but she, too, would be fine. Draco was relieved, but still unnerved by McGonagall's behaviour. He wasn't sure why she had rescued him from the Aurors, but it was possible she merely planned to murder him herself.

Draco took another biscuit from the plate. If he would die, he wouldn't die hungry.

"Very well." McGonagall sighed. "I should tell you what we know. Your absence was not noted immediately, but once it was, some students had a rather emotional reaction. Pansy Parkinson insisted that Theodore Nott had something to do with your disappearance —"

"Did he?" Draco asked hopefully.

"He claims he did not. However, Miss Parkinson found Harry Potter's wand in his possession."

The room spun from the force of Draco's relief. "But then . . ." Then, I'm innocent. Draco stared at McGonagall in disbelief. If Nott had Potter's wand, he must have been the one who had cursed him. "Did he curse Potter? Did he confess?"

McGonagall pursed her lips. "I'm afraid not. He told us he had found the two of you fighting in the forest and in the heat of the argument you shot a curse at Potter. As Potter fell, you noticed Nott watching and tried to curse him, as well. Nott claims he managed to Stun you. He says your wand broke when you fell and he took Potter's so you would be unarmed if you woke up."

Doubt assaulted Draco's mind again. "That's ridiculous," he insisted. "Why didn't he tell anybody about the incident?"

"He says he panicked and thought everyone would think he was involved if he mentioned he was there."

Draco shook his head, utterly confused. Nott's involvement gave him hope. The possibility that Nott was responsible for Potter's near death was more than Draco could hope for. However, Draco had dismissed Nott as a suspect for a reason. Nott was a lot of things, but he wasn't stupid. He couldn't have possibly thought he could curse Potter and get away with it by pinning the murder on Draco. The fact that he had kept Potter's wand proved that Nott panicked and acted on impulse. It was possible he was actually telling the truth. If he had stumbled upon them as Potter and Draco fought, what would Nott have done? He hated them both. Not telling anyone anything about the incident was something Nott would definitely do; he would not wish to implicate himself. And Draco thought he knew why Nott couldn't resist the temptation of taking Potter's wand. Rumour was that Potter carried the Elder Wand around; Draco doubted it, but many believed it to be true.

"Mr Malfoy," McGonagall said and Draco looked at her. She gave him a small smile. "I do believe he's lying."

"You do?" Draco asked before he could stop himself. "But I don't remember what happened. . ." Draco quickly pressed his lips together. What was wrong with him? No matter what happened in the forest, if McGonagall or anyone else wanted to think Nott was the one responsible, Draco might as well encourage them. Nonetheless, guilt threatened to consume him and Draco fought to push the feeling away.

"Indeed. And that is why I do not believe a word Mr Nott says."

"You don't?" Draco whispered. "You believe me? Why?"

McGonagall's eyes softened; Draco had never seen her look so kindly. "Mr Malfoy, you have done nothing wrong," she said gently.

And there it was. Draco had tried to cry several times that day, but he hadn't managed. And now his vision finally blurred. He had no idea why McGonagall chose to believe him, but Draco didn't deserve it. He wiped his eyes angrily and glared at McGonagall. Words ran out of his mouth before he could stop them. "You don't understand. Nott wouldn't be that stupid. Not unless he really had panicked. And fighting with Potter sounds like something I would do. I even thought about . . . Yesterday I even considered the possibility . . ."

"Yes, I heard about the incident in the Defence class. Nott graced me with the story." McGonagall shook her head. "I knew that letting you speak to the Aurors would be a dreadful idea at this point. Mr Malfoy, you have been through a terrible ordeal. You are not thinking straight."

"But I might have been the one . . ."

"Listen to me. You have gone to extraordinary lengths in order to — successfully — save Mr Potter's life — and before I continue, allow me to thank you."

Draco winced. "I thought I cursed him. I couldn't let him die. I was just protecting myself —"

"However," McGonagall talked over him, "you couldn't tell Madam Pomfrey which curse was used on Potter, even though, by your own logic, that would have helped save both of you."

"Because I don't remember —"

"And Madam Pomfrey tells me you suffered no serious injuries; therefore, your amnesia remains unexplained."

"I'm not lying about that," Draco said quickly.

"No, you are not. I'm trying to explain why I believe you. You seemed quite shocked when I mentioned Mr Nott, and if you were less eager to take the blame for what happened in the forest, I'd suspect you were merely trying to conceal the presence of a witness, but this way, I have no other choice but to believe you were Obliviated. And no one would have done so unless they were trying to hide an incriminating truth."

Draco thought about that carefully. He must have been Obliviated. But . . . "Nott could have Obliviated me so his presence would remain undetected in case I tried to shift the blame to him. It doesn't mean . . ." Draco fell silent as McGonagall rubbed her temples.

"Why would Nott worry about such a thing, when a simple Priori Incantatem performed on your wand would incriminate you?"

"Priori Incantatem!" Draco gasped. "Have you inspected Nott's wand?"

"Headmistress!" one of the portraits cried. "There are quite a few people waiting for you outside. The Aurors wish to speak to Mr Malfoy. They are rather insistent."

Draco tensed.

"In a minute," McGonagall told the portrait and stood up. She addressed Draco again. "I'm afraid that neither Nott's nor Mr Potter's wands were used to cast any sort of curse or a Memory Charm. I assume your wand was used to cast these spells."

Great, Draco thought. That certainly didn't make him feel any less guilty.

"Which is why I will not have you speak to the Aurors until Mr Potter wakes up and tells us exactly what happened."

"And if he doesn't remember, either? I asked him, but he just said it wasn't werewolves . . ." Draco blinked. He remembered asking Potter whether he thought the werewolves had attacked them and Potter had said, "No, not, not werewolves." Could it be that Potter meant to say Nott?

Draco dared to feel hopeful again. "I think Potter said something about Nott, but he was delirious and I wasn't paying attention."

"Too busy feeling guilty?"

Draco looked up at McGonagall. The corner of her mouth twitched and she pointed at the plate on her desk. "They won't eat themselves, Mr Malfoy." She walked to door and added over her shoulder, "Wait here."

The moment she left, Draco grabbed the plate and all but devoured the biscuits. He felt better after the plate was empty, and after he replayed Potter's answer about who had attacked them in his mind. He had been so sure he had cursed Potter, it was hard to accept the possibly he was innocent. Well, he wasn't completely innocent; he had taken advantage of Potter while Potter was delirious. Guilt refused to leave Draco alone.

"I have been wrong about many things in my life," one of the portraits said. Draco didn't have to look up to see who it was. "But I'm glad I was not wrong about you, Mr Malfoy. You are not and never will be a murderer."

Draco looked up at Dumbledore reluctantly. "It's still possible I cursed Potter," he argued.

"The severity of the curse tells me you did not. A person capable of such dark magic would have run away, never mention the incident, and hope Harry would die — just as Mr Nott did. The thought of simply running away did not seem to occur to you."

Draco stared at him, not sure how he had earned Dumbledore's and McGonagall's trust without even trying.

The office door opened and Draco looked around, fearfully expecting the Aurors had come to take him away. However, the wizard that entered did not look like an Auror. He wore a bright green travelling cloak and a pair of high boots. His sandy hair was long but not as long as his beard. He smiled pleasantly at Draco and raised his hands in defence.

"Minnie said I can come up here." The wizard grinned, showing a row of white teeth and Draco suddenly recognised him.

"Mr Borage!" Draco exclaimed and stood up quickly.

"Oh, please, do sit down." Merwyn Borage hurried forward, shook Draco's hand and urged him to sit back down. Draco sat mutely, hardly able to believe that Merwyn Borage, the famous Potions master, had randomly appeared at Hogwarts.

And had referred to Professor McGonagall as Minnie.

I've been told you had quite an exhausting day," Borage continued as he Conjured a chair and sat opposite Draco, staring at him with much too much interest. "I know you are tired, but I simply had to meet you." Borage smiled at him fondly.

Draco wondered if Potter had a point when he had claimed this whole thing was a strange dream. The day simply could not become any stranger.

"Um, why?" Draco asked.

"Oh, forgive me. You must think I'm barmy."

Draco lied and quickly shook his head. Barmy or not, it was Merwyn Borage and Draco had no intention of insulting him.

"Oh, he's tactful, too, I see." Borage laughed. "Let me explain. I was at home, enjoying a glass of wine and a peaceful evening when the alarms went off, informing me that someone had broken into my storage room. My very secret storage room, if I might add."

"The cabin!" Draco gasped. "It's yours."

"Indeed. I thought nothing of it, but then a friend at the Ministry Floo-called and told me a Hogwarts student had found the cabin, broke inside and used my potions to save the life of Harry Potter. Needless to say, I thought my poor friend was drunk and babbling nonsense, but I went to investigate, nonetheless. Well . . ." Borage shook his head. "I suppose my secret cabin is no longer a secret."

Draco cringed. "I am so very sorry . . ."

Borage's brown eyes widened. "No, please. There's no need to apologise. The cabin is just a place where I like to work in peace and the Forbidden Forest is such a splendid source of ingredients. Quite handy, you see. Oh, but that hardly matters." Borage waved his hand dismissively. "Potions intended for healing are my passion. To know that my cabin helped save a life is more than I could ask for." Borage cocked his head. "I am curious to know exactly how you found the cabin. I thought my hiding place was awfully clever."

"It was!" Draco said quickly. "I just got lucky."

Borage's eyebrows rose. "Quite lucky."

"Er. . ." Draco hesitated. There was a voice in his head that kept telling him not to mention Felix Felicis. He couldn't help listening to it. "A Jobberknoll flew into the barrier and died, so I knew something was there. See? Pure luck."

"I think not. It happens all the time. The top barrier is a splendid trap. More than one bird has met that fate. I denude and hide the bodies." Borage winked and then, as though he was worried that he sounded deranged, he coughed and added, "I have a permit for that cabin."

Draco nodded mutely.

"Now, what I want to know, Mr Malfoy . . . I had the opportunity to talk to the lovely Madam Pomfrey and examine Mr Potter earlier —"

"Is he all right?" Draco asked quickly.

"Oh yes!" Borage beamed. "We expect he'll be fully recovered by tomorrow. Monday at the latest. Which, I must say, is shocking, since he was hit by the Entrail-expelling Curse and didn't receive immediate medical attention."

Draco stopped listening. "Entrail-expelling Curse," he echoed. That had to have meant Nott had cast it; it was too big of a coincidence that Potter was hit by the same curse that had killed Nott's father. "But isn't that curse virtually undetectable? Especially after some time has passed?"

Borage inclined his head. "You are correct. It also actually expels ones entrails, which obviously did not happen to Mr Potter. I'm fairly certain that the curse was blocked. By a Shield Charm, I imagine. It could not deflect the curse entirely, but it certainly helped. "

Draco frowned. If the curse was deflected, then Potter and Nott must have duelled.

"The damage was, nonetheless, severe," Borage continued. "However, the potions you applied not only saved Mr Potter's life, but also repaired the damage; he will suffer no consequences. The combination you gave him was rather inspired. How on earth did you think of it?"

Draco looked at Borage's bright brown eyes. Borage looked truly impressed.

"I got lucky," Draco mumbled. For fuck's sake! Borage thought Draco was some sort of genius, but he didn't know about the Felix Felicis and Draco just couldn't bring himself to tell him.

"So modest!" Borage laughed.

"No, really. I was just guessing."

Borage shook his shaggy head, still laughing. "My dear boy, luck is ever-present in potion making. I'll tell you what's lucky. It's lucky to have too much to drink and fall asleep at your desk without noticing your Jobberknolls feathers have fallen into your glass of Firewhiskey. It's also lucky if you're too lazy to go out to buy fresh feathers, but simply use the ones you have. And it's lucky to discover that didn't hurt your potion at all but improved it." Borage winked. "That is luck. But a corner of your mind knows how the ingredients react to each other and in the end, you know you were lucky because you dared to follow your intuition."

"Really?" Draco asked, hopeful.

"Yes!" Borage said, but then frowned. "Well, either that or you drank a bottle of Felix Felicis and you really did get lucky." Borage laughed.

Draco looked at his feet.

"Oh dear." Borage gasped and Draco thought he had figured out how Draco got so lucky, but Borage sounded concerned. "You're tired and I'm interrogating you. Where are my manners? Here . . ." He reached into his pocket and took out a small silver item. "This is for you," he said and handed Draco some sort of card made of metal with Borage's name and address written on it. "Feel free to owl me, Mr Malfoy, whenever you wish to discuss potions. Or breaking and entering techniques." Borage laughed. "And . . ." he cleared his throat and fell silent. Draco quickly looked up at him. Eye-contact must have been what Borage wanted, because he continued promptly, "Be sure to contact me after you pass your N.E.W.T.s." Borage winked and stood up.

Draco looked at the card again in disbelief. Apparently, he had just been offered a job. And not just any job. Working with Borage was no small matter. Draco swallowed. Merlin, was the Felix Felicis still working?

Draco stood up and shook Borage's hand, feeling terribly uncomfortable. How could he let Borage think he was a genius? The man would realise he wasn't, eventually. Draco opened his mouth, the confession on the tip of his tongue, but McGonagall burst into the office and Borage directed his gaze at her. She smiled and nodded at Borage and then addressed Draco.

"The Aurors have arrested Mr Nott. You may go to your dormitory and rest."

"Did Nott confess?" Draco asked.

"No, he did not. He had possession of Harry's wand, however, and he was arrested for theft. The Aurors will return to question Mr Potter when he wakes up."

"So Potter will definitely be all right?"

Borage gave a heavy sigh. "He doesn't believe a word I say."

"I know the feeling." McGonagall shook her head.

"No, it's not that," Draco said quickly. "I just . . ."

"He has no faith in his abilities," Borage finished for him. "I just informed him his ingenuity saved Mr Potter's life and he tells me it was mere luck. Really now."

Draco closed his eyes and looked at his feet. He had told McGonagall about the Felix Felicis. He guessed his career as a potion maker was over before it even began.

"I'm surprised by his modesty," was McGonagall's unexpected answer. "Mr Malfoy has always been one of our finest potion students. Is that not true, Albus?"

"Quite true!" Dumbledore's portrait agreed promptly. "I believe Mr Potter has been the lucky one today."

Draco still stared at his feet, not believing his ears.

"Off you go, Mr Malfoy, before you fall asleep in my office," McGonagall chastised.

Draco's legs moved on their own and he walked to the door. He gave one furtive glance to McGonagall and Borage. They both smiled and Draco mumbled a thank you before he rushed out of the office.

Once he was alone, standing on the circular staircase, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His mind was working furiously, but he couldn't form a single coherent thought. He couldn't wait for the day to be over.

He headed to his dormitory with his hands in his pocket. Instead of thinking about something productive, he thought about Potter. He wondered if McGonagall would be so kind if she knew what Draco had done with the Wizarding World's hero in the cabin. Once Potter woke up, who knew what he would remember and how much he would say?

A silly thought passed through Draco's mind. If Nott was responsible for the curse, and Draco was innocent, perhaps Potter would still want him. Or perhaps he would hate him, anyway, because Draco had violated him.

Draco was sure about one thing, Felix Felicis would definitely stop working tomorrow and Draco would be on his own.

Draco's fingers wrapped around Potter's broken glasses; they were still in his pocket. Absentmindedly, he decided to keep them.

Sunday was not a good day. Draco hadn't slept well and when he dragged himself to the common room he was assaulted by questions. There had been a time Draco would have enjoyed the attention, but now he had no wish to talk to anyone. After providing everyone with an abbreviated version of the events ("We were attacked, we were lost, we were found, now leave me the fuck alone!") Draco had fled to his dormitory and decided to remain hidden. Pansy had smuggled him some food, but she had demanded the full tale in return. Draco figured he owed her for uncovering Nott's involvement, so he provided her with more details. She bemoaned the fact that Felix Felicis had been wasted on saving Potter's life and Draco found himself resenting her for it. Of course, he had not mentioned what had transpired in the cabin, but quickly changed the subject and bragged about his unexpected job offer. Unfortunately, Pansy, who had no idea who Merwyn Borage was, even though Draco had mentioned him countless times, remained unimpressed.

Draco had written to his parents and given them the same version of events he had told his classmates (although, he had left out the 'leave me the fuck alone' part). He didn't want to give his parents too much detail before he knew for certain he was innocent. No one came to arrest him and no one came to tell him what happened, but Blaise did mention he had overheard Granger telling Longbottom that Potter was still asleep in the hospital wing.

Monday started out much more promising. Draco had no classes in the morning, so he slept in, which was fortunate, since he didn't get any sleep that night. He couldn't stop dreaming about Potter. In his dreams, Potter stood before him, smiling widely with affection in his eyes, and Draco stared at him, not knowing whether he should curse him or kiss him. Each time, Draco would wake up, drenched in sweat, without ever making a decision.

Draco had just showered and pulled on his pants when Pansy burst into the dormitory.

"Are you decent?" she asked sheepishly after she noticed he was not.

"Rarely, if ever," Draco grumbled and pulled on his trousers and shirt.

Pansy watched him dress with interest and she only snapped out of her daze when Draco cleared his throat.

"Oh!" She jumped a little. "You'll never guess what happened."

"I won't bother, then."

Draco gathered the books and parchment for his classes, purposely ignoring Pansy, knowing it would make her talk faster.

Sure enough, Pansy crumbled. "Oh, all right, I'll tell you. The Aurors arrived during breakfast and —"

Draco dropped the book he'd been holding and turned toward Pansy sharply. He half-expected the Aurors to burst into the dormitory.

"— they arrested Derwent Harper!"

Draco frowned. "For what? Stupidity? Is that a crime these days?"

"Apparently!" Pansy exclaimed. "Daphne heard a part of his conversation with the Aurors. Mind you, we all heard him screech about his innocence. He was trying to convince them he had no idea what Nott planned to do, but Daphne says they didn't believe him."

"They think he was involved?" Harper was partnered with Nott for the feather-hunt, but Draco couldn't fathom why Harper would wish to harm either him or Potter.

"Clearly. They arrested him and took him away."

"They left?" Draco still found it hard to believe the Aurors hadn't insisted on at least talking to him.

Pansy nodded. "Harper was hysterical. It was quite a show. You should be sorry you missed it."

His knees giving out, Draco dropped onto his bed. "What have I ever done to Harper?"

"Well, Daphne's sister — she's on good terms with Harper — said Harper bragged about ordering a new racing broom, even though he had complained he was broke a mere couple of days ago." Pansy gave Draco a pointed look.

"You think Nott paid Harper to help him?" Draco asked, incredulous. "But Nott's poor."

"Oh, don't be daft, Draco. Harper is an idiot. I don't think Nott paid him in advance. He probably never planned to give Harper a Knut. Maybe he planned to Obliviate the poor fool, too."

Draco toyed with the tie on his bag. Harper was an idiot, but Nott was not. This was yet another thing Nott had screwed up. He should have Obliviated Harper. What kind of a half-arsed plan did Nott concoct? And he did plan everything in advance since he had made sure he had Derwent Harper's back-up. What the hell had happened in the forest? It looked like Nott ran away in mindless terror as quickly as he could.

"Did Nott confess?" Draco asked.

Pansy snorted. "I doubt it."

Draco looked at her sharply. "But that means Potter is awake! Why didn't you tell me? I told you to tell me the minute you heard —"

"But, Draco!" Pansy gasped. "I thought you just wanted to know what happened. And now you do. What does it matter if Potter is awake or not? He told the Aurors his story and you clearly weren't involved."

Draco was barely listening. "I want Potter to tell me exactly what happened," he said, pulling on his Hogwarts robe. He had to find Potter and talk to him. He needed Potter to tell him everything he remembered.

"Draco, we have Transfiguration now . . ."

"I don't have a wand, anyway, do I?" Draco snapped, grabbed his bag and headed toward the door.

"Wait. You do, I suspect." Pansy quickly pulled out a package from her bag. "This arrived for you. It's from your mother."

Draco snatched the package from Pansy's outstretched hand and quickly scanned the note attached. His mother had sent him her wand with a promise that they would buy him a new one over the Christmas holidays. The note was full of questions and concern and Draco quickly shoved it into his pocket to deal with it later.

A quick look at Pansy told him her feelings were dangerously injured. With a sigh, Draco walked over and rudely poked her in the ribs.

She winced and glared at him, but stopped pouting when he smiled at her and said, "Thanks, Pansy."

As he rushed out of the room, she yelled after him, "You're completely mental!"

Draco hurried to the hospital wing; Potter was the only thing on his mind. Several students called his name as he passed through the common room and the hallways, but Draco ignored all of them. He was already in front of the hospital wing door when he lost his nerve.

It occurred to him suddenly that Potter might remember too much. If Potter realised his dream hadn't been a dream, Draco could be the last person he wanted to see.

Draco looked at the closed doors longingly. He had no idea how long he stood there, staring at them, but after he had already decided to leave, the doors swung open. Irrationally, Draco expected Potter to appear, but of course, it wasn't Potter who exited. It was Granger and Weasley.

They spotted him immediately. Weasley froze and Granger cried, "Malfoy!" looking at him as though she had never seen him before in her life.

Draco made a jerky gesture with his head that could have been interpreted as a nod.

"Are you . . .?" Granger looked at Weasley as though asking for help. Weasley just stared at Draco with wide blue eyes. "Er, are you here to see Harry?" Granger asked at last. She moved a little from the door as though to let him pass.

"Um," was all Draco managed to say. He wanted to see Potter more than anything, but it seemed wiser to just turn around and leave.

"He probably wants to see you," Weasley said suddenly. He looked as though he could hardly believe his own words.

"I was just passing through." Draco shrugged. "On my way to Transfiguration."

"Oh." Granger pursed her lips and added, "We have Transfiguration, too."

Draco sighed inwardly. He had a crazy urge to say, "Nice weather we're having." Honestly, why was he suddenly having an inane conversation with Granger and Weasley?

"Harry will be here the whole day. If you want to stop by later," Granger said, trying to make her suggestion sound unobtrusive, but she failed at it miserably. Draco felt like he had just been given an order. It made him want to be contrary.

Draco uttered a noncommittal sound and turned around, eager to leave.

Granger and Weasley fell into step with him.

"You know, Malfoy," Granger began tentatively. "Harry told us what happened in the forest and I just wanted to say what you did was really amaz —"

"I forgot my quill!" Draco exclaimed and turned around sharply.

"The Slytherin common room is that way!" Weasley yelled helpfully as Draco ran away in the wrong direction.

Draco only ran faster. Granger's expression reminded him of McGonagall, and he suspected Granger planned to praise him and thank him for saving Potter's life. He didn't wish to hear it. Everything he did, he did to save his own skin. No one owed him a thing. He just wanted to be left alone.

However, it was not to be. The day turned steadily worse. Students stared at him ceaselessly and approached him at random, trying to extract information. Draco ignored them all and eventfully they gave up and tried to interrogate Weasley and Granger, who shared the story much more freely than Draco, though they, too, were beginning to lose patience.

Draco had ended up in front of the hospital wing several times during the day, but he couldn't gather the courage to walk inside. Judging by Granger's and Weasley's behaviour, Potter hadn't said anything incriminating, but that didn't mean Potter wouldn't try to question Draco about what had transpired in the cabin, and Draco did not wish to discuss it.

His chance to speak to Potter arrived Tuesday evening. Draco finished dinner and managed to slip out of the Great Hall unnoticed. But then, out of nowhere, Potter called out Draco's name. Not expecting to see Potter walking around already, Draco panicked and quickly ducked into the nearest deserted corridor.

"Malfoy, wait! I have something for you!" Potter cried when Draco almost reached the end of the corridor, heading toward the dungeons.

Too curious to resist, Draco paused and turned. Potter was running toward him and Draco almost snapped and chastised the idiot. What was Potter thinking? Running like that after barely surviving a vicious curse.

"You're difficult to find," Potter accused when he reached Draco. He was slightly out of breath.

Draco's gaze raked over Potter's features. There was colour in his cheeks and his eyes looked bright and clear. He seemed perfectly healthy. He wore a pair of new glasses with thin frames that suited him so well they actually made him look distinguished instead of dopey. It made Draco feel better about the fact he had kept Potter's old glasses, though he had yet to figure out why he had done such a thing. He had fixed them and then stared them for a long time in his bed yesterday.

Potter smiled at him.

"Did you need something?" Draco asked curtly.

Potter's smile wavered, but then he quickly ducked his head and reached into his pocket. In the next second he pointed his wand at Draco.

For a moment, Draco was positive Potter would hex him, but then his gaze fell downward and he realised the wand wasn't Potter's. Draco stared at it in wonder before he slowly reached out to hold it in his hand. The warmth of the wood in his grip was familiar.

"That's impossible," he whispered, utterly fascinated.

"The Aurors found it in the cabin. I asked them to bring it to me."

Draco shook his head and tore his gaze from his perfectly undamaged wand and looked at Potter's beaming expression. "It was destroyed," Draco said. "It was broken and half-burned." It was simply impossible, but it was definitely Draco's wand. Draco would recognise it anywhere.

"Well . . ." Potter grinned. "I had it fixed."

"It couldn't have been fixed."

Potter shrugged. "And yet here it is."

Draco stared at him. "Will you tell me how you managed it?"

"No," Potter said firmly, then bit his lip. "It's the least I could do after all you did for me."

Draco cringed. All this fucking praise was making him uncomfortable. Potter's eyes were warm; that emotion Draco had seen in them back at the cabin hadn't disappeared. Draco looked away quickly.

"Everything I did, I did for myself, and most of it was pure luck," he said sharply. He glanced at Potter in time to see his green eyes darken; Potter actually looked disappointed.

Draco looked away again. "So you remember everything that happened?" he asked a little too quietly, but Potter heard him.

"Oh, yes!" Potter said, but fell silent.

Draco glared at him. "Well? Care to share?"

Potter shoved his hands into his pockets, looking faintly amused. "I'm surprised you didn't seek me out to interrogate me the moment I woke up. McGonagall tells me you were positive you cursed me." Potter's tone suggested he thought the notion was ridiculous.

"Well, I'm not the one who was arrested, so I figured it wasn't me." Draco summoned his patience and looked at Potter, waiting.

"Right." Potter nodded a bit resignedly. He took a deep breath and began his tale, which was annoyingly lacking in details. "We were fighting, I said some things and you punched me . . ."

"I did? What did you say?" Draco asked, not pleased with the beginning of the story in the slightest.

Potter smiled sheepishly. "Nothing relevant. I'm glad you don't remember anything. Anyway," Potter added quickly as Draco opened his mouth to insist on knowing exactly why they were fighting. Draco let it go as Potter continued. "We were distracted and Nott and Harper ambushed us and Disarmed us — way too easily, I might add." Potter sighed a little. "They marched us into the woods, away from everyone else. It was a long walk and Nott kept talking the whole time. About Voldemort, about how you and your family are traitors, about his father's death and his mother's insanity. He was enraged."

"I don't know why," Draco said petulantly. "His anger is completely unjustified."

"Oh, no. His anger is completely justified."

Draco looked at Potter sharply.

"Merely misdirected," Potter added gently. "I'm not sure how much you know, but apparently after your father and Nott were pulled out of Azkaban, Voldemort was still furious at them for losing the prophecy in the Department of Mysteries. And at roughly the same time you had failed in your mission to kill Dumbledore."

Draco looked at his feet.

"Voldemort tortured both of them. And in his rage he cursed Nott, to show your father what would happen to him if he failed him again. Nott's death was pointless. It was merely used to teach your father a lesson."

"That's not my father's fault," Draco said quietly. "He simply had more Galleons and more connections. The Dark Lord cared about Nott's allegiance a lot less. Or not at all."

"Of course, I know that. And I'm glad you know whose fault it is. Nott doesn't blame Voldemort for anything. His mother lost her mind watching her husband die in agony, but both she and her son blame your father and not Voldemort. And Nott hates you, too. He said that if he had been given your mission, he wouldn't have failed."

Draco huffed.

"I like to think he's right," Potter murmured.

Draco continued to stare at his feet. "Depends on your definition of failure," he allowed.

"Definitely." Potter hesitated. "I know my definition; I don't know yours."

Bloody Potter. Now he was interrogating him. "I'm glad things turned out the way they did," he confessed to his feet, but then he looked up and added, "I mean, I'm not glad Nott died so horribly and his wife lost her mind, but . . ." Draco shrugged, inwardly begging Potter to drop the subject.

Mercifully, Potter really did drop it and continued. "Eventually, they told us to stop and then . . . Nott cursed me. And then I guess he Obliviated you and staged the scene to make it look like you attacked me."

Draco frowned, dissatisfied. What kind of a story was that? Blah, blah, blah and then Nott cursed me. Honestly.

Draco studied Potter's expression carefully. "So, Nott hates my father more than anything?"

Potter nodded.

"Then his plan was . . .?"

"Well, to send his only son to Azkaban?"

Draco cocked his head. "Didn't Nott explain his plan during all that talk?"

"Well, yes." Potter scratched his head. "Yes, that's what he planned. To frame you for my murder."

"That's a . . . convoluted plan. It wasn't likely to succeed. And you weren't dead. Why not curse you again?"

Potter shrugged. "Nott's probably a little mental, too, I reckon."

Draco narrowed his eyes. Potter's cheeks were slightly redder than before. Was it possible Potter was hiding something? But what? And why?

"Merwyn Borage told me the curse was deflected," Draco remembered. "I thought you and Nott duelled."

"He did? I guess he's wrong."

"He's not."

"He must be," Potter insisted. "We were both Disarmed. The curse must have malfunctioned." Potter raised his chin stubbornly.

"But . . ." Draco began, but Potter cut him off.

"Oh, I just remembered I have to go. I have to study. I'm a bit behind. I missed a bunch of classes." Potter took a hasty step back.

"Wait!" Draco cried. "Are you sure that's all? There's nothing you're not telling me?"

Potter hesitated for a second and opened his mouth, but then he apparently changed his mind and smiled instead. "Malfoy, you didn't do anything wrong, I promise. You should relax and stop worrying so much." Potter sounded earnest and Draco relaxed a little.

"You remember what happened after you were cursed?"

"I remember I was cold and then I was warm. And I remember I was in pain, and then I wasn't. I don't know . . . McGonagall told me everything you told her, so it probably feels like I remember more than I actually do. Some things she said sounded familiar. It's all a bit hazy, though. Some things . . ." Potter's gaze searched Draco's face carefully. Draco forced his features to relax and eventually Potter gave him a tentative smile, even though he looked a bit sad.

"All right, then," Draco said a bit dismissively, eager to get out of Potter's sight. If Potter remembered anything about kissing and touching and shagging attempts, he must have thought it was a dream. Draco planned to keep it that way.

Potter nodded uncertainly, but then his eyes widened. "Oh, I almost forgot." He grinned. "Slughorn will announce it tomorrow at Potions, but he already told me earlier — we won the feather-hunting contest."

Taken aback, Draco grimaced. "Er, how?"

"Professor Merrythought found a dead Jobberknoll near the cabin and she brought me the feathers."

Draco blinked once in utter disbelief. "She plucked the feathers of a dead bird for you?"

Potter laughed, his eyes twinkling. "It was a very touching moment."

"I can imagine." Draco smiled a little; Potter's laughter was infectious.

"See you around," Potter said, walking backward slowly.

"Thank you!" Draco was still smiling. "For the wand."

"Thank you," Potter countered and gave him an odd furtive look that was charged with emotion. Draco stopped smiling and Potter turned around and walked away hastily.

Draco stared at the spot where Potter had disappeared for a long time. He felt like something important just slipped through his fingers.