Unheard Of

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Notes: Okay, most lovely reviewers. Chapter four is up. I wanted to write more in it, but as I'd promised (to myself, mostly) that I would have this up at the end of April, I couldn't. H/D doesn't get much action until late December. (I think I almost killed my beta with this one. I made her beta it in a day and a half.) I apologize profoundly to those I told the chapter would be up earlier than it is--for partially valid excuses, e-mail me. Expect chapter five whenever I put it up.

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Chapter Four: As the Snow Falls

Harry lay in his bed, wide awake. His tired eyes stared unblinkingly at the crimson cloth of his canopy bed. No matter how tired he got, Harry was determined not to fall asleep.

The nightmares had started not too long after Hallowe'en. In truth, the first one had occurred on November first after a particularly exhausting Quidditch practice.

Everything started out innocently enough. He was circling the pitch on his old Nimbus Two Thousand with the idea that he was looking for something very important. When he looked down, however, it was not the lush green of the pitch he saw: instead, there were thousands of Dementors swarming the castle, the pitch, the grounds, everywhere, and when he gave a sudden exclamation, they all turned and twisted to look up at him. Harry felt a sharp jolt as his broom circled lower, and the clammy, dead hands of the Dementors were grabbing at his broomstick and ankles. His head swam; he felt faint. Harry tried to yell at them, swaying on the Nimbus, but his voice would not work. Several hands got hold of his robes...others managed to grab his broomstick...they were pulling him down...down...down...down into a world of chaos and slander and pain...

He would wake up, sweaty, clammy and horribly cold, with the covers sticking to his skin.

Unfortunately, even such admirable wizards as Harry Potter had a very tough time fighting against sleep, especially as teenagers. As was usual for the past month (it was now November twenty-first), Harry would have been better off meeting a Basilisk than sleeping.

Tonight, Harry dreamt his mother was standing in the midst of the Dementors. A mortified cry was ripped from his throat as he saw her there, bright and smiling among so much death and decay. The Dementors' hands were all over her; pulling the lovely Lily Potter down into their world of living death. She never stopped smiling, her red hair draped over the shoulders and putrid mould of the Dementors. A brilliant flash of green light went off, and his mother's smiling face rotted into a skeleton. Harry woke up screaming his head off. Nearly the entire tower woke up.

"Harry? What is it? Harry?" Ron asked, looking shocked and concerned. His hair was all over the place. "Did you have another nightmare? Are you all right?"

Harry gasped for breath. "I'm--fine...Nightmare, just a nightmare." He was shaking violently.

There were voices outside their door.

"Who was screaming?"

"Are you all right?"

"What's going on?"

"Who died?"

A few glances between Dean, Seamus, Neville and Ron, and the course of action was decided. They all got out of bed and approached Harry. "Come on, mate, we're going to Madam Pomfrey," Ron said softly, tugging gently on one of Harry's arms. "Turn around, that's right. Think you can stand? No? Okay, Dean, come here..."

With Dean and Seamus' help, Ron lifted Harry up over his shoulders. They approached the door, where Neville was explaining what happened.

"Harry's been having nightmares---just nightmares, nothing to worry about. Yes, don't worry. We're taking him to the Hospital Wing. Go back to bed, just a nightmare." After the common room had been emptied of curious and scared people, Ron, Dean and Seamus carried Harry out of their bedrooms just as Hermione came running up in a long cotton nightgown.

"I knew...soon as I heard it...taking him to Madam Pomfrey, I suppose?" Neville looked slightly exasperated with her, as he had barely finished telling an entire roomful of people that same thing. "Good, well, I'm coming with you. He's been having nightmares a lot lately, hasn't he?" Her brow was furrowed with worry. "He looks like he hasn't gotten proper sleep for weeks. Oh, I hope she can do something about it--"

Before Hermione could continue, Professor McGonagall hurried up to them. "What happened?" she panted. "Potter looks like he's been Petrified!"

"Nightmares, Professor," Hermione said in hushed tones. "We're going to the Hospital Wing..."

"Yes, good idea. I'll see you there in a bit--I must get Professor Dumbledore first." She rushed off again.

Looks were exchanged amongst the group, which clearly asked if it was really that serious. They looked at Harry, who was still shaking and staring ahead of himself, terrified.

*

"The poor dear, so young...such troubles. I suppose you've heard the rumours? Of course, they were probably spread by someone. Poor child. Being famous is such a bother to a mind like his..."

Harry decided that if he shut his eyes tightly enough, he could pretend no one was talking, and that he didn't know what was going on.

"...wonder what his nightmares were about. They must have been dreadful. Poor thing."

"Madam Pomfrey," a familiar, ancient voice began, "I suspect our young Mr. Potter would not like to hear anymore sympathy at the moment."

Harry opened his eyes to find Dumbledore looking at him gravely. "Good afternoon, Harry. Any further nightmares?"

"None that I can remember, sir." His voice sounded raspy and harsh. "Er -- how long have I been in here?"

"You were brought here at about two in the morning on the twenty-first of November." Harry felt his mind begin to panic at the mention of the month. Was I here for more than a month?! Dumbledore checked his watch and continued, his eyes sparkling. "It is only 2:37 in the afternoon, and it is November the twenty-third. You haven't missed any schoolwork yet, seeing as how the twenty-first was a Friday. I would, however, advise you to take whatever Madam Pomfrey gives you."

Harry grinned. Once, he had refused to take Madam Pomfrey's Pepperup potion, and he had a terrible cold for a week. Hermione would not let him forget the incident.

"Now, Harry," Dumbledore began, "I will be in my office all of tomorrow." His light blue eyes gave Harry a piercing look.

The hint was so obvious that Harry could scarce not understand. He nodded. "Okay, sir."

Dumbledore swept out of the room. Having made up his mind, Harry sat still for a while, thinking over what he would say to Professor Dumbledore...

*

As was usual around Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, rumours flew faster then a Firebolt. The news that Harry Potter had awakened screaming in the night elicted all sorts of bizarre theories.

"I heard that he's gone mad," Pansy Parkinson said loudly to a large group of Slytherins, "because of that scar he's got! They're sending him off the St Mungo's tomorrow in a --"

"I heard that he crept out of bed for a snack and accidentally saw you in your knickers," Draco cut in. "Can't blame him. I would've screamed my head off if I'd seen such a sight." The Slytherins howled as Pansy stormed off, beet red.

Ron, Hermione and Ginny had happened to be passing by on their way to the Great Hall. "Did you hear that," Hermione asked in bewilderment, "or am I going mad? Did Draco just insult a fellow Slytherin in favour for Harry?"

"Either he's mad or I am," Ginny replied. "I'm pretty sure I heard that. Did you hear that, Ron?"

Ron looked positively flabbergasted.

*

"...and I wake up," Harry finished lamely, his eyes looking at the floor. It was his lunch period on the twenty-fourth, and he was halfway through spending it telling Dumbledore about his nightmares.

Dumbledore nodded slightly. "How often do you have these nightmares?"

"Nearly every day -- er, night. They've been getting worse lately. You don't think it's some sort of -- premonition -- or something, do you?"

Dumbledore slowly got out of the chair behind his desk. He walked past Harry and picked up one of the many books lining the beautiful circular walls. To Harry's eyes, he seemed to be flipping through it idly, until he came across a certain page. "Ah," Dumbledore said softly, under his breath. He closed it shut and stuck it back on the dusty shelf. After long moments of Harry nervously listening to him pace, Dumbledore spoke.

"During the course of your life, Harry, you have had dreams which were inexplicably the truth, but were not necessarily premonitions. I believe this nightmare may have something to do with the events that have been happening to you since late September, if I am correct."

Harry's head snapped up. How could Dumbledore possibly know--?

Dumbledore, however, was not paying attention to Harry's reaction. "Dreams, Harry, can mean a few things. They can be premonitional, an outlet for our thoughts, or a way for our confused brains to tell us something. In your case, I believe your brain might be trying to tell you something -- what it is only you can grasp."

Well, Harry thought, he was right about the part about being confused, anyway.

"I have a book," Dumbledore continued, "that you might wish to read about dreams and nightmares. Would you like it? Perhaps it could shed some light on the problem."

After little thought, Harry decided to give it a go. "Sure, sir."

Dumbledore plucked the massive book from one of the topmost shelves neatly. Its gilded brass corners glinted in the sunlight. The cover looked weather-beaten, worn and several strangely coloured stains decorated it.

"Thanks, Professor."

Dumbledore nodded, and gave him a kind look over his half-moon spectacles. "I trust you will keep it in good shape."

Although Harry privately thought the book couldn't get in much worse shape, he assented.

"Off you trot, then. I hear our dear Professor Trelawney will be giving quite the interesting class today."

Harry was positive Dumbledore was hiding a smile. He said another thanks, and left for Divination.

*

"We get to what?" Seamus exclaimed.

"Sleep, Mr Finnigan, sleep," Professor Trelawney answered, her eyes glittering and her voice annoyed. "I have asked Professor Sprout if she would mind terribly if I cut in on her lesson a bit." She sniffled and shifted her gauzy purple shawl delicately, indicating that Professor Sprout had probably put up a bit of a fight. "Although she hesitated at first--"

Trelawney was interrupted but the opening of the attic door, and the sound of someone climbing up the ladders. Soon, Harry's head poked up.

"Sorry. I know I'm late. Dumbledore gave me a note." He took a crumpled piece of paper out of his bag and handed it to Trelawney.

"No need, my dear," she said mistily. "I knew you would be late today...yes, I expected that..."

As Harry sat down, Ron shot him a look which clearly said that Trelawney was being exceptionally batty this afternoon.

"Now, you will find some pillows in the corner..." She pointed to a large cupboard they had not noticed before. "...as well as some sleeping bags.And please, dear..." Trelawney turned to Neville who quivered slightly. "Try not to rip it. An hour should be long enough. I will wake you went it is time..."

After Ron had informed Harry of what was happening through a series of whispers, Harry decided that Professor Trelawney was mental, and Ron heartily agreed.

Thankfully, no student had trouble falling asleep in the stuffy, perfumed attic of a classroom. In fact, it had been their most dear wish to do so--and some had done it, on occasion.

Harry felt very tired all of a sudden...he reckoned it was because of all the things that had been going on lately...the situation with Malfoy, the nightmares...being famous when you really wished you could just disappear...Harry fell asleep thinking that it wouldn't be so bad if he didn't have that scar...

He dreamt that he was walking through a thick forest. Not like the Forbidden Forest--a normal, rich, green forest, with wide trees and an earthy underfoot. Suddenly, he came across a clearing, and what was in that clearing made him stop. A blanketed bundle was propped up against a dying yew tree in the middle of the circle of trees. There was no grass: the ground was a sick-looking yellow. The bundle was tossing and turning and simpering pitifully. Harry felt his insides chill, and at first, he did not even consider approaching it, until he felt something bump his hand. Whirling around, Harry came face to face with a beautiful golden-brown stag. The stag motioned with its head that Harry should move into the clearing, and Harry somehow understood that the stag wanted him to look at the fitful bundle. As Harry slowly drew closer and closer to the yew tree, whatever was in the blankets began crying loudly. Even slower was Harry to carefully part the blankets to reveal the face of the baby...

What he saw caused him to cry out in shock and jerk his hands away.

Underneath the blankets was the rotting face of his mother. Harry turned his head away from the sordid decay to see the stag with its head lowered sadly. Harry could make out tears dropping from its brown eyes. Before Harry could do anymore, the stag and the blankets began to swirl and sway into brightness...

"Harry, dear, time to wake up...Ronald, you too..."

To his amazement, Harry saw that all three of the windows in the tower had been opened, and sunshine was pouring in. Many students were yawning and rubbing their eyes, and only Lavender and Parvati were excitedly discussing their dreams.

"Take out your textbooks and open to page thirty-seven...You will find the chapter on Dream Analysis there. I believe it goes all the way to page forty-five..." She fluttered absently around the room, smiling dreamily at Lavender and Parvati, who were excited to reveal their innermost thoughts.

"There's not a chance in all of Englandthat I'm going to tell that nutty old bat what I dreamt about," Ron said through gritted teeth. More light-heartedly, he threw open his book at the requested page and suggested they start making up something terrible to tell her.

"Okay, how's this: I meet up with a snake in the jungle, and I kill the snake," Harry suggested. "Being in the jungle means chaos, the snake means death and destruction, and killing it means I hate the power it holds over me."

"Good show. I think I'll be walking a plank--that means emotional risk--and then I'll fall into a bucket that has a leak in it. That means..." Ron flipped through a few pages to find the word 'leak'. "Okay, jumping into the bucket means that I'm isolated and unhappy, and a leak in the said bucket means I'm being careless with my relationships. She ought to like that."

As they were scribbling down their dreams, Professor Trelawney came by their table. "Harry, dear, may I see your dream?" she asked languorously, helping herself to his paper. The usual circumstances when Trelawney looked at anything of Harry's--tea dregs, his palm, his hair, etc--she would emit a soft scream and clutch her chest.

This occasion was no exception. The only difference was that now tears were welling in her eyes. (Ron suggested later that this was because Harry's writing was so awful that she had to screw her eyes up painfully to read it.)

"My dear boy!" she gasped. "The snake in your dream, was it by chance...yellow?"

"No," Harry replied, "it was bright pink."

Professor Trelawney gave Ron, who was pretending to have a coughing fit in order to hide a loud bout of sniggering, a piercing glare.

"I see. All the same, my dear, you lead such a dangerous life...dobe careful. For all of us!" The oversized dragonfly waved her arms dramatically.

Harry could barely contain himself. "Yeah, I'll try."

After the homework was assigned ("Finish your dream analysis for me by tomorrow," Trelawney had said, glittering sadly in Harry's direction) and Harry and Ron had clambered down the ladder, they promptly burst into laughter, which lasted all the way to Herbology class.

*

That night, after the his homework was finished and no one was bothering him to play Exploding Snap, Harry took out the massive book Dumbledore lent him, and for the first time, looked at the title:

DREAMS AND NIGHTMARES: A LOAD OF CODSWOLLOP AND COMPLETE RUBBISH

A Comprehensive Study by Morton B. Jabberly

Harry raised his eyebrows. Trust Dumbledore to own such a book. Oh well, he thought after a couple of minutes. Might as well give it a shot... He opened it, and a horrible dry puff of dust leapt from the book and into his eyes.

"Ouch! What in--" Harry suddenly fell, dropping on his bed like a stone.

He was fast asleep.

*

When Harry woke up at about seven the following morning, feeling as if he'd been winded because the book had rested on his rib cage while he slept, he opened the book at a page other than the ones just inside the cover. He was happy to discover actual content, which he took an immediate interest in.

ON THE SUBJECT OF NIGHTMARES

While we are on the subject of nightmares, I feel it important to explain to you that a Wizard's nightmares, like dreams, are influenced because of their magical experiences. For example, a Wizard is able to have a nightmare where its horrific contents could come true. Usually this will be in the case in a Wizard's nightmare, instead of a Wizard's dreams, which are usually idle and are just for the sake keeping your poor brain occupied while you're asleep.

However, not all nightmares are thus. Several nightmares magical folk will experience will be because of something that happened to them during the past--whether it was yesterday or a decade ago. The nightmare digs up an unpleasant part of your past for one of several reason.:Most commonly, they stand thus:

1. You are meeting with that person/place/thing in life again.
2. You are experiencing that same predicament again.
3. You are experiencing difficulties dealing with that part of your past
4. Et cetera.

Harry became so immersed in the huge book that Ron had to shout directly in his ear to get him to come down for breakfast.

"What were you reading, anyway?" Hermione asked, interest obvious in her eyes. "Usual you're pretty eager to be torn away from a book!"

"It's something on dreams and nightmares that Dumbledore leant to me." He told them about how the book had spewed dust into his eyes when he opened it. While Ron snorted into his bacon, Hermione looked a little taken aback.

"Did it really? I wonder...I haven't read about a sleeping powder before..." She was looking slightly distressed at that fact.

Ron suggested that she go to the library to find out. "After all," he added with mock seriousness, "we've still ten minutes left before Potions."

It was no surprise to see Hermione was actually considering it.

*

For the first time in a very long while, Harry felt like his life was coming back together. The last week of November was passing smoothly. Hermione had discovered that sleeping powders do, indeed, exist. Ron discovered what it was like to fall off his broomstick, break his leg badly, and be taken care of by not only Madam Pomfrey, but also a fretful girlfriend.

"Hermione," Ron had said, exasperated with her further attempts to learn how to mend broken bones, "I'm fine -- Madam Pomfrey's probably the best nurse -- er, doctor -- whatever -- around here! I appreciate it," he added hastily as her eyes began to swell with tears, "and it's, er, comforting to know that someone cares enough about me to do something like that..." he ended gruffly.

"Oh, Ron!" Hermione cried, flinging her arms around his neck. Harry made a hasty retreat.

There had been a few fresh taunts about Harry's sexual orientation, but seeing as how Harry was no longer reacting to those at all, people were simply beginning to give up. Harry made sure not to draw too much attention to himselfin classes, speaking only when called upon.

During the last week of December, Harry was in the process of convincing himself that he was normal.

"Okay," he said out loud to himself, "I do averagely in school. No top marks like Hermione, but not barelyscraping along, either...I've got two great friends, and a handful of people who are friendly to me, and they're friendly because of me not because of this," Harry added fervently, pointing to his scar. "And...er...I'm the only known survivor of the Killing Curse in the entire Wizarding World..."

Oh yes, his brain said sarcastically, you're very normal.

"Shut up. Okay, so I'm really not that normal...but I'm semi-normal!" Harry held to that thought desperately. "I mean, yeah, I've beaten the greatest Dark Wizard of our time a couple of times...uh, I think." For a moment, Harry was silent. He still wasn't sure if that time with the Basilisk counted...

Before Harry was able to discern which defeats counted and which didn't, Ron burst into the dormitory. "There you are!" Ron exclaimed, grinning widely. "It's just been announced--Hagrid's coming back this Saturday! We're allowed to take time off classes to decorate the school in celebration! Hermione's a little upset about that," he added, grinning wider, "but there you are. That's Hermione. You probably could've guessed that."

Harry grinned. He could just picture the look on Hermione's face, and hear her saying 'Oh no!'. "Yeah, can see her now...she's probably reading in the common-room, talking about needing to work extra hard or some rubbish."

"Pretty much. Crookshanks is with her. Honestly, sometimes I think that monster can actually read." Harry safely assumed he meant Crookshanks, and not Hermione. "Oh, and I got an Owl from George! Want to see?" Ron held out a crumpled envelope. "Pig was mad with happiness...took ten whole minutes to calm him down."

Ron,

Cracking news for you. Fred and I have almost got enough to buy the shop! We've found a wizard in Diagon Alley who's more than willing to let his own shop go--looks like he's going to croak any second. No surprise either. His shop is on the corner of Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley, near Gringotts. Crazy spot, loads of traffic. Should be great.

Give Harry huge thanks again for us,

George

P.S. Don't tell Mum or we'll turn Hermione into a spider.

"Wow, Ron!" Harry looked up from the letter to see Ron beaming.

"I know! I sent Pig back to them with congratulations letter, and told them they'll have to Owl me as soon as they buy it and get it set up. Come on, play some Exploding Snap with me..."

*

The few days that followed were some of the best in Harry's sixth year. Hagrid came from his mission--which was still fairly vague--to rapturous applause and huge, colourful banners which yelled "Welcome back, Hagrid!" As was usual when Hagrid was happy, he burst into tears. After the celebratory dinner ended at ten o'clock, the Harry, Ron and Hermione were able to speak with Hagrid, who was wiping his eyes on a huge, dirty handkerchief.

"Never expected summat like this," he was saying to Professor Dumbledore as the three friends raced up to the teacher's table, "Such an honour what I've never had!"

"Hullo, Hagrid!" Hermione greeted, her face shining. "It's wonderful to have you back!"

Before anyone could say anything else, Hagrid leaned over the table and swept the three of them into a rib-cracking hug. "'Yeh don' know," Hagrid choked, "how much I missed yeh lot!"

"It's all right, Hagrid," Harry managed to cough out. "We're not going anywhere."

"Come along, Hagrid," Dumbledore said gently, patting his massive arm. "We have much to discuss..."

"Righ'...righ', Professor Dumbledore," Hagrid sniffed, letting go of the trio, who tried not to gasp for air too loudly. "I'll be seein' the three of yeh tomorrow...got stuff ter do."

They bade Hagrid goodnight, and then they went up to the common-room. Harry motioned for Ron and Hermione to pull chairs up to a corner, where they wouldn't be heard.

"I've been wondering," he began, "about what Hagrid's mission was."

"I don't think there is much question though--he was one of the envoys who were sent to talk with the giant community." Hermione paused. "And I'll bet one of the people with him was--"

"--Madame Maxime," Ron finished. "Yeah, I reckon you're right. I wonder what happened..."

"Well, it was apparently something good, or else Hagrid wouldn't be back yet," Hermione said bossily, rolling her eyes as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Ron eyes narrowed. "Know-it-all."

Before things could worsen, Harry decided to climb into bed. He didn't bother telling Ron or Hermione, whom he liked to leave alone to bicker. He wondered vaguely if all couples acted like them, or if they were just special.

*

It was on December sixteenth that Harry finally received Bad News. Everything had been going smoothly--he was, as usual, signed up to stay for the holidays. Unfortunately, he noticed that neither Ron nor Hermione signed up with him.

"You can't both be going home for Christmas!" Harry groaned, sinking into one of the very large, squishy chairs in the Gryffindor common room.

"Oh, Harry..." Hermione sighed unhappily, twisting her hands in her lap. "I'm sorry, but I can't get out of this one. There's going to be a big family gathering in Manchester. The last time we did this was just ages ago..."

After taking a large bite out of a red frosted cookie, Ron spoke. "I'm sorry, too, mate. Bill and Charlie are coming home for Christmas, so mum wants us all to be home. A family Christmas, sort of like Hermione's having." He finished the cookie in another bite, and continued to speak through a mouthful. "But look on the bright side: you won't have to deal with Ginny and Seamus ogling at each other all the time." Ron gave a swift glare to the redhead and the Irishman cuddling by the fire.

Hermione smacked Ron's knee. "Stop that," she hissed. "They're perfectly happy together. They haven't even been doing more than mild snogging. Just leave them alone."

Needless to say, Ron was shocked. Hermione had smacked him. However, shock did not usually have a very long effect on Ron, and he followed up with a quick burst of anger. "Look, I'm not to blame for--"

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Hermione kissed him. Not the sort of soft, smooth kiss new couples experience, but one of those, "If there's no other way to shut you up, then this will have to do!" kisses.

In Ron's case, it worked very well.

In good taste, Harry got up and sat in another chair, into which he sunk as deep as he could go. He sighed dejectedly. What sort of Christmas would it be without Ron and Hermione around?

A miserable one, Harry answered himself grimly.

*

The following day, Harry felt all the more wretched: he only had three more days until the both of them left for two weeks. Two weeks. How on earth would he survive?

Unfortunately for Harry, it seemed that everyone's families had the same idea. Every class he went to was filled with students talking excitedly about their plans for the upcoming break.

"We're going to Egypt!" Neville squeaked breathlessly. He was so enthused he was shaking. "I've never been anywhere like that before!"

"Make sure you bring strong sunglasses with you," Ron advised. "The stupid sand whips around something awful and the sun is blinding."

After a couple days of such talk, Harry felt downright depressed. "Everyone is going away except me!" Harry exclaimed glumly as they walked out of Transfiguration.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione sighed. "You won't be the only person here. I mean, there must be someone else who's staying. Here -- we'll check the list."

They walked towards the bulletin board posted just outside the Transfiguration classroom. A quill was hovering beside a long parchment which was separated into two columns: one for students staying for Christmas, the other for students leaving. A quick glance revealed only three people were staying.

"Hn." Hermione ran her finger down the list. "Okay, so you're at the very top. Next is Susan... something. Honestly. Doesn't write very clearly, does she? Oh, wait -- she's just been crossed off." The quill had nimbly swept across the page as Hermione spoke. "Guess she's going home after all. Regardless, the next person is... oh, dear." Hermione turned around quickly, shielding the list from Ron and Harry.

"Well?" Ron asked impatiently. "Who's the other person?"

"That would be me, my dear weasel," a drawling voice answered from behind them.

"Not you," Harry groaned. "Anyone but you."

"I'm afraid not, Potter. You see, my parents do not care enough to carry me off to Francewith them for Christmas. They said that they're visiting some of Mother's relatives, but I know that's a load of dung."

"So I get punished for it?" Harry demanded.

"Possibly. Depends on what kind of mood I'm in."

Harry decided he wasn't having any of this. "Goodbye, Malfoy," Harry said crisply. "See you during the holidays." Without another word, he walked off quickly, Ron and Hermione trailing behind him.

*

Ron and Hermione had gone on the train home no sooner than an hour when Harry began to eat. He was not eating because he was hungry, nor because of the companionship food offered. He was eating because he, Harry Potter, was in the early stages of Depression.

Harry Potter was also beginning to get Bloated.

It was on the twenty-second that Harry was considering that he might be eating too much when Draco Malfoy walked into the Great Hall and sat down beside him.

Needless to say, Harry was quite annoyed. He shifted his plates and himself over a couple feet. Unfortunately, he hadn't thought that Draco would follow suite.

"Horrid weather lately," Draco commented placidly. "Sleet and snow and freezing cold! Sleeping in the dungeons is horrible; the bed sheets are practically frozen. I expect Gryffindors don't sleep in the dungeons though, do you?"

He paused a moment, as if he actually expected Harry to answer. Harry almost snorted; but instead pretended that Draco didn't exist, and concentrated on helping himself to several pasties.

This only encouraged Draco to go on more loudly, as if he assumed Harry hadn't heard him. "Of course, I guess that it's much warmer wherever the Gryffindor dormitories are...probably in a tower or something? Must be wonderful and warm." Draco was sounded wistful. "It's hard to get that in the dungeons...Oh. I guess I've just told you where to find the Slytherin dorms, haven't I?"

Although he dearly wanted to, Harry did not correct him. In his Second Year at Hogwarts, he and Ron were shown precisely where the dormitory was--by Draco himself, no less. However, seeing as how telling Draco he knew where the Slytherin dormitories was would also mean Harry would have to tell Draco that he was disguised at the time. And Harry wasn't about to tell just anyone he had used Polyjuice Potion to do it...

"...of course, we don't do anything to hide the fact," Draco was continuing, stabbing his fork into a particularly large pasty, "that the dungeons are our keep. I mean, we all trample up the stairs in that direction for breakfast. Someone must have noticed we do."

Again, Draco paused, obviously expecting Harry to add something to the one-sided conversation. And again, Harry ignored him, pursuing a stray pea around his plate.

"Well," Draco said, impatience and petulance unmasked in his voice, "you could at the very least tell me if you've decided or not."

This comment got Harry's immediate attention. His head snapped up, and he gave Draco a wary, oblique look. "Decided what?"

Draco stretched one of his arms across the table and propped his head up on his elbow to look at Harry. He was smirking. "Why, whether or not you're bisexual, of course."

The solution to this problem, in Harry's mind, was very simple: switch tables. Thus began the loud process of gathering up all his plates and cutlery, and switching tables. Naturally, Draco followed suite. Very soon, it became a strange sort of angry game: Harry would dash this way, dropping forks and spoons, and Draco was dodge to block his way, accidentally letting a glass crash to the floor. After five minutes of such a game, Draco managed to trip Harry, who fell arse over tea kettle into the floor, scattering his kitchenware, which smashed to bits all around him, and covered him in a fine white powder.

Languorously, Draco drew his wand out of his pocket and fixed up the mess. He sighed: a long-suffering sigh. "Oh Potter, you stupid little git...get off your pathetic arse."

A very muffled voice answered him: "Goway."

"Sorry?"

"GOWAY."

"Harry Potter," Draco hissed, "get up off your sorry arse and tell that to my face."

The reaction was immediate. Harry was off the floor like the crack of a whip, nose to nose with Draco, and he yelled, at the top of his lungs: "GO AWAAAAAY!"

There was a moment of glaring and panting before Draco kissed Harry squarely on the lips.

No more than a brief second passed before he retaliated: Harry punched Draco as hard as he possibly could in the stomach, causing Draco to stumble backwards.

"HOW - DARE - YOU - " Harry screeched, just as Draco silenced him with a kiss more passionate than the first, his arms circling Harry's waist and hungrily pulling Harry towards himself--

Harry ripped himself from Draco, and punched him as hard as he could, right on Draco's nose. Draco fell backwards. For a fleeting moment, Harry was feeling extremely triumphant, just as one of Draco's legs swung around and caught him in the back of the knees. Both boys fell to the floor in two loud, sickening thuds.

Blackout.

*

Large, fluffy snowflakes were tumbling outside the Hospital Wing windows as Harry woke up, feeling slightly groggy. After putting his glasses on, Harry turned his head to the right where a partition was separating what he knew to be his and Draco's beds.

"Awake, are you? Maybe you could inform me as to how you two came to be here, then. Gave poor Professor Flitwick quite the fright, you did." Madam Pomfrey was walking briskly to the side of his bed. "Not much wrong with you--just need to give you a potion to keep away any nasty concussions and the nasty lump on your head."

Harry groaned and rolled over.

"Sorry, dear, what was that?" Madam Pomfrey asked absently, pouring a revolting green liquid into a cup.

"Nothing, nothing..." Harry grumbled, sitting up properly and taking his medicine.

"Good lad. Must check on your friend here." She trotted off behind the partition to treat Draco, where the usual tut-tutting ensued. After a while, Madam Pomfrey asked exactly how this happened, to which Draco very placidly replied that he had kissed Harry.

Madam Pomfrey didn't miss a beat. "You did, did you? Well, none of that when I'm not in the room. Or when I'm in it, for that matter."

Draco laughed. Harry thought that this would be a very good time to curl up into a corner and die.

Madam Pomfrey, however, continued on composedly. "Well, you'll only need to have a mouthful of this stuff--keeps you from getting a concussion. Drink it up, that's a good boy. There was a nasty bruise on your left cheek, but it looks like it's cleared up all right. Not much I do for bruises--those are fairly natural and can clear up with ease. Now then --"

Harry was not-so secretly happy that he had managed to disfigure Draco -- even if it was something as minor as a bruise.

Groaning, he turned over on to his stomach as Madam Pomfrey approached him with a small vial of vile-looking, dirt-coloured stuff. "Honestly," she snapped peevishly, "it's nowhere near as bad as the Skele-Gro. Just drink it."

"I thought I already took my medicine!" Harry moaned.

"This is a sleeping draught."

"But this doesn't look like the draught I took in fourth year..."

"It's stronger stuff," Pomfrey snapped. "Professor Snape had to make it specially."

Harry's hand froze. He had already taken the potion. "S-Snape--Snape made this for me?"

"Yes, of course. He's the Potions master at this school. Who else would--Harry!" Madam Pomfrey was suddenly looking very concerned and rushed to his bedside "Why, you're shaking all over! What in Merlin is wrong?"

*

When Harry woke the next morning, the partition and Draco were both gone. When Madam Pomfrey spotted him awake, she insisted on giving him a quick once-over before allowing him to leave.

"Tomorrow's Christmas," she told him in much brighter spirits then usual, "I won't have to worry about too many students losing their heads this Christmas, as it's only you two who are here. You wouldn't believe the sort of mischief they can pull--" So saying, she rattled off various curses and some rather interesting plots that Harry was sure the Weasley Twins had made themselves part of--or headed.

Finally, Harry managed to tear himself away from Madam Pomfrey, and realized he didn't have a clue what to do with himself. Suddenly, he became enlightened--he could write a Christmas letter to Sirius! Harry dashed off to the Gryffindor common room to do just that.

Although Harry was receiving letters from Sirius much less frequently, he knew that his godfather was fine--Dumbledore would tell him so indirectly: a note placed on his pillow or his dinner plate would do just the trick and kept Harry happy. The last letter Harry had received from Sirius had been in August.

It felt slightly eerie in the common room with no one else there, even though the room still looked comforting and inviting with a bright, crackling fire. Harry raced up the stairs, grabbed his quill, his ink and some parchment, and settled himself down in a very large chair in the common-room to write his letter.

A few minutes later, he reread it to admire his writing prowess and check for spelling errors.

Dear Sirius,

Happy Christmas! Hope you're well. It's okay here--only bad thing is that Ron and Hermione both had to leave for the holidays, and you'll never guess who's the only other person that's staying: Draco Malfoy. You can imagine how happy I am about that.

Got some news for you. Ron and Hermione got together. I keep wondering if all couples bicker like they do, or if they're just nutters

Lately, I've been having nightmares. (Yes, I've already gone to Dumbledore about it.) There's always Dementors in them, and it's strange because I'm on my old Nimbus in the dreams. Can you think of what that might mean?

I hope Hedwig can find you. If you have time, write back to me!

Say hello to Lupin and Buckbeak for me.

Happy Christmas (again),

Harry

"That looks all right," Harry said out loud. He decided he should go straight up and send it off with Hedwig.

*

Before supper that night, Harry was--well, he was worried. He didn't like to admit it, but he was scared of spending the night alone in a huge tower, even if it was Christmas. Especially because it's Christmas, Harry's mind filled in.

As he approached the Great Hall that night, his mind became more full of apprehension, and Harry found he wasn't properly enjoying the feast.

"All righ' there, Harry?" Hagrid asked from across the table, squinting at him through his black beetle eyes. "Yeh shouldna be lookin' so worrit, tonight being what it is!"

"Really, Potter, is something the matter?" McGonagall asked halfway through the meal. "I realize you're the only Gryffindor here, but--oh. I see."

Suddenly, it seemed, the rest of the teachers (and Draco, to Harry's great chagrin) saw the problem. Harry looked down the table to Draco, who seemed very amused with the fact that the greatest professors in all of Britaincouldn't find a solution to such a simple predicament.

"Well," Draco finally suggested, "is there a room where myselfand Potter could sleep which is close to a teacher? Besides the Hospital Wing," he added as an afterthought. "Don't want to spend Christmas Eve there."

Most of the group seemed perplexed. Apparently, no such situation had ever developed in Hogwarts during their time. Dumbledore, however, was twinkling merrily.

"Have you forgotten that our common-rooms are entirely empty, save two boys?" Dumbledore chuckled. "Pick your preference," Dumbledore said to Harry and Draco, "and you will sleep there. But only in the Gryffindor house or Slytherin house, seeing as you two are from either one."

Harry felt mild disappointment. He'd always been curious about what the other two houses looked like...nevertheless--

"Is the Gryffindor dormitory warmer?" Draco asked.

"Yes," Harry answered automatically.

"Good. Then we'll sleep there. Right, Potter?"

Just as automatically, Harry acquiesced.

This action took several of the teachers aback: nearly all of them were aware of the hatred the boys shared for each other. A look passed between most of them that said, "What in Merlin's beard is going on?"

Dumbledore, however, had clapped his hands. "Well, then it looks like that's settled. You two will sleep in the Gryffindor dorms tonight. That should be sufficient."

It was only until after the meal and festivities, when he was on his way to the Gryffindor tower didHarry remember that he was furious with Draco. Consequently, he heard footsteps behind him, and a drawling voice panted, "Wait up, Potter!"

Instead, Harry jumped up the stairs two at a time. Once he'd had a decidedly good head start, Harry paused a moment, and was delighted to hear Draco huffing and puffing up the staircase.

Out of sight, Harry took a small, silvery cloth out of his pocket and pointed his wand at it. "Engorgio," he whispered, as the cloth turned into his full-length Invisibility Cloak. He swung it over himself just as Draco was coming up the last stairs and into view...

"Stupid ruddy Potter!" Draco swore loudly. "Where in bloody hell has he gone?!"

Draco turned so he was staring right through Harry. It was all Harry could do to keep from laughing. Unfortunately, Draco heard the single snerk which escaped Harry's lips. A sudden realization swept the angry, panicky look off Draco's face.

"Potter--you own an Invisibility Cloak, don't you?" Snarling, Draco pounced correctly, and he and Harry went tumbling to the floor, a tangle of visible and invisible limbs. Finally, the insufferable blonde had managed to pin Harry on his back and swiped the cloak off of him.

"Ha!" Draco shouted, a triumphant gleam in his eyes. "Potter--unmasked! Ever since that day in Hogsmeade, I wondered, of course--"

Before Draco could finish whatever malevolent thought he was going to conjure, Harry leapt up and tackled Draco, who fell backwards with a cry. Harry was sitting on top of him.

"If you breathe a word of this to anyone, Malfoy--anyone--I will personally oversee the obliviation of their memory, and yours!" Harry shouted furiously, one of his hands on one side of Draco's head, the other pointing crazily at him as he spoke. "And furthermore, about what you said in the library--"

"Sounds rather familiar, doesn't it?" Draco said calmly, causing Harry's heated tirade to pause.

"What?"

"What's just happened. A bit of déjà vu, wouldn't you say?"

Harry froze. Draco in the hallway...gay...The Wizard's Pact...the reason Harry was truly angry with Draco. Suddenly, Harry found himself possessed to ask a completely inane question that had nothing to do with the situation.

"When did you find out you where gay? I mean, how?"

Apparently, this question also seemed just as absurd to Draco, who consequently choked on air.

"Er--boys?" a timid voice behind them asked.

They both jumped to see Professor Flitwick.

"Is everything all right?" He looked worried, having obviously heard Harry's angry outburst.

"Yes, Professor," Harry answered, getting off of Draco. "We were--er--just going to bed."

Tiny Flitwick's face broke into a smile. "Good, good. Getting late. Well, goodnight, boys."

"Goodnight, Professor," Draco replied after gingerly getting off of the floor.

Harry and Draco went silently the rest of the way, until they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"He's not in Gryffindor," she protested, pointing at Draco. "I'm not supposed to let him in."

"Flaming pudding," Harry said.

The Fat Lady swung open, continuing to object. "I don't see--really, students from other Houses? In here?Preposterous! In the older days--"

"Ignore her," Harry told Draco, but Draco wasn't listening. He was staring at the Gryffindor common-room. Surprisingly, Harry caught himself being nervous.

What are you nervous for? hismind demanded furiously. You want acceptance, is that it? From Malfoy?Honestly, Harry, get it together!

Pulling himself up stiffly, Harry walked past Draco and sat himself down in one of the cushy chairs. To his surprise, Draco followed suite and sat in the chair across from him, looking impressed.

"I must handed to whoever decorated this place," Draco said approvingly. (Harry let out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding.) "Very warm colours, and a nice circular room. The chairs are extremely comfortable and they look good. Antique-looking room. Inviting in an old-fashioned sort of way.Not a thing like--" Draco stopped and turned rather pink.

Harry was gaping at him. Who would have thought Draco Malfoy was interested in interior decorating?

"Er--fancy a game of Wizard's Chess?" Draco murmured, trying to hide his obvious discomfort.

"I don't own a set."

"Hn. Neither do I. Okay...er..."

"I had no idea you were a decorating critic," Harry said bluntly.

"One of my very gay qualities, my father says," Draco muttered bitterly. "Ever since he found out, he decided to ignore my existence. I know that's why I'm here for Christmas while they're in France--if they're really in France. I hate him. He doesn't understand me." Suddenly, Draco was looking at Harry piercingly. "I don't suppose you have problems like this, do you? Your relatives probably adore you, like everyone else--"

"As a matter of fact, they despise me," Harry cut in coldly. "They've written letters to me at Christmas asking if I could stay the summer holidays as well. Ever notice how I never go back for the holidays? That's why. They hate me, and I hate them."

Harry was feeling satisfied with the look on Draco's face. "It's true," Harry continued. "Want to guess the Christmas presents they've given me before? Socks, a coat hanger, a tissue--the list goes on. They act as if my birthday doesn't exist. If I didn't have Ron, Hermione--" Harry bit his lip; he'd almost said Sirius. "--and Hagrid, I don't know what my birthdays would be like. Twice I've spent the remainder of the holidays with the Weasleys, once in Diagon Alley. So you see, Malfoy," Harry ended, his eyes full of wrath, "I do have problems. Worse than yours, I would wager, now that Voldemort's getting stronger."

For possibly the first time in his life, Draco Malfoy looked a complete loss for words.

"Glad to see you agree," Harry grimaced. "It's getting late. I should show you where we'll be sleeping."

Soundlessly, Harry and Draco got up and walked to the Sixth Year boy's dorm. Harry was shocked to see that instead of the five beds that were usually there, two larger beds, bedecked in the Christmas spirit with gold, green and red. A crackling, bright fire filled the room. For a brief moment, old words of Mr. Weasley floated into his head: "Doesn't miss a tick, that man."

Harry couldn't have agreed more.

Just as he was drifting off, Harry remembered that Draco hadn't answered his question about when Draco had discovered he was gay.

Nothing to worry about, his mind told him soothingly. You can badger him about it tomorrow.