Chapter 2
In Which We See the Subtle Difference Between Doors and Windows

Draco lashed out like he was so full of pain it had to spill over on those around him, or he'd be consumed. That was Harry's very odd thought at dinner that night, watching Malfoy lording over the huddled Slytherins. Everyone looked like that now, either filled with bravado or curled up in fear, their eyes haunted. Two more of the stolen Slytherin graduates had been returned to them this week, nailed to the gates of Hogwarts like macabre scarecrows. They'd been alive -- barely -- and their bodies had held signs of torture, new and old.

Evidently, there were some that Voldemort had tried harder to break to his service than others. Harry looked over at the current members of Voldemort's old house, and thought that Draco would be one of those. If Harry wanted to break the rest of them, he'd take Draco first, and they'd crumble at the loss of their shining leader. Looking around the rest of the hall, he saw that same pattern in each of the houses, one strong leader holding the rest of them together by a thread of hope. It hadn't been this obvious last week, but last week the threat had still seemed distant, unreal.

Harry picked at his dinner, trying to calm the fluttering in his stomach. He'd already begged off Quidditch practice, leaving his fellow teammates to fend for themselves. As Seeker, he really had the least to do, anyway, just fly high and hone his speed and perception to a dangerous edge in anticipation for the final match. The Slytherins had acquired a new taint, and the rest of the school rallied under Gryffindor's banner. Even those students who had been friendly with the Slytherins last week were now acting like it might rub off.

In reality, Draco was the only other Seeker who ever gave Harry much of a challenge anymore. Draco got up and Harry's eyes followed his movements, stomach giving a sharp little twist as some part of him observed that Draco was lithe and graceful even on the ground. Harry himself generally felt awkward these days, like his body had gone and grown just to spite him. Draco had taken to his growth spurt like he did everything else, with an arrogant smugness at finally being taller than Harry. That longer reach had almost gotten Harry in trouble a time or two.

"What's the matter with you tonight, Harry?" said Ron from his left. "You aren't eating."

Harry started, tearing his eyes away from the now-empty doorway. "Sorry, I'm still a little queasy from earlier."

Ron looked concerned, then faintly angry. "Snape should never have made you take that potion, the slimy git!"

Harry snorted. "As a seventh-year Advanced Potions student, I should be able to brew things that aren't hazardous to my health." Snape had made it crystal clear at the beginning of the class that every single potion they made would be tested in such a way that mistakes would bring very personal disaster.

Ron grumbled but let it drop. They'd had this argument before, and were leaving more and more of their disagreements unresolved these days. Ron didn't see what Harry saw, didn't understand why he should care what happened to the Slytherins, and they had both grown tired of trying to explain. Harry shook his head sadly and got up, abandoning dinner as a lost cause. "I've got to get to my non-detention."

"Don't drink anything else, eh?" Ron's eyes held something he wouldn't recognize if he didn't see it in the mirror all the time, a kind of resigned, helpless concern. Harry tried not to feel the weight of it adding to the rest of his burdens, instead straightening his shoulders and heading for the dungeons.

He was surprised to find Draco loitering just outside the Great Hall, and even more surprised when he drawled, "It's about bloody time, Potter, can't you take a hint?"

"Since when have you ever been hinting at me, Malfoy?" It felt odd to call him by his last name. Somehow in the last week he'd become 'Draco' in Harry's mind, as if watching the way he handled his terrified housemates had humanized him somehow.

"I suppose you do have a point. Do you also have your ingredients?" Draco was already leading him off, down towards the dungeons. Harry hefted his book bag silently, which he'd been lugging around since Potions. He'd added the extra vial of unicorn's tears out of his personal stash of magical oddments, blushing at the thought that he could always get more. Being the Boy Who Lived didn't leave a lot of room in his life for being the Boy Who Got Laid.

Draco skipped down the steps, light of foot enough to make Harry feel positively ungainly as he stomped after him. The silence was starting to unnerve him as they traversed the dim, cool hallways, and finally he blurted, "Why are you angry that I'm helping?"

Draco stopped in his tracks, suddenly enough that Harry almost ran into him. "Why do you think I even care, Potter?" he said, his voice unusually even.

"Pull the other one, Malfoy. I saw your face. I would think you'd be happy to have the help, even if all I can do is chop herbs." He didn't say what he would have said even a few months ago, that he figured Draco would be happy that Harry was being punished.

Draco still hadn't turned around, and Harry desperately wished for a look at his face. "I had hoped to discuss a personal matter with the head of my house, which will be impossible with you there."

"Oh." He knew that Draco had grown close to Snape even as he'd grown away from his father. Everyone had watched their painful family drama unfolding like it was entertainment, Lucius and Draco screaming on platform 9 3/4 at the end of term last year. No one knew where Draco had gone that summer, but they all knew it hadn't been with Lucius.

From the quiver in Draco's shoulders, he thought perhaps the other shoe had finally dropped. He wondered if the two mutilated students, both prefects in their time much like Draco, had been a more personal message to Draco than anyone had guessed. "Er, I can sod off for a bit, if you'd like."

Draco's head whipped around, eyes wide. "Why would you do that? You know Snape will punish you."

"Some things are worth being punished over," said Harry with a painful little half-shrug. He'd always felt that way, since his first year, that some sacrifices were too important not to be made.

Something must have shown in his face, because Draco's eyes went cold. "I don't need your pity, Potter."

Harry flinched. He'd offered Draco a lot of things over the years, from the hot fire of his hatred to the end of his wand, but never pity. Even when watching Draco's life fall apart, he hadn't really cared what happened to him. It was only since he'd started seeing him as a real person that Draco's pain suddenly tugged at his heartstrings, and deep down he knew his pity was the last thing Draco needed. "Who said anything about pity, Malfoy? I just don't want to look at your face any longer than I have to."

Draco's spine stiffened even further. "Fine," he said coldly, "Half an hour should suffice." He stalked off without waiting for a reply, and Harry sagged against the stone wall.

He sometimes wished he still had someone to talk to, but nowadays no one was safe. No one understood how responsible he felt. He'd lived when others died once, and then again and again, his parents, Cedric, Sirius, and countless others since. Ron had just stopped understanding, putting a rift between them nothing could really bridge anymore. Hermione was so wrapped up in doing research for the Order that he hardly ever saw her these days, and that left him just as he was. Alone.

He shook off the self-pity and instead found a long stone bench in one of the quiet side-corridors to sit on. He got out his Advanced Potions text and flipped through it, looking for the healing potion. Although he generally relied on his memory and Snape's notes when making potions in class these days, he did crack the book to study. He skimmed the ingredients list, checking measurements, and came up short when he reached the very end.

1 tear from a unicorn
3 hearts of newt, fresh

Then the sprinkling of cypress, and stirring, cooling and bottling.

But he'd been so sure the board said dove's hearts, and seven of the precious tears, that he hadn't bothered to check. He'd almost think he'd made the love potion, but he certainly didn't feel the irresistible urge to shag Draco, their little moment just now told him that. He shook his head. He'd been too distracted, and he'd messed up. Snape would tell him just how badly, if he ever got up the nerve to ask, but as the only side effect so far was the lingering feeling of butterflies in his stomach, he would wait before that charming confrontation.

He packed his things away and stood up. He figured it had been just about long enough, and the night wasn't getting any younger. He stomped along the corridor, despairing of ever relearning the fine art of sneaking, envious of Draco's effortless grace. He took a deep breath when he reached the door to the Potions classroom, and slipped as quietly as he could inside.

"I do not want you attempting my role, Draco. You saw what happened to the last students who tried." Snape's face was strangely earnest, his cheeks flushed with enough colour to make him look less sallow, more real somehow. "This letter from your father is just one last attempt to sucker you in before the final battle."

Harry held his breath. "I know," said Draco bitterly. "I just... I can't sit by and helplessly watch while he does those things to someone else."

"No one but the three of us knows that your father is the one that... harmed those boys."

Draco's laugh was sharp, like the scatter of a broken window across his eardrums. "Raped and tortured, you mean." He went very still, and suddenly looked small. "It was a message, as sure as yesterday's note. I don't..." his voice broke, and Harry stifled a gasp. "I can't let him do that to me again, Severus."

Again? Harry felt his chest contract, and it was suddenly hard to breathe. He'd heard rumours that Draco didn't screw around, that he, like Harry, didn't participate in the desperate pairing off that most of the students had done in an attempt to keep the darkness at bay. He would never have guessed that his reasons were so unlike Harry's as to be almost alien.

Snape had an arm around Draco's shoulders. "It's been years since that madness overcame him. Once he regained his senses, he swore never to touch you that way again."

Draco shrugged painfully. "That was when he was still thinking of me as his heir. That was what this was about, Severus. This was his way of telling me that what happened... That it can happen again."

Harry felt ill in a way that had nothing at all to do with his earlier mistakes. How young had Draco been? Oh god, how would Draco feel if he knew Harry was here, listening to his deepest pain? Harry closed his eyes, tried to unfreeze his limbs enough to back away, just leave. "I stand by my promise," said Snape softly. Harry was almost back to the door, and he barely heard the last. "I'll kill you before I let him touch you again."

Harry fled. He knew that a part of him had seen the wounded students and thought that he'd rather die than end up that way, but to hear that Draco had made Snape promise to kill him, to end his life rather than give it back into the hands of his own father... Harry's stomach heaved, and he headed for the closest loo. He barely made it into one of the stalls before losing what little dinner he'd managed to keep down.

He sat on the floor of the stall, leaning his head against the cool stone wall, and tried to make himself breathe. Now he knew something was wrong, really wrong, something besides Lucius Malfoy's screwed-up idea of family loyalty. He'd have to try and talk to Snape about the potion without telling him the reason he'd thrown up in the first place.

He felt a wash of shame eating away at the remaining nausea as he realized once again how private of a moment he'd intruded on. He had stayed and listened instead of leaving when he saw they weren't done, and he was paying for it. He staggered up and washed out his mouth as best he could, wishing for toothpaste. He splashed the cool water over his face and looked at himself in the cracked mirror.

Hair its usual unruly black tangle, green eyes wide and shocked, dark circles under them emphasizing the pallor that never seemed to leave him anymore. Shoulders wider now, muscles from Quidditch and good nutrition at least part of the year, robes askew and sour breath fogging up the image. He shook his head sadly. His own busy schedule was obviously not the only reason he couldn't get a date.

That wry thought carried him back to the classroom, where he contrived to burst in, looking flushed and late. Draco looked as pale as Harry had, but he'd managed to compose himself a little better. Snape was busy at the ingredients cupboard, both of them looking testy and impatient. "It's about time, Potter," drawled Draco, his arrogant stance only marred by Harry's memory.

"Yes, Potter, so kind of you to grace us with your presence. Did you bring the tears?" Snape walked over, all the other necessary ingredients balanced on a tray.

Harry nodded. "I almost forgot my extra bottle, and had to go back for it." It seemed as plausible an excuse as any.

Snape, surprisingly, didn't push the issue. "How did you come to have an extra bottle of something so rare as unicorn's tears, Mr. Potter?"

Harry blushed, but gave only the truth. Even if Draco didn't know that Harry was privy to his past, he couldn't bring himself to hide something so trivial behind lies. "I collected them myself. I, er, the unicorns were very generous to me."

Snape and Draco both looked surprised at that, but the professor had a put-down for everything. "Ah, well, I suppose your brand of purity must be very tragic to them."

"It's a shame you didn't think to get enough for the whole Order while you could, Potter," sneered Draco.

"I, er... do you really need more?" Harry's blush deepened.

"You're not implying that our resident celebrity has made it through his entire Hogwarts career with his virtue intact?" Draco looked far too interested in the state of Harry's virtue for Harry's comfort.

"Er, yes?" He looked down, unable to stand their gazes any longer. "Look, I've been busy, all right?"

"Well, be that as it may, it has no bearing on what we're doing here tonight. If you do get a chance, though, Potter, unicorn's tears are an invaluable resource that the Order could put to a myriad of uses." Snape set the tray down on the work table with a definitive thunk.

Harry rummaged through his bag, still blushing, and pulled out the full bottle of tears. It was considerably larger than the vial he kept in his class kit. "This is the full one," he said, thrusting it towards them silently. The other one was almost empty, and he honestly didn't think they had a cauldron big enough to mix that many doses anyway.

Cool fingers brushed against his as they took the bottle, and he looked up, startled to find Draco looking at him intently. "I, um, is that enough for tonight?"

Draco handed it wordlessly to Snape, who stared at it in disbelief. "This container holds more unicorn's tears than I have ever seen in one place in my entire career as a Potions Master, Potter." He set it down carefully, looking at Harry with something bordering on respect. "It will certainly be more than enough for tonight."

Harry let his breath out with a sigh, then took it back in to speak. "I, er... I think I've done something awful to myself," he said quietly, not looking at either of them.

"I would think your hairstyle alone counts as a personal tragedy," said Draco.

"Shut up, Malfoy. I meant with the potion. I, uh, I threw up just now, and I've been queasy since I took it."

Snape was suddenly alert, moving towards Harry. "Have you figured out your blunder yet?"

"I, er, I think I put in too many tears," he said, then looked down at his hands, unsure of why this was so hard. "And the wrong kind of hearts."

He looked up into eyes narrowed and glittering with curiosity. Snape rolled the words around in his mouth like he was tasting them as he repeated, "Too many tears and the wrong kind of hearts, you say? It almost sounds like you were brewing yourself a love potion."

"Are you that desperate, Potter?" said Draco, pulling some herbs out of the pile and beginning to finely chop them. Harry found himself staring at the way his hands fairly flew, gleaming white skin and the glitter of the knife.

"Yes, Draco," he said nastily, "I'm so desperate for a shag I'd try and make myself fall in love with you. If that doesn't work, it's off to Hagrid's hut to have a go at the hippogriffs next."

That actually surprised a laugh out of Draco, who went back to chopping up his herbs in silence. "Well, Mr. Potter, you certainly don't seem smitten with Mr. Malfoy, and there was no question at all that you only had eyes for him when you drank the potion. I shall have to do some research and see if I can figure out what you've done to yourself. What kind of hearts were they?"

Harry was staring at Draco, watching the way his face had grown lighter, a smile still lingering on his thin coral lips. "Er, I..." He tried to think, but all that came to mind was the way Draco had held his gaze as they both drank. "I can't remember."

Snape held out his hand imperiously, snagging another small knife off the table. "I shall have to take a sample of your blood."

Harry stood very still for a moment, then shrugged. He'd sliced himself six ways to Sunday only a few hours ago, why should this be any different? He held out his arm mutely, baring a wrist that didn't even have a scar to show where he'd been cut. Snape raised one eyebrow and took Harry's hand in surprisingly warm fingers, led him over to the table. "Malfoy, can you hold a clean flask under our hero's arm?"

Harry glowered, because it was expected of him, because he couldn't seem to think of how else to react. Draco held a wide-mouthed flask under his arm, and Snape's grip tightened. The cut was shallow but painful, and he held his lips tight as the wound dripped a thin crimson line into the flask, first a few vivid splatters, then covering the whole bottom. "Stay like that," ordered Snape, wandering off.

He returned, not with any kind of healing potion or ointment, but a simple bandage. "I don't want to add anything new to your system. I can only hope we didn't do any further damage earlier." His words were oddly sincere, and the moment was becoming more and more surreal. He looked away, unable to face Snape without his usual sneer between them, only to find Draco watching him with that same odd intensity.

"Dove hearts," said Harry suddenly. "I think they were dove hearts." He remembered how they'd felt in his hands, warm and red and slick. He swallowed, grateful there was nothing left in his stomach.

Snape's head snapped up from where he was bandaging Harry's wrist with surprising skill. "Three dove hearts?" Harry nodded. "And seven drops of unicorn's tears?" Snape and Draco shared a shuttered glance. "And you're positive your feelings for Mr. Malfoy haven't changed?"

Harry looked up at Draco and sighed. "Look, I haven't... I mean, he's good for his house, I can't deny that, and he defied his father in front of the whole school. I can't just blindly hate him like I used to, but that's been going on for ages now. And I also don't feel like shagging him senseless, so it mustn't be the love potion, right?"

Draco was putting a stopper in the flask of Harry's blood, looking carefully down. Snape glanced from one boy to the other before explaining, "If you had paid attention in class, you would know that it is not a lust potion, but instead a potion that engenders real emotion, true love if you will. It does not shove the feeling down your throat, but instead opens the door and points the way for you to see the other person as someone worthy of being loved."

Harry felt himself going softly numb, and groped for a stool. "You think I'm actually falling in love with Draco? "

"That's the first time you've called me by my first name," said Draco softly.

"You're not upset about this?" snapped Harry, helplessly lashing out.

Draco's posture stiffened, but it was Snape who answered. "The one oddity to this particular potion is that, by its very gentle nature, it cannot guarantee the kind of love it produces: eros, philia, or agape."

"You mean, I could just end up wanting to be his friend?" Harry looked at Snape desperately. Snape nodded. "Er, would that be all right with you, Draco?"

Draco turned back to them, his face so carefully composed in its usual arrogant mask that Harry could only wonder what hid behind it. "If you're going to start following me like a puppy, Potter, at least promise I won't have to clean up little messes."

Harry snorted. "Don't worry, I'm paper-trained."

Draco's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Harry had a momentary thought that this might turn out all right until Draco replied, "That explains your homework."

Harry rolled his eyes, and Snape interrupted before he could think up a good retort. "Regardless, I will still test this, since the love potion, if properly prepared, still wouldn't account for the vomiting." He picked up the flask and said, "Draco, I trust you can keep Harry's mind on the task at hand long enough to mix up a ten-dose batch, as we discussed."

Snape swooped out of the room before either of them could respond. They looked at one another warily, then Harry shrugged and said, "I'm game if you are. Just tell me what to chop, because I'm even more distracted now than I was the last time I tried to make this."

Draco smiled slow and dark, and drawled, "Why, Harry, I didn't know the potion would take effect so soon. I mean, I know I'm fascinating and all that, but to drive you to distraction with my very presence?"

This time Harry gave in to his baser instincts and punched Draco in the shoulder. "With an attitude like that, Draco, it's no wonder I never see you getting snogged."

"Perhaps I'm just more discreet than you are observant," he replied testily.

Harry winked, which seemed to completely throw Draco off his game. "Let's mix healing potions now and worry about our equally desolate love lives later, huh?"

"Yes," said Draco, pulling his old arrogance around him like a blanket. "Let's."

They got down to potion-making, Harry chopping and measuring while Draco mixed, oddly content to be taking instruction from his old rival. A part of him kept wondering if this or that thought was potion-induced, and he was dismayed to find his butterflies had returned, and brought their larger, more active cousins. He barely noticed the time passing until he found himself counting thirty still-warm newt hearts out of the special container that kept them magically 'alive' right until the moment of addition.

"Where d'you think Snape's been all this time?" asked Harry, passing the slick pile to Draco in careful handfuls.

Draco shrugged eloquently and dropped them in one by one. "I think he's probably using this excuse to discuss... other matters with Dumbledore."

There was another long silence as Draco cleaned his hands before carefully dripping in precisely 10 unicorn's tears. They watched the potion go a delicate, clear periwinkle that Harry was sadly positive his own potion had never been. "Did you really collect all these yourself?"

Harry blushed and nodded, handing Draco the small measure of ground cypress, holding a stirring-stick at the ready.

"D'you even fancy guys?" Draco asked, face carefully intent on his task.

Harry started to shake his head, then stopped. He really hadn't had the time or energy to fancy anyone since Cho Chang in his fifth year, and that had worked out splendidly enough to discourage any such thoughts since. "Er, you know, I have no idea."

Draco gave him a look at odds with the withering glare Harry had expected to receive. "Well, who was the last person you thought about when you... er, y'know." He made a lewd hand gesture totally at odds with his usual aristocratic bearing, and Harry had to suppress a laugh.

"I'm not sure the potion's quite got me besotted enough yet to be confiding that sort of thing," said Harry lightly. He was struck by wave of guilt over his earlier eavesdropping, so before Draco could reply, he added, "But mostly I don't."

"Don't what?" asked Draco, wiping the stirring stick. Harry quickly moved to help him, extinguishing the small magical fire beneath the cauldron and starting to clean up.

"Don't, er, y'know," he made the hand gesture halfheartedly. "I don't get a lot of privacy, so I generally just, er," he blushed, then forced himself to finish, "wake up sticky."

Draco laughed, but it had a lot less malice in it than it would have even a year ago. "I'll just bet the house elves love that."

Harry snickered, then laughed along with him. Dobby had never mentioned anything, but he'd gotten the impression that he considered it some kind of really strange honour. "Well, I'm pretty much stuck with Dobby at this point, and he's... er..."

"A total perv," finished Draco for him. "He was weird even when he was with us," he said conspiratorially. "I think my dad used to do things with him."

"Oh, eew," said Harry, his mind suddenly assailed by images. "That's going to make me sick again!"

They both laughed this time, and he felt it. The unmistakable tug of friendship. "You know," he said softly, "I don't think this potion thing's so bad after all."

Draco looked up from where he'd been replacing bottles on the tray, startled. "You... er..."

Snape chose that exact moment to come bustling back into the room, robes billowing around him like black wings. "I've spoken with Dumbledore about a few things. He seems to think that a public bond of philia or agape between you two would help to strengthen the school and the wizarding community in general, and has encouraged me not to try and cure you."

Harry was shocked. "There's a cure?"

Snape's frown grew into a scowl. "There is no known cure, but I might have tried."

Harry looked from Draco to Snape, and back again. "And if it turns to eros?"

Draco's ears grew pink, then a light flush of rose suffused his face, and Harry couldn't help but answer with a blush of his own. Snape's scowl became positively menacing. "You will not ever lay a hand on Mr. Malfoy in that manner, Potter, or I will have that hand for potions ingredients. Am I making myself very clear?"

Draco stepped forward and laid a hand on Snape's arm. "I don't need you to protect me from Harry," he said softly. "He doesn't know the meaning of non-consensual."

Harry blanched, but managed to keep his gaze steady. "Are you implying I would try to force myself on Draco? I thought this was about love."

Both their heads turned slowly to stare at him, Snape's expression one of utter disbelief, Draco's much harder to fathom. "Love does strange things to a person," said Draco, his voice stretched thin over some unnamed emotion.

Harry flinched. Snape's gaze grew dangerous, almost angry. "Do not disappoint me in this, Potter."

Harry looked past Snape to where Draco had gone all still and small beside him. "It's Draco that we should both try not to disappoint, don't you think, Professor?"

Draco blinked, slowly, as though those were the last words he'd expected to hear tonight. Harry sympathized -- it was certainly the last thing he'd expected to be saying. Snape's face grew shuttered and cold, but Draco stepped forward and laid a cool hand on Harry's arm, just above the bandage. The gesture blocked Snape out of the conversation completely, and made his next words strangely intimate. "I don't think it's bad at all," he said softly.

It took Harry a moment to realize what he meant, but the phrase finally clicked and he laid a hand over Draco's. "Good," he replied, then grabbed his backpack and stalked out, leaving Snape's cold fury behind him.