"Harry, please tell us what's wrong," Hermione said pleadingly, leaning forward in her armchair towards him. It was Christmas Eve, and he sat with Ron and Hermione in their usual place near the fire. The common room was awash with noise and excitement as almost everyone in fourth year and above had stayed at school over the holidays to attend the Yule Ball. He felt cornered as his best friends watched him with worried stares, and fixed his gaze stubbornly on the frayed fabric of the arm of his chair.

"Nothing's wrong. I'm fine."

"No, you're not." Ron said, frustrated. "You haven't been all week. If you'll just tell us, Harry? Is it something we've done?"

"No. You haven't done anything wrong. Look, I appreciate you worrying, but there's no reason to. I'm fine."

"Harry, please,"

He stood abruptly. "I'm going to bed."

The dorm was empty, for which he was grateful. Collapsing onto his bed, he sat up and drew the curtains around himself before turning onto his back and gazing up at the ceiling. How was it possible to feel so much, and yet so little? It was though his feelings had grown slowly, then with a single kiss, had swollen and engulfed him. And now they had been ripped away, and all he had was the hole they left and the pain of their absence.

Potions was the worst of it. They didn't speak, and Draco sat as though he were recoiling from him. The dark circles Harry had glimpsed were no longer visible, but Harry saw the way Draco's hands shook as he wrote in messier-than-usual curly handwriting. He didn't bring Manimi to lessons any more, and his hands were constantly blackened by graphite on the sides, as though he had been rubbing them on pencil marks. Harry didn't know what that meant, but it was unusual for Draco to be untidy or unkempt in any way. Dully, Harry wondered if he should start thinking of him as Malfoy now, but, as with most things, couldn't bring himself to care.

Sleep came easy, but the dreams were hard. Sometimes anxious - running from unseen people and trying locked doors; sometimes gut wrenching; and sometimes scenes in the Malfoy guest room that made him turn red when he recalled them in the morning. And always was the nauseous feeling of loss and sadness, which had permeated his life, damp and stinking, since that dreadful day exactly one week earlier.

0o0oDraco0o0o

As usual, Draco was crying. It was becoming a habit of his. Weak, hissed his father's voice in his mind. Pathetic. Only children and the feeble-minded cry. Manimi weighed reassuringly on his stomach, her head resting just by his collarbone, but even her presence wasn't enough to calm him down. He kept replaying the moment they had locked eyes, leaning in...

But what could he have done? Visions of Harry being turned upon by his housemates swirled through Draco's mind, and he shook his head, trying to stop the visions. He couldn't bear the thought of Harry being hurt because of him. And yet, Harry's distraught words continued to come back to him –"You are hurting me!" Tears leaked into his hair and he reached up to wipe them away, and then changed his mind. There was no point wiping them away when they would be replaced in seconds.

He let out a breath with a gasp and reached for it again, but couldn't catch it. His windpipe was closing up as it did when he got really upset. Panic, his father's voice jeered, is yet another attribute of people too weak to change their predicament.

Again he thought back to those precious moments, letting the memories flow over him, this time with no opposition, and at the mere touch of them, his airways seemed to relax and open, just a little.. The way Harry felt right in his arms, how Harry's arms felt resting on his shoulders, the chapped, bitten lips. He wanted to live in that moment forever without thinking about the future of the past, but simply to revel in how perfect it had felt just to be with together.

He reached back under his pillow and found a crumpled slip of paper, the drawing he had done of Harry as he studied, just before everything had gone wrong. Now that he looked at it again, he could see the mistakes he had made, the proportion of the hands slightly too small, the eyes not quite right. And yet it was the closest he could be to Harry right now, and he was thankful for what he could have.

Potions was the worst of all - the thought of touching Harry, even accidentally, scared Draco. He might not be able to break the contact, or worse, it might break the carefully constructed barrier between himself and his emotions that he had created. It was easier to be numb, but at times like this – in the dead of night when all emotions are stronger – he couldn't hide from them any more.

0o0o

"Draco, are you going to dance with me at all?" Pansy's voice was whiny and purposefully high-pitched and babyish. When he listened to her it felt like it did when he bit down on something wrongly and scraped his teethe together. He smiled.

"Sure, Pans. Shall we?"

Offering his arm to her, he lead her regally onto the dance floor and they began to dance, Draco's feet making the movements without him even thinking about it. Once or twice he passed Harry and one of the Patil twins, and noted that Harry's dancing was, if anything, worse than it had been in the Guest Room. He forced himself not to look at them and tried to lose himself in the dance.

However, as the night progressed, the live band appeared and it became more of a concert than anything else. It was loud and intoxicating, and Draco felt like he was almost letting go. At least, he did until the band began playing that song. The song he and Harry had danced to. He hadn't realized it was a Weird Sisters song. Pansy turned to him.

"Ooh, Draco, this is a slow dance song!"

His heart felt as though it had crawled into his throat as she took hold of his hands and placed them around her waist, before draping her own hands over his neck and giving him what she clearly though of as a flirtatious smile. He swallwed hard and tried to stop the bile from rising in his throat.

0o0oHarry0o0o

He was dancing with her. Draco was dancing to their song with Pansy Parkinson. Harry couldnt tear his eyes away from the sick immitation, and Pansy's cloying smile. He couldnt tear his eyes away when she leaned up and whispered something into Draco's ear, then pulled back and smiled that horrible, sickly smile.

He couldn't tear his eyes away when she pressed her lips against Draco's, her hands wrapping possesively around his back.

Suddenly Draco was breaking away from her, pushing her back. His hands went to his hair and he shook his head slowly, eyes closed. Pansy reached out and put a hand on his arm, still making a damp attempt at a pout. Then Draco looked at her and said something that made her hands fly to cover her mouth in shock. She stepped back from him, paused, and then ran from the dancing area, hands over her face. Draco made as though to follow her, then seemed to think better of it. Snapping something at the few people who had turned to watch the scene unfold, he truned on his heel and made to leave the room in the other direction.

"Hot, isn't it?" Hermione's voice suddenly came from right next to him and he jumped. "Victors just gone to get us drinks."

"He has, has he?" Ron replied sarcastically. Harry breathed out heavily and rubbed his face with shaking hands, his heart beating abnormally fast. He cast about, but Draco was gone from the room.

If the evening had been slow before, it was ten times worse now. It felt like years had passed before he and Ron finally got back the dorm, both in fuming tempers. He didn't sleep, though his exhausted brain begged him to. He just replayed the moment Draco and Pansy had kissed. Jealousy welled up inside him and gave him the ugly urge to hit something

It was with grim satisfaction that he reminded himself that Draco hadn't wanted her either.