Disclaimer: This chapter features quotes directly from JK Rowling's book - 'Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix'. I do not claim to have created these lines. All rights and copyrights are JK Rowling's.

Harry stared across the tables to where Draco sat, staring at his untouched breakfast. He didn't look very well. Harry felt a tug in his stomach as he watched Draco slowly squish his scrambled eggs into a sludge with his fork.

"Stop looking at him," Hermione said quietly, touching his arm. "You'll just make yourself sad."

Harry snorted and went back to picking at the toast that Hermione had pointedly handed him as they had sat down at the Gryffindor table. As if he could get any sadder than this.

It had been about two weeks since he and Draco had last spoken, but Harry hadn't really noticed the time passing. In his continuous, dreary state of numbness, the days seemed to just mix together into a dirty brown sludge of moments. Nothing really made him happy anymore- well, he supposed that Dumbledore's Army made him feel something other than sad, but he wouldn't go so far as to say it was happiness. More like a distraction.

"I'm not hungry," Harry stated, pushing his plate away from himself as though it were poisoned. Ron looked at him worriedly.

"Come on, mate. You must be hungry, you barely ate anything at dinner last night. Or at lunch before that, or at breakfast. Come to think of it, I don't even know what you're existing on anymore. Please, just eat something,"

Distantly, Harry felt bad for making his best friend worried about him. But he didn't really feel it. "Seriously Ron, it's fine." He said appeasingly, trying vaguely to smile reassuringly but only succeeding in grimacing slightly. "I'll eat when I'm hungry, and I'm just not hungry right now."

Hermione squeezed his hand under the table, but that just made Harry feel worse. He stood up.

"I'm going for a run."

"Again? But it's freezing outside! And it's a Hogsmeade weekend," Ron protested.

"I don't want to buy anything in Hogsmeade, and I'll warm up when I'm running." Harry persisted. "It'll give me time to plan what we're doing tonight in DA."

Ron sighed. "Fine. We'll see you later. Have a good run."

Once Harry had changed into his quidditch gear - which was now doubling as his running clothes - he made his way outside into the crisp air. It was very cold, as Ron had said, but that was good. It is much harder to concentrate on anything when you're freezing, and Harry needed that kind of distraction. He began to jog, trying to concentrate on the feeling of his feet hitting the ground and nothing else. Jogging had become his meditation, lifting him far away from his feelings so that the hurt didn't feel quite so sharp. It wasn't flying, but it was the best he had at the moment. He ran until it hurt: until every step sent hot pain shooting through his muscles and he couldn't get enough air with each breath, and then he kept running. Only when he physically couldn't make his muscles move anymore did he finally allow himself to slow to a walk, making his way gradually around the lake with his pulse roaring in his ears. It was late afternoon by the time he got back to Gryffindor tower. The common room was empty - Ron and Hermione no doubt enjoying their Saturday in Hogsmeade - and he was glad of the solitude as he changed into more comfortable clothes, not even bothering to shower.

Once Harry's muscles had relaxed and his heart had properly slowed, thoughts of Draco managed once more to creep back into his head. He shut his eyes, as though he could blot out the memories with darkness. He wanted nothing more than to forget Draco, to stop being so heartbroken and pissed off and be himself again, but he just couldn't do it. It wasn't just that he was still angry with Draco, it was more than that. It was as though Draco had stolen a part of him, and he wouldn't be able to live again until he had it back, no matter how much he wanted to.

0o0o

"You're all getting really good," Harry smiled at the DA members, proud of his friends for how far they had come. "When we get back from the holidays we can start doing some of the big stuff - maybe even patronuses."

There were only two days until the Christmas holidays. In the weeks since his fight with Draco, Harry had managed to turn his sadness into numbness, which was, at least, less painful that it had been before. He was still angry, still swimming in an endless mourning for what he'd lost, but it had gotten better. Or maybe he'd just got used to it.

The rest of the members begin to drift out of the Room of Requirement, chattering happily, many of them wishing him a 'Merry Christmas'. He hung around, tidying away the cushions they had been using in the lesson. Eventually, he told Ron and Hermione to just go on without him, and thought he was the only one in the room until he saw Cho telling her friend Marietta-

"No, you go on,"

Harry turned and finished straightening the pile of cushions, and was just wondering if Cho was going to speak when he heard a sniff, and turned to see Cho standing in the middle of the room with tears streaming down her face.

"Wha-?"

He stood, unsure of what to do. It was enough to deal with himself at the moment, he really didn't know how he was going to deal with Cho crying, too. Bracing himself, he walked over.

"What's up?" He asked, awkwardly.

Cho shook her head and wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her robes.

"I'm sorry," She said, sniffing. "I suppose... it's just... learning all this stuff... it just makes me wonder whether... if he'd known it all... he'd still be alive."

Inwardly, Harry groaned. How on earth was he meant to console Cho over the death of her boyfriend when it was a death he had practically caused? When he himself still found those memories painful?

"He did know all this stuff," He began, wearily. "He was really good at it all, or he could never have got to the middle of that maze. But if Voldemort really wants to kill you, you don't stand a chance."

Cho blinked at the sound of Voldemort's name and another tear rolled down her cheek.

"You survived when you were just a baby," She said. It felt like an accusation.

"Yeah, well," Harry said tiredly, wishing he could be anywhere but here. "I dunno why, nor does anyone else, so it's nothing to be proud of." He made as though to go towards the door.

"Oh, don't go!" Cho exclaimed getting teary again. "I'm really sorry to get all upset like this... I didn't mean to..."

She gave a dejected hiccup. Harry wished she'd just said 'Merry Christmas' and left.

"I know it must be horrible for you," She wiped her eyes. "Me mentioning Cedric, when you saw him die... I suppose you just want to forget about it?"

Well, yeah, Harry resisted the urge to say sarcastically.

"You're a really good teacher, you know," She continued, attempting a smile. "I've never been able to stun anything before."

"Thanks," Harry said, stiffly.

The silence was deafening. Harry wanted nothing more than to run away as fast as he could.

"Mistletoe," Cho said finally, pointing above their heads. Harry's heart sank.

"Yeah," He searched for something to say. "Probably full of nargles, though."

"What are Nargles?"

"No idea," She was moving closer. "You'd have to ask Loony. Luna, I mean."

Cho made a weird noise that was a mixture of a sob and a laugh. She was really way too close now - he could have counted her damp eyelashes.

"I really like you, Harry."

Harry had known she was going to kiss him, but he still wasn't prepared for it when it happened. Her lips felt all wrong, they didn't fit against his own like Draco's did. They weren't able to find a rhythm, their lips felt out of sync with each other, and Harry could taste the salt from her tears. Yet, somehow, Harry found himself kissing back in a desperate attempt to feel what he felt when He and Draco kissed- to feel something. Her hands were in his hair and he was heartbroken and numb. So he did what his instincts compelled him to do - he deepened the kiss, and tried to forget.

0o0oDraco0o0o

"Did you hear about Potter?" Pansy prompted conversationally over her single slice of buttered white bread. Draco was suddenly very awake.

"What about him?" He asked, mock-casually.

"Well," Pansy leant forward secretively, "He had an episode, didn't he? Woke up in the middle of the night saying he'd had a vision or some sort."

Blaise raised an eyebrow, glancing briefly at Draco. "How would you know?"

Pansy looked mildly offended by this questioning of the validity of her gossip. "I know because Millicent heard one of the second-years saying that they'd overheard that one of the Gryffindor first-years had heard Potter and his lot in the dorms last night. McGonagall was there and all."

This didn't exactly wipe doubt from Draco and Blaise's minds. However, as these things go, the whole school also seemed to know about Harry's vision, or dream, or... whatever it was, and people were talking of nothing else. When Draco arrived in potions to see that Harry's seat was gapingly empty, he knew something was up. His instant reaction was to write Harry a letter to see if he was okay, but then he remembered. He couldn't talk to Harry anymore.

The past few weeks had been shit. There was no other way to describe them. After the first waves of sadness had rolled over, Draco had been left with an intense anger - at Harry, at himself. At the world. If only Harry had let him explain. But anger is a finite resource, and it had ebbed away as fast as it had come, leaving Draco to drown in self-loathing and grief. It had been more than a month since they'd fought, but Draco still hadn't escaped the depression he had flung himself into.

Settling into the seat next to Blaise (after he and Harry had fought, Draco had sat in Goyle's seat and refused to move. Snape had placed Goyle next to Harry and said no more about the matter) Draco started getting what they needed to make the potion they'd prepared for the previous day. Blaise looked at him piercingly, his dark eyes searching Draco's face.

"How are you holding up?" He asked.

Draco looked at him, then picked up a glass phial from the desk and dropped it to the stone floor, where it smashed. He pointed at the shattered remains.

"I'm the glass."

Blaise winced, before pointing his wand at the broken glass and muttering "repairo." No one really noticed the smashing glass - things were broken so often in the potions class that people had stopped hearing the noise. After the glass had been fixed, they made the potion in relative silence. There was nothing to say.