Disclaimers:  I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters.

Notes:  Draco goes to the Astronomy Tower and waits for Harry.  Harry has yet another nightmare and wonders why.



Shadows of Truth



Part Two


Draco tried hard to keep up the pretenses of normality.  He tried to sneer at the other houses like he had in previous years and
he attempted to keep up the front of being better than everyone.  The fact of the matter was . . . he just couldn't manage to
maintain the facade properly.  It was difficult enough just trying to eat the food in front of him.

He hadn’t needed an act during all of the ceremony.  People had been too busy watching the sorting to pay any sort of attention
to him.  Now, however, he was expected to carry on conversations with Crabbe and Goyle, and he just didn’t have the heart to
do much talking at the moment.

Oddly enough, he wished that he was alone with Harry Potter again.  Potter was the ONLY one who knew and he hadn't
laughed in Draco’s face like he thought he would.  Potter understood and wanted to help.  It was as confusing as it was
intriguing.

He was weary, wanting to lie down and go to sleep.  It mattered little that he was in the middle of having dinner.  His injuries
were throbbing . . . he could feel blood flowing from some of his wounds, and he was simply tired.  He didn’t want to think
about Voldemort’s curse on him . . . maybe later he would try and find out what it was, but not now.  It was too much to try
and remember, too painful to think of all the agony he had suffered through at the hands of Father’s comrades.

He was vaguely aware of the feast coming to an end.  He didn’t recall having dessert, nor could he really remember if
Professor Dumbledore had said anything.  The last thing that he remembered was trying to eat, and then he was following the
crowd of Slytherins out of the hall and down to the Slytherin Dorm.  He went along with the crowd, knowing that he would
need to know the password if he were to return to the dorm after meeting with Potter tonight.

He got the password and entered the Common Room with the rest of the Slytherins.  Things just seemed to blur after that.  He
remembered staying down in the Common Room while the others went off to bed.  He remembered leaving the dorm when
there was no one to see him leave.  However, he didn’t remember actually making his way to the Astronomy Tower, couldn’t
recall the walk through the halls or how long it had taken him to get there.  He was simply there, and he hoped that Potter
wouldn’t take too long to get there as well.  Draco was feeling quite tired.


*****


Harry bit into his bottom lip as he sat on his bed.  He looked warily over at Ron, who was readying himself for a good night’s
sleep, getting himself all settled in bed.  The others in the dorm were also getting ready to go to sleep, all except for Harry.  
Harry had someplace to go, a person that needed him tonight.  He had told Malfoy that he would meet him in the Astronomy
Tower and so he would meet him there.  There was just one thing he needed, and maybe Ron could help him with that.

“Ron?”  He asked nervously, not sure exactly how to put this without saying his reasons for needing what he needed.

Ron looked over at Harry.  “Yeah?”

“I was wondering . . . you still carry around those healing potions your mum gave you?”  Harry asked, remembering that Mrs.
Weasley, in her motherly nature, had given her youngest son a number of healing potions and various remedies in case he got
hurt or was the subject of practical jokes.  As she had said on several occasions, she was tired of hearing of the numerous
injuries her children got over the course of the school year.

“They're in my trunk.  Why?  You’re not hurt are you?”  Ron’s tone went from curiosity to worry in a matter of seconds.  He
swung his legs over the side of his bed and faced Harry, looking ready to jump into action any moment.

Harry shook his head.  “Not me . . . but a friend is.”  He said.  “I said I would meet him after the feast and help him out.”

“Oh.”  He got up and went over to his trunk, opening it.  He pulled out a couple bottles, as well as a ball of cloths . . . bandages
that were charmed to never need sanitizing even if you purposely dropped them in the mud.  He then dumped out the contents
of his school bag.  “You can carry everything in this.”  He said, while he packed the items in the bag.  “So, is it someone I
know?”

Harry sighed.  “Actually, Ron . . . I’d love to tell you, but he’s quite embarrassed by his injuries and wants to remain
anonymous . . . he’s in another house.”

“Okay, well I hope he’s not too bad off . . . whoever he is.”  He handed the bag over to Harry, then smirked.  “Guess I'll see
you later.”

Harry smiled and took the bag.  “Thanks, Ron.  I shouldn't be gone too long.”  With that, Harry grabbed his invisibility cloak
and headed out of the tower.


*****


Draco was getting tired of waiting.  He was about to just curl up and fall asleep in the tower.  His body hurt terribly, his
stomach feeling strange . . . rolling in nausea.  He was weary and wanted to rest.  It mattered little that there really was no
place to go to sleep here, just the cold stones really, not much of a place to rest.

Then he heard the sounds of footsteps approaching.  He used up some of his last dregs of energy to hide himself in the
shadows.  He almost whimpered with relief as Potter appeared seemingly out of nowhere . . . a sure sign that he had been
using his invisibility cloak.

Potter seemed to be searching, so Draco called to him.  “I’m here.”  Right now, he wasn’t sure whether he should call the
famous youth ‘Harry’ or ‘Potter’.  For the past several years, he had gone with the latter, but it seemed informal, too cold now
that the Gryffindor was helping him.  Still, Draco had too much pride to allow himself to show that small amount of kindness
to someone he had thought of as an arch rival . . . he wasn’t ready to allow the touch of familiarity.


*****


“I’m glad you decided to show up.”  Harry said, pulling a bag from his shoulder.  He wasn’t surprised to see Malfoy here, not
really.

“It’s about time you got here.”  Draco sneered, although it appeared to be halfheartedly.  “I’ve been waiting ages for you to get
here.  What did you do, take a scenic route?”

“No, but I had to ask Ron for some supplies . . . Don’t worry, he doesn’t know I’m helping you.”  The dark-haired youth
said.  “Now, strip off those clothes and take a seat.”

Draco chuckled lightly, slowly removing his robes and other garments.  “If you wanted to get in my pants, you could do a
much better job going about it.”

Harry snorted a laugh.  “True . . . good thing that I wasn’t trying.  Just finish so I can help you.  I’d like to go to bed at a
reasonable hour so I won’t sleep in tomorrow.”

Draco said nothing in reply.  He merely smirked and shed his clothing, setting everything neatly to the side as he removed
them.  He was left wearing only his boxers . . . silk if Harry wasn’t mistaken.  The blonde carefully took a seat on the floor,
moving quite slowly so as not to aggravate the many severe injuries that Harry saw covering his pale body.  There were cuts
and bruises, lash marks . . . all where Harry knew they would be . . . that dream had been right, everything in it was the same.  
It was so eerie, so strange . . . Harry couldn’t get over it.

“Are you going to do anything?  Or are you just going to stand there gawking at me?”  Draco asked, leaning forward slightly as
he sat there on the floor.

“Sorry.”  Harry apologized, truly meaning it.  

He sat on the floor in front of Malfoy, setting the various potions and bandages out around him so he could easily reach them.  
Then he began the tedious task of cleaning and bandaging the blonde’s injuries.  He kept his mouth shut, feeling sorry each and
every time he made Malfoy hiss or whimper in pain.  He didn’t want to hurt him, not now.

“I’m surprised you didn’t gloat.”  Malfoy whispered tiredly, dressing himself as soon as Harry was done tending to his body.

“I wouldn’t.”  Harry replied, gathering what hadn’t been used and stuffing them back into the bag he had brought them in.  “I
don’t find joy when others are in pain, even if it is you.”

Draco shrugged, only to wince at the movement.  “I trust you’ll keep this little meeting to yourself.”  He said.  It wasn’t a
request, or a demand, just a simple statement.

Harry nodded.  “Of course.”  He answered, picking up his invisibility cloak.  “My offer still stands.  If you ever need someone
to talk to, I’m available.”  He smirked, then pulled the cloak around himself, once again disappearing before Draco could say
anything in reply.


*****


Later that night, Harry was once again plagued by the nightmarish visions of Draco Malfoy’s death by plunging from a high
tower.  This time the blonde hadn’t been in his pajamas . . . instead he had been wearing a set of fine dress robes, as if he
meant to go somewhere special.  It was all strange.

Again, the dream image of Draco called out to Harry for help, pleading with him and then displaying the consequences should
Harry not assist him.  He fell backwards from the tower, arms spread out as he allowed himself to fall to his death.

Harry sat straight up in bed, hearing the last faint warning from Draco’s lips echoing in his mind.  “Help me, Harry.  If you don’
t . . . I’ll have no other choice.”  The voice whispered to him over and over again, bringing a chill to Harry’s skin.

A sudden wave of nausea struck him and Harry bolted from the dorm room, barely making it to the bathroom before he
emptied the contents of his stomach.  He shuddered, sitting back on the cool stone floor, deeply confused over the amount of
concern he was showing.  Why did he care so much that Draco was in danger?  What was the significance of these dreams?  
And why was he the one having them?

With a sigh, Harry staggered to his feet and returned to the dorm.  He crawled into bed, blearily acknowledging Ron’s question
if he was okay with a quiet, “I’m fine.”  He lay there for a long time, wide awake, burrowed in the warmth of his blankets, and
yet full of a deep-seeded dread that Draco Malfoy would die if he didn’t do something to stop it.  If only he knew how to stop
it.



To Be Continued . . .