Sorriso

**See part 1 for headers**

A/N: I would like to thank my fantastic beta, Mellybopp, who made me look half way intellegent. :) Any mistakes are mine. This chapter was really difficult to write for some reason. Any comments, good or bad, would be very welcome!


PART 3

Harry was alone, casting his gaze over the frozen fortress. Ice surrounded him but he wore no cloak; he needed none -- his body was numb. A bitter wind picked up, whipping his hair into his eyes, bringing with it a wisp of scent. Turning around, Harry saw a dark figure striding towards him across the glaring white field. As the figure drew closer, the wind picked up, bringing with it the distinct smell of spring. Stopping a few yards away from him, a soft voice floated to his ear. :Where is your cloak?: it asked.

"Who are you?" Harry asked. "How did you get here?"

:Aren't you cold? Where is your cloak?: the voice asked again.

"I – I don't need a cloak, I'm fine. What are you doing --" he asked again, "no one is allowed here. How did you get here?" Harry shivered in the wind, wrapping his arms around himself.

The person in front of him glanced around, shading dark eyes from the snow glare before replying, :Does it really matter how I gote? e? I'm here now, and you won't make me leave.:

"I – I want to be alone. Go away," Harry responded, flustered and still confused as to how the intruder had made it there. The stranger's quiet laugh drifted to him on the breeze, making him shiver.

:If you believed that I wouldn't be here. I must go now, but if you need, I won't be far.: The stranger turned to leave, fading into the rising mist. Harry was alone again with the ice, and the wind had turned freezing; he trembled, quivering with cold. Blinking away the icy moisture in his eyes, Harry looked down. At his feet lay a thick, emerald cloak.

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Harry woke to an almost peaceful feeling, something he hadn't felt in a long time. He tried to recall the dream he'd been having, but, like all his dreams the last few weeks, all he remembered was the fleeting feeling of warmth. In the face of these new dreams, his nightmares had fled. The bags under his eyes, and dark hollows of his cheeks had nearly disappeared. He felt better than he had in a long time and Harry blamed it on his dreams. He didn't want to feel this good, he didn't deserve it. He should be still having nightmares, but no matter how guilty he felt, they didn't return.

Blinking the sleep from his eyes, Harry went to shower. He had nearly slept until breakfast, unusual for him, as he normally was up at sunrise. Pulling on his uniform he made his way downstairs to the great hall. Breakfast was the same as always; Harry took a few things, and pushed it around his plate to look as if he'd eaten. He didn't think it really fooled anyone, but so far ne hae had said a word about it. As he was thinking of leaving for his first class, he had a distinct feeling that someone was watching him. Looking up slowly, his eyes fell on the Slytherin table. Malfoy was staring at him. Again. Uncomfortable, Harry dropped his eyes to his plate and blushed. ‘Why the hell is he staring at me again?' he thought, desperately. ‘He has been acting so strangely since the start of term! What does he want with me?' Gathering his bag, Harry fled the hall, hoping that Malfoy wouldn't follow him.

***

Draco sat down to breakfast, waiting – as always – for Potter to arrive. He knew what would happen when he did. It was the same thing every morning. He'd come in, nearly late, push his food around his plate, and leave for class as soon as possible. Potter hardly ate at all anymore, and Draco knew he only came to meals to keep up appearances.

Unbeknownst to nearly everyone, Draco had been watching Potter for years. First to assess his weaknesses so he could make fun of him and his friends. Later for his father, trying to find the thing that would bring him down. Slowly over time, Draco had realized that he wanted nothing to do with his father, or Voldemort's cause, and had begun to spy for the Order of the Phoenix. By that time, watching Potter had become nearly second nature for him, and he continued, fascinated to see several different sides to him. In the days before Voldemort's fall, Harry had definite masks, that no one else seemed to see. There was the happy, innocent Boy-Who-Lived – most people saw that one. Then the intense, intelligent fighter that fewer saw – mostly those in the Order. The last was one that Harry never wore unless he thought no one was watching him. The quiet, depressed, scared little boy who wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and wake up anywhere else but here. Draco had become expert at picking out which he was wearing at any given time. Lately, however, he only saw two. The mask of the Boy-Who-Killed-Voldemort, icy and distant smile plastered on at all times. Or, the sick, depressed young man who Draco was secretly terrified of. Terrified, because as time went on, Draco was sure that this one was not a mask at all.

Lost in thought, Draco realized he'd been caught staring. As soon as Potter realized this, he nearly bolted from the hall. Draco cursed softly, grabbed his things and hurried after him.

Draco's first class was Advanced Transfiguration, as was Potter's, so he didn't have to go searching for him. They were early, and McGonagall wasn't there yet, so Draco decided this was the perfect time to speak to him. Before he could say a word, however, Potter spoke up quietly, "What are you playing at, Malfoy?"

"Whatever do you mean, Potter?" Draco said, blandly, arching an eyebrow.

"Never mind," he muttered, turning away from the other boy.

"No, Potter, I want to know what you think I'm doing," Draco pressed, taking Harry's shoulder and spinning him around. "Have I done something to -- upseu?" u?" Harry looked around, frantically, not meeting his eyes, as he was backed into the wall. "Here I was under the impression that nothing upset you lately," Draco continued, leaning in closer to Harry's face. "Unless, you just haven't the proper. . . motivation." Whispering the last word, Draco ghosted his lips across the other boys'. Harry's eyes grew impossibly round, and Draco found himself thrown across the corridor landing on his ass. Chest heaving, and eyes blazing Harry looked like an avenging angel glaring down at him. Then, as quickly as it had happened, the light went out of Harry's eyes, and the boy turned and fled.

As soon as he was out of sight Draco started laughing. ‘Finally!' he thought, triumphantly.

*** *** ***

Term was almost over, nearly time for the Christmas holidays and most seventh years were busy studding for the NEWTs. Draco threw on his cloak, walking out the front doors and onto the Hogwarts grounds. He really couldn't have cared less how he would do on the NEWTs, the rather large fortune he had would insure that he would never have to work, unless he wanted to. ‘Besides, I have far more important things to do,' he thought, as he made his way through the thick blanket of snow. He was meeting someone at the lake and he didn't want her to leave before he got the chance to talk to her. If she would talk this time, that is.

Hermione was standing, looking out at the nearly frozen lake, mittened hands buried in her pocket. The bossy know-it-all had been stripped away, leaving a quietly intelligent woman in it's wake. She spoke to few after the war, after her family was made an example of by the Death Eaters. She listened well, however, and when it was important, spoke her mind, at least to Draco. She was the only one who knew everything about him. From the days when all he wanted was to please his father, to now, and his concerns about Potter.

Draco came up behind her, careful to make his footsteps crunch in the snow, not wanting to startle her. She turned slightly, and gave him a smile. He moved and stood next to her, standing in silence like they did more often than not. It was still strange to him that the girl who used to be Potter's best friend, was now his. Potter and Hermione did not speak. She said that he had never sought her out after – well, after all was over. Draco, however had come to her to apologize about all that he had said and done when they were younger. That was how their friendship had come about.

"Hello," he finally said, looking down at her. She smiled and squeezed his hand in greeting. ‘Evidentially today is going to be a quiet day,' he thought, smiling slightly. Remembering the reason he had come to find her today, the smile faltered, to be replaced by a small frown. Hermione cocked her head, looking at him quizzically.

"I'm worried, Hermione," he started. "I know, when am I not, hm?" She laughed slightly, moving to sit and gesturing for him to do the same. "He's completely withdrawn again. I'm afraid of what might happen." Ever since the incident in the Transfiguration corridor over a month ago, Harry had stopped responding to him completely. Draco knew he had pushed things too quickly, but he had known that all the emotion that Harry had blocked off would come out if the right buttons were pushed. Trouble was that now nothing he said or did got any reaction from the dark haired boy.

"I've been trying, but nothing I do gets through to him!" He said, desperately. "I just don't know what to do now."

"I think," Hermione spoke up quietly, "you should tell him how you feel."

Draco looked at her, sighing. "It's not that easy, Hermione."

"Why not?" she asked.

"Because! I don't know how I feel!" he burst out. "I don't love him. I know that, so what do I say to him? ‘Harry I don't love you, but-‘ but what? I hate seeing him this way, and I know now there is nothing I can do!" He was babbling, he knew it but couldn't seem to stop.

"You care what happens to him, though. That's what he needs. Someone to tell him that they care about him. Not the Boy-Who-Lived, but him," she said.

Draco ran a hand across his face, tiredly. "I don't know," he sighed, "but I'll think about it." He got up, brushing the snow from his robes. As he was walking away, Hermione stopped him.

"Whatever you do, Draco, do it quickly. He's running out of time."

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