Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Albus Dumbledore, Severus Snape, Minerva McGonagall, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Draco Malfoy, and all these other people are characters belonging to J.K. Rowling. I claim no rights to them, their surroundings, or their situations. Much to my sorrow.

--- 10 Harry: The Presence of Mine Enemies

"Deep breath now, mate, get ahold of yourself..." Harry stood face-to-face with Ron, both hands clamped firmly on his friend's shoulders, waiting patiently until his colour had reverted to normal.

"All right, I'm fine," Ron muttered sullenly, shrugging off Harry's grip and beginning to pace in agitated circles.

"But what the devil is she playing at?" he blurted after a moment. "Did you see the way she was looking at the old git? And then off she goes without so much as a see-you-later-lads, like we weren't even there!"

"You mean like you weren't even there," Harry corrected bluntly. He'd suspected for some time that Ron fancied Hermione, and it looked as though he'd been right. "Yeah, I saw. And I think you're reading things into it you shouldn't be. Hermione's a nice person, and also a lady of taste."

He pulled up a chair and collapsed into it, his legs stretched out in front of him, wishing futilely for the comfort of the Gryffindor common room or their own dormitory. He was grateful for the current topic of conversation, in a sense; it kept him from dwelling on the fact that he would never see Hogwarts Academy again, a thought that made his stomach hurt. "If she's worried about Snape, it's because she's a decent sort, and he's got himself in quite the pickle apparently."

"So what?" Ron shouted. Harry winced and gestured to him irritably to keep it down. So far no one had seen fit to intrude on their conversation, but several heads had just turned, and he didn't relish the idea of having to explain to anyone why his best friend was in such a dither. He wasn't sure he quite understood it himself. Hermione was a wonderful person, no one could ask for a better friend; but Ron must see something more in her that he simply didn't.

"It's SNAPE we're talking about," Ron growled at a lower volume, still pacing. "You know, the great bloody prat we've spent the past six years or so hating?" Harry sighed inwardly; when Molly Weasley's youngest son got on one of his rants, there was little to be done about it except sit and nod one's head until he ran out of steam. "...Former Death Eater? The charming bloke who regularly deducts points from our House for no reason, arranges for us to fail his assignments whenever possible, and thinks Draco Malfoy is the second coming--"

"Someone taking my name in vain?"

Harry and Ron traded identical looks of dismay. "Hullo, Malfoy. Stopped smoking, have you?" Harry immediately wished he hadn't said it; he'd been trying very hard to remember that the Slytherin was (at least theoretically) on their side now. Civility, Potter, civility, he told himself sternly.

He thought it might come easier today than usual, not being one to kick a bloke when he was down. Draco--normally a bit of a narcissistic fop--was looking somewhat the worse for wear, bleary-eyed and covered with soot, singe marks, angry red blotches and bandages. His white-blonde hair was hopelessly mussed, which drew Harry's attention for the first time to the fact that it had got quite long. Apart from the bandages, he had on nothing but a pair of loose-fitting trousers and his socks.

"Is that the best you can come up with, Potter?" Malfoy sighed, the words lacking their usual caustic edge. "You're slipping, old son...did everyone make it out of the inferno all right?"

Harry glanced somewhat apprehensively at Ron, who cleared his throat and shrugged uncomfortably.

"Well...more or less," Harry finally replied.

"Come on, out with it. Stands to reason there'd have been a few casualties. Besides me," Malfoy added grouchily. He looked around and raised his eyebrows. "I don't see Granger around." When the Gryffindors didn't reply at once, he blinked incredulously. "What, don't tell me she's bought it?"

Harry felt his hackles rise at the casual tone of the question, though coming from Malfoy, he had feared worse. Throwing Ron a cautionary look, he said carefully, "Well, no. Hermione's fine. It's just that a--" He hesitated, not quite sure how to characterise the situation, "--a friend was admitted to St. Mungo's, and she went along to keep him company."

Draco's eyes narrowed, and Harry groaned inwardly. Trust a Slytherin to see through any attempt at subterfuge, however innocuous--Slytherins being experts on the subject. "A friend, you say?" He scanned the room rapidly. "No missing Weasleys...all of Dumbledore's crowd seem to be accounted for...let's see, there's Longbottom...Creevey, and Finnigan, quite intact...so who--"

Harry just waited, knowing it would dawn on him any moment.

"--wait. The whole staff's here, except for--"

Ron nodded glumly, pre-empting the inevitable question as Malfoy looked around at them aghast. "I expect he's just about now checking in. Had a nasty run-in with a vat of explosive stuff, or so we heard."

"E-explosives?" Malfoy repeated faintly. He put a hand to his head and turned away, walking a few aimless steps and then turning around and coming back. Words seemed to be eluding him, for once.

Harry and Ron traded another look. This wasn't the sort of conversation they were used to having with Draco Malfoy; he seemed genuinely shocked. Of course, he could just be shaken by the news because Snape was one of the few true allies he had left. But something told Harry it wasn't that, or not just that. Fancy the idea of a Malfoy really caring about someone else....

With that thought for inspiration, Harry found it in his heart to be merciful. "He wasn't caught in the explosion, Malfoy. The fumes got to him. Tore his throat and lungs up a bit."

"That sounds bad enough," Draco said softly. He drew up a chair and sank into it, staring at nothing in particular.

"Yeah, well, Snape's tough as an old leather boot. He'll pull through," Ron said grudgingly.

Malfoy nodded absently, not especially convinced, by the look of him. Then a frown creased his forehead and he looked at Harry, then Ron. "But Granger went with him, you say? Why the blazes would the-- would she do that?"

"Good question," Ron retorted, his own scowl reappearing.

Harry gestured to his friend impatiently to knock it off. In spite of their long-standing tradition of incivility, this was about as inappropriate time for a fight as he could think of. And anyway Malfoy was trying, he could see that much. "I think she just felt bad to send him off alone. I--"

He stopped, feeling decidedly uncomfortable, and took his glasses off, rubbing at his eyes. After everything he'd been through, how could these things not have got any easier? And how in heaven's name had it fallen to him to break the news to this particular person? "I'm sorry to say it, Malfoy, but it looked pretty grim. You might want to ask Professor Dumbledore if you can visit the hospital."

Replacing his glasses and regarding Draco soberly, he had to wonder how he would feel if the Slytherin delivered similar news about the Headmaster to him. Probably about as stricken as Malfoy looked right now. "Soon," he felt compelled to add.

He wasn't sure Malfoy had heard him. Gazing off into his own private world--what sort of world that might be, Harry was quite certain he didn't want to know--for the first time in their more than six years of acquaintance, his face was devoid of any trace of arrogance or cynicism. He just looked...tired. Not defeated, Harry thought with an unexpected pang of empathy, but something not too far different.

The silence lengthened until it had become awkward, and Ron cleared his throat self-consciously. The sound snapped Malfoy out of his reverie. He blinked owlishly once or twice, and then got to his feet.

Not quite meeting Harry's gaze, he nodded stiffly at him. "Thanks, Potter. Guess that makes two I owe you today."

Then he smirked, seeming for a moment his familiar sardonic self, at Harry and Ron's matching expressions of openmouthed disbelief.

"Gryffindors," he murmured almost affectionately, and walked away slowly, shaking his head.

"...Well, bugger me," was all that Ron could think of to say, and Harry was forced to agree.

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