Harry sits across from Hermione and Ron. He's just recounted every minute detail of the days he didn't have nightmares; Hermione thinks that there might be a correlation and if they can find it, they can repeat it on purpose. And then Harry won't ever have to deal with nightmares again.

Of course, Harry's not all that sure that he deserves this, this kindness granted to him by his best of friends. He looks to his side, to the empty chair there, and sees the phantom form of Cedric sitting there. "Kill the spare," mocks fake-Cedric and Harry snaps his head back toward Hermione and Ron.

Cedric is dead. His parents are dead. There's nothing he can do about that. But does that matter? Should it? Harry thinks this guilt has swallowed him.

But he has Ron, and he has Hermione, and that has to mean something. He loves these people with all of his fierce heart and thinks that maybe, love is enough. It means something.

"I think I've got it," says Hermione after a long beat of silence.

"Oh, Hell yeah, Mione girlbossing! Lay it on us!" cheers on Ron.

Hermione bites her lip. "You're not going to like it."

"I'm sure I'll love it, right," encourages Harry, grinning widely, ignoring Cedric at his side.

"No, I mean you're really not going to like it."

"Reassuring," mutters Harry. "Well, lay it on us, like Ron said. Don't sit there teasing us."

Hermione sighs. "So you had no nightmares when napping on the train, after fighting with Malfoy?"

"Right," says Harry. Starting with Malfoy, he doesn't like where this is going...

"And you had no nightmares when Malfoy had detention with Umbridge -- which by the way you still won't mention what happened during that detention, but whatever--"

Harry winces but says nothing. Some secrets are better kept. He tugs on the sleeve covering his hand wound absently. "Right," he says again, but weaker.

Hermione claps. "So!"

"So what?" says Ron, confsued.

"Please don't tell me you're implying what I think you're implying," utters Harry.

"What are you two talking about?"

"It could not be the case... but it's Occum's razor, Harry; the most simple solution is the most likely to be true."

"And what is that?" prompts Ron.

Hermione blinks. "That, for some reason, Harry doesn't get nightmares if he touches hands with Draco Malfoy during the day." And there. That damning sentence.

Harry burries his head in his hands. "Oh, Lord. I'm a dead man. Bury me, please."

"It's not that bad of a situation," says Hermione, awkwardly, patting him on the arm. "It could be worse."

"Worse!" exclaims Ron. "he's got to hold hands with Malfoy -- of all people! What could be worse than that?"

"Not. Helping," mutters Hermione. "And, anyway, it could have been You-Know-Who. Then we'd really be in a pickle."

Harry shudders and raises his head out of his hands. "Don't give Fate any ideas." He sighs, running a hand down his face. "How did this happen? Was I cursed? Did Voldemort get to me and decide to torture me with Malfoy's presence? Is that what happened here?"

"I don't know," muses Hermione. "I'll look into what caused this -- though I am suspecting the Dark Arts, it could be a spell used originally for comforting purposes--"

"How can that be?" exclaims Ron. "The spell makes it so you can't have nightmares unless you touch hands with a specific purpose. With Malfoy and Harry, it's not exactly being put to good use."

"Right," says Hermione, "but it could have been used on a person that Harry likes, and then the spell would just be a way to make sure Harry doesn't have nightmares."

Ron slumps in his chair. "Right," he mutters.

"So I'll figure out the spell and how to reverse it," states Hermione, ever the problem solver. Harry should be okay with this; Harry is assumed to be okay with this.

But it is like Hermione said, the spell is likely meant to be a comfort.

And then Harry says something very strange: "Why would you ever do that?"

Hermione blinks. "What are you implying here?"

"I'm saying that this is a great opportunity to mend bridges -- build roads!"

Ron gets his meaning immediately. "We're not making a truce with Malfoy," he says seriously.

But Harry's thinking of the way Malfoy hasn't insulted him since their detention, of how Malfoy stood there and watched Umbridge hurt him when he could have looked away, of how Malfoy is funny and witty, even if his humour is in bad taste, of how he is at the very least tolerable. And he knows that Malfoy pities him. It's obvious. And it's useful.

"I want my nightmares to stop," Harry says softly. Hermione and Ron. Harry is being vulnerable, and though it is in a manipulative natural, meant to achieve an ends... Harry is never vulnerable. He does all in his power to avoid it. So they listen when he says, "They're terrible. They're so real too -- and -- and there's these ones in which I am not myself but someone close to Voldemort and I see him. I see people die and hurt and I see Wormtail and Voldemort and I worry they're real, you know? And I've never talked about them before, not with anyone, because I'm so afraid of what they might mean."

He locks eyes with Hermione. "Please," he says. "Don't reverse the spell."

And Hermione says, "Okay," and Harry feels a little more at ease. Who knew he'd ever be arguing to spend more time with Malfoy (of all people!)?

"Besides," says Harry, waving a hand, as if to dismiss the emotional rant he just let out, "we're not asking the first questions."

Hermione looks offended by the preposition. "What questions should we be asking, then?"

"Well, if I was cursed," says Harry, and his words hang heavy in the air, Hermione's eyes widening as the realization comes to her separately, "then who cursed me?"