The chair is cold againist his skin, the peircingness of it stinging him through his robes. Harry grasps the warm tea cup in his now-scolded hands, relishing in the heat. It is earl grey tea, but Harry does not plan to drink it. He's never been a tea fan, nor does he trust the Headmaster not to drug his tea.

Two minutes of pure silence since his entrance had passed, excluding Dumbledore's small greeting to Harry. Harry had only nodded in response. There was a sense of uneasiness in the air, though Harry wondered if his suspicion was misplaced.

"My dear boy," Dumbledore smiled, an iconic twinkle in his eyes (eyes that Harry wants to avoid; everytime since he has arrived and met them he feels striped to his bones, his mind an open book), "Only the first month in and already so much has happened, yes? I called you in to see how you're coping, Harry."

"Oh," Harry says, relaxing a bit, if only bit. "I'm fine. I'm coping." Harry wonders if that's true.

"I'm so glad to hear that," he sipped his tea. "If you ever need anything, you only need ask, you must know. I promise I will provide– and I never ever break promise." He laughs like he knows something Harry doesn't– like he heard a joke that Harry just didn't get. But the laugh is anything but malicious, so Harry overlooks it.

"Of course," Harry mutters simply. He wonders if this it it– if expressing concern and support toward a student was all he was called in there for. He almost laughs at himself, recalling his earlier suspicions. Paranoia, he concludes. Harry has always been prone to paranoia, especially regarding adults. It is another aspect of himself gifted to him from his muggle relatives, one he is struggling to fight. "Thank you, sir."

The Headmaster smiles, and they slip into a comfortable silence. Harry tries to tell himself that this atmosphere is natural, not one spun by the careful hands of a liar. In the end, Harry lets himself relax, but he does not drink the tea.

Some time passes before Dumbledore dismissed him, as curfew was almost upon them. Harry is almost at the door when Dumbledore calls: "Harry? One last thing. You needn't worry yourself about solving this whole dragon situation. Trained professionals are already working tirelessly on it, and I wouldn't want you more stressed than nessacary, yes?"

"I'll keep that in mind, sir." He won't, but there's no reason to argue with the Headmaster. If he's in the good graces of any adult, then that's all the better. He'd rather not piss the guy off.

Dumbledore gives Harry a smile, and Harry returns it before leaving the Headmaster's office, mind already swirling with how to get Malfoy's help.

Draco Malfoy was returning from  St. Mungo's the next morning, and Harry struggled to contain his excitement.

¶∆¶

Dumbledore thumbed the mostly full vial of veritaserum with a sigh. He needed to know young Harry's true feelings on some things, but supposed it did not matter that he didn't this time around. Later would do. (Later would always do.)

¶∆¶

Harry writes a letter. It is small, simple, and to the point.

Dear Malfoy,

Library. After lunch.

- HP

He resists adding little notes like "Library, but NOT to snog" because he deemed that entirely inappropriate. (That doesn't mean he didn't consider it.)

The library had been easily repaired, as it turned out; the destruction done to the room only temporary. A complex version of reparo restored the texts.

Harry thinks that if Malfoy doesn't show (it's hard to deduce whether he will or not– on one hand, Harry saved Malfoy's life, twice might he add, and the least he can do is show up to the library. And Malfoy said he wanted to talk to Harry before the second dragon attack. But on the other hand... Malfoy and Harry, in the short time they've known each other, have never been on great terms.) then Harry will just hunt the boy down. Either way, he'll get what he needs.

Harry arrived in the library immediately after lunch and is only somewhat surprised to see that Draco Malfoy arrives only minutes after him. He is in much better shape than he was when Harry had last seen him (his body, coated in purple bruises and his breath only a hoarse whisper are the newest edition to his ever growing list of nightmares), and Harry would go as far to say he looks rather cute. Draco gives Harry a (charming) smile and sits across from him at the library table.

"I know you want to talk to me about something, but I need to just put something out in the open, too. May I start?" Draco asks politely, something surprising to Harry, but he nods. "I want to apologize."

"Apologize?"

"I've been a git to you," he states, "It isn't right."

"It's not really me that needs an apology, though, is it?" Harry's tone holds more bite than intended, but he welcomes it.

Draco, however, seems uneffected, and says: "I've sent Granger and Weasley apology letters." He did this only because of Harry, not really caring for either of them, but something told him that saying this would not help his case. He is reminded of that ever sweet filled-void in his chest when Harry came to his rescue– again– and his heart is thumping with a rejuvenated warm even now just talking to the boy. He will do whatever it takes to keep Harry close, even making amends with a Weasley.

Harry raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Wonderous," his tone is bitter; suspicious, cautious. "Anything else?"

"I'd like to offer my hand in friendship again–"

"I'd like to decline."

Draco sputtered, "L-listen–"

"Anyway," Harry continued, "I needed to meet you because–"

"Harry–"

"–Anyway. The runes on the dragon's chest, you remember them, right? Could you look into them? I haven't been able to find anything at Hogwarts, and I'd rather not ask a teacher for help researching for my own personal reasons, and you've been so adamant on bragging about the Malfoy Library–"

"I will not look into it," Draco snaps, then backtracks, "But I can. If you accept my hand in friendship." In hindsight, this was likely not the best way to try and start a friendship, and it is exactly why it did not work.

Harry huffs, then, after a moment, shrugs. He stands, pushing his chair back in before he turned to leave.

He thought Draco only liked him now because he was even more famous and, decidedly, powerful; and Draco feels like he has to repay a debt. But he doesn't. Harry feels the need to save people (he was told by Hermione that he has something called a "hero complex." Harry is not a fighter at heart, but he values people more than anything, and one outweighs the other.) and he does not want, nor will he accept, any kind of compensation. Including Malfoy's vain attempt at friendship.

"I'll figure out something else, then," he says. He gives a little wave over his shoulder. "Talk later, Malfoy."

I don't want your charity, Malfoy.

Draco stared at his retreating figure with a fixed frown on his face.

∆¶∆

There are children disappearing mysteriously from Hogwarts. The castle is in a frenzy of almost blind panic, excluding the few who are placing bets on who was next. It is not helped by the raging Dragon Epidemic.

The wards of Hogwarts have dragons pushed up againist them. They match the number of missing children to a T, and although there is only half a dozen now, it is clear the numbers do not intend to stop growing.

It is noted that the various dragons have no interest in harming anyone but the occupants of Hogwarts, as they ignore everyone else completely.

The Ministry considers killing the dragons, but eventually decide against the decision; there is no end in sight to stopping the transformations, so even if the dragons were removed they would not be able to safely take down the wards(which were placed by Dumbledore himself), as another dragon would soon take it's place, and the dragons are not a threat to anyone as long as they are not in Hogwarts. They are better use alive, as every few days a few are captured (while other released) and are taken in for study.

The wizarding world is in wonder and awe as the odd situation becomes even more so.