The Things No One Notices (A HP Fic)

Chapter four

"Tom," Harry called.

There was no answer.

Harry sighed. Typical, he thought.

Over the past few weeks, Voldemort had been going silent on Harry. There were no invading emotions, or nightmares, or dreams, or memories, or bits of orders to the Death Eaters. It was weird. On top of that Malfoy was constantly watching him. Not to mention that he was off horcrux hunting with Dumbledore all the time.

Was there mental connection fading, due to the destruction of two of the horcruxes? No one was able to give him an answer. Hermione only got mad when he mentioned that he was still getting dreams from Voldemort. He did not dare tell Dumbledore, as the man would only use it in his favor. There was no one else that he could tell. No one that understood what was going on. He had to deal with this situation on his own. No one could help him but himself.

He leaned his head against the pile of books and chairs, that he was sitting in front of. He closed his eyes, letting the world dissolve around him. The Marauder's map and his invisibility cloak sat on the dusty ground next to him. He did not bother to hide either item. It was very unlikely that someone would come here and find him.

His stomach grumbled, sending pain shooting through him. How long had it been since he last ate? Weeks. Days. He was not sure. His body felt week. He could fall asleep in this room of chaos, if it were not for the nightmare that kept plaguing him. It was always followed by that cackle. The only thing reminding him that he was connected to Voldemort.

He let out a heavy sigh, wrapping his arms around his knees as he pulled them into his chest. He pressed his cheek against his knees, staring into the corridors of books, shelves, furniture, and other miscellaneous things.

Maybe he should go down to eat. It was about super time anyway. He shook his head at the thought. Going into the Great Hall would do nothing good, for him. It was better if he just stayed here. If he really wanted to eat the room would grant him something. He knew that. He knew most of the secrets of the Room of Requirement, by now. He spent enough time here.

There was a thud a few isles down, as if someone had fallen or punched something. Harry sat up straight in shock. He thought he was alone. No one else could get in here if he were in here. Unless they were going to the same room as him.

The Gryffindor stood up and drew his wand. He clutched it tightly in his hand. He was ready for anything. Well, almost anything. Harry stopped in his tracks at what he saw. A few isles down, sitting in front of a wooden cabinet, with his fingers pulling at his hair, and an apple with a bite out of it, and a dead bird, in front of him was Draco Malfoy.

The Slytherin was obviously distressed. A wave of glee flooded through Harry. He fell to the floor in shock, knocking over a pile of junk on his way down.

Malfoy jumped to his feet; his wand pointed at the intruder.

"Who's there?" He called. His voice was strained, as if to hide the fact that it was shaking.

Potter stared wide eyed at the blonde. He could barely bring himself to breathe. His heart was pounding in his chest, but something in the back of his mind told him it was from fear. Of either Malfoy's wand pointed directly at him, or of the cackling malevolent gleeful laughter, coming from Voldemort in his head.

Draco lowered his wand once he saw who it was.

"What are you doing here, Potter?" he asked.

The question was not asked with malice or accusation.

"I'm trying not be found," Harry answered the question honestly.

Both boys pocketed their wands. Something new flowed between them. It was not friendship. It was not a rivalry. It was oddly like trust. But, neither of them had a reason to trust the other. There was too much between them to believe that they trusted each other. There was too much bloody history—literally.