The lake was not Harry's favourite place in the world, but with the forest off-limits, it seemed the smartest place to go for respite from the clinging heat. The air had to be cooler there, it was a rule somewhere, so Harry restlessly made his way towards it. Climbing up onto a rock and panting a little, he whimpered, low in his throat, still shaken from being trapped in the closet.
His shirt was plastered to his back and chest, sticky with sweat, and he peeled it off, tossing it to the ground in disgust. It was technically against the Hogwarts dress code to appear anywhere other than his dorm room and the bathroom not properly clothed, but Harry figured he was far enough from the actual school to be allowed to take his shirt off. Besides, like anyone would care. He bet all the people playing football had long since torn their shirts off.
He shifted uncomfortably at the images that thought evoked and instead watched the sun glinting off the flat surface of the lake. Even the water seemed shrunken and listless in the sweltering heat, and he wondered if the water were as warm and lifeless as it looked.
A short, hot breeze blew through his hair suddenly, bringing with it the sound of laughter from the Quidditch pitch, faded as an old memory and just as painful. A sharp burst of loneliness hit Harry then, even if his isolation was of his own choice. It wasn't so much that he wanted company, it was just that, when he was by himself, he was very much aware of how truly alone he was. Maybe he was constantly surrounded by friends and professors and such, but he was always somehow apart from them. Whether it was because of his scar or because he just felt different, Harry didn't know. All he knew was that it was becoming increasingly easy to feel segregated from his friends, and it infuriated him that they didn't notice.
Being by himself was the only time when Harry felt he was being honest with the people around him, and then it was only because, of course, there weren't any. He didn't know if he could particularly handle being the hero everyone assumed him to be. Honestly, he wasn't all that brave; he was scared out of his mind. What sort of hero was terrified of waking up in the morning? What sort of hero secretly wished never to wake up because at least sleeping was real? At least if he was killed in his sleep, he could die knowing that it really wasn't his fault. He'd been asleep, how was he supposed to protect himself? Even heroes have to sleep. Even heroes have to die. Most likely sooner and more violently than other people.
And it scared him. A lot of things scared him. Being alone scared him. That's why Harry liked it; he liked a certain degree of controllable fear. Being alone by choice meant that if he changed his mind, he could have companionship. Being alone against his will was out of his control, and he flaunted having control over it, just a little bit.
He also was sort of selfishly waiting to see who would notice and come after him, to see if he was alright. A call for attention, he supposed. Ron would snort and say "You're the sodding Boy Who Lived, Harry, what more attention could you need?"
Not that sort of attention. The sort of attention that was more than 'Oh, Harry'll be fine. He's faced You-Know-Who so many times already, he's got to be practically invincible!'. The sort of attention that was more 'Oh, Harry, are you alright? Are you still breathing? Are you scared? Don't be scared, Harry, it'll be alright'. Or even being shaken roughly while someone shouted 'You stupid sod, look at all there is to live for. And you're willing to let it slip away because you're scared? So much for legendary Gryffindor courage! You should have been a Slytherin, just like me.'
Harry blinked. "What?" he said out loud, glancing around, startled, as if wondering who had put that traitorous thought into his head. No one was there.
He wasn't blind to patterns. Even if he was, Harry had to be a complete and mindless idiot to miss the way things were resolving themselves into patterns. These last few days, all the accidents, and then Draco Malfoy suddenly appearing each time Harry was in trouble and accidentally saving his life. Of course, not all patterns have a point. He was quite sure crop circles were pointless, as were the designs on sea shells and the way knots on planks of wood sometimes arranged themselves to look like faces. But still, a pattern was useful when it was understood, then it could be manipulated. And Harry understood this one. Somehow, Draco Malfoy had become some sort of protector. Like something had decided it was time for Harry to die and something else beyond his comprehension had decided that Draco Malfoy was the one to ensure that it didn't happen.
Or something.
All Harry knew was that Draco had developed a habit of showing up at the right moment, right when things nearly got a thousand times worse. And he was incredibly lonely right now. Not for the companionship of those who would let him wallow in his depression. Companionship that would make him forget, would make him feel something.
That was why he decided to get to his feet on the rock right on the shore of the lake, where the water dropped off into blackness. He lifted his arms until they were at right angles to his body, like wings, and took off his glasses, tossing them to the grass. And then, eyes closed and face turned up to the sun, he let himself fall into the water, more tipping over and dropping than diving.
He landed on his stomach and it stung. Harry didn't care, and let himself sink like a stone, thinking vaguely, as the air in his lungs started pulling him back up again, "I do hope the giant squid's not around."
Rising to the surface, he glanced around hopefully, looking for Draco's familiar figure. He was disappointed, the Slytherin wasn't there.
"Bollocks," Harry mumbled. At least he was cooler now. The water, while not cold, was certainly cooler than the air, and he lazily floated on his back, closing his eyes and letting his breath out slowly. It was relaxing and sweet, very quiet, with his ears under the water giving every sound a sort of softened effect.
He drifted for a long while, eyes still closed. The water had gently pushed him to the weedy bank a little ways from the rocks, and he rolled over, the slimy mud against his stomach somehow soothing. He pushed his face into the shallow water and opened his eyes, the green water reminding him of his life; hazy and shadowed and very, very foggy.
He let himself stay that way, on his stomach in the shallow water, his hair drifting around his head like a black halo, arms stretched out to either side.
And Harry forgot to come up for air. It just didn't seem worth spoiling the serenity of being weightless this way.
He was completely and utterly blown away and startled when he distantly heard a savage curse, shouted in a very familiar voice. His shoulder was grabbed roughly and he was flipped onto his back.
"Potter. Potter! You sodding well better be breathing, or I swear..."
He blinked. "Of course I'm breathing," he said dumbly. "Have you gone mad, Malfoy?"
Scowling, the legs of his trousers soaked from dashing into the lake after Harry, Draco backed away quickly. "No," he said shortly. "I just didn't expect to see someone in the lake and you looked... well, dead. It was..."
Harry wondered what he was going to say to finish that sentence. Scary, disgusting, wonderful, wish you were dead, you stupid, stupid Gryffindor?
"...It was a shock, that's all."
Sitting up, Harry shook his head a little to clear away the fog. "I looked dead, did I? Didn't mean to scare you, Malfoy, I was just -"
"Scare me? I certainly wasn't scared! Surprised is all. Though why I was surprised at the idea that the Boy-Who-Lived was so unstable that he'd drown himself, I don't know."
Harry had stood up and made his way out of the water, aware that he was covered with mud and soaked straight through. His trousers clung in the most uncomfortable way and he wasn't wearing a shirt. To distract Draco from that, he said, "What surprises me, Malfoy, is this time you willingly saved me."
Draco's mouth opened to deliver his snappy retort, and then slowly closed, his eyes reflecting some unreadable response. He didn't say anything, and Harry frowned.
"What are you doing here anyway? I thought you were polishing your broomstick."
"What's it to you where I go?" Draco snapped, turning to continue on his way.
Harry panicked. He suddenly very much didn't want to be left alone, more startled than he cared to admit that forgetting to come up for air had been so easy for him. "Malfoy!" He cried.
Glancing over his shoulder, Draco scowled. "What?"
"Th-thanks. For all of this."
For a long moment, he didn't think Draco would reply. Then, he did. "I certainly didn't do it for your benefit, Potter." He walked away then, and Harry watched him go, silently.
He would have thought that the loneliness would have come crashing back when Draco left, but it didn't. Somehow he felt lighter. Maybe it was the reassurance that the pattern wasn't quite finished after all.
Then again, maybe it was relief that Draco seemed to be doing such a good job of showing up just when Harry needed him.
Trusting Draco Malfoy, in any sense, should not have been a relief. But oddly, it was.
Harry was smiling a little as he grabbed his shirt and his glasses and made his way back towards Hogwarts.