Trusting Lies

Chapter One:

This is what he needed; it's what he wanted. To get away from it all, to leave it all behind him. He had made a mistake, one that could never be corrected. But he hoped that he could try to make things better. He knew he didn't deserve a second chance, but he had to ask for one anyways. He could help. He knew things, had heard things that might be of aid. They might try to arrest him. He would understand, and go quietly. All he wanted was for them to listen to him, for if they didn't he might go mad.

The moon was large and full in the winter sky, what was visible between the dense trees. Draco pulled his ragged cloak tighter around him, but it did no good; it was more holes than material now. He trudged through the snow, not knowing exactly where he was going, but he needed to keep moving, needed to get away.

He came to the end of the Forbidden Forest. If he took one more step, he would be walking once more on those grounds that had housed so many years of his life. He could see Hagrid's hut, dark and empty and cold. And further in the distance the castle loomed, a formidable structure of stone. He longed to return there, but he could not. Just looking at it made him feel unclean. He changed direction, and continued walking in the Forest.

Despite his misgivings, Draco was thinking of the Hogwarts feasts, where he could eat anything and as much as he liked, and where he would be warm. As if to remind him of what he had done, his body began to shiver violently, desperate for warmth. He needed shelter; he could do nothing if dead. But he no longer knew where he was. For the past hour and a bit he had been walking along the edge of the Forest, keeping the Hogwarts grounds in sight. The he suddenly lost them. That had been some while back. He now wandered aimlessly, hoping against hope to stumble onto a cave, a burrow, something. Instead, he walked into a clearing in the forest. It wasn't very large, and in the centre of it was a great boulder. Draco squinted his eyes. On top of the boulder sat a person, a somewhat familiar person. Draco could see something dark and shiny flowing down the rock, spreading out once it reached the ground. It was blood. He gasped. The figure atop the stone turned towards the noise, glasses catching the moonlight.

"Potter?" Draco managed to croak, before falling over in a dead faint, his body unable to handle any more.

Harry was tired of the old house, tired of the people who were there and the memories of the ones who were no longer. Tired of not having enough space to think. He needed to get out, go anywhere. He was now of legal age to conduct magic, so, when things had quieted down and everyone had gone to sleep, he stepped outside and Disapparated. He sorely hoped no one had heard him leave.

He had had no definitive destination in mind, so he was rather surprised when he arrived in Hogsmeade. He looked around at the village, so different at night, and unconsciously buttoned up his jacket. His breath misted in front of him, and for a while he just stood there in the silence. Then, as if seized by realization, Harry turned on his heels and traipsed towards the only place that had ever felt like home to him; or, used to.

Hogwarts sparkled in the moon's rays, as snow began to fall again. Here and there Harry could see where fires flickered inside, and a dull yearning grabbed hold of him, a yearning he crushed quickly. He no longer belonged at Hogwarts. He had a mission to do, to find the Horcruxes, and that took precedence in Harry's mind. Personally, he had been surprised when he had received an owl stating that the school was to remain open. But, like Ron and Hermione, he had already determined at the end of last year, what with everything that had happened, that he would not return. And now, Harry didn't think that Hogwarts would ever feel the same again anyways. Dumbledore was gone, and with him had disappeared a piece of Hogwarts. Harry felt out of place already, just walking the grounds. He was to blame for all of this. If only Voldemort hadn't marked him out from the Prophecy. If only he hadn't been born, then none of this would have happened. He parents would still be alive. Cedric would be alive. Sirius would be alive. Dumbledore would be alive.

Would it all really be like that? If you had never been born, then wouldn't Voldemort still have his powers? There would be no famous Harry Potter to put a stop to him.

Harry silenced the voice in his head. No, everything would have been better. Surely someone else would've destroyed Voldemort, and far more effectively than he had. Harry had only managed to destroy his powers; Voldemort was still alive, and now he was nearly as strong as before. Surely…surely someone else might've had the chance to actually kill Voldemort, if Harry hadn't gotten in the way and given everyone false hope. A hope that had now been crushed.

He sighed and looked about him. He didn't want to go back to number twelve Grimmauld Place, but he didn't want to stand here any more. He headed down the sloping grounds towards the lake, now frozen over. It was steely grey and smooth as glass. Below the surface Harry could swear he saw the giant squid swim by. But maybe it was just his imagination. He looked over at Hagrid's hut, but Hagrid was with the Order; he knew it would be silent. And still, he felt awkward and had no place to go, so his feet mindlessly took him towards the Forbidden Forest.

The perfect place for an outcast, he thought bitterly. And now he knew where he was headed.

During one of his many adventures – they seemed so long ago – into the Forest, Harry happened upon a unique spot in the Forest. That is where he trekked now. He had no idea where it was located in the wild growth, but he inertly knew how to get there.

After much brushing through frozen branches he walked into a clearing. There, in the centre, sat a rock, as he knew it would. He climbed up it and sat himself down, heedless of the cold seeping up from beneath him. He deserved no comforts. For the longest time he sat, again in silence, letting his mind chase thought after thought after thought, dwelling upon the past, upon mistakes, upon tragedies. Suddenly Harry removed his wand from his pocket. His contemplating had kindled an anger deep inside, long-ago regrets rising to the surface. Trembling with rage, Harry pointed his wand at his left hand and muttered a spell. Then, as if carved by a blade, the shape of a dog formed, drawn into flesh and blood. The Grim. Sirius. Harry clenched his teeth as the pain increased, ripping into his skin, marring the scar already there from Umbrige: I must not tell lies. Blood flowed freely, dripping from his hand onto the rock, onto the snow. When the image was finished, Harry switched his wand and did the same to his other hand, a different form appearing. A phoenix. Fawkes, for Dumbledore; and a small letter "C", for he had no image to represent Cedric. More blood added to that already spilt, freezing to the rock and snow. When the second figure was done, Harry held up his hands. On the back of each was now implanted a representation of someone who had died in front of him; a warning, that he could never forget and never forgive himself. There, on his hands, were the symbols of his latest mistakes, to remind him forever of his inabilities and stupidity. He felt hot tears roll down his cheeks and wiped them away fiercely; he had no use for tears anymore.

He spun around wildly when he heard a small gasp. A boy stood at the edge of the clearing, staring at Harry. The moonlight shined on silver hair and a pointed face. It was Malfoy.

"Potter?" Harry heard his name whispered, and had barely time to register it before Malfoy fell over, apparently unconscious.

Harry slowly lowered himself off the rock, keeping his wand towards Malfoy. He was known to pull sly tricks to bring down his enemies, and Harry wasn't going to take the chance. Anger bubbled up once more, but at the same time a sort of pity grabbed hold as well. Harry could remember that one particular night, the night that Dumbledore had been murdered, as if it was happening again before his eyes, and Harry had not forgotten that Malfoy had lowered his wand, that he didn't want to kill Dumbledore. He could remember Malfoy's fear that Voldemort would kill him and his family if he didn't comply. Finally, pity won out and Harry moved forward and gently rolled Malfoy onto his back; and faltered. The moonlight highlighted Malfoy's state. While having always been a thin boy, Malfoy looked starved. His cheeks were hollow, and his eyelids were black. The wrist that lay closest to Harry was so thin, the bone jutting out, that Harry feared if he grabbed it the bone would break. And perhaps most unusual for Malfoy was the state of his clothes. Malfoy typically dressed impeccably, with the best cuts and materials. Now his clothes were nothing but rags, barely enough material to stay on the body. Harry could even see flashes of pale skin beneath the clothes. This couldn't be Draco Malfoy. It couldn't be. But it was. Harry knew not what to do; he couldn't leave him here like this, but it would be a terrible thing to take him to the location of the Order, seeing as how Malfoy did belong to the other side. But, knowing he had nowhere else to take him, Harry resigned himself and bent down and carefully lifted up Malfoy, who weighed almost nothing. Carrying him, Harry took him down to Hogsmeade, where he Disapparated, to take an enemy right into the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.