Moonlit Fair

by Flutesong

Draco learns some life lessons, and his world changes because of them.

Moonlit Fair.doc

By – Harry/Draco slash – extreme wartime violence, angst and evil adults galore – brief mention of het sex, not a deathfic for main characters

Rating - Adults Only

Disclaimer – Harry Potter and his entire universe belong to JKR, her legal representatives and publishers. I make no claims. This is fan entertainment.

Notes - Books 1-5 and then AU as there is no way whatsoever that JKR will continue the series in this manner, written before HBP.

Here Dead We Lie

Here, dead we lie

Because we did not choose

To live and shame the land

From which we sprung.

Life, to be sure,

Is nothing much to lose,

But young men think it is,

And we were young.

A. E. Houseman

Moonlit Fair - Introduction

The moderately tall, fair boy who boarded the Hogwart's Express for the start of his seventh year and bore the features of Draco Malfoy was in fact, not the same Draco Malfoy that had exited the same train some three months ago. Oh, he looked the same. He walked with the same arrogant stride, head held imperiously high at the same angle as previously, the perfectly fitted student robes billowing in elegant folds against his highly polished black boots, was the same, but the creature inside was as different from the departing Malfoy, three months prior, as sunshine was from moon glow.

The fact that the entourage who trotted in his wake and was made up of the same toadies as before and like everyone else Malfoy encountered thus far, seemed not to notice that any change at all had occurred. Malfoy's nod of satisfaction, as his trunk, owl cage and miscellaneous other belongings were quickly and neatly loaded into his train compartment was as full of entitlement as always, but the softly muttered "thank you" was not business as usual at all.

Malfoy sank into the window seat, glared at anyone who dared to approach his side of the compartment and lazily crossed his well-shod feet across the length of the seat. Goyle and Crabbe groused as Millicent and Pansy squeezed into the seat opposite of Malfoy. The large boys had already taken up residence and most of the available space. The girls however, merely wriggled their bottoms until they found a modicum of comfort and settled in, eager to hear any and all of Malfoy's plans for Slytherin success in the term ahead.

Malfoy surprised them all.

He did this not by sneering at them with ill concealed disgust, which he did as usual, but by seeming to shroud himself in a wall of impenetrable silence, offering up neither his usual anti-Muggle/Potter/Dumbledore/Ministry diatribe nor a single plan for Slytherin supremacy in the new term.

A few moments later, and this time his softly muttered "thank you" to the sweet-cart vendor was indeed heard and wondered at. Crabbe and Goyle managed to exchange bewildered, eye rolling glances and stuff their faces with sweets at the same time. Pansy and Millicent ate with slightly less obvious greed, but also managed to send each other highly meaningful, if silent, looks all the same.

During the next hour, most of the current Slytherins, a few with first year siblings in tow, stopped by Malfoy's compartment to offer their start of term greetings to the recognized student head of house. They were surprised as much by the lack of sly conversation and sharp edged laughter as they were by total lack of even the barest acknowledgement from Malfoy himself. They exchanged looks with the four on the over-packed and sweaty seat and received meaningful glances, grimaces and frowns in response. They returned to their own compartments bemused and more than slightly ruffled to find that the usual start of year protocols had been ignored.

Malfoy, they all thought, is their version of royalty. Royalty always deigns to notice its underlings, with appropriate condescension, of course. This change of behavior was discussed at length, but the only conclusion they could reach was that somehow this change meant that Malfoy had new, if presently unexplained and indecipherable, tactics afoot to bring fame and glory to his house and carry all of them to renown besides. That decided, the Slytherins returned to normal, harassing the first years, siblings or not, and those from other houses who were so unwise as to pass by their compartments.

Chapter 1 Lessons Learned

Malfoy was not unaware of the stir he'd caused. It meant little and he would clear up any resultant confusion later. Just now, in his first moments of autonomy away from home, he needed to think of things he had not been allowed to or been able to consider while at home. He wanted to do it before he reached the walls of Hogwarts where he would be thrust onto display before the entire school in front of eyes that were not just unfriendly, but suspicious and quite possibly in thrall to his parents as well as to Voldemort.

Malfoy exhaled and inhaled slowly and deeply. He concentrated on the view rushing past his window without actually seeing it. The blur of greens, browns and grays coalesced into a mental cloak that he drew about himself and sunk into. He willed his heart to beat slowly and in time with his breaths. The sounds of his companions dulled and the noise of the train became a murmuring counterpart to his internal dialogue.

He started at the beginning of his personal list of Lessons Learned. Even though contemplation was a recent activity for Malfoy, he always tried to start at the beginning because it was the layers and nuances of the past that had brought him to this stage of awareness and understanding. Without the past firmly in mind, he became what he had been before this summer, the shallow and arrogant 'git' everyone but his toadies believed him to be. Without the complexity and shadows of the past worked into the picture, he was the same one-dimensional and easily manipulated, vain youngster he'd always been and not the clever man he wanted to become, was becoming.

He thought of the first day when considering being someone else and doing something else occurred to him. He allowed that the Shocking Night before the Day of Awareness had everything to do with his epiphany, that without the distress he'd suffered he would have continued along happily enough in willful ignorance. Nevertheless, the Night had happened and thus the Day followed and nothing was the same again.

Malfoy did not rub the healed burn high on the inside of his thigh. He had done that before he'd perfected his ability to concentrate, using the ridged scab as his focal point. His hand twitched with the urge to feel his scar, but a few more deep breaths and it relaxed. He'd been left alone, naked and coated in sweat, blood, urine, semen, and shame for long, long hours and it was during those painful hours that he'd found this wellspring of strength inside himself. He was absolutely sure that no one, least of all him, considered that he had such a wellspring at all. Now, it was his secret weapon, all the more powerful for being unspoken and hidden beneath his usual manner.

He'd carefully and clearly looked at his past during those awful hours after he been abandoned to stew in his horror. He realized that this was a pattern and had made his brain distance itself from his current distress to find the threads that had woven together to produce his current state of being.

Lesson 1 was an occurrence while still a toddler.

He'd found his way out of the manor house, across the manicured lawns and through the wrought iron fence to the street and the fountain that heralded the exclusivity of his neighborhood to all who were so unwary as to wander onto this stretch of road uninvited. The fountain, a bold pose of Admiral, Lord Nelson, considered a somewhat failed wizard for his losses at sea and his unfaithful wife's excesses, feet widespread and balanced on the deck of a ship, a look of smug heroic scorn on his face at the unseen enemy, stood on rocks placed carefully to look like angry gray waves. It was the families of frogs that lived on these choppy rocks that Malfoy had been after. Too young to regard the dangers of the sharp rocks, slick and green with algae, Malfoy clamored higher and higher until he was able to perch amongst a large number of friendly croaking amphibians.

Soaked, slimed and happy to be away from his nurse, the stern stares of his parents, and the small elves that were always too busy to play with him, Malfoy laughed as the frogs hopped from his bare toes to his knees, to his shoulders and used his head as a diving board. He slapped his feet on the wet rocks and made little geysers for the frogs to shower beneath. Perfectly happy, he babbled to the frogs all his secrets: the extra piece of toast he'd cadged from nurse's plate, the place where he'd hidden his shoes and socks. Best of all, the flap of carpet he'd lifted and where he hid the portrait of the nasty red-eyed man who hissed and threatened him every time he'd had to walk past that end of the parlor.

He was very proud of this last feat, as it had taken ages and ages to climb the back of the settee and all his strength to lift down the portrait and carry it to the loose end of the carpet in the smallest and most seldom used dining room. He thought he was very clever and the frogs certainly seemed to agree, croaking madly along with his recital.

He'd looked up from this friendly circle to see his father, day robe billowing, arms swinging tightly in anger, his mother rushing behind, her high heels tripping her in the grass. He quickly shooed the frogs from his lap, but was at a loss how to scramble down the slick rocks. He remembered waiting and how his breaths came faster and faster as his father drew closer and closer. He remembered feeling the cool water at his feet and the warm sun on his shoulders. How the sun hid behind a random cloud, as if his father could banish it from the sky with an angry gesture.

He remembered being terrified.

Malfoy took a deep breath and followed it with a slow exhale. His hand twitched once more to fondle the raised scar, but he suppressed the urge and made himself face that long ago day.

His father had stood in front of him, feet splayed and hands clenched at his sides, biting off each word as if uttering them tasted like something foul. "Get down now," Lucius Malfoy, roared.

Malfoy, already on his feet, jumped. He felt his toes lose their grip on the slippery rock and he began to fall, face forward, into the stone sea. He heard his mother scream and his father curse and suddenly, a fierce hand grab him when his nose was an inch away from rock. Swung out of the fountain and tossed roughly onto the street, he felt pain bloom in his hands and knees. He cried out and was kicked onto his back. He remembered laying there, at his father's mercy, not daring to cry aloud again.

His father moved the red-eyed scary man's portrait into his bedroom, to the wall on the left side of his new big-boy bed. The portrait had cursed, threatened and told him horror stories from that spot until Draco had grown old enough to move from the top floor nursery to a bedroom on the same floor as his parents. All his nightmares dated from that time and featured red, slit eyed snakes swallowing him whole and him dying inch by inch while being ingested. He grew to hate the midnight mating croaks of the frogs too.

He learned that the red-eyed man always had pride of place and was inescapable in Malfoy Manor.

Draco Malfoy focused for a moment on the view outside his compartment. He saw they had just reached the northern hills and that there were still hours to go before they made it to the Scottish border. He closed his eyes and breathed.

Lesson 2 came when he was five and a tutor supplanted his nurse.

While she hadn't been a very demonstrative nanny, she had certainly been a softer presence than the narrow shouldered, sallow faced tutor who took her place. The tutor pinched him to make him work faster and pinched harder when his Js, Ys and Gs somehow straggled on even after he lifted his quill from parchment. He'd written to his nurse asking her to return and taking, from his mother's dressing table, a bon-bon as payment for the owl, sent one of his father's owls with the missive. He'd been unpleasantly surprised to find that evening at dinner that the owl had not delivered the note to his former nanny. The owl had simply flown to the other side of the manor and delivered the missive to his father in his study.

His father had taken him by his hair, still worn in a shiny corona of curls, in a painful grasp and dragged him to the manor's owlery. He'd thrown Draco onto the floor, into the slimy mess that covered it and demanded that the boy tell him exactly which owls were his to command without permission. Draco had no answer since he had not asked for permission or thought about asking at all.

He learned then that nothing at all was his without his father's express largess as he passed the next several days scrubbing the floor with small brushes, much to the house elves astonishment and distress. He'd been banished from the table for several weeks until his mother could face her small son again without the fear of the accompanying odor of owl shit.

Malfoy spared a glance at his clean well kept hands and smiled wryly to himself. Yes, he'd certainly learned that his father controlled his destiny and he'd learned his mother was not a source of solace or was willing or able to help him.

He wondered how he'd been so foolish, a few years later, to have forgotten those first lessons. Nevertheless, he had and third time unlucky had been a harsh reminder. He'd been seven, no, eight when he'd put the next foot wrong. He'd been sent in to serve the men who were meeting with his father, glasses of wine. Not because there were not plenty of servants, but because his father had expressly commanded that Draco serve these men and take note of them and their names. He'd carefully carried in the wine, two ancient and priceless goblets on a gold tray, at a time, successfully for three trips.

Draco sighed unawares, immersed deeply in his thoughts and in the past and failed to see that Pansy and Millicent took note and frowned at each other, now, more than ever, concerned that a Slytherin was daydreaming. That he was daydreaming, not with grins of self-satisfaction or malicious chuckles, but with sighs and distress. This was not the Slytherin Way and the girls understood each other wordlessly and hoped Malfoy was not having attacks of conscience or, even worse, fallen in love over the summer.

He'd carried in two more glasses and made the mistake of looking up at the man who took a glass instead of keeping his eye on the balance of the tray. The second glass had tilted and fallen off the tray. It made a large, deep red stain on the priceless carpet. Worse, when he'd tried to reach for the glass, he knocked into one of the men and that man had stepped back and crushed the goblet with the heel of his boot. The man jumped and immediately said a 'reparo' spell, which gathered the glass back together and removed the stain from the carpet. But, his father had noticed and his mother had gasped.

Nothing was said and the evening had continued, but Malfoy knew, at however a tender age he'd been at the time, that the matter was not yet over. He'd been awakened much later that night and told to present himself in the drawing room. He'd hurried, drawing quick sobbing breaths, downstairs. His mother had all 12 of the precious wine glasses before her on the ivory and jade inlaid table. She was tapping on the arm of the couch with her wand. Malfoy remembered being mesmerized by the steady tap-tap-tap of the wand. His mother almost always had her wand sunk inside the loops and twirls of her golden hair, glamoured to appear like an anchor clip or a fancy chop-stick. She never betrayed any kind of nervousness or anxiety by anything as vulgar as tapping. Instinctively, he knew this tapping was 'not' a good thing.

"Draco," she said quietly in her somewhat throaty voice, "these goblets were part of the original Malfoy inheritance, dating back to a certain favor a Malfoy rendered to Merlin himself."

Draco simply stared at the tap-tap-tap of the wand and did not answer. There was nothing to say. He had not known and dropping the glass had been an accident. He did not think either of these replies would be sufficient, so he said nothing.

His mother stopped tapping, aimed the wand and sent a crucio curse his way. Malfoy came back to consciousness curled around one of the legs of the table, mortified, once he had his breath back, to find he'd wet his pajamas.

"All these many hundreds of years, the goblets have survived unbroken and perfect." It took his mind a moment to understand his mother was still talking. He got to his knees, but didn't even try to stand. "Now, you Draco," her voice trembled with fury, "have seen fit to smash one with your uncouth clumsiness. Draco wasn't sure what uncouth meant exactly, but he knew it was 'not' a good thing, not a Malfoy thing at all.

"They are ruined." His mother said.

"No, no," Malfoy replied, "nothing's wrong. It was fixed as good as new!"

"Look at them!" His mother's voice rose and the wand took up a faster beat on the arm of the chair.

Malfoy looked. They were rare and beautiful. Shining silver chased with gold filigree on transparently thin crystal with emerald chip-eyed snakes. They were all perfect. He raised his eyes to his mother. She sneered and he felt as if he was seeing her for the first time. Not the fragile woman, pale and wispy, but a rod of titanium, silver, unbendable, unbreakable.

"Look again," she ground out.

Obediently, he looked. He removed himself from his mother, her wand, and his wet pants and looked. Slowly, almost tentatively, he saw a slight quiver in the air surrounding one of the cups. He blinked and stared. There it was again, an almost invisible shudder in the air. He pointed and said, "That one, Mama."

She smiled and Malfoy cringed. It was not a nice smile or a congratulatory smile or one of approval. "Yes," was all she said on an exhale and the goblets exploded into a million fragments.

Draco screamed and covered his eyes.

Shifting in his seat, he remembered what he learned. Imperfection was not tolerable or borne. Perfection was the only acceptable standard. He looked at the back of his hands. The tiny white scars were long gone, but he saw them anyway. Had he not reacted, the shards would have blinded him. He'd been left with the mess, his bloody hands and his wet pants until a house elf came and lifted him over the sea of shards.

Neither of his parents spoke to him for a month and for that length of time, he had not existed.

Chapter 2 Pop Quiz

Draco Malfoy did not think he was an abused child. He did not think he'd been unduly put upon or punished. He did not think his years before Hogwarts were full of stress, pain or unhappiness. The members of his generation, who he met in perfumed drawing rooms or on perfectly tended lawns or at elaborate dinners, were very much like him. They all had the best of everything in toys, games, clothing and equipment. They all responded to their parents with awe and respect and they all, once they were free of their elders, treated each other to sneers, contempt and as much humiliation as they could. Malfoy found, to his delight, that his ability to condescend, make sharp comments and command the other children to do things was simply better that the other wannabees. He was quicker and more cutting and because they had always responded, had been taught to respond, to this kind of arrogant manner, they transferred their awe and obedience to him. He became their defacto leader and he was glad.

Only occasionally, he was dissatisfied. Toadies were not worthy of his full confidence or a show of his real heart and soul. He wasn't sure exactly what was beneath his wall of well schooled manners and finely tuned arrogance, but, he thought, there was something. He only had this feeling rarely and when it poked and chafed at his temper or his conscience, he squashed it.

When he went to Hogwarts, he found that there were actually other children who were not his to command. Children who resisted his blood right to be their superior or worse, did not believe he 'had' those rights, he was appalled. The order of his universe shifted and it was not a comfortable thing, not a Malfoy thing at all.

All his discomfort centered on Harry Potter. While Potter was an irritant and sometimes, more than that, he was not entirely downcast. He noticed that Harry Potter, just the name Harry Potter, was enough to upset his parent's sanguinity and if the boy could do that, his less than successful attempts to render the boy into a nonentity was not all that surprising.

He watched the other boy. Hell, everyone watched Harry Potter. As the years passed and Harry Potter's resume of accomplishments against evil, Voldemort and his minions increased, Malfoy began to take even more special note of this 'special' boy.

He'd come to some conclusions about Potter. They were typical, the same as he heard the other students talk about. Potter was a Gryffindor, Potter was Dumbledore's pet, Potter was lucky; Potter had special powers because of his interaction with the Dark Lord when he was a baby and on and on. The talk swirled and eddied, some, like the Ravenclaws and the Hufflepuffs, were admiring or impressed. The Gryffindors were ebullient and proud and the Slytherins were, or at least they showed, contempt and ennui.

As his own unsuccessful traps and impotent baiting added up and his lack of a win against the Boy Who Lived became more and more apparent, Malfoy became more and more frustrated, angry and determined.

Malfoy shook himself back to the present, stretched, automatically swiped a handful of sweets from Goyle's lap and finally looked at the persons who were sharing his compartment. They were, overall, not an attractive lot. Especially as they were chewing things and glimpses of their tongues and teeth were visible, coated with chocolate or green icing or red food coloring. They perked up and stared back at him. He thought of cows and almost laughed. Millicent narrowed her eyes and spoke in a thick gooey voice, "Got a rat up your arse, Malfoy? You've been as dreamy as a mudblood, all sighs and whispers."

Malfoy crinkled his nose at the disgusting display of messy mouth and ill-bred words. "I've been planning," he said haughtily. "You know, 'thinking'. It comes in handy occasionally. Perhaps you ought to attempt it sometime."

All four smiled at him. They were not nice smiles, but they were approving, if vicious.

Malfoy checked his teeth with his tongue, finding no residue, he allowed a sneer to form and with a show of a carnivore's teeth, bit the head off a chocolate frog, nodded once and leaned back into his corner.

Pansy grinned, shoved Goyle a bit further into Millicent and crossed her legs. Goyle whined and Crabbe called him a faggot, all was well.

Malfoy went back to his concentrated view out the window.

Chapter 3 Final Exam

There had been more tests over the years. But, there had been many pleasures as well. He had not been seriously threatened by anyone except his parents or Potter, not the kind of threats that caused lasting harm, anyway. So, what happened two weeks ago had been a huge surprise. He no longer beat himself up over his naiveté or lack of preparation. He realized, now that he thought of himself as 'becoming something more', that he had simply been unaware, patently blind perhaps, but unaware all the same.

He turned 17 in June. It had been duly celebrated. First, with his parents, then with gifts and guests at a formal dinner in the Malfoy summer pavilion near Brighton and after the guests left a few days later, his father took him to a discreet establishment located in the Cote d'Azur on the French Rivera. It has been the first time he'd apparated, although he'd been to France previously.

Lucius had not questioned him about his sexual experience or preference. He'd merely introduced him to Madame Sylvie and departed, going upstairs with the familiarity of someone who did so frequently and knew his way. Madame seated Draco in a wonderfully comfortable red velvet chair, which no doubt, belonged to Lucretia Borgia once upon a time, and began a presentation of her stable.

Draco was not so innocent that he did not understand what he was here to do. He thought it a befitting present for his coming of age birthday. He was not concerned that he would not or could not perform. He understood that he was in the hands of professionals. That it was worth her while, if not Madame's life, to make sure he had a satisfactory time. It came as shock however, after a parade of lovely females, in every shape, form and color, when they were followed by a long queue of males.

He spared a fleeting thought that the chair had grown smaller, harder, and too warm, but he was too distracted to care. Madame offered no explanation, she simply continued to enumerate the charms and specialties of each contender. Draco thought that perhaps he was not as sanguine as he previously believed and longed to ask if his father was watching.

He thought, in those first shocking moments, that he really wanted to know what his father expected of him this night. He wanted to know what his father would accept or not. What Draco did not think of was that he was in fact, a lot less confident and worldly than he believed himself to be. He did not factor in what the loss of innocence might mean to him. And, he did not comprehend that he might be more affected by a hardcore professional loss of his virginity than he thought the other Slytherins had been or claimed to have been by their chance-met experiences.

Sex was a standard topic within both the Slytherin Common Room and throughout the school. Hundreds of teenagers were certainly, regardless of House, not immune to the call of two-backed beast. While Hufflepuffs wanted to go steady, Ravenclaws wanted health certificates and Gryffindors wanted true love, in the end, everyone wanted to get laid. It was, by no means, the sole habit of Slytherins to talk about it whenever and wherever they could.

Malfoy gave in and, lightening quick, gave the ridged scar on his thigh a quick rub. He chewed the remainder of his chocolate frog slowly. When all the bodies had come and gone, Madame turned to him and softly asked him what he wanted to do. Although he knew it was a trick of the light and long practice, he felt she really cared and was being gentle. He nervously swallowed the spit, which had gathered in his throat, and said he wanted the petite blonde teenage girl and the slender, muscular, black haired boy to join him.

Just as Madame was about to summon them, he changed his mind and requested a dark haired girl and a blonde boy. Madame smiled, got up in a rustle of silk, led him to an ornate bedchamber and told him to bathe in the large tub. He complied and was joined by the pair of beauties. They dropped their robes and came into the bath with him. Not shy, but grateful to be covered to his chest by the bathwater nonetheless, he reached out and touched the girls breasts. He did not touch the blond boy, but when he slid his hand between the girl's thighs, he told the boy to touch the girl too.

The boy stationed himself behind the girl and massaged her breasts, licking and kissing her neck at the same time. Malfoy slid a finger into the girl. She arched and the other boy plucked at her nipples. Malfoy added another finger. Aroused, he became curious and wanted to see what he was doing. He forgot about being shy and displaying his body. He told them to get out of the tub and, once out, told the girl to show him her body. She lay on the edge of the bed and balanced her heels by bending her legs almost even with her waist. She opened her sex to him and he put his fingers back inside of her. She began to thrust languidly against his intrusion. The other boy came up behind Malfoy, and when he cupped Malfoy's erection in his hand, Malfoy groaned. He could feel the boy's erection against his hip.

Malfoy moved closer into the girl's open legs and the boy, behind him, slathered a warm unguent on Malfoy's penis, and then pushed him closer to the girl. He tugged Malfoy's hand out of the girl and guided him to the opening with his hand still on Malfoy's penis. Malfoy bent over the bed and entered the girl and the boy slid his hands onto Malfoy's hips and pushed him in hard.

Malfoy barely spared a thought to the other boy's hands when he felt the warm lotion being rubbed into his buttocks and then into the channel between them. If anything, Malfoy thought it was only fair and perhaps, right, when the boy slid a slippery finger into him. Malfoy watched himself slide in and out of the girl, aroused but nowhere near to orgasm and he felt the boy's finger take up the same rhythm. It was all very warm and pleasant.

The boy brought his other hand around to the front and parted the girl's labia, rubbing hard right above Malfoy' penis. The girl gasped and moaned. The boy added a second finger into Malfoy, and pushed in vigorously. Malfoy jerked harder into the girl and back on the fingers. He came in an explosion of warmth and fullness. The boy pulled him from the girl and pushed him into a chair. He mounted the girl and fucked her with hard strokes.

Malfoy watched the boy's cock and watched the muscles in the boy's ass as he worked the girl. Malfoy stood up and using the residual slickness on his hand blindly thrust two fingers into the other boy's asshole. The boy yelled an obscenity, jerked and Malfoy felt the boy's channel squeeze his fingers and he withdrew, only to jam three fingers back in. The boy yelped.

Malfoy, not questioning why he was erect so soon, lined himself up behind the boy, withdrew his fingers and breached the boy. The tightness and heat sent a message to his brain that had his mouth flooding and his heart pounding and he fucked the boy into the girl hard and harder. The boy came and the girl shrieked and Malfoy dug his fingers into the boy's hips and kept fucking.

When Malfoy orgasmed, he felt his heart stutter, his vision dim and he sank to his knees and panted harshly.

Chapter 4 His Father's House

After another bath and a return of his freshly pressed clothes, Madame called him to attend his father in the parlor. His father asked no questions, they apparated back to the Malfoy summer pavilion and Malfoy went to his room and to his cool soft bed. He could hear the sea and then the late night rain begin to fall. He closed his eyes and went to sleep.

He woke late. His mother gave no hint she knew what had occurred the previous night, merely reminded him to finish his summer homework before he went out and left the breakfast room. He did not see his father that day or the next.

He returned to Malfoy Manor with his mother and another week of summer passed with occasional visits from fellow Slytherins when their parents called upon his.

Malfoy unwrapped a chili-pepper lollipop and stuffed the entire thing in his mouth. The fierce explosion of blistering heat from the candy enabled him to keep his hand away from the scab on his thigh. However, that was his only concession to self-distraction. He made himself think back and face all of what followed.

Chapter 5 Paradise Lost

It started innocently enough. He had not suddenly become sex crazed just because he had done it and knew himself capable. In fact, there wasn't anyone in Slytherin he wanted to come visit or go visit and have sex with. He knew that he'd enjoyed fucking the boy more than the girl, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. He was sure either gender would be available to him outside of school, no doubt as near as Hogsmeade. He rather thought he should give the boys at school a pass though, as he could hear the Gryffindor's jeers already echoing in his head if he went that way. There were few successful secrets of that type at Hogwarts and he didn't trust Pansy to refrain from gossiping against him if it suited her vanity.

The mid August Death Eaters meeting went off as planned in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor, and Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy, Millicent and a skinny Ravenclaw named Helena holed up in his room, as usual, to gossip and whine about being old enough to get their Dark Marks and skive off school already.

The only new thing was three large bottles of fire whiskey that Goyle had somehow lifted from home and managed to apparate beneath his cloak and bring, unbroken, to Draco's room.

Nothing loath, Draco put the bottles beneath his bed. He had the house elves bring a large repast of favorite snacks to his room. They brought pumpkin juice and glasses as well.

All of them dug in, cutting the acrid burn of the whiskey with the juice and handfuls of salted nuts. Having never been drunk, and believing himself above such sloppy behavior, Draco guzzled along with the others. All too soon however, the Ravenclaw vomited into the chips bowl and set off a chain of regurgitation that rivaled Longbottom's worst day of blowing up cauldrons in Potions.

Disgusted and woozy, Draco made for the balcony and, half tripping, half falling down the stairs, ended up in the magical creatures' topiary garden and face to face with a hippogriff.

Malfoy rubbed the scab on his leg. His breath chuffing soft pants and his eyes, extraordinarily, filling with tears. He didn't dare glance at the others in the compartment.

He'd told himself a million times since that night, mistaking the enchanted topiary for a real animal was justified because he'd been abysmally drunk. But, for a few shocked moments he had indeed believed he was back in third year and about to be attacked.

He'd drawn his wand, determined to kill the beast this time and, forgetting the multiple secure wards since his father's escape from Azkaban and the additional ones that were always set during Death Eater visits, he sent a death curse at the plant and blew it and most of the garden into smithereens. He'd barely processed his mistake, as clods of earth and leaves, ripped into confetti sized shreds, showered down on his head, when he was surrounded by Death Eaters and impaled by the eyes of Voldemort himself.

All of a sudden, he had become very, completely and totally sober.

He actually heard his father growl in the ensuing silence. Moreover, he watched, with horrified bemusement, as the last of the detritus rained down on Voldemort in sizzling pale green and silver smoke, and landed at his feet.

He knew he was dead.

He saw it in Voldemort's mean red eyes and felt it come at him in waves from his father's white knuckled hand, which shook as he raised his wand.

Chapter 6 Exile

Crucios came at him from all directions. He returned to consciousness gibbering with vomit and urine soaking his pants. He heard the other kids screaming and saw curse light aimed up the stairs at them. He saw his mother's high heels sink into the dirt in front of his face, which he had just come to realize was cheek and jowl in the dirt as well. He suddenly remembered, with absolute clarity, the incident with the wine goblets and wondered how the fuck he'd forgotten it for a second during all the intervening years.

He saw, as if from a distant land, one shoe lift as the other sank deeper into the dirt. He felt the sharp heel puncture the side of his neck, just below his hairline and was beset with pain that made the crucios seem like love taps.

The next time he regained his senses, he was on the tiled patio floor, naked, freezing and wet. He tried to tell them, whoever they were, to shut off the water. He found he had no voice and that he could not move. He saw his father's boot come at him and he was flipped over onto his back from the force of the kick. He felt no pain, and realized that either he must be immobilized by a curse or his neck had been broken and he was paralyzed. In actuality he was neither of those things as, when he saw Voldemort's long dead-fleshed fingers reach toward his belly, he curled up into an instinctual fetal position.

He felt the fingers burn his thigh. He heard himself scream.

Draco swallowed compulsively, fighting against the need to scream some more as he sat on the train. He wished he had not just eaten the chocolate frogs, as the slimy digested flavor rose in his throat, and felt like he never wanted to eat again anytime this century.

He tried breathing slowly through his nose, he rubbed the scar and rocked back and forth, no longer concerned about his companions on the train.

He hadn't been raped, at least he hadn't been penetrated and raped. He had however, somehow grown tumescent in adrenalin confusion and an excess of pain, fear and horror. And, when he'd been kicked out of the fetal position and onto his back once more, perforce, had shown his tormentors the state he was in. He hadn't even been aware of his condition until Voldemort and Crabbe senior both cackled, Crabbe senior lewdly and Voldemort with genuine amusement.

Draco took a deep breath and swallowed the stickiness in his throat. Voldemort's odd humor had, in the end, saved his life. Voldemort had stayed his father's wand and the knife in his mother's hand and he'd been left alone on the mosaic tile, in the middle of the Malfoy gardens, at midnight, suddenly shriveled penis curled damply against the burning scab on his upper thigh in a pool of waste.

No one had come to help him to his feet or to his room. No one had brought a blanket. All was silence. He shivered until dawn when a house elf had appeared and used elf magic to transport him to his 'new' room in a guesthouse at the other end of the property. He was confined there on a bread and water diet, in silence, until his trunk and owl cage had appeared this morning and he'd apparated to the roof of the King's Cross railway station and eventually boarded the train.

There had been a note, a Gringotts key and sealed letter to Dumbledore in the right side-pocket of his cloak. The note said he was to consider himself no longer a Malfoy, that his friends had been obliviated of the night's happenings, and that the Gringotts account had one thousand galleons as his total disinheritance. So far, he had not bent his mind to opening the warded letter to Dumbledore to discern its meaning. He figured it had something to do with the contents of the other pocket of his cloak. It contained nine misshapen slivers of wood, which had once been his wand.

Chapter 7 Shelter in the Oncoming Storm

Malfoy kept silent although the grumbling of the others in his compartment had grown as they neared their destination. Finally alone in his 7th year Prefect's room, he opened his trunk and saw the entirety of his wardrobe, his personal library and some childhood memorabilia had been miniaturized and packed. He spared a thought that if he grew much taller, he and Weasley would actually have a topic of conversation in common regarding the price of new clothes. Draco shuddered.

He unpacked slowly, considering, for the first time, what it meant to be cast off from his family's patronage, wealth and power. He was afraid and relieved at the same time. Afraid because he had always thought he had no choice but to follow his father into Voldemort's graces and relived that he no longer had to follow his father into Voldemort's company ever again.

Draco sat on his bed and found the tears he'd been heading off, break free. They fell, making a patchwork of dark spots on the green of his coverlet. He wondered what he should do next; there was too much lost ground between him and anyone other than his fellow Slytherins. Besides, he wasn't sure if he actually had any opinions that weren't those he'd held all along. He mistrusted Dumbledore and McGonagall and suspected Snape of playing a deep game that he, without his father's wand behind him, was better off not knowing or playing.

For a brief moment, he considered throwing himself on Potter's mercy. He knew, without a doubt, that the other boy had a soft spot for children from dysfunctional homes and would probably, after a series of humiliating proofs from Draco, decide to help him. Harry's support would go a long way to silencing the other students and softening their views. But, Draco felt he'd had enough of humiliation for the time being and honestly didn't like Harry and couldn't stand Ron and Hermione.

He needed a new plan, he needed to see how long a grace period he had before the rest of Slytherin House learned of his new status and most of all, he needed to know what was in the damn letter to Dumbledore and what the man was going to do or say in response to it.

He made his way to the tiny bathroom cubicle that joined his room to the main Slytherin boy's lavatory and showers. He was grateful for the small private toilet and washbasin.

"Who are you then?" The mirror spoke suddenly.

"I am Draco Malfoy," Draco replied.

"You're a right mess is what you are," the cheeky image said.

Draco grabbed a bar of soap; he made a huge lather between his hands and smeared the mirror a solid white. The mirror tried to make conciliatory remarks, but Draco was having none of it. He applied soapy lather until every inch of the mirror was covered, "Sod off," he said to it, "this is my room and my life and you can either put up with me the way I am or spend the year unable to see a thing! Understand?"

"Yes, sir," the mirror replied, but Draco had already left the room and did not hear.

Chapter 8 Starting from Scratch

Malfoy gestured Crabbe and Goyle into his room the following morning after breakfast and before they made a mad dash out to Hagrid's hut for Care of Magical Creatures with the Gryffindors. The two large boys were more than happy to oblige, not caring at all about showing up late to a class they both disliked and thought, mostly due to Malfoy's oft-repeated derision, worthless. Besides, deep inside, they were avidly curious about the change in Malfoy and the subsequent loss of the usual start of term instructions on who to hassle, who to trip and who to arrange for more serious injury. It had been this way since the Rejection of Draco by Harry Potter first year and had only increased in severity every year since.

They sat on the bed while Draco paced, waiting for words from him at his leisure. Although they had never actually enunciated this to anyone, save each other, they both thought they understood Draco and knew his mannerisms down pat. They knew he was often angered, frightened or dismayed by things they did not fully comprehend. But, to their way of thinking, his puzzling complexity only made them more fascinated and loyal. Moreover, although he was no longer the shortest kid of their year in Slytherin, he was still very slender and, to the bigger boys, remained fragile and in need of muscular support.

"What do you remember of the night at my house two weeks ago?" Malfoy suddenly barked out.

The boys gaped at each other, neither willing to speak first lest what they thought was not what Malfoy was interested in hearing. If they were not wise, they were canny and had learned, to their frequently experienced dismay and humiliation, that silence was, by far, a good strategy until they were sure of what they were being asked.

Malfoy sighed audibly. "It's ok, you dunderheads. It doesn't matter what you remember because that isn't what happened anyway."

More confused than ever, they stared at each other, then at Malfoy and frowned.

"You remember the whiskey?"

They nodded.

"Remember the Ravenclaw bitch throwing up"

They nodded again.

"Remember anything else?"

They shook their heads and Goyle mumbled, "Our dads came upstairs and we went home."

"Yes, well…" Draco paced some more.

Crabbe and Goyle waited patiently.

"That wasn't all that happened," Draco said at last. "And what more 'happened', was not good." He shook his hand at them, as if they were about to interrupt, "I mistakenly triggered the alarms on the wards. My parents, your parents and Voldemort were not pleased."

Crabbed sucked his teeth and Goyle moaned. Whether because Draco had said you-know-who's name or because pissing off Malfoy was bad enough, his father worse and Voldemort? Well, that didn't bear contemplating.

"I have," Draco said with a quiet ferocity, "Been disinherited."

Crabbe sucked in on an exhale and choked; Goyle pounded his back and stared at the floor.

"Furthermore," Draco said, "they wrote a letter to Dumbledore and I have no idea what it says."

The two boys nodded, not trying to hide their dismay.

"So," finished Draco, "I don't know what changes there will be, but there will be changes. Let's go." He grabbed up his book satchel and left the room.

Crabbe and Goyle followed in his wake, not knowing what to say, or for that matter, what to think. They followed silently.

Chapter 9 Rolling Stones

Malfoy pasted a sneer on his face and slowed down to a saunter to approach the class. Hagrid frowned at them, but continued explaining the merits of the Corkchopper. For Hagrid, it was a rather benign creature. It ate only tree bark, preferring dry bark at the end of summer. It slept through the wet fall and cold winter, looking, at first glance, like a dead stump. It's magical significance was in its use in potions. Dried and grated, it made sleeping draughts, rather special draughts. Infused with corkchopper, a sleeping potion could work for years and the person would neither starve nor age while under its spell. Hermione spoke up and told the class about a Muggle fairy tale, a princess that slept for a hundred years until woken by a prince's kiss. Hagrid nodded happily along with the story. Malfoy's sneer became real, but beneath it, he was watching Harry closely. Harry had grown this summer, not a lot, but his features had firmed up, his chin now squarer than rounded and supported by a strong neck and broader shoulders. He did not look starved any more.

Malfoy thought about the boy at the brothel and he wondered what Harry received for his coming of age. He was concentrating on Harry so acutely that when Harry met his stare he did not look away or make a face as he'd done in the past. Harry's brows went up in surprise and Draco had the uncomfortable suspicion that he could hear his thoughts. Surprisingly, Draco flushed and Harry grinned a cheeky grin and winked before he markedly looked back at Hagrid.

Chapter 10 Surprise, Surprise

Malfoy sucked in his breath and swiveled away from Potter. Unfortunately, he'd turned right into Hermione's full sight. She looked as thunderstruck as he felt and he knew she had seen the atypical Potter moment of interaction. Saving some face, he smirked and winked at her in turn, waiting only until a tide of red crested her cheeks before staring innocently at Hagrid.

At the end of the day, the letter, burning a hole in his pocket, remained impervious to his attempts to open it. He went to Snape and requested an appointment with Dumbledore. Snape asked no questions, he merely said he would arrange the time and be present as well. Malfoy could not think of any cogent reason to refuse Snape's assumption so he nodded and left the professor.

Returning to the Slytherin common room, he was relieved no one looked at him askance and was thankful Crabbe and Goyle had kept their mouths shut. He entered his small private prefect's room and sighed. A place of his own that he could leave at will, he never knew the relief of such a freedom before and counted it as a measure of his changing. The old Draco would have never thought about such a thing, believing that the world was his oyster and freedoms always available.

He spared a thought for the Potter legend, allowing that maybe the other boy had been locked up as a child, instead of denying that Potter had experienced anything other than adulation his whole life. He shrugged, Potter's childhood traumas, so far, had nothing to do with him. But, as he showered and got ready for bed, the thought returned, perhaps Potter would understand what his weeks of incarceration meant, how it was a half-life at best and unendingly humiliating.

He slept for a few hours. Waking in a panicked tangle, he rubbed the scar, turned on the light and, shucking his pajama pants, stared at the raised red evidence on his thigh. He looked and was suddenly self-conscious, he'd lost weight during his lockup and his hip bones and pelvis jutted inelegantly through his skin. If he hadn't a small thatch of blonde fuzz, he could believe he was still eleven and a child. He could span the width of his abdomen with one hand. As he pulled his pants back on, he realized he had not felt any urges since Voldemort had touched him. In comparison to earlier that summer, when he'd had to conceal his bothersome hormones at inopportune moments, now there was nothing.

Telling himself that he was too tired to ponder this development, he wrapped his bedclothes around him and tried to sleep once more.

He ate breakfast, no longer taking food for granted, when he became aware that Dumbledore was glancing at him occasionally throughout the meal. He felt the letter crinkle in his pocket and took a too hot sip of tea. In his discomfiture, he glanced at Harry. Harry was eating slowly, a copy of the Prophet opened in front of his plate. Granger was on his left, Weasley beside her and they were reading a paper too, although it looked like she was trying to get Weasley to read an article on another page and he was refusing to turn the page. Draco allowed himself to smile, he would never understand that relationship, but it looked entirely too argumentative to be truly either romantic or hot.

The owls came in with an audible swoosh and some muted hoots. Surprisingly, several letters were dropped in front of Malfoy. It only took him a moment to identify them as howlers. He cringed, and then remembered to cast a silencing charm on them. It would only last a moment, so he gathered them and ran from the great hall. A burst of talk followed his exit, but he kept going, through the foyer and out onto the grounds. He ran until he was breathless, the letters getting hotter and hotter in his hands. He made it to the large rocks by the lake and dropped them in a heap. One after another, they opened and began a loud litany of his faults. He recognized Crabbe Senior's voice and Aunt Bellatrix. There were others, but he sent them into the lake, they screamed as they sank.

Shaken, he collapsed on a rock and stared into the choppy lake.

"I take it things changed for you this summer?" Draco heard Potter say quietly with only a trace of sarcasm in his voice.

He straightened his spine and turned to meet the other boy's gaze, but Potter was looking out over the water.

Without speaking, he turned back and watched the water again.

"Did you know," Potter spoke softly, "that I get visions of what Voldemort is doing when he is especially emotional? Snape tried to teach me occulmency, but I've never been able to block Voldemort completely. It wakes me at night, my scar burns."

Draco gaped at the lake and shivered, imagining the horror of Voldemort's presence in his head without invitation or relief.

"I was surprised to see you on the train," Harry went on, "from what I saw that night; I wasn't sure if you were dead or just injured."

Draco swiveled to look at Potter. He had no idea what to say. The sum of his assumptions about this boy was many, and obviously wrong. He saw the weight of Potter's burdens clearly for the first time and at the same time, felt the weight of his own enmity full force. "Did you hope I was dead?" He asked.

Potter met his eyes, "No," he said quietly, "I don't want to see anyone die, except for Voldemort himself. I have already had enough of death."

Draco sighed, "I made a mistake that shamed my parents." He paused, took a deep breath, "they have disinherited me. I am no longer to be considered a Malfoy."

Potter made a sharp gesture, as if dismissing this piece of nonsense, but all he said was, "I'm sorry." He stared into Draco's eyes for a long, long moment, and then he walked away.

Draco's breath caught in his throat, and to his shame and finally to his vast relief, he began to cry.

Chapter 11 Apples and Oranges

Draco met Snape at the entry to Dumbledore's tower. Snape said, "Chocolate Crunches," and the massive griffin stairwell opened for them. Draco has only been here once before and that was when his father had come to complain about something or other and not at Dumbledore's invitation.

This time, Dumbledore invited him to sit as he accepted the letter and began to read. When he finished, he laid the letter on his desk and began to polish his glasses, a frown on his face. After a moment, he handed the letter to Snape, who'd refused a seat and had been standing silently by.

"I am sorry you have had an unsettling time, Draco," Dumbledore said.

Draco wondered if it was a Gryffindor habit to offer sympathy. Certainly, a Slytherin would have simply raised an eyebrow in derision and got on with things.

"First, you will need a new wand. We keep a selection of Ollivander's best on hand, Professor Flitwick will help you chose. You may pay for it later, once you have graduated and found work. There is no hurry," Dumbledore waved his hand languidly and Draco decided to pay for it at once, no matter how it depleted his small reserves.

For a brief moment, before he began to speak again, Dumbledore's eyes twinkled at Draco and Draco flushed, sure the old codger had read his intentions. "You are not technically an orphan, because you are of age. We," and Draco understood it to be a royal 'we' as in all of Hogwarts, "will continue as before, only referring directly to you for dispensation regarding your activities and accomplishments." Draco nodded. "I believe you and Professor Snape already work well together, I only ask that you go to him if you are troubled or in need of any kind. Professor Snape will keep me informed." Draco nodded again, this was plain speaking and he appreciated it.

"I cannot express regret that Lucius Malfoy will no longer have reason to visit Hogwarts," Dumbledore said dryly and Draco winced. "However, I will not go into familial difficulties with you at present. You are, by no means, the first student to attend Hogwarts without responsible guardians and we have procedures in place to handle this as required."

Snape spoke in the silence that followed Dumbledore's statement. "You will have to be vigilant, Mr. Malfoy. When the rest of Slytherin House realizes what has happened, and they will, as no secrets are ever kept quiet in this school. They will have little reason to assume your loyalties are unchanged and that will place you in an untenable position. The difficulties with the Dark Lord are in a state of fluidity and everyone will be forced to declare their intentions and loyalty very soon. At the moment, I can see nowhere for you to go save remaining here. Your parents' influence extends far Mr. Malfoy, and few gainsay it with impunity."

Draco wondered what exactly was in the letter. It must be damning in the extreme for Dumbledore and Snape to assume he might no longer be loyal to the Dark Lord. On the other hand, maybe they just understood the consequences of being without his parent's protection.

Draco nodded once more. "I have a lot to think about, Headmaster," he said. "I am unsure of what path to follow now. I had no reason, previously, to think there were options."

Dumbledore poured a second cup of tea, he drank slowly and said. "Whatever you decide, please keep Professor Snape in the loop. I trust him to advise you well."

Draco sighed. He wondered if Dumbledore knew how deeply Snape played footsie with his father and Voldemort. He looked from one man to the other and realized Dumbledore was no fool. He saw, for the first time up close, how strong Dumbledore was. How he had his wits fully in hand and his political strategies under control. He was impressed. "If my NEWT scores are acceptable, headmaster," Draco blurted out, "I should like to train as an Auror, specializing in poisons and potions."

Having said this aloud, Draco felt a huge blanket of calm overtake him. A decision and he'd made it for himself.

"We will see," Dumbledore said firmly. "Who attends Ministry training in the future is not yet decided. You must understand the constraints. If there is war…"

Draco met Dumbledore's gaze, "I understand sir." He replied.

Dumbledore allowed a small smile to ghost his lips and Snape snorted softly.

Draco stood, uncontrollably made a small, formal half-bow towards Dumbledore and waited until Snape led the way out of the office. His knees felt like rubber, but his heart pounded with vigor and decision. He realized, for the very first time, he felt like a man who'd accounted well for himself.

Chapter 12 A Long and Winding Road

Thus, the first few weeks of school passed quietly. Draco got a new wand, alder, eleven inches, walrus tusk core and it seemed more powerful than his old one had been. He remained in charge of the Slytherins, although there were occasional noises from others with powerful parents. However, nothing so far, had come of their ambitions. NEWT work was underway, already at an unrelenting pace. Perforce, with all his future hopes riding on his scores, Draco bent to his studies, and left Potter, and the Gryffindors alone.

Goyle and Crabbe had been busier than usual. They'd made a pact between themselves to smooth the path for Malfoy and soon came to understand that it was the Slytherins themselves who posed the greatest threat. Quietly, with a show of tangible force, they'd bent a few arms and tripped a few feet of less than wary housemates. Impervious to bribes of money and, in one case, blowjobs, they watched out for Malfoy. Like Malfoy, they'd never given any thought to the future save what their fathers wanted. Like Malfoy, their childhoods had had moments of terror, pain and humiliation in them. They were bullies, but their fathers were bullies too, and a show of force was more in keeping with their behavior than thinking was. However, carefully, when they were on their own, they'd wondered how a shrimpy twerp like Harry Potter had survived so long. That boy was a mystery to them and they saw, unlike almost everyone else, that Potter and Malfoy had a lot in common. If they were forced to choose whom to attend, Malfoy won, hands down, over their fathers, and over the Dark Lord. They had no idea how to express this loyalty aloud, so they simply stood by, seeming dense and impenetrable.

Quidditch, as always, was time away from schoolwork and worries about the future. Malfoy remained an unbeaten seeker, save for matches with Gryffindor. He came to practices, relieved instead of envious that he was not captain. He worked hard here too, knowing a win against Potter would taste sweet, no matter his frame of mind or circumstances. A new edition of Fly-Right brooms had taken the Quidditch world's fancy, but no one, including Malfoy, had one.

A 5th year beater on the Slytherin team began to harass Malfoy over his lack of the new broom. Having the unfortunate name of Poindexter, he'd seldom drawn attention to himself, but in Malfoy's fall from grace, he saw his chance. He was not brave, but he was clever and he waited until Crabbe and Goyle were finished in the changing room and gone to dinner before he began to razz Malfoy. His sister, with another unfortunate name, Gertrude, was a 6th year Ravenclaw. She was often paired with Ginny Weasley in potions, so he heard all the news, through his sister, about how the Weasleys were convinced that Malfoy was too scared, without his father at his back, to try anything with Harry Potter this year.

Poindexter saw this as an affront to Slytherin as a whole and blamed Malfoy for it.

He began to hint how Malfoy was a liability to Slytherin, how his undoubted flaws had caused even his parents to disown him and thus deprive Slytherin of their largess and protection. He did this in whispers, a word here and there amongst his year and to the younger students. They had had nothing but fear of Malfoy in the past and emboldened, were more than ready to throw this off and get a little of their own back.

Pansy, feeling ignored while Draco studied, was ripe for trouble. This was the year she'd planned to solidify her relationship and become the only future Mrs. Malfoy in contention. Her mother had written to her, telling her to look further a-field. Without Malfoy manor and Malfoy gold, the boy was useless as a possible matrimonial prize. Pansy still wanted Draco, or at least, she wanted him to want her. They'd done some mild snogging at the end of 6th year, but after his birthday he'd seemed to lose interest. This did not sit well with her at all, and she was determined to get him back. During the summer, she'd gone a lot farther with a second cousin and his roommate from Durmstrang, and enjoyed it. They'd been hot for her and she couldn't comprehend why Draco was forever putting her off. She allowed Poindexter to carry her books and sit beside her at breakfast, hoping Draco would notice. He did not. She posed in the deep seats of the Slytherin common room, robes carelessly tossed aside to show her long legs and elegant feet. He didn't notice the elegance, only asking her if she didn't feel cold exposing herself that way.

Desire for Pansy was the farthest thing from Draco's mind and he didn't notice Poindexter at all. He was wary, but he made the mistake of believing that his own efforts, like being a good seeker and a top student, had been credited to him apart from his family influence. Surely, everyone saw that he did these on his own. What he failed to perceive was that he had quoted his father so often that nothing to do with Draco himself, was given any merit without that added cache.

The first Hogsmeade weekend was a hard lesson in vigilance. He'd gone later than usual, after a study session in the quiet library. Crabbe and Goyle, loaded down with half the sweetshop's merchandize, met him at the Three Broomsticks for a late lunch. Pansy, Millicent and the Ravenclaw Helena joined them and Draco felt his appetite desert him. This intimate circle of 'friends' was no longer intimate, safe or pleasant. He passed on the fire whiskey, bribed from Rosmerta's waiter. Instead, afraid he would soon lose any food he actually ate; he drank a Butterbeer and several glasses of his favorite sulfur-spring water. Crabbe and Goyle watched Pansy carefully, even their dim reasoning saw that Poindexter was a tool for her to make Draco jealous. But, it was Helena who spiked Malfoy's water with a variant of Veritaserum that they had brewed in potions just that week.

Helena wanted to know what really happened that weekend at Malfoy Manor. Her parents had punished her severely for being drunk and had made her go through a series of embarrassing medical exams to prove she was still virginal. They'd made it clear that Draco was no longer on their list of approved suitors. That Helena had lied about him being one made no difference. She was humiliated and someone had to pay.

She was both intelligent and clever, so she began by commiserating with Draco. Since no one had addressed his fall from grace, and under the influence of the Veritaserum, even such a mild dose, he found himself unusually open to her soft voice. "Draco, I got into such a lot of trouble that last visit to the manor." Everyone's attention was riveted on her. "My parents had a fit when they saw I was drunk."

The reminder of her state of intoxication made Draco queasy, "You were pretty pissed," he said, but mildly.

"Yes, well, it isn't as if they don't spend half their lives that way," she said, sure that resenting her parents would open him up to a tale or two or woe about his own.

Pansy nodded, "It's different for them." She said with a smirk, "They have to live in the hell they made for themselves."

Everyone at the table, including Draco, nodded.

"What I don't understand is why they haven't forgiven you yet, Draco. There haven't been any letters or packages. Not even a new broom so far this year. Didn't you apologize?" She asked, fully aware that he had been cast out, but wanting to hear him admit it.

Draco felt queasier than ever and checked to see that all he had drunk was the Butterbeer and water. "They remain very angry," he said, more words backing up in his throat. He held them off valiantly.

"Poor Draco," Pansy purred. She, too, was avid for more details.

Draco threw her a dark glare, she smiled brightly in response.

Millicent was excited; she had been marginal to their in-group for years. She went directly for the jugular, "They've tossed you out on your arse, haven't they, Draco?" She positively cooed.

Draco felt sick. How had this miserable lump of a girl ever been allowed near him?

Goyle shoved the table into Millicent's more than ample stomach. "Hey, we're here to have some fun!"

"Hey waiter!" Crabbe yelled. "More to drink here!"

Helena ground her teeth, they were all so indelicate, just when she was getting somewhere. "I'm sorry Draco," she said softly with just the right amount of humility. "I didn't mean to upset anyone." She looked down at the table, shielding her frustration.

"They remain very angry," Draco, said again, biting back any more explanation.

"Parents," Goyle said with more disgusted animation in his voice than usual.

"Parents," Crabbe repeated.

Helena sighed; she'd have to try again later, maybe if she got Draco alone. After all, she had never given him any cause to be wary of her. She took a small sip of her drink, all boys, even Draco at his haughtiest, were suckers for a female in distress. She could do distress just fine, she thought, just fine, indeed. Under her outer robe, she unbuttoned two buttons on her blouse.

Chapter 13 A Simple Deception

The lane was crowded with returning students. It was dusk now and windy. Draco, carefully allowed himself to become separated from the others and was walking quietly behind a group of noisy third years. He still felt queasy. Suddenly, Potter was beside him. His stomach gave a tight lurch, but he kept walking.

"Had a good day?" Potter asked.

"Why would you care?" Draco replied.

"Just making conversation, I never thought I would get tired of Hogsmeade. But, I am. Sweets and Butterbeer are still fine, I guess."

Draco came to a stop, "It's good to be able to go. To leave the school, and chose what to eat and what to buy."

Potter looked at him keenly and Draco wondered if he'd given away too much. "Yes," Potter said quietly and they began to walk again. "Freedom of choice is a good thing, even when it's as simple as which candy to buy."

They walked along, at length Draco said, "I'm thinking Potter, always thinking." That was as much as he could comfortably say.

Potter smiled. It was a wide and approving smile without any trace of derision or guile.

Draco smiled back.

Unspeaking, but in total accord, they walked the rest of the way to Hogwarts.

Draco went to his room to rest, it had been a long few weeks of unaccustomed feelings and stress, not to mention more tears than several years previously, combined. He thought it was time for another review of lessons learned, so he made himself comfortable on his bed, shoes and robes tossed aside and several pillows, transformed from socks, behind his head, a couple of sugar quills and Forever-taffy bites at hand.

He'd barely begun his review when there was a knock at his door. He sat up straighter and called, "come in."

Helena, in a rather attractive blouse in some silky green material, came in.

"Sorry to disturb you, Draco," she said, taking care to sit in the chair at his desk and looking demure.

"What do you want, Helena," Draco said, his voice not nearly as unwelcoming as he wanted it to be.

Helena looked at him from beneath her lashes, "I really am in big trouble." She waited; Draco said nothing. She sighed mournfully. "My seventeenth birthday is next week. My parents are going to remove me from Hogwarts. I'm sure they expect me to be excited about getting the Dark Lord's mark and embarking on his wishes." She paused again, beginning to get irritated that Malfoy said nothing. She took a huge chance, "I don't want too!" She exclaimed. "I want to get my NEWTS and train for something."

"Why come to me?" Draco asked carefully, the lump in his stomach rising to his throat again.

"I don't know exactly what went on," she said, an inquiring note in her voice. "But you didn't get the mark, did you Draco?" She asked directly.

Draco felt compelled to answer her and wondered why. He'd never had a confiding relationship with the girl, but, he reasoned, coming of age and dark marks were not business as usual, not for him at any rate. "No," He said. "I didn't."

"Why not?" Helena whispered.

Draco twisted the blanket beneath his hand, "My parents remain very angry," he repeated for the hundredth time. "I guess, in their opinion, I wasn't ready."

"Was it because we all got drunk? My parents were furious."

"Yes, yes, I don't know!" Draco answered, frustrated that he was answering at all.

"I think you do," Helena said and moved to sit on the edge of the bed, closer to Malfoy. She bent down; so he could see the soft swell of her white breasts. "Tell me Draco," She crooned, "I need to deal with my parents too."

Draco felt his gorge rise, what was with the bitch, couldn't she see he didn't want to talk about it. Why was she being so insistent? He jumped from the bed, pushing her aside and ran for the toilet. He vomited, catching, at last, the faint taste of Veritaserum. He wanted to kill her! How dare she drug him!

He washed his face in cold water, glared at his image in the silent mirror and took a deep breath.

He returned to the bedroom, this time, he sat in the chair. "Listen bitch," he said. "I don't know why you think you can get away with drugging me. But, it won't work. You go on home next week and tell your parents you failed, hell, you can tell Voldemort you failed, for all I care."

Helena made a startled gasp at the mention of the Dark Lord's name. She began to cry. "You are 'such' a bastard Draco," she said. "I was going to help you. Obviously you are losing everything, including lording it over Slytherin House. They all hate you, you know. Even that whore Pansy is sucking up to underclassmen to get some advantage when you fail. I thought an alliance with the Ravenclaws on our side would help you, but now I just hope you are crushed. You deserve nothing better!" She swept to her feet, knocking the pillows from his bed, which became harmless socks as they hit the floor. She laughed as she kicked them aside and slammed the door behind her.

Draco clenched his fists; gagged and ran to the bathroom once more. He regurgitated everything he'd eaten or drank that day. Exhausted, he stayed on the cool floor, rubbed his scar and remembered… Lesson One.

Chapter 14 Grandfather's Clock

The great Hogwarts clock chimed the hour, which reverberated throughout the castle. Usually, Harry was so inured to the sound that he did not notice it. Since he was sitting quietly in an alcove overlooking the inner courtyard, he felt the gong vibrate through the wall and he paid attention. It was two in the morning, but he wasn't tired at all. Sitting here, wrapped in his invisibility cloak, he was warm and felt safe. He liked to watch the moonlight progress from treetop to wall and over the wall as the hours passed through the night. He had a lot to think about these days.

The summer had passed in a flurry of ill will, short lived because he left on August 1st for the Burrow, but nasty all the same. The Dursleys, intent on making his last time spent with them memorable for its humiliation, had made him do the lowliest of chores, the lawn and the garden, the attic and the floors, all summer. They'd locked up all his stuff in the space under the stairs, so he could neither do homework nor have his wand nearby. Worse, he had to wear Dudley's latest castoffs, more huge, stained and baggy than ever.

He'd even had to send Hedwig to the Burrow to wait for him, not convinced the Dursleys wouldn't let her starve otherwise.

He made up for his hunger once he was at the Burrow, eating continuously, to Mrs. Weasley's satisfaction. But, he'd simmered with hate all summer and mourning, and labored under a cloud of self-righteousness. Nothing during sixth year had mitigated his ill will and the lack of another Voldemort coup had passed without any appreciation or relief. Dumbledore had been wrong to treat him like a kid for so long, to lie to him, and withhold important information from him. Sirius was gone, gone forever and Harry couldn't bear it. He thought of ways to torture Kreature, Snape, and Malfoy too.

A couple of weeks after his birthday, idly swinging beneath an old oak in the Weasley's backyard after midnight, it had all changed. Ron and Hermione were drinking cocoa in the kitchen, having promised Mrs. Weasley they would clean up afterwards. Still stuffed from dinner and several desserts, Harry had gone into the mild evening and the handy swing.

Suddenly, his scar pierced him, hot and sharp, stabbing into his brain with a vengeance. He saw Voldemort surrounded by masked Death Eaters, smoke and red candlelight. He felt Voldemort's thrill of fear and anticipation when the wards broke and clamored loudly in the underground room.

The next moment, he saw Draco Malfoy, sprawled and covered in leaves, crying out something about an accident. He saw the boy crucioed from all sides, jerking and screaming until the pain silenced him. He saw Voldemort point at Draco and strip him naked. Saw Draco's humiliation, his mother stab him with her heel and his father about to intone Avada Kedavra. He saw Draco kicked onto his back, naked, freezing and near death, saw Voldemort laugh and lean over him, touching him near his groin and burning the pale skin red and then black. For a brief, but all consuming second, he was in Draco's mind and felt it all. Harry screamed when Draco screamed and fell off the swing when Draco fainted.

Ron and Hermione had come running. They picked him up and Hermione held him as he vomited onto the grass.

Even now, Harry wasn't sure why he'd only told his friends that he saw Voldemort at a revel, torturing someone and not who it was or where he saw it.

After that, he'd had to fight with all his training and might to keep Voldemort's presence out of his dreams, both sleeping and waking. As much as he hated Malfoy and Snape, he knew he needed more training in Occlumency and that he hoped the other boy had survived.

He'd been immensely relieved to see Draco on the Hogwarts Express, but even he could see Draco was different, sad, more serious and aloof. It gave Harry a strange kind of hope that Draco had changed and was no longer his father's dogsbody. Maybe, if someone like Draco could be humiliated and abandoned, maybe that would cause him to rethink Voldemort's ideals and change sides. Coward though Malfoy had always been, maybe the man Malfoy could become would be brave.

As the walls of Hogwarts had once more enfolded him, Harry relaxed. Imperfect as it was, it was home more than anywhere else was. Dumbledore had not attempted to close the breach made from end of fifth year and which had continued all sixth year. Instead, he'd taken Harry's suggestion that he return to lessons with Snape with a calm approval and no surprise.

A few days later, he'd stopped Harry in the hall and said Draco Malfoy had been expelled from his family and was deeply troubled. He said he hoped Harry, although he had no reason to pity Draco or care what happened to him, would try for a cessation of hostilities with the boy. Harry, still keeping what he knew a secret, agreed.

Resolute, he buried his antipathy toward Snape and began to excel at his private occlumency lessons. Snape, moved by Harry's show of calm and quiet strength, reluctantly gave Harry some small signs of approval and increased the pace and depth of the lessons.

After that, Harry began to watch Draco.

Chapter 16 Butterfly or Moth

After Helena's attempt, Draco decided to efface himself. He'd previously thought he wanted to keep his standing and that it was important to have power and respect, even coerced respect rather than none. After he calmed down and spent the long night on the cold bathroom floor, he felt a change come over him. What did it matter if the other Slytherins abandoned him? Was their attachment to him important, or his to them? In-house politics among the Slytherins had always been more vendetta driven than pleasure filled, more upsetting than helpful. Did he need it anymore? He marveled at the energy he had put into maintaining his position all these years. If he wasn't going to follow Voldemort, then he was on the other side, whether he joined officially or not. There were no neutral sidelines, no demilitarized zones. Either he was with Voldemort or against him. He knew there were a few other Slytherins who were not on the Dark Lord's side, he'd made their lives miserable back in the day, but they offered no safety or solace, he'd been too overbearing for them to come around now.

Instinctively, he knew that Harry Potter and perhaps other Gryffindors would, if not welcome him at least, pose less of a threat. He'd never valued forgiveness or leniency before, but things changed.

Strangely, when he finally went to bed, the dim daylight barely touching his small slit of a window, he remembered the boy in the whorehouse. He remembered the pleasure of fucking that boy. His tired body gave a small shudder of arousal. He thought, as dimly as the morning light, that he understood why Gryffindors and

Hufflepuffs didn't pay for sex. He had never, until now, given a thought to why or if the whores wanted to have sex with him, or with anyone. He nodded sleepily to himself, he now knew coercion, and pressure or penury could make almost anyone do anything. It was nothing to laugh at or mock anymore. He would have to earn a living soon enough. He thought about living in a small flat, working regular hours and being careful with his money. It sounded tedious. He yawned, the last thought he had was of how Harry had smiled at him, how they'd walked together in peace.

He slept.

Chapter 17 If Wishes Were Horses

Draco followed through on his thoughts. At first, he simply allowed Blaise and other pretenders to the throne have sway and the center of attention with the usual cutting remarks, the jokes and the oft-practiced intimidation of others. Without missing a beat and with self-serving sneers, they become ascendant, so much so that he came in for some shoving himself.

It took him a week to notice that neither Crabbe nor Goyle deserted him. They remained steadfast, one of each side of him in the halls. They waited for him after Potions, a class they no longer qualified to take. Draco began to talk to them, really talk, for the first time since they'd played childhood games. The other boys were monosyllabic, but they slowly started to offer opinions and Draco felt the breakthrough come when they asked him for help with Charms practice and review.

After a few weeks, Draco found he did not have to watch his speech so carefully, his natural inclination towards impatience and mockery lessened on its own. It was a relief, he found, not to storm off with hurt or leave with offended feeling in other people's eyes.

Harder of course, was extending this new side of himself to people like Granger and Weasley. They'd learned, over time, to attack first when they had to deal with him.

He watched them and saw the easy interaction between them and the other Gryffindors as well as most of the rest of the school. He saw they actually spent time with underclassmen and watched out for the youngest students, helping them get where they needed to be on time and safe from his housemates.

Although Granger was bossy as Head Girl and Weasley couldn't resist bullying others when he had duties as Prefect, all in all it was mild and good tempered, the others giving them the piss when they went too far.

He learned too, that Harry was not in their company as often as he had presumed. Harry had a habit of walking in the rear of crowds, exiting when either Granger or Weasley took their duties too seriously and spending as much time as he could outdoors sitting on the big rock by the lake with his owl as his companion. He saw the girl-Weasley trying to get his attention and while Harry was always pleasant, he made himself scarce when she was around. He seemed oblivious to the other girls that vied for his attention, not returning flirtatious overtures or bids for his notice.

While not the best student, he was always in the upper percentages. In Defense Against the Dark Arts he was the undisputed leader, able to exert very strong defensive maneuvers more quickly than anyone else. Draco noticed that Harry had to hold himself back when casting hexes and spells lest he injure anyone. For all his new demeanor of good will, Draco wondered if Harry ever wanted to say the hell with it and blast Hogwarts to smithereens. Certainly, Draco thought, if he had such power he would want to do so on many occasions.

Draco was no slouch either, in contention for the upper marks and standing; he redoubled his efforts at studying and began to rival Granger in Charms and Arithmancy. He wasn't sure when the thought of becoming an animagus came to him, but the idea of being something else, something with freedoms unknown to him, was enticing. He had enough on his plate for now, he decided. Maybe after Christmas or during Christmas if McGonagall was around, he had nowhere to go and couldn't image how bleak the holiday would be here without something to do.

Into all his confusion, new ideas and new station in the scheme of things, Draco was unprepared for a new incursion by Voldemort. He heard of it in the middle of the night when the noise outside his room penetrated the walls.

He quickly stepped into his clothes; if trouble was afoot, he didn't want to be caught unprepared and foolish in his pajamas. He got into the hallway the same time as Snape. It was immediately obvious that Snape was distraught although he was trying to hide it. His hair was uncombed and flying into his face as he ordered the Slytherins back into their common room. Draco stayed quiet in the doorway and watched. As soon as Snape got everyone back inside, the door closed and he dropped to the floor, covering his arm and its Dark Mark in agony.

Draco approached him carefully, "Can I help you Professor?" He asked.

Snape groaned.

"Let's get you outside so you can apparate," Draco said soothingly.

Snape ground his teeth and sneered, trying to get to his feet.

Just as he steadied Snape, Dumbledore, in a magnificent bathrobe of cream with red embroidered poppies, appeared at the end of the hallway. Calmly, he came up to the two of them, "Petrificus Totalus," he said. Snape stiffened and Dumbledore caught him before he fell over. "May we use your room, dear boy?" Dumbledore asked.

Draco nodded and hurried to open his door. They dragged Snape inside and laid him on the bed.

"Musn't he go?" Draco said in a rush. He was concerned that Voldemort might simply kill Snape for failing to respond to the mark's command.

Dumbledore produced a soft armchair from thin air and sat down. Draco saw the old man was grey with exhaustion.

"No, no young man," Dumbledore replied. "Voldemort will know Professor Snape has been disabled. He expects nothing more. The past two years have been rather full of summons that Professor Snape has been unable to answer. So far, Voldemort seems to understand or pretends to understand that I stop Professor Snape from going. This serves the purpose and keeps Severus safe and Voldemort cannot be sure Snape isn't as loyal as ever."

Draco sat in his desk chair; he was uncomfortable seeing Snape helpless and unmoving on his bed. "Are you sure, sir?" He asked.

Dumbledore put on his glasses and stared at Draco from behind them, "I trust Professor Snape wholeheartedly." He said simply.

There was a knock on the door and Dumbledore waved a hand, opening it. Harry stumbled in. His pajama shirt was stuffed into his jeans and mismatched trainers on his feet, one black and white the other blue and black. His hair was standing on end and his glasses were askew. Draco, about to laugh, saw the expression on Harry's face. He shut his mouth and watched.

Harry went to Snape, pushed up the tight sleeve of his shirt, and stared at the dark mark. It was bright red and glowing in the dim room. Harry began to speak softly in Parseltongue, attempting to calm the mark, it didn't seem to work very well. Harry sighed and Dumbledore said, "We can only do so much, Harry."

Draco was very, very surprised at the look of anger, almost hate on Harry's face as he glared at Dumbledore. Draco had presumed that Harry and Dumbledore's relationship was like father and son or perhaps that of a doting grandfather. He never suspected anything as out of character as that glare. He felt at sea, what had he missed along the way?

Harry sat on the floor near the bed. Laconically, as if a midnight tryst in Draco's room with Dumbledore and a distraught Snape was an everyday occurrence he said, "Hello Draco," and closed his eyes.

Draco was stunned. He 'knew' Harry hated Snape, and briefly, Draco thought that maybe all this was a ruse to fool him. But to what end? He caught an expression of deep sorrow on Dumbledore's face. Draco was confused; nothing was as he imagined it to be. Harry trying to help Snape and angry at Dumbledore, and Dumbledore sorrowful, but stymied, it was a puzzle.

Harry opened his eyes, "It's okay Draco," he said quietly. "Snape won't know I saw him like this." He closed his eyes again, "I told you I had enough of death."

Draco sighed, here he thought he was developing into a real man and Harry already was one. The difference was that Draco no longer begrudged him his maturity. The price, Draco thought, the price of it must have been so very high.

"I will just return Professor Snape to his rooms," Dumbledore said and performed a Mobilicorpus spell and floated Snape out.

Harry made no move to get up or leave and Draco simply sat, absorbing the strange happenings of this night.

Chapter 18 Thicker than Water

The morning, which followed the night Snape had been summoned, brought war to the Wizarding World.

Death Eaters had stormed Diagon Alley. They left it in shambles Ollivander's every wand gone and the boxes strewn on the street, Quidditch Supply, every broom gone. The pet store, glass window shards imbedded deeply into walls, owl feathers in great clumps, but all the cages empty. And the dead, tradesmen and women, known to generations of wizards, hung by the neck from their doorposts, nailed to their walls or drowned in pools of their own blood, Flourish and Blotts, burned to the ground. The Weasley twins were missing and every toy, joke and gadget in the store had been crushed. Cats and kneasles roamed the streets, along with a few dogs, their muzzles red with blood. The rats, as all rats are known to do, disappeared into the walls. The inside of the Leakey Caldron was a horror beyond understanding, guests laid out on tables, entrails hanging to the floor, old Tom, his back decimated to the bone and a huge keg rammed into it where his hump had been, lay face down over his counter. The floor was ankle deep in alcohol and blood. Even the Prophet offices had not been spared, the reporters, necks slashed and hands chopped off lay willy-nilly, lay by their desks.

Gringotts was tilted, more like the Tower of Pisa than ever, but although it's doors were scorched and a few small goblin bodies were planted in the street, rather like bloody red flowers, it survived. It was not open, however, and what the inside looked like, no one knew.

As a message of Voldemort's power and spite, it said everything.

Hogwarts was not left out either. Before breakfast, as the entire student population was summoned by the emergency bells; the students were treated to comprehensive views of the horrors on the magical ceiling, blood seeming to run down the walls.

Worse, far, far worse, Dumbledore was not there and no one knew where he had gone.

Draco had watched Harry suffer all night as his scar brightened and pulsed. He'd screamed, thrashed, cried out and was unaware of Draco. Draco had no way to get anyone to help, in his distress, Harry had locked the door with wards Draco could not break.

Harry had fainted somewhere about five and Draco watched until the other boy had relaxed into a natural sleep.

When the bells rang, Harry awoke, hollowed eyed and weary, he allowed Draco to help him to his feet and support him on the way to the great hall. Draco didn't ask any questions. He was out of his depth, everything moving too fast and too terrible for him to form adequate thoughts. His own exhaustion had him dragging his feet and spirits to the ground.

Nothing, however, could have prepared him for the horrors in the great hall.

McGonagall called for silence and Flitwick finally cleared the ceiling. Students were crying and milling about. Only Snape sat in his usual place, his skin ashen and his eyes wild. Hagrid and Filch were by the doors armed with great iron bows and lethal arrows.

When Harry and Draco entered the hall, there was a concerted rush of Gryffindors toward them. Harry finally raised his head and put up his hand. They stopped, but stared at Draco with hostility.

Into the sudden well of silence, Ron gasped out, "Fred and George, Harry. Where are the twins?" Ginny began to wail in an eerie high tone and Ron began to cry.

Chapter 19 Childhood's End

The great hall eventually became quieter, but almost no one left its confines for the day. Classes were cancelled. Owls came late and by the dozens, causing another round of tears and protests. Most of the students over seventeen packed their bags and at three in the afternoon, headed out, as one, for Hogsmeade and the express back to London. Surprisingly Crabbe and Goyle remained glued to Draco's side, attempting, from time to time, to get him to eat or drink from the generous buffet the house elves had set up along one wall. McGonagall had tried to stop the exodus, but without any word from Dumbledore, she lost the battle. She had Hagrid accompany the students all the way to the train.

At the station, students, who had as recently as yesterday been teasing, flirting and fighting each other, clasped hands and hugged. Silently, without goodbyes, they boarded the train. Hagrid wept, but he stayed until the train disappeared around the bend.

The train had brought the most recent edition of the Prophet, published in the Wizarding center in Manchester; it listed the dead, the property damage and the missing. The headline was saved for the second page and it read, Voldemort Wages War. Beneath the headline were two articles: What Does the Ministry Have to Say and Where is Dumbledore.

Hagrid took an armful and headed back to the school. He planned to make Gawp understand that he needed to guard the castle after dark. It would take more than an Avada Kadrava to kill a full giant, although a combined effort would do it.

The children needed to feel safe enough to go to their houses and get some sleep.

Dinner was subdued. The great hall, no longer as full of students as before, seemed dim without the evening sky and stars on the ceiling. McGonagall looked weary. Snape was in his usual place at the head table and looked no better than he had that morning. Just as the tables produced dessert, Harry stood. The hall fell silent. Harry stood on the seat.

Draco, watching the Gryffindor table, felt a thrill of anticipation when Harry stood up. He realized that if Harry were to lead he would follow.

"We are at war against Voldemort." Harry began. "I say against Voldemort, because no one, from any house, can possibly mistake what happened to Diagon Alley last night as anything other than an attack on the entire Wizarding world. Pure Bloods, Half-Bloods, Muggle born, all wizards, dark or not, Voldemort attacked us all, his band of Death Eaters helped him commit murder and mayhem on a large scale. Not even a dark wizard or witch can defend him now. Regardless of what the Prophet prints, Dumbledore has not deserted us. He is in Diagon Alley helping the Aurors trace the magic used to demolish it. He is going to get proof, once and for all time, about who is or is not a Death Eater and no one is going to be able to hide behind an Imperious Cure this time. He is also trying to determine what Voldemort is planning."

Hermione handed Harry a glass of water, he drank a sip and handed it back.

"I expect there will be more attacks. No one is safe from Voldemort. Those who left today, whether they went to join Voldemort or to join their families, have taken a step we will all have to take very soon. There is no more time for dithering, there are only two sides: with Voldemort or against him. I urge all of you to decide now." Harry looked around the great hall slowly. His showmanship was entirely believable and pointed. At last, he said sorrowfully, "There is no more time to grow up, to be students, to be safe."

Harry stepped down.

The hall was silent.

After a moment, Professor Snape stood up and began to clap. Draco joined in and the hall exploded into wave after wave of applause. For good or ill, whatever was ahead of them, they had a leader.

Chapter 20 Miles in His Shoes

Before the population left the great hall, Hagrid entered. He stood by the doors and put up his hands. Everyone turned to face him. He was ruddy, sweaty and dirty, and he chuffed a bit before he spoke. "Last year," he began. "Dumbledore sent me on a mission." He spoke clearly, his accent less noticeable and his sentenced fully formed. He took a deep breath, "Dumbledore wanted to know if You Know Who had found the last of the living Giants. Well, so he had. But, me and Madam Maxine, see, we took a trip to find out. The news weren't no good, but I met me brother Gwap. He's not much fer talking, but he's got good heart." Several students groaned, having heard Hagrid praise the unlikeliest of beasts in the past. "He's right outside now. And if all ye students leave him be, he'll be as good as gold an' guard the place tonight."

A few 'Oh, no and oh, my' were heard in the crowd. Nevertheless, Hagrid has his teeth set into it now, "Jest, ye all listen up. He a good'un and it'll take more than You Know Who or a few Dementors to get by him. So's ye can sleep nice tonight."

McGonagall amplified her voice and said "Thank you, Hagrid." All faces turned her way. "We need all the reassurance possible today. I assure all of you; every professor will monitor the school tonight. The wards have been upgraded and no one will bother us tonight. I urge you to get some sleep and continue this discussion tomorrow. We will not be afraid at Hogwarts," she said with finality.

Draco met Harry's eyes through the crowd and shrugged, Harry returned the smallest of smiles in response.

The Prefects and Head Boy and Girl began to chivvy their charges into order and lead the way back to the houses.

For a moment, normalcy reigned.

Late that night, as Draco made his final Prefect round of the dungeon, he heard a whisper, "Pssst, Draco."

He looked around and saw no one. "Here," Harry said, emerging from his cloak.

"Hell, Harry," Draco said, "You startled me!"

"Come on," Harry whispered and motioned for Draco to get under the cloak.

Draco looked around quickly and silently joined Harry.

Under the cloak, Harry took his arm and said, "Come." He led Draco up the stairs and to the alcove overlooking the courtyard. They sat as far back on the bench as possible and Harry took off the cloak. "No one comes here," he said.

Draco nodded, fingering the rare material. "How'd you get this?"

Harry actually laughed, "It was my father's," he said and waited for the ball to drop and Draco to put it together with the other times Harry has used it.

Draco raised his brows and pushed Harry, "Damn you!" He exclaimed.

Harry laughed again and a sheepish Draco joined in.

They watched the moonlight make its way across the courtyard.

After a while, Harry said, "I'm so tired."

Draco didn't suggest Harry go to bed. He leaned against the wall, pulled Harry to his chest and covered them both with the cloak, "Rest now then," He whispered.

Harry gradually relaxed and when he fell into a peaceful sleep, Draco sighed and closed his eyes too.

Draco dreamed of moonlight on the Black Lake, the mountains glowing purple against a midnight sky. He saw himself walking, surefooted, through the night and down the path to the lake. He was not scared and he felt free. At the big rock, Harry was waiting. He took Harry in his arms and kissed him. He felt the warmth of welcome and desire as Harry kissed him back. He took off Harry's shirt and saw moonlight, fair as the finest cloth, bathe Harry's skin in its glow. Draco felt himself fall deeper into Harry arms and he slept.

Harry woke. Stiff, but warm, it took him a moment to understand where he was. Dawn was breaking over the courtyard making the east wall rosy. He shifted carefully, and looked into Draco's sleeping face. The other boy was peaceful, the lines that were present on his young/old face smoothed out and the clean line of his cheekbones and jaw caught the light and made his face have depth and a kind of beauty.

War, thought Harry and imagined the lovely face crushed, broken and bloody or worse, completely without life in it. He shivered and Draco began to wake. Not knowing what prompted him; Harry leaned into Draco and kissed him softly beside his mouth.

Draco opened his eyes. They looked wide and clear in the clear morning light and he smiled at Harry. Harry kissed him again and Draco responded, holding Harry tighter.

Such a simple kiss, Draco thought, but without an agenda and without guile. It was a morning kiss, which felt like a new beginning to match the new day.

"Did you sleep?" Draco asked.

"Better than in a long time," Harry answered and sat up.

"Are we okay?" Draco asked, unable to form a more complex sentence.

Harry grinned, "More than ok, I think."

"Nothing is simple," Draco said.

"No," Harry replied. "Maybe not, but there's no time for us to dither anymore. The times to come will demand much of us."

Draco looked into the clear morning, war, blood and hate seemed far away.

"I'm not a hero, Harry." He said quietly.

"Heroes are made, not born," Harry said with a small twinkle in his eyes.

Draco smiled back at this dear, now his very dear boy, no one had ever been as generous as to say Draco had potential before. "Am I made of mortar and bricks or clay then?" He asked.

Harry stroked Draco's cheek, "Ivory and moonstones," Harry muttered.

They kissed again, no longer tentative boys, but men, with the desires of men and the dreams of men in their hearts.

Chapter 21 Onus

Dumbledore returned to Hogwarts. He came midmorning and few, but the ghosts, saw him walk through the doors, foyer and get on his stairway.

A short while later, he knocked at the door to Professor Snape's NEWT potions class and entered.

Coming in through the green and gold steam from a dozen caldrons, the students fancied he'd appeared from out of the mist itself. He touched Harry's shoulder as he made his way to the front of the room; he paused, but did not speak, by Draco's caldron. A dozen students trailed behind him, appearing confused.

Draco met Dumbledore's eyes and seeing blind sorrow in the old man's eyes, knew he was now an orphan in fact, and not just on paper. Even in shock, Draco had to wonder where the old man found pity for the deaths of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy in his heart. He was still enough their child that he did not think the pity was for him, and must be for them.

Without knowing how exactly, he found his hand in Harry's hand as Harry sat beside him. Crabbe and Goyle came near to Draco. They shoved other Slytherins from their seats and sat behind Draco, leaving Harry where he was.

"Students," Dumbledore said into the silent faces, no longer obscured by the mists. "The largest raid in a century has just been carried out by the Ministry and the Order of the Phoenix. I regret," he continued and suddenly, posies of poppies, bound in black ribbon, appeared on the desks of several students, including Draco, Goyle, Crabbe, and Ronald Weasley. The class took a collective breath, but remained silent. "I regret," the old man repeated, "that the death toll has been high on both sides. You are some of the oldest children in the school." He looked carefully at each in turn, "Hardly children anymore," he sighed.

"Lord Voldemort took a stand at Gretna Green this morning. When he saw the tide turn against him, he disappeared, despite the anti-apparation wards we set. The Death Eaters were quickly captured when they could not break through and apparate themselves away. Many died in the battle, but at a very high cost, the Ministry and the Order won the day. All of you who suffered losses have my deepest sympathies."

Some sobs and cries were heard from the class. However, no one moved, too shocked to make sense of what Dumbledore had said. Harry gripped Draco's hands harder and listened to Goyle's breath shudder behind him.

"With Mr. Potter's permission," Dumbledore nodded at Harry and Harry nodded back. "A prophesy exists, a true one, I'm afraid, uttered by Professor Trelawney many years ago. It requires that either Harry Potter vanquish Voldemort or Voldemort will vanquish Harry and, I'm afraid, the rest of us as well."

The class became entirely silent and still, even the steam seemed to hover in place and the fires burn soundlessly.

"Harry Potter has known of this prophesy for some time and has been training as best he can to do battle with Voldemort. The time," Dumbledore seemed to grow terribly tired and feeble before their eyes, "the time has come."

Chapter 22 Opus

Harry spent the afternoon going from Gryffindor Tower to Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. He offered his condolences and took strength from the fact that no one blamed him for not killing Voldemort yet and averting all this woe. He found Draco and with him, Crabbe and Goyle, sitting silent and pale on the courtyard bench.

Meanwhile, there was an exodus of most of the other Slytherins, parents waiting at the gates. No one came for Crabbe or Goyle.

When Harry returned a second time to the three boys, he bore a tray filled with snacks and juice. Crabbe stood and took the tray. He indicated that Harry should take his place on the bench beside Draco. Goyle held the tray while Crabbe made himself comfortable on the ground. Although Draco refused any food, he clasped a cup of juice. "What a day," Harry said quietly." Crabbe and Goyle grunted, and Draco sighed. "Are the three of you staying at Hogwarts?" Harry asked.

Crabbe and Goyle looked at one another and Goyle said, "We stay with Malfoy."

"You'll be in danger," Draco said.

"We're in danger anyway, anywhere," Crabbe, answered.

"True," Said Harry.

"Will you fight for Dumbledore?" Harry asked.

"Well," Commented Crabbe with surprising sarcasm in his voice, "Our parents certainly seem to have chosen the wrong side."

"Dumbledore's army suffered losses as well," Harry said.

"Yes, but they weren't betrayed and left to die without protection," Goyle said.

"Were you surprised Voldemort got away when he could?" Harry said, dryly.

"No, of course not," Said Draco. "That's the Slytherin way, to choose advantage and escape when it comes."

"Ah," said Harry, with a small smile.

"I don't think I want to be abandoned," Goyle said and laid a hand on Draco's knee.

"We'll fight," said Crabbe through a full mouth.

"We'll fight," Goyle echoed.

"We'll fight together," Said Draco Malfoy, and it didn't seem he was afraid.

"Good," Said Harry. "Perhaps being a hero is just that." Draco looked at him, startled.

"Having friends," Harry said, "Being loyal."

"Yeah," said Goyle and offered his hand to Harry.

Harry took it and the boys shook hands.

Part 3 Chapter 6 A Bridge Too Far

Harry had a final Occlumency lesson with Snape. He'd grown stronger all year and as Christmas approached and Voldemort's raids became a daily occurrence, Harry fought the visions with more success. Not that he was entirely successful, but he managed to block out some of it. Of course, Voldemort knew Harry was vulnerable and sometimes, Harry was sure, the excessive violence was to show Harry he knew and wanted to wear him down or lure him out unprepared.

With most of the Slytherins gone, Draco, Crabbe and Goyle became the center of a table of lost boys and girls. Their number grew daily as more parents were killed or disappeared. In this select group, House ties became less important and sadness and mourning became a fierce bond. Their faces were uniformly stern and not much was eaten, but in some silent way, they became the core of the Hogwart's Army. Harry often joined them and encouraged them to eat while there was plenty available.

After a few weeks, Snape and Flitwick joined them at luncheon. Whether it was to get them to eat or to keep them interested, the two professors began to teach them wandless magic. Awkward at first, there was actually laughter as summoning spells went awry and spilled soup and showered chips on other's heads and into laps.

Crabbe and Goyle were surprisingly adept. Draco said it was because they spent so much of their time silent anyway. They played a game in which they tried to aim bites of food directly into each other's mouths. Snape said it was disgusting, but Harry said this way, they did not have to pause to use their utensils and could eat faster.

Finally, a strange and somewhat uncomfortably amiable relationship developed between Harry and Snape. Harry had awoken one day with the knowledge that Snape had helped him. Not just with Occlumency, but also with other threats to his safety through the years. Since he was sure Snape disliked him, even hated him, Harry wanted to know why.

Harry waited until after the final lesson. "Professor," He said, somewhat breathlessly, "Why do you help me, teach me?"

Snape bent over to pick up a chair. His face obscured by his long hair, he said, "If you are the one who can bring down Voldemort, then I must help you, for my own sake as well as for the rest of us. Snape stood, dark and rigid, not a trace of feeling in his face. "Muggles have a saying about the sins of the father's being thrust on their sons. You know how I much I think of Muggle sayings."

Harry, wanted to grin, but held his face as unmoved as possible, "Yes, Professor, I know." He said dryly.

Snape nodded. "I have watched you grow up and while much of what I have observed in you is deplorable, you do have a strength that counters even your excess of foolishness and pride. If this strength…" Snape paused and took a breath, "Mr. Potter, if there is any chance at all that you can end Voldemort's reign, I will help you all I can."

Harry met Snape's eyes, he saw a wealth of hidden hope and unspeakable sorrow within them. For the first time he thought of the price that Snape had paid for his bad, albeit youthful choices. He saw all of Snape's great intelligence and ambition poured into a lifetime living in dungeon, living alone. He thought about Draco's eyes, how their gaze grew clearer and more open every time they met, every time they kissed or simply walked together. He saw his love and desire for Draco slowly burn the hatred of a spoiled, unnatural childhood away. However, Snape, as far as Harry knew, had never had a friend, or lover or anyone to counter the loneliness. He had had no one to mitigate his self-loathing.

Harry found he was man enough to answer. "Thank you sir. I will try, you know, I will try."

Snape sighed as if the weight of his years of isolation rested on his chest, "I know you will, Mr. Potter."

Harry was unsurprised to meet Dumbledore in the hall the next morning, "Professor Snape tells me you are a strong Occlumens, Harry. I congratulate you."

Harry saw Draco approaching, "You were right Headmaster." Dumbledore cocked his head questioningly. "Love is the greatest strength of all," Harry clarified.

Dumbledore smiled, and Harry saw it was a wise and generous smile. For the first time since the end of fifth year and the loss of Sirius, Harry smiled back.

Chapter 23 We Were Young

Christmas came at last. With few exceptions, every student who still had a home went there and the remainder, forty or so, hardly made a dent in the ancient castle's winter-fast calm. The younger students were entertained by most of the staff; they all slept in the Hufflepuff dorms, like a never-ending sleepover party. Games were devised and special treats of food and drink and holiday cheer were provided. On Christmas, everyone was invited to come and open presents with them. Everyone went and even the older children saw that there were tokens for them beneath the tree.

Harry and Draco found lots of time to be alone. They met regularly with the older students at lunch and for Defense Practice and on one clear day, in the freezing sky for a game of Quidditch or two. Snape, while Flitwick spent his time with the younger children, sped up the wandless training.

There was a competition one snowy morning and everyone gathered in the Great Hall after breakfast. The participants stood on a line drawn down the center of the cleared-out hall. A long table with a variety of objects on it stood across from them. The first task was to summon as many objects, as quickly as possible, have them arrive undamaged and stacked at their feet. There were many tricky objects: lit candles, raw eggs, bowls with live goldfish in water, neatly folded items of clothing and piles of nails or buttons, which had to be summoned as whole lots.

The fierce silent match enthralled the professors and the younger audience alike. Things flew across the hall, some dropping with crashes or splats in the middle and once or twice landing on someone's head. Harry saw Draco grin and knew he wanted to aim things at his opponents. Since he could not think about Draco and summon at the same time, he renewed his concentration. Goyle had an impressive pile at his feet rather quickly, he was especially good at summoning the cloth items.

The second task was living or movable things, running around madly in an enchanted circle: rats, toads and mice, birds and snitches. Each participant had a large cage, which had to be silently opened and closed for each capture. Harry and Draco went for the snitches first, wide competitive grins of concentration on their faces. Neville, his grandmother in hiding elsewhere, surprised everyone by getting most of the mice and toads.

Draco and Harry were tied for the lead. The third task was to issue curses and hexes on a group of volunteer students and professors. Nothing actually harmful or injurious, but cleverness and stealth mattered. Draco was the first to build upon other's actions, turning some else's leg-lockers or backwards feet into jumping jacks or dancing spells. Students registered their strikes in different colors. Draco's was silver and Harry's was red. They became so ferocious, that layers of color swirled around some of the volunteers until Dumbledore called a halt and Madam Pomfrey had to undo some minor spell damage.

The audience clapped, screamed, and for a while, the winter, the loneliness and the war, went unnoticed.

Chapter 24 Joy To The World

On the twenty-eighth of December, Harry and Draco found themselves alone. They'd borrowed Hagrid's keys to the stable, intending to ride the ponies Hagrid kept as companions to the excitable Thestrals. Draco was sure Harry would love riding, and the day was perfect, bright blue skies and cleared lanes all the way to Hogsmeade. Hagrid has said there were plenty of saddles and gear. Draco had transformed a complete riding kit for Harry as a surprise, his own had needed considerable adjustment as it had been several years since he used it last.

Harry who had ridden both a Hippogriff and a Thestral didn't think riding a normal pony would be a challenge.

They met at the stables and once inside, found the warmth, privacy and soft piles of hay, too much to resist. At first, they rolled in the hay, laughingly tossing handfuls on each other, as Draco protested the way it clung to his clothes. Harry, under the guise of being helpful, tripped Draco and then fell atop him. He began kissing away his fastidious grumbles.

"Harry," Draco whispered between kisses, "let me." He had his hands on the fastening of Harry's robe.

Harry flushed and nodded.

A moment later, Draco whispered again, "Undo me too."

Harry did and lost some hesitancy to his rising desire.

They tumbled skin to skin, Draco feeling it was all new, his small sum of erotic experience paling into nothingness as he undressed Harry.

Naked, Harry became still. "He gently stroked Draco's cheek, then his neck and lightly touched his chest. "I never thought I would find looking at another boy enthralling," he said in a husky voice. "Before the last few weeks, I never imagined wanting another boy this way."

Draco made a small murmur, "What do you want, Harry?"

Harry touched Draco's ribs and hip, slowly. As if afraid, he ran a finger from head to root on Draco's erection. Draco moaned and arched.

"It's beautiful," Harry said, repeating his caress, "You're beautiful."

"Oh, Harry!" Draco moaned, ecstatically.

Harry, concentrating totally on the narcissist thrill of the shape, texture and heady scent of touching the other boy's penis, kept talking. "Does this feel good? Is my hand more exciting than your own on you? Are you going to come soon?" He whispered everything, hiding none of his wonder or naiveté.

Draco felt his heart break. All the pains he had suffered since summer blew away, insignificant in the face of these gifts from Harry. Here was love and unconditional approval and desire. The pain of these feelings was poignant, was exquisite, and was sublime. Draco felt himself transformed into one loved, into a beloved.

"Harry," He whispered. His throat was tight and his mouth full of tears, "Harry."

Harry looked at him and suddenly grinned, wrapped his hand firmly around Draco erection and pumped.

Draco cried out, he thrust forward and gave himself up to passion.

Harry sped up. He called out exultantly, "Yes Draco! Like that, just like that."

And, Draco orgasmed, tears of joy matching Harry's supplications and saw white flashes and silver streaks behind closed eyes.

As Draco calmed, Harry laughed aloud, joyously.

Chapter 25 Reciprocity

They never did go riding that afternoon. After Draco recovered, it seemed as if Harry was content and simply wanted to talk.

The discussion began when Harry said, "I've always wanted to make someone happy."

Such a simple statement, but it left Draco stunned. That was it, of course. To make someone happy, when had he ever done that? Had he ever really? Upon rare occasion, he'd more or less pleased his parents. He'd made his housemates laugh, but never with happiness. Even gifts he had given outright were more to gain position and favor than for any joy or happiness to the recipients.

Harry, a bit shy again after taking the lead in the lovemaking, frowned.

Draco smiled wryly. "I as just trying to think if I have ever made anyone actually happy." He said.

"Isn't it strange?" Harry asked. "The Weasleys actually do that often. You can see it in their faces. And, it's simple things, remembering to carry something down the stairs for someone else, sharing a treat or winning a good game of cards. When any of the kids clean up anything, clear out the garden gnomes, or pick a bunch of flowers. They thrive on it. They fight too, argue and fuss, but all that seems secondary. They live pretty much without spite."

Draco stared at Harry, he was using the damn Weasleys as examples.

Harry grinned, reading Draco's thoughts, "I know you don't like them, Draco. But, they are the only family, Wizarding or Muggle that I know."

"They seem very volatile," He said.

"Yes, they are." Harry replied. "I think they can be that way because they have each other to rely on. They have a kind of freedom to be different because they know they are loved. Only Percy has stepped outside the family, and even he would be welcomed back at any time or if he were in any kind of need."

"I guess you are right. I know I wanted to please my parents, but I don't think it was to make them happy as much as proud." Draco answered soberly.

"It's a matter of values," said Harry. "The Dursley's, my relatives, don't think about happiness either. They indulge Dudley beyond what is healthy, but it's to prove they can. They tell each other that they make him happy, but he is a miserable person anyway. They tell me, as well as each other, that I have been the cross they bear and I have prevented their happiness. I am sure they are relieved I am gone for good, but I doubt it makes them any happier in the end."

"Do you really think it is a commodity that matters to most people?" Draco asked.

"Yes," Harry said definitely. "I think it is what drives people to be with one another, to work together and live together. Happiness is a goal of sorts, and with it, most people feel they can accomplish almost anything."

Draco sat quietly. He had never analyzed happiness before.

"I want to be happy as much as I want to be safe." Harry said. "And free," he added.

"Do you think I can make you happy?" Draco asked in a rough voice.

"Oh, yes." Harry replied. "I don't know why exactly. We have been at odds since the beginning, but now, yes, yes I do."

"It could be just sex," Draco answered.

Harry giggled, and Draco grinned too.

"You can try," Harry said cheekily.

Draco's grin widened. "Try, Mr. Potter? I'll have you know that I can knock you off your feet. I am a sex god and you shall be grateful and," Draco sobered, "happy."

Harry winked and laid back in the soft hay, "Let's see then," He challenged.

Draco looked at the pale slender boy next to him. Harry's body was imperfect, he was too thin and there were scars and rough patches of skin. He had very hairy legs. None of it mattered. Draco looked away, "My father took me to a brothel for my birthday." He said.

"I hadn't done much of anything before that. Just snogged Pansy a bit and kissed a few other girls. When the madam brought out boys as well as girls, I was surprised. I don't think I was shocked, I mean I knew it happened." He looked back at Harry and saw the boy was listening closely, but he saw no disapproval or disgust. "I didn't think about anything much, I was excited and felt entitled to have what I wanted. I didn't think about love or even liking. They were bodies paid to please me, like most everything my parents provided."

Draco sighed. "It was ok. I liked doing it with both of them. The boy better, perhaps. When it was over, I went home with my father and went to bed. I didn't feel different or like I had had an epiphany or anything."

Harry, mutely, stroked Draco's arm.

Draco said in a shamed voice, "Now I know differently, Harry. Being near you this way 'is' an epiphany, is something that matters. I know that we are more than bodies going through the motions."

"Draco," Harry said quietly, his eyes gleaming in the soft filtered light of the barn. "I don't know much about love or loving either. Somehow, we both got the opposite end of the stick as children. What I feel for you now, including the attraction, isn't just a passing fancy or a one-off shag session. I think the road rolls up behind us and the only thing we can do is move on past it. I would love to change the past, have my parents and a happy childhood. Nevertheless, we can't chose and we can't change the past. Nothing is too late yet. We are very young and if there is a future for us, despite Voldemort and war or after all that, we can make what we want of it."

Draco nodded, still serious and sad.

Harry punched Draco lightly, "The best thing we can do is live like we have a future, Draco. That is what hope is, I think."

Draco stared into Harry's eyes. So wise, he thought, not naïve or silly, wise. And, beautiful. He leaned over Harry and kissed him, and Harry sighed happily. He kissed Harry's neck and shoulders, tasting the other boy's salty/sweet skin. He touched Harry's cock and it flushed and grew hard. They were about the same, Harry a little thicker and he a little longer. It felt good to hear Harry catch his breath, he ran his thumb around the flare of the head and Harry moaned. Without giving himself time to think, he licked Harry and then took the cock in his mouth.

"Draco!" Harry cried.

All in all, it only took a few moments. Harry writhed and Draco sucked and suddenly his mouth was full and Harry was sobbing. He swallowed and moved back up, holding Harry in a tight sweaty grasp.

Harry half sobbed, and half chuckled. "Wow," he said and Draco laughed.

Chapter 26 Together We Stand

Draco never found out exactly what Harry said to his friends, the female Weasley, or the other Gryffindors, they eyed him uneasily and Ron's frown seemed to become permanently etched on his forehead. They did not include him, but they did not shun him either. Goyle and Crabbe fitted in better, in some weird nexus, Longbottom and Goyle bonded. Draco thought it might be Longbottom's obvious difficulties with anything physically onerous. The bigger boys, not graceful themselves, had always been amused at Longbottom's efforts. What none of them knew before was that Neville was able to laugh at himself. Without the sting of the Slytherin's derision, Neville's self-derogatory remarks became amusing. Crabbe and Goyle decided to teach him how to fight, Neville insisted they learn to box properly. The boys set up in the courtyard and became a familiar sight, calling out punching combinations and egging each other on.

McGonagall put her foot down when they all started wearing brightly colored silk capes with boxing shorts on under them to class. She complained in vain, however, when Dumbledore had one made for himself, chartreuse with an orange lining that actually hurt to look at. Soon, wizard-boxing posters were added to Ron's Chudley Cannon posters in the Gryffindor seventh year dorm. They boxed and growled at each other and at the boys as they undressed, making fun of their puny muscles and thin legs.

Not surprisingly, Neville thrived. Amongst the three, he was the most verbal and since the bigger boys transferred some of their protection to him, he began to walk with his head held high.

The ice finally cracked when Ron made some comment about how Voldemort had better be wary of the boxing trio. Draco laughed. He pulled up his hood and pantomimed Voldemort with his hands up, running away. Shocked at first, Harry and Ron began to laugh too.

Finding they both had rather over-the-top senses of humor, Ron and Draco began to try to outdo each other. The slapstick and the practical jokes abounded and Hermione made sure to be alert. It seemed both boys thought making her the butt of their efforts was hilarious. After several hair colors and parchment that turned into noodles or confetti when she handed in her homework, she began to plan a few surprises of her own.

Without the twins, their fate still in question, these romps cheered Ron up, especially since he often won over Draco, something he had never been able to do with the twins.

Dumbledore sent for Draco, without Snape.

Draco went, nervously accepting tea and cake, he sat upright and stiff. "Dear boy," Dumbledore said genially. "The ministry has now had time to investigate Malfoy Manor. Here," He said and conjured a long rolled parchment from thin air, "is the list of items they have confiscated."

He handed the list to Draco. Draco took it with a questioning look.

Dumbledore spoke kindly, "You will need to go to the manor and arrange for its upkeep. There are plenty of House Elves and the human staff, of course. Nevertheless, they do need direction from the master. That is you, Mr. Malfoy. You have inherited the manor and a considerable fortune besides."

Draco stuttered, overwhelmed, "I thought I got nothing. They disinherited me last summer."

Dumbledore eyed him above his glasses, "Obviously, they did not have time to do so entirely. Their wills were still intact and held by the estate planning division at Gringotts. After due consideration, the Goblin legalists decided they remained inviolate. So there you go."

"I get it all?" Draco asked.

"Indeed," Dumbledore answered. "I suggest you do not go alone, however. Professor Snape and perhaps a team of Aurors should accompany you. We do not want any traps sprung on you, young Malfoy. Not at this critical juncture."

Draco nodded, a great calm overtaking him. Now he had even more to fight for, he would be damned if Voldemort would take this second chance at his birthright away from him.

"By the way," Dumbledore said as Draco made a move to get up, "your parents have been interred in the family vaults. Perhaps, some day, you would like to have a memorial service or something of the sort. Regardless of their leanings, they were your parents and Malfoy remains a great name in the annals of Wizardry."

Draco sat back down. His heart was beating fast and hard. He had missed his standing, if not his parents. "You did them an honor they did not deserve, Headmaster. They were not friends of yours or of the Order. They went out of their way to make things difficult. They hurt many over the years and brought no honor to their name."

Dumbledore smiled gently, "One of the advantages of old age, Mr. Malfoy, is that I have seen so many come and pass on. Good, bad or otherwise, they lived and were part of our world. You will bring honor and glory to your name Draco Malfoy; perhaps afterwards you will feel able to put them to rest."

Draco stood, the last Malfoy. He looked like a shining prince, thought Dumbledore. His head held high, now with character and not vainglory or arrogance. He would be a great help to Harry, the old man mused and almost missed what the boy was saying. "Thank you Headmaster," Draco said. "I will try, you know, I will try." He bowed, gentleman to gentleman and took his leave.

Dumbledore chose a lemon drop and savored it slowly. The two boys, together, were formidable. He smiled and chose another candy.

Epilog Part 1 The Ramparts Still Stand

February came with bitter cold and a constant freezing sleet that made the outdoors treacherous to negotiate. The dungeons were damp and cold and Gryffindor tower tormented everyone with sudden icy drafts and leaky windows. Everyone wore heavy cloaks and gloves to classes. At meals in the great hall, students huddled together and ate a lot of hot cereals and soups.

Hermione, often a target for being a know-it-all, came into her own. She taught anyone who would listen a variety of warming spells. Soon, everyone had spelled warmed socks and in secret, many spelled their underwear too.

Snape took advantage and taught them how to make Pepper-up potions and, nonalcoholic Butterbeer. Seamus and Dean cornered the market on mulled wine, made from Hagrid's overgrown grape vines in the far end of the greenhouse. The fact that they had to reconstitute the shriveled grapes magically, made it more potent. Crabbe, Goyle and Neville tried to do it with apple cider. When eleven of the younger students had to go to Madam Pomfrey for intestinal difficulties, they were caught and given detentions.

Snape, in a frenzy of disgust, had them brew poisons and warned them they would have to test anything that came out wrong. By the time their detentions were finished, they all had chilblains on their fingers, because Snape disallowed all magical means of keeping warm.

There was no Quidditch, not only because so many of the older students had gone, but because the weather was simply too horrible. Trips to Hogsmeade were cancelled for safety's sake and a pall of depression settled over the students and professors alike.

Without warning, on the grayest of gray days and with most of the older students half-asleep in History of Magic, Hogwarts was attacked. A fire bolt that lit up the entry and burst into the empty great and hall blew apart the great front door, closed against the cold, away. It melted the ornamental suits of armor and set the paintings alight. The subjects in the paintings screamed and headed, in a rush, for other paintings, causing a stampede of people, animals and magical beasts.

Hagrid, who had been teaching a combined class of first and second years in the barn, sent the students into the dark forest. He called frantically for Gawp to protect them. He ran to the castle and Harry, Ron, Hermione and Draco saw him cut down by curses as he almost made it to the door.

Harry screamed and ran towards his old friend. The others caught him and dragged him to the courtyard. Shaking him, once they were there, and telling him to calm down and make a plan.

Draco, seeing the smoke out of one eye and hearing screams, found he was terrified, but not afraid for himself. The other students with him suddenly looked so very young and something inside him broke. He took charge, slapped Harry into awareness and sent Ron to get the invisibility cloak as fast as he could. Harry told him to get the Marauder's Map too. Ron grabbed Hermione in a quick kiss and ran.

He had them organize a list of curses, telling them to memorize the order and just do them over and over again once they confronted the enemy. By this time Crabbe, Goyle, Neville and many others of the older students joined them. Draco shouted out orders like a general born. The plan was to form a phalanx around the invisible Harry and get him as close to Voldemort, unseen, as possible. He told them they were ready, that they were strong and trained. After a few moments and Ron's return, they coalesced into a fighting force, grim and attentive.

Draco would take Harry's right and Ron would take Harry's left side. Hermione would go back and forth, taking shots at the enemy between them and cause a diversion, with one of her best spells, as they neared Voldemort.

Two small first years had made it to the courtyard somehow. Hermione insisted they hide beneath the bench, telling them to be good witnesses and enclosed them in a warming spell. Draco took their wands and stuck an extra one into Harry's sleeve and one into his own.

Harry quickly explained the map. They saw the Death Eaters were fanning the castle, floor by floor, blowing up staircases and burning everything in their path. Snape was defending the dungeons and a large group of students. Dumbledore was making his way towards the great hall and Voldemort.

They could smell the castle burning around them. Seamus, Irish to the core, yelled "Erin Go Baugh," and waved his wand as if it was a pikestaff. The assemblage of the students took up the call and charged towards the great hall as well.

Years later, Draco would write a chapter about the battle for the Hogwarts, a History. He would describe an inferno, cut into small hells of red and green curse light and ankle deep bloody floors.

He would write about Voldemort, charmed to appear twice as tall, standing on the head table, dozens of dead house elves at his feet. He would describe Voldemort's terrible red eyes, skull-like head and huge, dead white wand hand, laughing as students and professors fell or twisted under crucios around him.

He would tell of a terrible silence as Dumbledore and Harry's Army came into the hall, at the same moment, from opposite doors. "Where's the boy?" Voldemort screamed.

Everything and everyone came to a halt. Dumbledore, as no one had ever seen him, appeared to gather himself in magic that sparked violet and gold. The old man turned, before their eyes, into a young warrior, his long white mane of hair glowing blue-black and his blue eyes turning to silver flame.

Draco would write, with relish, how Voldemort quailed, how the Death Eaters backed down and ran from the sight. How later, he was to learn about an extremely rare and life-ending spell that could take very essence of a great wizard's spirit and turn it into untold power. How Dumbledore had done this, disabled Voldemort, emptied the hall of all who were on his side and laid it bare for Harry Potter to throw off his invisibility cloak.

Weakened, but not defeated, Voldemort rose and aimed his wand at Harry. All the student's curses bouncing off him harmlessly he intoned Avada Kedavra.

He would write about a miracle. How the streaming green curse was sucked into Harry Potter's wand and rebounded into Voldemort's heart. Voldemort would fall down dead, the echo of his bones hitting the table the same moment as Dumbledore fell, became an old man once more, smiled and died.

Neville would write about the funerals and about a Wizarding World torn asunder and the new ministry that took years to assemble and would, eventually, contrive to rebuild.

Hermione, who would become a beloved Headmistress many, many years later, wrote about the sorrow.

In the end, Hogwarts stood, burnt, half rendered useless, but still it stood.

Epilog Part 2 Tide and Time

Whatever power or protection had enabled Harry to rebound the curse and kill Voldemort, after it was over, rendered him mute. Weak and mute and without discernable magic, he passed out.

At first glance, Draco thought Harry was dead. Hermione had to shake him, scream at him and hit him until he realized it wasn't Harry's blood that drenched him. Dozens of dead littered the head table and the floor. Draco had eyes only for Harry. He picked him up bodily and took him to Madam Pomfrey. The infirmary was crowded, but a path made way for him as he carried his beloved burden to a bed. Feeling his heartbeat and looking for broken bones, Madam Pomfrey finally decided that Harry was not in immediate danger and allowed Draco to draw the curtains and bathe Harry clean of all the blood.

Hermione with an injured Ron, were in the next cubicle. Draco moved the screen so they could see what was going on. Goyle, his arm in a sling, Crabbe, his face peppered with burns and Neville, a long rip torn in his shirt, revealing a bloody gash, took up residence and refused to move away from the end of Harry's bed.

Draco had no idea he was bloody and that his hair was scorched. No one mentioned it.

Hours later, Snape arrived; he was limping and had a livid hex mark across his nose and cheeks. He told them Dumbledore's body had been taken to his bedroom, behind his office and would be prepared for burial once the ministry had accounted for all the dead and wounded. He, too, summoned a chair and installed himself between Harry and Ron's beds.

One by one, the students and professors who had lived through the siege and the battle, made their way to Harry's bed, offering well wishes and bringing bedraggled flowers from the Herbology green houses and gardens.

Minerva McGonagall came last, just as the sunset made the infirmary golden. Looking like a scarecrow, her cape singed and her hat half-burned away, she insisted that they eat.

Harry, unmoving, lay there the whole time and Draco despaired.

Eventually, everyone slept. In the quiet fastness of the old castle, Draco woke and saw the living, still asleep, surround him. He watched Harry breathe and for the first time in his life, he prayed. He had no name for or in fact, any specific deity in mind at all. Nevertheless, he prayed.

He laid his heart bare into the stillness of the night. He prayed for forgiveness for wasting the early years of his life in shallow and vain pursuits. He begged for the end of violence and hate and for the younger students to know peace and happiness. He prayed for Harry's recovery and he was thankful that he had found Harry's love before it was too late.

He prayed, swaying on his knees before Harry's bed and unnoticed, a light: mauve, blue and rose pink, formed around him. Unheard, the softest and gentlest of music began to sing into the silence.

Snape, the trio of boys and Hermione awoke into the splendor of the miraculous dawn and breathed softly, saying nothing, but allowing tears to fall from their eyes, unchecked.

Snape, uncontrollably, lifted his hands into the light and smiled as if he were young, as if he were finally free and years of self-loathing, of bitterness and regret fell from his face and unburdened his shoulders. He met Neville's amazed eyes and smiled. Neville, fear and timidity washed away, smiled back.

The chorus of unknown voices grew and enfolded all the wounded and absorbed their suffering and healed their wounds.

Still, Draco prayed.

And, Harry opened his eyes.

The light and the music surrounded him and Draco. He did not question it. He touched Draco's face, and when Draco looked at him he said, "I love you."

The End