Chapter 1

Lucius entered his study. He walked swiftly to the fireplace. He took a pinch of black glittering powder and threw it into the flames. Stepping into the now green fire, he pressed his finger to his left arm and murmured, "Portus Mosmordre."

He whirled through ash and flame, and landed smoothly in a dark chamber suffused with a green glow. Before him stood Lord Voldemort himself. Lucius dropped on his knees at once and kissed the hem of his master's robes. He then stood and stepped back, his head bowed.

"You called, my lord?"

A high, cold voice answered. "It is time, Lucius. Bring the boy to me."

Panic flickered in his usually calm grey eyes. "My lord, he is not yet ready. He is only fifteen. He is still in school."

"You are testing my patience, Lucius," the cold voice replied lazily. "Bring the boy or suffer the consequences. You knew this would happen. You should have been prepared. This is the best time to place the mark on your son, so he may serve as a spy for me at Hogwarts."

Lucius kept his head bowed, letting the cruel words wash over him. He could not surrender his only son to this torture. He did not want to.

"You have no choice, Lucius. You have to," Voldemort said, as though reading his mind.

Several tears fell from Lucius' eyes, try as he might to stop them. He cursed himself for being so weak.

"Are you crying, Lucius?" Voldemort mocked. "Perhaps I should remind you of real pain? Crucio!"

Lucius writhed on the ground, shrieking until he thought his lungs would burst. The Dark Mark on his left arm was riddled in pain, and his body was on fire. His eyes lost focus as he threatened to black out. His screaming filled the chamber.

"Quiet, you fool! Silencio!"

His silent scream should have been even more horrible to watch, but Voldemort just gave a pitiless smile as he continued to point his wand at him.

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Harry Potter woke up suddenly, drenched in sweat. He took a quick look at Ginny, his only companion in the train compartment, to see if she had noticed anything. Thankfully, she seemed to be absorbed in a book she salvaged from the Room of Requirement last year, Jinxes for the Jinxed. He hastily wiped his sweaty face, then glanced back at her. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, her nose practically touching the page.

"Better find something interesting in there so you can use it on Malfoy, eh?" he said jokingly.

"Oh yes," she replied, "I was getting tired of always having him on the receiving end of my Bat-Bogey Hex. I'm looking for a nice change." She smiled mischievously.

At the mention of Malfoy, Harry suddenly remembered what he had been dreaming about. It had seemed so real. He had had dreams that were real before, but then again, it might have been just a dream. For all he knew, Lucius Malfoy might be dead right now. He wondered how Malfoy himself might be feeling. He didn't have to wonder for long. The compartment door slid open.

There Malfoy stood, alone for once. Something akin to disappointment flashed across his face, then Harry blinked and the expression was gone, replaced by his usual smirk. Harry must have imagined it.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't Potter and his girlfriend," Malfoy drawled.

Harry stood up abruptly, glaring with a hatred that only Malfoy could invoke in him. He had grown over the summer. So had Malfoy. Their faces were level with each other, both holding mutinous looks.

In a flash, Malfoy whipped out his wand. "Rictusempra!"

"Protego!" Harry shouted. The curse bounced back. Malfoy jumped out of the way. "Furnunculus!"

Harry ducked just in time, the red jet of light rippling his hair. He straightened quickly and said, "Legilimens."

Malfoy's thoughts played in Harry's mind, images flashing one after the other. A little boy with blond hair, gingerly trying on gel, his father, half laughing at, half scolding him... a boy of about 9 years old, getting on a broom for the first time, his father at his side smiling encouragingly...an older version of the boy, dueling fiercely, grinning from ear to ear... the same boy, finding his father lying sprawled in a room, his eyes cold as stone...

"NO!!" Malfoy shouted, breaking Harry's contact. He was curled up on the floor, his hands gripping his hair, tears running down his face. He looked at Harry with pure fear. "Did you just see all of that?"

"Malfoy—"

"Shove off, Potter. Just leave me alone." He practically stumbled out of the compartment, breaking into a run.

A stunned silence followed this. Finally, Ginny spoke. "You don't have to explain anything. I'm not sure I want to know anyway."

He smiled at her gratefully, longing to go back to the days when his and Malfoy's relationship was as simple as a petty rivalry between two houses.

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Draco stumbled through each compartment until he reached the very end, where he could sit privately, facing the window. He collapsed into the seat, his head spinning.

What the hell just happened?! He thought. In some absurd way, Potter had just been able to read his mind! He knew everything. About his father. Draco struggled to fight the tears that threatened to spill over again. He couldn't help it. Memories of his father kept playing over and over in his mind until he wanted to escape from himself to a place where he couldn't feel any of it. Not a single bloody thing. He was tired as he never knew to be before. He felt like his head might explode from the pressure.

The door slid open. Just what I need, he thought sarcastically. Company.

Hermione Granger entered, closely followed by Ron Weasley. Draco groaned loudly.

"Get out," he said flatly.

"Nice to see you again too, Malfoy," Hermione said coolly. "Might I remind you that we, as prefects, have every right to be here as you do? Last time I checked, this is the prefects' compartment."

"Yeah, and last time I checked, sons whose fathers have just been murdered are normally given their rightfully earned space," he snapped back, realizing too late the consequences of what he'd just said.

Ron stood open-mouthed. Hermione covered her mouth in shame. "Oh Malfoy, I'm so sorry—"

"I don't need your sympathy! Just leave. Please." He said, not bothering to hide the anguish in his voice.

Ron looked like he wanted to say something more, but Hermione gave him a look before steering him out of the door. Draco thought he heard her whisper a simple Locking spell on the door, but cleverly doing it so that it could only be unlocked from Draco's side.

You had to hand it to her, he thought. She was pretty cool.

He could understand now why Potter was friends with her. If only she weren't from Gryffindor, he might have taken a liking to her. Actually, it was not so much that she was in Gryffindor, but it was that she wasn't in Slytherin. He thought savagely at how Potter would react to these thoughts. He'd probably be called an obnoxious git who was too high-minded for his own good.

Didn't they realize, he thought angrily, that they were the ones who made us Slytherins the way we are?! They're all like that—the teachers, the students from other houses—they all look down on me and my housemates. They brand us as no good before they even get to know us. It's not our fault we have to stick together. It's not like they're interested in even being within ten feet of us.

It was how people would look at him all his life. A Malfoy and a Slytherin. The injustice of it all made him pound against the glass window with such force that it shattered beneath his fist. He watched as his own blood blossomed out of several deep cuts. Splinters of glass were embedded deep in his skin. He forced himself not to wince as blood continued to trickle out, and started to seep into the sleeves of his robe.

Someone was knocking in the compartment door. Draco waved his wand to unlock it.

It was Harry. "Has anyone seen Herm—Malfoy! What happened to you?!"

Draco cast an amused glance at the shocked expression on Harry's face before answering with utmost calm. "Well, I'm exercising masochism, obviously."

Harry was at a loss for words. He walked out swiftly, returning with a bowl of clear water. He set it down across Draco. He took Draco's hand and looked at it closely. Draco, too tired to protest, let him do it. Harry then used the same spell Hermione used to remove the toad guts from underneath Neville's fingernails in their first year to gently remove the splinters of glass in Draco's hand. Then he held Draco's hand over the bowl, cupping water with his other hand and pouring it over the wounds. The water was pleasantly warm. Draco found himself to be calming down, much to his surprise. All the while, Harry was staring at anywhere but Draco's face.

"Why are you bothering to do this?" Draco asked wearily.

Harry paused to look at him. Their eyes met, and it was like the shards of glass that brought Harry there in the first place transferred themselves to his emerald green eyes. Draco saw in Harry's eyes, the feeling that so clearly dominated his actions. He saw pain, as transparent as glass.

"Because I know what it feels like."

"No you don't," Draco retorted, though without much conviction.

"Yes I do. I know what it feels like to have someone die on you and you just weren't ready and you can't stop thinking of them but you want to just die as well because you know that thinking of them won't ever bring them back and you just want it all to end because you're tired and you can't do anything about it and it's all their fault because they're supposed to be here and they're not and it hurts and it hurts so bad—"

Harry broke off, his voice starting to break. Draco was just looking back at him, listening to him. Harry realized, He really understands me .He knows.

Their hands were still touching, half submerged in the now blood- tinted water. It rippled innocently back at them as they both stared at the reason for their prolonged contact. Harry cleared his throat.

"Er... I better get back to my compartment now. We must be almost there."

"Oh. Right."

As Harry slid the compartment door closed, both boys blinked back tears.