THE CROOKED HEART

Author's Note: This story will eventually be slash. You have been warned! Don't give me reviews about how sordid I am, if you don't like it don't read it. It is also Post HBP.

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns most of the characters and places in this fan fiction. I am not profiting from this at all, I assure you, and I have no money so don't bother suing me.

"The real hero is always a hero by mistake; he dreams of being an honest coward like ourselves." – Umberto Eco

Chapter One: Return to the Burrow

Harry Potter awoke with a start. Sweat poured liberally from his brow and down his chest. His pajama t-shirt clung irritatingly to his skin. He sat up quickly, swung his legs out of bed, and tried to calm his breathing, but the air seemed to stick in his throat. He could feel his heart thumping frantically somewhere inside his ribcage. Bile was slowly rising in his throat. He jumped off the bed, swung his bedroom door open, and sprinted to the bathroom before he was violently sick in the toilet.

He vomited what felt like the entire contents of his stomach before it finally ceased. He feebly lowered himself to the floor beside the toilet and listened to it flush, and finally, when the pipes stopped drumming, he allowed his mind to wonder at the dream he'd just had.

He did not remember much - such is the splendor and misery of nightmares. And of course, the harder he tried to recall any sort of detail, the more it disappeared. Lord Voldemort was there, he could remember that. The Dark Lord would always be at the heart of his nightmares. And he remembered Severus Snape, standing over a pile of … a pile of something that Harry could not remember.

He needed to get out of the bathroom. The walls had been recently painted a disgusting, decaying-looking yellow by his Uncle Vernon. The stench was not improving his need to make his insides, out. But he was hard-pressed to find the motivation to even wiggle his toes; due to lack of sleep and the summer heat. The cool tiles felt nice against his sweltering skin too.

He had a feeling that his dream might not have been a dream at all, but insight into Voldemort's current activities. A 'vision', if you will. After all, it wouldn't have been the first time that Harry had unconsciously wandered into Voldemort's mind. He felt a sudden urge to talk to someone about it and was almost pulling himself off the floor to write a letter, before remembering there was no one. Sirius had died over a year ago, and the loss of his first real father-figure still cut away inside him. Harry tried to remember the way he had felt last summer and wondered if it had been worse than this. He had felt like there was a black hole inside of him – where Sirius had been. And now, there were two. He decided that he was much worse off now. With Albus Dumbledore dead, thought Harry, we're all worse off really.

Anger ate away at him as he thought back to the night the great Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, and his mentor, had finally met his end. He was angry at himself for being so naïve and not strong enough to have prevented it. He was angry at Dumbledore for dying and leaving him alone - a selfish anger, he knew, but he allowed the feeling all the same. He was most angry at Snape though, the man who had done the deed. Harry had never liked Snape. But he had, in some way, trusted him. He was furious beyond belief to find that he was foolish for doing so.

Harry could not change the past though, no matter how much he wished he could. And he knew the "What-if?" game would not help him at all. Plus, he didn't want to think about it an awful lot right now. The war really, had only just begun. And Harry's side had already been handed the worst possible card.

Harry looked up through the window where the full moon shone innocently down at him, creating a jagged and dim light in the bathroom. He could not see well without his glasses on, so he closed his eyes, trying to let the anger ebb.

The almost seventeen-year-old was nearly a man now. He was no longer short and scrawny but quite tall and burly. He towered over his cousin, and whilst Dudley Dursley still had a great bulk, Harry would probably stand a good chance in a fist-fight with him. Of course, it wouldn't matter soon. Harry would be legally of age shortly, and the moment he was he doubted he would ever return to Number Four, Privet Drive.

This summer at the Dursleys' had been the most peaceful Harry had ever experienced, and he was thankful for it. Dudley had got himself a girlfriend - a dumpy looking girl who plastered make-up over her face like a clown and made Dudley look like genius - and spent fifty percent of his time in his bedroom with her and the other fifty percent out of the house with her. Probably in her bedroom. Harry didn't really want to picture his cousin snogging or, God forbid, shagging anyone, and so had given him a wide berth.

His Uncle had decided to sell his drill company and spent most of his time at the factory, doing old file work that had never been done, taking care of debts, firing people, taking care of paper work for the sale, and firing some more people. This suited Harry just fine.

So Harry had spent the first two weeks of summer with his Aunt Petunia. It had not been that bad, really. With her husband and son's constant absences, Aunt Petunia would invite Harry to eat every meal with her and for the first time in as long as Harry could remember being at the Dursleys', he would feel full afterwards. They would not talk during their meals. In fact they didn't really talk at all. Harry spent most of his time in his room, writing carefully worded letters to his best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, reading spell books that he thought might help, and trying not to think too much about Dumbledore. But when Harry would sit opposite his Aunt, he would sometimes catch her looking at him with an expression he had not seen her give him before. Concern.

Harry had not looked into it too much. Two years ago, he would've loved that sort of sympathy. But things had changed and Harry couldn't really be bothered with it anymore. He knew who really cared about him and who didn't, and he wasn't going to waste his time trying to reconcile a relationship with his Aunt when he planned to leave her forever soon. But maybe she had other ideas?

Harry covered his eyes when a stream of light flooded into the bathroom. His Aunt stood in the threshold and let out a gasp when she saw him. She quickly checked herself.

"I thought I heard you get up," she said in her usual crisp tones. "Are you sick?"

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat. "Yeah … no … I'm alright."

"Well you can't stay here, c'mon." She walked over to him, hoisted him up onto his feet with surprising strength and walked him into the hall. She gasped again when she got a good look at his flushed skin. "You smell terrible! You've been sick, haven't you?" Harry made no reply but shrugged nonchalantly.

She marched Harry into his bedroom and pushed him down onto his bed so he lay flat on his back. She put her hand over his forehead. Harry thought it almost amusing really, that his Aunt had spent nearly his whole life avoiding even having to look at him, and now she was touching him.

She tsked. "You've got a fever."

"I'm alright, really," said Harry. "I just had a … nasty dream."

She looked down at him with a slight frown of concern. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," Harry snorted. He hadn't meant to be rude; he knew she was trying to make an effort. But he was wary as to why, after all this time, she had decided to care.

She stiffened her upper lip and pulled her hand away. "You need something to drink. I'll be back in a minute."

Harry sighed and let his eyes wander about his room. The latest edition of the Daily Prophet stood on top of his desk. The front page was a message to Muggle-borns to set up wards around their homes and try and warn their neighbors of impending dangers without breaking any statutes. If that was even possible.

It made Harry think though. Maybe he should warn his Aunt and Uncle? No one could hurt them whilst inside the house, whilst Harry still called Privet Drive home. But what about when he leaves? There's a good chance that they'll be targets for Death Eaters due to their relation to Harry. There was no love lost between Harry and the Dursleys, but he did not wish death upon them.

Aunt Petunia came bustling back in the room and sat on the edge of his bed, handing him a glass of orange juice. Harry sat up, took a mouthful and put the glass on his bedside table.

"There's something I should talk to you about," said Harry, carefully.

Aunt Petunia moved closer to him. "Okay, but lie down, you've got a fever you need to rest." She pushed him back down and left her hand on his chest. Harry decided to ignore the motherly-affection for the moment.

"You know the reason why I have to come here every summer, right?" asked Harry.

"Yes. It's the only place you're safe from that Lord Voldemort character," said Aunt Petunia stiffly. Harry marveled once again at the ease in which the Dursleys spoke of Voldemort.

"Yeah, exactly." Harry decided to be blunt. "But the thing is, I can't hide from him anymore. I have to go and face him. And when I do, the moment I walk out the door in a couple of weeks, I won't come back here. When that happens, the spell will disappear, and you won't be safe from him, or the people that work for him."

"You won't come back?" Harry was surprised that she seemed genuinely upset at this news. He didn't understand. He thought they'd be happy to be rid of him. Harry wondered what had gone on during the school term that had caused this sudden change of heart in his Aunt. Perhaps it had been Dumbledore's harsh words last summer? When the now-former Headmaster has accused them – rightfully so – of abuse towards Harry.

"I can't come back," said Harry dismissively. "But that doesn't matter. You just have to be careful, don't let strangers in and if you see anyone that looks … well, like me – call the police and run away as fast as you can. I assure you, Dudley won't even get close enough to give them 'the old one, two.' Lock your door, even during the day, and when Uncle Vernon and Dudley come home, have like, a password or something before you let them in so you know it's really them. Wizards can make themselves look like other people with potions and stuff, so that's really important."

Aunt Petunia cringed at the words "wizards" and "potions" and Harry was relieved that Aunt Petunia hadn't quite gone full-cycle-accepting-Aunt. She did nod her head in agreement though.

"Good," said Harry quietly. "And um, thanks for ah, everything." Harry knew she didn't deserve any thanks, they were hardly hospitable people. But he thought he should throw her a bone – if only a very small one.

She looked down and smiled a little. "I'm sorry Harry. I'm sorry that I couldn't be your mother. Just like I'm sorry I couldn't be Lily's sister. You … you scare me Harry, you know?" Harry looked away from her, frowning. She sighed, "But I suppose it's a bit late for this talk?"

Harry looked at her with serious eyes. "Yes, it is."

She looked up at Hedwig who slept peacefully in her cage. "You've turned into a handsome little thing. And that Headmaster of yours seems to think very highly of you, at any rate. You'll be alright, I'm sure."

Harry looked down at the mention of Dumbledore, and did not say anything. He did, however, think about the handsome comment. Harry had never felt handsome in his life. In fact, most of the time, he just felt awkward and plain. But he had begun noticing little things that people said that contradicted his thinking.

In his sixth year Harry had got much more attention from the female populace than he ever had before. He thought this was just because everyone now knew that Voldemort had returned and they were looking for a hero. Ginny Weasley had flattered him to no end as well; however, he didn't really think that counted as they had been seeing each other. But Hermione had also made a few positive comments - much to Ron's annoyance - about Harry's physical appearance. And Luna Lovegood had told him once - when he'd been asking her to favor the Gryffindor players during a Quidditch match; he was only half serious - that it wasn't fair to use his looks, "fluttering" his eyes and "flashing seductive smiles", to get people to do things for him. He hadn't thought on it at the time, but now he wondered if he really did give people "seductive smiles?"

More recently, on the second day of the summer, Dudley had brought his girlfriend and several of her friends home for lunch. Harry had slept in well past noon and came down the stairs in only his boxers to be greeted by the group. Dudley had introduced him like he was a dirty joke, but the girls had gone quiet and stared at him. A couple of the girls Harry recognized from primary school. He went to return to his room pretty quickly after that, but he heard snippets of their conversation whilst walking up the stairs.

"He's hot," Dudley's girlfriend had said. "You never said he was hot. You said he was a freak."

Since then, Dudley had been trying to keep Harry out of view of his girlfriend when she was over.

Harry did not know how he felt about being considered good-looking. Hermione had once said, "God never hands you both cards," and that a good-looking person "normally suffers severely in other areas." She and Parvati Patil had then proceeded to list several boys that suffered from this affliction:

"Roger Davies – stupid," started Hermione. "Blaise Zabini – arrogant, amongst other things. Oliver Wood – obsessive. Fred and George – hooligans-"

"Fred and George are good-looking!" Ron had spluttered.

"Quite," said Parvati with a raised eyebrow. "Zacharias Smith – annoying. Draco Malfoy – the prince of evil."

"Malfoy isn't good-looking!" Ron nearly had a coronary.

Harry wasn't sure that he wanted to be good-looking if it meant he lacked in more important areas. As Harry lay on his bed under his Aunt's gaze he could see Parvati Patil's image in his head; "Harry Potter – hero complex."

Harry scowled as he lay there in silence, Aunt Petunia's hand still on his chest, rising and falling with his breathing. Harry's mind continued to speculate about trivial things as he attempted to avoid thinking of Dumbledore and Sirius and Hogwarts and horcruxes. Slowly, Harry began to drift off to sleep.

He was not aware that his Aunt sat there beside him all night, one hand on his chest and the other brushing away his hair. She stayed there until her husband got up, requesting breakfast. Harry did not know that as she'd sat by his side, she had felt something for him. Something that went beyond the guilt and obligation that had plagued her for the last year and had caused her to, at the very least, be respectful to Harry. What she'd felt was something a little like pride and hope. Something a little like love.

Harry,

Hey mate! How are you? How's your summer? Are the Muggles treating you right? Dad said that you can come and stay with us now, if you like. It'll be good you know; everyone's here for Bill and Fleur's wedding. Lots of Ministry people too, for protection. Fleur's parents are driving mum crazy and I think she's beginning to regret giving Bill and Fleur her blessing, but there's not a lot she can do now.

Have you been reading the Prophet? They had a special on Dumbledore, mentioned you about sixty-five times and Professor McGonagall said some stuff. They're keeping Hogwarts open for now, and some people are going back. I know Luna and Neville are, and so are Dean and Seamus. Mum wants us to go back too. I haven't told her that we're not, but I probably should before she buys our text books. It's just hard – things have been a bit tense.

Anyway, if you want to come to the wedding, just send Pig back with a reply and we'll come and get you one week before that day that is very special for you (don't know who might be reading this). If you don't want to come to the wedding, send Pig with a reply and we'll come and get you anyway because I can't take Hermione and mum's constant "Poor Harry, oh I'd wish he'd write more! Ron! I hope you're writing to him!" Women.

See you soon, Harry!

Ron

P.S Percy showed up to the wedding rehearsal. It wasn't good. Fred and George, Bill and Charlie and even a few of the garden gnomes nearly killed him. Mum's not talking to any of them (including the gnomes). I told her that I would've joined in if I wasn't holding Ginny back – she's still underage – so she's not talking to me either. Oh well.

Harry smiled and turned the parchment over to write his reply. If they were coming to get him a week before his birthday – they would be here tomorrow.

Ron,

It's okay, I'll come willingly. I'd like to see the wedding. Just try and come in the afternoon when my uncle and cousin are likely to be out.

See you soon,

Harry

P.S Not that I blame you guys or anything – but it does seem like Percy's making an effort. That's gotta count for something, right?

Harry folded the parchment up and tied it to the excited little owl's leg and opened the window. Pigwidgeon soared out with a gust of wind flailing the little bird about. Hedwig hooted softly from her cage. Harry went over to her and pulled her out, stroking her head affectionately. "Well, I should probably start packing up now." Harry allowed himself a moment to reminisce on his time at Privet Drive, almost desperate to find a fond memory. But there were none. Harry could not help but be happy to say goodbye.

A group of five men and a woman arrived to take her nephew just after one o'clock.

Petunia Dursley watched from the doorway as Harry hugged a handsome and bedraggled-looking man. The red-headed teenage boy kept looking at Harry, trying to fight off happy tears. These people, Petunia thought, are very stressed and anxious. She could spot it in their relief at seeing Harry alive and well. She witnessed it in their undernourished bodies and hollow eyes. She wondered how important Harry really was to them.

They walked out the back door together, oblivious to Petunia following them curiously. The big, black man pulled out a deflated basketball and each of them placed a hand on it. Petunia stood at the back door, her eyes on her nephew. At the last moment he turned around and met her gaze. She could not decipher his face because she did not know it well enough, but suddenly, he smiled at her. Then raised his free hand in goodbye and was gone. They all disappeared in a blink of an eye but Petunia could still see her nephew there, with his small smile and raised hand. A gesture that meant a lot to Petunia, mainly because she knew she did not deserve it.

Immersed in her guilt, Petunia did not seem to feel the house almost groan in pain as a powerful charm that had been protecting the occupants for fifteen years, dissolved to nothing.

Harry and Ron stifled their snickers as best they could as the over-zealous pastor, shouting at the top of his lungs in French, flapped his arms about hitting Fleur and Bill across the head in succession. Hermione sat next to Ron and slapped him hard on the thigh which only made Harry gigglier. Harry noticed that Fred had slid down his chair trying to hide his tears of laughter. George had done the same but had performed a clever silencing charm and he laughed freely.

Up until the point where the pastor – hand picked by Fleur's mother - had opened his mouth, the ceremony had been beautiful. Fleur had her inner-Veela in full effect and Bill's scars from his werewolf attack had faded a little. Although, to be truthful, if you weren't told it was Bill Weasley underneath all that fleshy mess, you wouldn't know.

The only thing that appeared against them was the weather. It was as if winter and summer were battling; the sky was grey and stormy but the air was thick and humid.

The Burrow's backyard had been transformed and there were no weeds in sight, but beautiful white and red roses lacing the aisle, and doves nesting in the surrounding trees. There was an enormous buffet, and chairs and tables covered in white linen cloths filled up what had formerly been the Weasley's home-made Quidditch Pitch. Everybody looked clean and neat in their best robes.

Harry had watched as Ginny walked up the aisle in a soft green gown that seemed to hug everything and show even more. Harry had tried his best to remind himself that his reasons for breaking up with her were still as important now as they were then. His mind was well shot of her and honestly wanted nothing more than friendship and loyalty from her – but his lower brain was having other thoughts. He'd never let his libido rule his mind before and he really didn't want to start now, and so had decided to steer clear of her.

After what felt like six hours, Bill and Fleur kissed and began walking down the aisle, everybody stood and cheered as the doves circled overhead and the reception started. "About time," Fred said. "God, I need a Firewhiskey." Evidently, many felt the same as people began filing over to the tables.

Hermione took Ron's hand and marched him over to the buffet, telling him off for his "disrespectful behavior" during the ceremony. Harry walked slowly behind but was stopped by a pair of arms wrapping around his waist and pulling him behind one of the trees the doves had claimed. They hooted indignantly.

"Hello stranger," Ginny said, standing far too close.

"Hey Ginny," Harry said a little breathlessly. "You look lovely."

Ginny snorted. "I look like a slut."

Yes, you do. "Nah, it's nice and … tight … or whatever." Harry started going red. He tried hard to avoid looking at her cleavage because he was sixteen years old and looking at linoleum made him want to have sex, and he didn't really want to talk about what an attractive girl's breasts were doing to him.

Ginny laughed and took his hand. "Come here, I wanna show you something." Ginny started leading him away from the reception.

"But shouldn't we-? I mean they might-"

"Don't worry Harry, there's like a billion people here, they won't miss us for a moment." Ginny lead Harry to the back door of the Burrow and then upstairs to her bedroom. Harry didn't like the way Ginny kept staring down at him as they walked up the stairs. He had to get out of this situation because his aforementioned lower brain was slowly starting to take over from his much more rational one. Once inside her bedroom, Harry took a moment to study the pristine decoration of the room by her door, warily. The walls were a soft pink and paintings of ballerinas and baby animals laced the walls. It did not make Harry feel better about the situation. "So what is it?"

Ginny smiled. "I found this in the attic." She opened up her beside drawer and pulled out a dusty looking photograph. Harry took it from her and saw his parents. His mother was holding him and laughing at James who was pulling faces at a baby Harry. There were others in the photograph, as well, but the only one Harry recognized was Sirius. "I thought you might like it."

Harry forced a smile. "Thanks Ginny."

Ginny smiled in return and walked over to him. "You're welcome."

In the past, Harry had treasured any story or item that might make him closer to his parents. But too much had happened. Now, it was just a painful reminder of what he didn't have. Harry put the photograph in his robe pocket. "So maybe we should go back now." Harry made to turn around and open the door but Ginny pushed him against it and covered his mouth with hers before he'd even reached the handle.

Harry, having anticipated this for a few minutes now, pushed her away quickly. "Ginny, I thought we said that we wouldn't do this anymore. You know it's not safe-"

"I'm hardly safe anyway, Harry," she cut him off impatiently, her eyes on his mouth. "Think about what family I'm from." She kissed him again as he tried to pull away but she had him pinned. He was contemplating pulling out his wand and using it against her when her hand dropped to his crotch. He panicked, knowing he was unlikely to leave this room as innocent as he was when he arrived.

He moved his head to the side to escape her kiss. "Please Ginny; I don't want to do this."

She looked down with a smirk. "Are you sure?" She kissed him again and was forcefully stroking him. Then she pulled away from him and Harry thought she was going to let him go. But she only grabbed him again and threw him on her bed.

Harry went to sit up but she was on top of him before he knew it and her hand was back on his crotch – only inside his pants now – and his cock was definitely in control and he finally began kissing her back. She tasted like wine - although Harry did not have sufficient knowledge of the liquor to know what kind - and Harry wondered if she'd been psyching herself up for this. He rolled over so he was on top of her and she wrapped her legs around his waist tightly.

At the back of Harry's brain, his rational mind began preparing a speech about all the things that were bad about losing your virginity to your best friend's little sister at her older brother's wedding. At this moment though, these wise words were very much wasted.

Typical of the curse of the first time, it did not last very long, they did not use protection and Harry failed to see the big deal. Not to say he didn't like it, but if Harry was honest, all the touching and kissing that led up to the point of actual sex was probably the best bit. Ginny, however, seemed perfectly content.

Harry lay half under her sheet staring up at the ceiling as his rational brain gave him the biggest talking to he'd ever had in his life. Ginny was talking beside him but he was not listening. Suddenly, Harry sat up quickly as if trying to shake off a bad dream.

"What's wrong?" she said quickly. "Is someone coming?"

Harry looked to the door. "God, I hope not."

"Then why do you look like Malfoy just beat you at Quidditch?"

Harry frowned. "Malfoy will never beat me at Quidditch."

"Damn straight," said Ginny. "We better get dressed – they'll start looking for us soon."

Harry looked away as Ginny stepped out from under the sheets and began putting her clothes on. "We shouldn't have done this," he said quietly.

She stopped dressing and Harry could imagine the expression on her face. "What do you mean?"

He looked up at the ceiling, not wanting to meet her gaze. He knew he was about to dig himself into a hole, but he couldn't help himself. "It's just … I mean, shit this is Bill's wedding and your entire family is out there and we're not even together anymore and you know I'm not gonna be around much for this whole year at least, and then probably after that if I actually live through it. And Ron would kill me if he knew I had sex with you not to mention your parents-"

"Exactly Harry!" said Ginny. "I'm not going to see you for ages! I wanted you to be my first and if we love each other then this makes perfect sense! Plus, I thought I could come with you. I have no idea what you're doing but I've heard Hermione and Ron talking and I know they're going with you - wherever it is you're going. I'm not like everyone else, running scared. I wanna fight Harry because what's going on, it's just … everything about it is so wrong and I want to fight! I want to fight with you." She said all this very quickly trying to cover every base, almost as if she had known what his response would be. This made Harry angry. He hated being predictable.

He shook his head and started getting dressed. What the hell is going on? he thought. Not once had he said to Ron and Hermione that they could come with him, they'd just assumed they would, and Ginny certainly wasn't. She couldn't do magic outside of school for a start. And as for loving Ginny, well, he wasn't entirely sure what love was, but the fact that he didn't know was probably a good indication that he didn't currently feel it. He certainly cared about her plenty. She was his favourite person to be around after her brother and Hermione. He admired her courage too, because she was right, most people were running or hiding. But at this stage, there was very little she could do to help, and in all honesty she'd probably just get in the way.

"I don't want to talk about this now," said Harry, frowning. "Let's just go back to the reception."

Ginny scowled. "No. I want to talk about this now."

Harry sighed. Ginny's effrontery was normally something Harry liked about her – but right now, he couldn't deal with it. He stood up to leave. Ginny stormed over to him, her dress on but not zipped up, and grabbed his arm.

"Don't walk away!" she said crossly. "I'm going to ignore that I just gave you my virginity and you don't seem to give a shit, for the moment, and focus on the subject at hand. Do you ever think about any of us? You think you're the only one that deserves to fight? You think you're the only one with a reason to fight?"

Harry gave her hard look. "No, I don't." His anger was rising and he let it so he would forget about the guilt of Ginny's first claim. Which he feared was true.

"Then why won't you let us? You're not the only one with something to lose!"

"Lose!" Harry shouted, glaring at her. Ginny cowered. "I've lost everything! I don't have a real home; I don't have any sort of relative in our world! Everywhere I go, I'm in danger and increasing the danger to any person or object that's in a one kilometer radius! All I have left is Hermione and your family. And you lot are all hell-fucking-bent on getting yourselves killed!"

"Harry!" Hermione and Ron rushed into the room. "What's going on?" Ron looked concernedly at Ginny who was about to cry and then to Harry who was about to blow something up. Hermione though, took a look around the room and obviously guessed what had taken place because she started bustling Ron out, lest he also realize.

"Come on, we'll talk out the front, it's too little a room for shouting matches," Hermione laughed weakly in an unsuccessful attempt at lightening the mood. She pushed Harry out the door and quickly zipped Ginny's dress up. They walked out to the front yard, Ginny crying quietly and Ron asking questions, "What's going on? We heard you shouting, Harry."

"What have you been talking to each other about in public?" Harry glared accusingly at Hermione and a few doves flew out of a neighbouring tree in annoyance, hooting down at them. The sounds of shouting and music drifted to them from the wedding at the back of the house.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, bewildered.

"Well Ginny's under the impression that we're all going somewhere together and she wants to come," Harry said significantly.

Ron scoffed. "You're not coming Ginny, and don't eaves-drop on private conversations." Ginny punched Ron hard on the arm and bit her lip trying to hold back sobs.

"No, she's not coming," said Harry angrily, crossing his arms. "And neither are you two."

"What!" shouted Ron.

"Harry! You can't leave us out!" said Hermione.

"Oh, but he can leave me out?" Ginny stalked off crying loudly and as Harry watched her retreating back he felt like an absolute bastard.

"I'll talk to her, you two stay here. We'll talk when I get back." Harry ran to catch up with Ginny who was heading around the side of the house and kicking the chickens away angrily.

"Ginny stop! I'm sorry, I'm being an asshole, let me explain."

She turned around and hit him hard in the chest and Harry pulled her to him, trying to hug her. She kept hitting him but he held on and finally, she stopped. She cried into his chest for a minute before Harry could formulate a safe, constructive sentence.

"I'm sorry Ginny, about everything. But really, you can't come." Ginny made to interrupt so Harry quickly continued. "You can't do magic outside of Hogwarts and you still have heaps to learn. You'll be safe at Hogwarts until you're old enough to fight. There are still things you can do, you know that. Look, I just want you to be safe because I …" Harry swallowed. "I lo- love you."

It was a lie and Harry knew he might end up paying for it in the future, but at this moment he had to focus on the now and he knew it was what she wanted to hear. What she needed to hear.

She smiled at him and Harry could see the anger and frustration ease out of her face. "I love you too. But," her face became stern, "I won't be made useless."

Harry smiled at her. "Go back to Hogwarts and continue the DA. People need to be trained and aware – I reckon you'd do a pretty good job." Harry made it sound as if he'd planned on her doing this all along, but he had only just thought of it then.

Ginny beamed. "I … okay. But Harry, you have to owl me! I need to know that you're okay."

"Of course. I better talk to those idiots," Harry said, motioning to Ron and Hermione. "You should go back to the reception. You are a bridesmaid after all."

"Yeah." Ginny kissed him and turned to leave. "I forgive you, Potter. But don't do it again."

Harry nodded his head and waited until she was out of sight before letting his façade fall. He felt worse, if it were even possible, for lying to Ginny. He was leading her on. The end would justify the means, but exactly how many people would he have to lie to or alienate in order to keep everyone safe?

He headed back to Ron and Hermione. The moment he was close enough to hear them they began their speech.

"Stop! Just stop," he interrupted them. "I want you to come. But don't tell Ginny, okay?"

They looked relieved. "I thought you weren't going to let us," said Ron.

"I wasn't," said Harry. He rubbed his forehead wearily. "But I was being stupid; I can't do it on my own."

Hermione smiled warmly. "And you'll never have to."

Draco Malfoy kept his face blank of any emotion other than his usual sneer of disgust. He took in his familiar surroundings, the neat and expensive furniture, the bar, the bay windows and deep green hearth rug. He'd lived at the Manor his whole life, except when at Hogwarts or on holidays, but somehow it seemed different. Without the presence of his father, things had certainly been odd, but there was something else too. Something had changed here. Or maybe something had changed inside of him?

"Do you want some tea, Severus?" Narcissa Malfoy asked Draco's former professor.

"Thank you, Narcissa," said Snape. Snape had arrived at the Manor directly from the Dark Lord, and Draco feared Snape's news. The last time Draco had been summoned to his Master, he had been made to feel very sorry for his weaknesses during the school year, and so had his mother. Draco watched her out of the corner of his eye. She was paler than usual and looked a little frumpy. Something usually unheard of when describing Narcissa.

"Wido!" Narcissa called and an elderly, male house-elf appeared with a pop. "Some tea for Master Severus."

Wido the house-elf bowed low and left with another pop.

"So, how is the Dark Lord?" asked Narcissa cautiously.

"You need not worry," said Snape nonchalantly. "It seems his anger at Draco has diminished."

Narcissa let out a sigh and Draco watched her try and settle her hands. He looked away feeling shame but not daring to show it.

"We are very lucky the Dark Lord is so merciful," said Narcissa quietly. "Are we not, Draco?"

Draco said nothing.

"Draco?" Narcissa pursued.

"Yes," said Draco faintly. "Very lucky."

There was another pop and Wido appeared with a tray of tea, bowed low again and left. Narcissa moved forward to pour the tea but her shaking hands made it awfully difficult.

"Leave it Mother," said Draco. "I will do it."

Narcissa moved back, looking embarrassed.

"I can make a potion for you, Narcissa. To ease the shaking," said Snape. Draco handed him his tea. "Thank you, Draco."

"There is no need Severus, Draco has already made it. I was much worse before; now it is only my hands."

"I am pleased to hear it."

They sat in silence for several minutes as Draco refused to look either of them in the eye. Instead he focused his eyes and thoughts on a painting of the great Clydesdale that was grazing in lush meadows. He had always wanted a horse, but his father had refused him claiming it was a dirty-muggle-farm-creature, and so Draco had settled for this painting at a gallery in Versailles.

"How are you, Draco?" asked Snape, breaking the silence.

"Fine," said Draco, eyes still on the Clydesdale that was now looking back at him.

"You did not do so badly. The Dark Lord knows that I would not have succeeded if it had not been for you," said Snape simply. "Although it was your mission, and you did technically fail, you showed your intelligence and for that, you are given another chance."

Draco again, said nothing.

"But you should know," Snape continued carefully. "That you must not behave like that when you are punished. You displeased him. That is why he continued it. If there is a next time, you must take it quietly."

"He is just protective," explained Narcissa. "Like his father."

"That is neither here nor there in the Dark Lord's eyes. Draco did not complete his mission. He knew he would be punished."

"But I wasn't," said Draco, finally meeting Snape's eyes. "My mother was."

Snape looked at him assiduously and Draco cleared his mind so Snape could not see his thoughts with Legilimency. Draco stood up abruptly. "I have things to do."

"Goodbye, Draco."

Draco made no reply gesture and walked from the drawing room, closing the door behind him. The moment it was shut he let out an anxious breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. He looked at his reflection in the mirror on the opposite wall. He looked ghostly and frightened. He had lost weight in the last ten months – something he's slender frame could not afford. It made him look stretched and unhealthy. But then he supposed he was.

He had found it hard to eat since the night in the North Tower. At night he dreamed of Dumbledore's face and the blinding, green light emitting from Snape's wand. The old man's face haunted him like nothing else he had ever witnessed or dreamed on the darkest nights had. Draco had never had any particular regard for Dumbledore and it troubled him that he should care so much. Dumbledore was much more useful to Draco dead, right?

Draco looked away from the mirror and headed upstairs towards the east wing. As he walked in the lifeless corridors, filled with wealth but devoid of soul, the little voice in his head reminded him of Dumbledore's offer. Draco quickly pushed it from his mind. It would not do well to dwell on such things. But no matter how hard he tried, it continued to resurface.

When alone in his room, Draco would find himself day-dreaming about what could have happened if he had immediately accepted Dumbledore's offer and had taken the old man to safety. He had imagined Dumbledore thanking him for his altruism in saving him and reward him by hiding him and his mother in New Zealand or something. Oh, and he'd release his father from Azkaban too, and they could go on with their lives as if none of this had happened. But all too soon, Draco would come crashing back to reality. Dumbledore was dead, his father was in Azkaban, and he was all alone. Besides, Draco chided himself, Dumbledore probably wouldn't have come through on his promise. He would've tried to make me join that blasted little club of his and I'd be surrounded by Mudbloods and blood-traitors all day. Or worse, Saint Potter. And Draco was definitely not inclined to suffer that.

He opened his bedroom door and jumped a little as he saw Blaise Zabini lounging carelessly over his lady chair in cerulean robes. Blaise was staying at Malfoy Manor until his mother returned from Africa. What Mrs. Zabini was doing there, Draco did not know.

Blaise looked up at him and Draco quickly masked his emotions with a sneer of indifference. "The little house-elf let me in your room," Blaise said, waving his hand haughtily and referring to Draco's personal house-elf, Malachy.

Draco nodded his head and Blaise rubbed his left arm. "Does it always hurt this much?" Blaise and several others among Draco's friends had received the Dark Mark at the end of the school year, and had joined him in the service to the Dark Lord. One friend that had not joined them, however, was Theodore Nott. He had fled on his own with other teenage Slytherins. Draco had not seen them since his seventeenth birthday on June fifth.

Blaise had been surprised at their fleeing, Draco had not. Theodore and a few others had appeared more and more anxious as the year had progressed. Draco was almost positive that Theodore had tried to approach Potter too, on one occasion. To say what, Draco knew not. But it mattered little as Weasley had insulted him away before Theodore had even opened his mouth.

Also, Theodore had told Draco off for making banter at the murder of a muggle-born last year. "Have you ever seen someone being murdered?" Theodore had asked with a frown on his face.

"Not yet, but I live in hope," said Draco to laughter from their surrounding friends.

"Well I have. It's not what you think."

Draco had sneered. "Do you care about Mudbloods?"

"Of course not," Theodore snapped. "That's not what I'm saying. It's just … not what you think."

Draco was beginning to understand Theodore's words, though he had dismissed them very quickly at the time. Theodore's parents and older sister had been severely punished by the Dark Lord, as had the other families for their children's desertion.

"You'll get used to it," said Draco who was absentmindedly clearing his desk in an attempt at hiding his distress. It was covered with old school books that he'd been meaning to throw out.

"Probably," said Blaise who stood up and walked over to Draco. He put his hands on Draco's hips and turned him around, smiling seductively.

"Are you alright? You seem a little distracted," said Blaise, who moved closer to Draco and was softly kissing his neck.

"It's um, just, ah … Snape. He's here."

Blaise chuckled. "Tends to bring out the worst in people, does Snape."

"He does," said Draco quietly. Blaise pressed his lips to Draco's and they began to kiss. Draco's heart was not in it, it hadn't been for days. But he couldn't be bothered to call it off. Besides, sometimes the company was nice.

Draco had not known that Blaise was homosexual - or as Blaise liked to say, "just sexual". The night after he had received his punishment from the Dark Lord, Draco had drunk up a storm with Blaise, Pansy Parkinson, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. They had just started on the absinthe, when before he knew what had happened, he and Blaise were making out. Luckily, the other three had blacked out long before then, so as not to bear witness.

As far as Draco's sexuality was concerned, he had finally admitted to himself that he was gay and had stopped gallivanting around with Pansy, but he had absolutely no intention of removing himself from the closet into which he was securely locked. Homosexuality was no scarcer in the Wizarding World than the Muggle; in fact, there was probably a larger percentage due to the recent discovery of potions that could cause male pregnancies. But still, it was not viewed kindly by many. Mainly those that also persecuted muggles, muggle-borns and half-bloods.

Blaise was an odd kisser for a man, Draco had observed. He was particularly gentle and slow. Draco was a little bit fierier than that and he began to get bored. As his mind wandered it invariably strayed back to the North Tower. Draco had been in a daze as Snape had grabbed his arm and dragged him out of the castle. Draco remembered that Snape had led him to the entrance gate and then had suddenly turned back. Draco couldn't remember why and he strained his memory, trying to get something. Without warning, another green flash exploded into his mind. But this green was different.

Draco swiftly pulled away from Blaise and breathlessly said, "I need to get something for my mother, I'll be back in minute."

He ran out the room and sprinted to the library at the end of the corridor. Once inside he quickly shut the door, and the green flashed again. It was the piercing green behind a pair of eyes. Eyes that shone so many things. Anger, confusion, hurt, hate. They were like a well or the ocean. They were quicksand. They had stared at Snape whilst Draco stood by the gate at Hogwarts. They were eyes that had followed them from the North Tower. They were emerald windows into the soul of Harry Potter.

Dumbledore had lied to him. The old Professor had not been alone that night. Potter had seen everything.

Harry walked down the stairs to breakfast in a somber mood. This was not unusual for his birthday, although now at seventeen, he could at least do magic outside of Hogwarts - which was handy as he was not returning there.

He opened the kitchen door and the smell of bacon and eggs wafted up to him. He had expected a couple of "Happy Birthdays" from the Weasley's, but as he glanced around the kitchen, there were only solemn faces.

"What's going on?" asked Harry.

Mr. Weasley stood up and walked towards Harry, he's face like ash. "There's been another Death Eater attack, Harry. I … well, I found out last night but you were all asleep. It's … well, you can read it in the Prophet."

Mr. Weasley handed Harry the Daily Prophet and Harry lifted it up to read apprehensively.

PROMINENT WIZARDING FAMILY SLAUGHTERED

"Yesterday afternoon the Wood family was found brutally murdered in their Manchester home. Peter and Patti, and their children Oliver, Gregrick and Lucindah were found under the Dark Mark by their neighbours. 'We didn't know it was happening,' cried Gertie Pugman. 'My littlest just poked his head out the window and then started shouting. He saw that horrible mark!'

Aurors believe there was a struggle. 'They certainly did not go quietly,' said a grave looking Nymphadora Tonks. 'There is strong evidence to suggest they put up a fight.' Mr. and Mrs. Wood were believed to have died via the Avada Kedavra curse, but the children were allegedly found in pieces. 'We believe it was werewolves,' said a continually paling Ms. Tonks. 'Though how many, we cannot say at this time.'

This attack comes after only days in which families from across the country have been leaving their homes for Ministry shelters - page four continued."

Harry looked at the front page; a family picture of the Woods was on the front. Harry's mind flashed back to the time when Harry first met Oliver, the handsome, young Quidditch Captain. He saw his smiling, fanatical face in his mind and Harry felt sick to the core.

He dropped the Prophet and stomped back up the stairs, his face and mind numb. Ron and Hermione followed him up, saying nothing. Harry reached Ron's room and pulled out his trunk.

"What are you doing?" asked Hermione. She was wringing her hands and biting her lower lip fretfully.

"If you want to come with me," said Harry, his face like steel, "pack your things. We're leaving tonight."

Ron loudly swallowed the lump in his throat.

… to be continued.

Author's Note: Thanks so much to Kristin (a.k.a. AbundantFear) and Nicki (a.k.a. Aurilia) for their wonderful beta jobs. This story would be horse shit without them.

rainingslash