A/N: This is the sequel to the Feral Twins and probably won't make much sense without reading that first

Prologue

Draco waited outside the tall double doors of the drawing room, his back leaning against the wall and his arms crossed in an effort to appear casual. It was difficult when the decorative wood panelling pressed against his back, and he could feel his heart anxiously fluttering while his palms dampened with sweat. But at least his face remained mostly expressionless (though he was trying to go for bored.) At eight years old, his belief in his ability to project calm indifference was largely imaginary. But he was a Malfoy, so his ability to look haughty was, at least, better than most.

But Draco had good reason to be anxious. Behind those double doors was his best friend Harry, with the mysterious Dark Lord. Thinking of the Dark Lord caused Draco to shiver, and he broke out of his casual position to rub his arms, as if trying to gather warmth.

Encountering the Dark Lord for the first time in that forest had not been what Draco was expecting. That had been months ago, but Draco remembered it as if it were yesterday. The mass of snakes entwined together to form some unholy abomination that was sickening in its very wrongness; the feeling of impending doom that saturated the air, both the visible darkness and the invisible magical disquiet; Harry's, confidence turning to fear and confusion; Holly's vacant eyes; and finally, Bellatrix's horrible death at her own hands.

But what stamped itself in Draco's mind (besides intense worry for his best friend) was his impression of the Dark Lord, and how easily all his childhood imaginings had been swept away by the brutal and calloused hand of reality. It was what he had nearly admitted to Harry, but under the crushing oppression of the moment, had been unable (or more accurately, too afraid) to articulate.

The truth was that all his life, Draco had been fed with messages of the Dark Lord's greatness. The man was as much myth as he was reality, and though most people in Wizarding Britain might have regarded Harry Potter as the hero of the tale, many pure-bloods saw the Dark Lord as the true hero. Certainly, Draco's parents did, especially his father (and Draco idolized his father, though 'idolized' wasn't the word that he, himself, would have used.)

The myth of Harry Potter was a fantastic one - one that Draco had secretly adored as a child. That a mere baby could bring down a powerful Dark Lord hinted at so many things: the mysterious nature of magic, unknown forces, and hidden abilities. Was it Harry Potter that was special? Or had Harry Potter just managed to tap something unseen, something that might lay in the heart of every child (especially a child like Draco, who had more advantages than most.) But Draco knew better than to share these thoughts with anyone. His parents certainly wouldn't have approved. As Draco fidgeted with the hem of his robes, he wondered what Harry would think. His best friend shared the namesake of that famous 'savour' after all.

But it wasn't the image of Harry Potter that had been crushed all those months ago. It was Draco's image of the Dark Lord. His eyes slipped towards the closed doors, but he quickly looked away, pretending that the shudder that rippled through his body was due to the cold, and not other reasons. Draco hated to ever admit that he was afraid, even in moments when he was. He was born a leader, a men among (and above) men. Malfoys didn't feel fear. Or at least that was the impression that Draco got from his father, who wore his cold equanimity so well.

Thinking of the Dark Lord pushed Draco's mind into rather painful directions, as if one thought wanted to go one way, and was colliding rather violently with a thought which wanted to go another way. One one hand, Draco's father had returned from Albania with a subdued sort of triumph, as if the Dark Lord really was a hero. On the other hand, was the Dark Lord himself. Had Draco been wrong about heroes all along? Perhaps heroes weren't charismatic, amiable and charming like the characters in Draco's childhood stories, but instead were awe-inspiring, leg-quivering, bladder-exploding terrors. Perhaps a hero wasn't supposed to someone you imagined as a friend, but instead, someone that made you want to fall to your knees in hopes that such an act would spare your own life. Draco knew that his father bent to his knees for the Dark Lord. Draco knew that this meant that he would have to do the same.

The clicking of the door latch caused Draco to flinch, and he stood to attention, forgetting about his attempts to look bored and indifferent. But it wasn't the Dark Lord that emerged, only Harry, and Draco felt his muscles slacken in relief.

"Harry," he greeted hopefully.

His friend look up at him, with eyes ringed by dark circles, but there was also a feverish quality to them, in their unnatural brightness. It was better than the dead-eyed looks that flattened Harry's expression in the months before, but it wasn't the old Harry. The old Harry had enlivened Draco's life, and made the mundane world of the manor feel like a place of limitless possibilities and fun. But that Harry had had his sister. That Harry had had a mother who was still… breathing. Whatever the Dark Lord had done to Aunt Bella, she most certainly wasn't the same. And though Draco's mother had forbidden Draco to ever enter Aunt Bella's room, Draco still went, if only because Harry went. It was what best friends did. They were there for each other.

"Hi Draco," Harry answered, barely even glancing his way.

Draco compressed his lips, fighting his first instinct, which was to walk up to Harry and just shake him until he snapped out of his strange state. Such methods might work for Vincent and Gregory, Draco's other close friends, but Harry wasn't as simple and straightforward as Vince and Greg.

"You weren't in there as long today," Draco observed.

Harry nodded. "He was calmer today."

Draco itched to ask Harry what he and the Dark Lord did during all those meetings they shared. But it was a question Draco had already asked time and time again. He knew Harry's answer: 'He just sits there. I can't really explain. It's -' and usually, at this point, Harry would be shaking his head, as if to emphasize the limits of speech. But Draco knew it was more than that. It had to be. How could the Dark Lord ask for Harry over and over, if all he planned to do was just sit there, like some ugly piece of furniture that no one dared to move because it was a magical heirloom.

Draco huffed. He wouldn't get a good explanation out of Harry. All he could do was keep trying to get the old Harry back. The fun Harry. The Harry that flew with abandon, and gave away smiles like he had some sort of inner well of joy and liveliness so full of excess that it spilled out every which way.

Draco nudged his shoulder against Harry's. "Do you want to go flying? I bet you can't beat me in a race!"

Draco stiffened himself for rejection. He could already see the 'no' forming on Harry's lips, already feel the familiar sting of refusal which was fading into what was merely a dull throb, still uncomfortable, but not enough to rattle the foundations of his self-worth. But as Harry turned his head Draco's way, he must have seen something in Draco's expression, and Draco hoped he wasn't reeking of the desperation that he felt, clawing at his edges.

Harry's expression transformed into something softer, tinged with exhaustion and regret, but not refusal. "You're dreaming," he said, with a shadow of a smile. "No one's a better flyer than me." He paused, and his demeanour suggested a sigh, though he did not, in truth, sigh. "C'mon. Let's go."

As Harry turned towards the nearest exist that would take them out to the broom shed, Draco bit down on his lower lip, trying and failing to hold back the smile that made his throat feel too narrow and his ribs too tight. And for the first time in months, his steps felt so light that it was like they didn't even hit the ground.

"Wait up, Harry! Don't even think about cheating."

Harry turned his face, eyebrows lifted, and lips curled almost impishly. "As if I would need to!"

A/N: I'm planning on making longer chapters, so updates will be slower. This will mostly focus on Harry's and Holly's POVs but there will be the occasional other