A/N: Certain elements of the plot have been influenced by nonjon's ficlet "An Instrument of Will" in his "What a Bunch of Nonjon" collection, and Petalsoft's "What a Witch Needs".

"You're just a dirty, good-for-nothing freak," Dudley Dursley spat, kicking the prone, bleeding form of Harry Potter one last time.

Said boy, bleeding from a split lip, a broken nose and numerous other cuts even before you noticed the small knife sticking out of his chest, rolled over onto his back with a groan. He drew in a ragged breath, determining that Gordon's switchblade had punctured his left lung, and caused a good bit of blood loss beforehand. There was a slash across his abdomen, and his hands (caused by him trying to block the knife).

He'd been accosted by Dudley, his cousin (the son of his Aunt Petunia, his late mother's sister and his de jure guardian), and his "gang" of suburban toughs – a bunch of middle-class teenagers that thought listening to American rappers and wearing gaudy fake jewlery made them gangsters – at the local park, where he'd been aimlessly swinging, thinking of the latest in the on-going series of tragedies and disasters that was his life: the death of his godfather, Sirius Black, in a battle in the Ministry of Magic against Death Eaters.

The latest session began as usual: taunting Harry about the things he said in his sleep – first Cedric, now Sirius – which brought on loads of insinuations regarding Harry's sexual preference. Harry, accustomed by now to this, just continued to swing away, which proved to be a mistake, since Dudley took his indifference for cheek and punched him in the face, knocking him out of the swing. He'd fought back, of course, until Gordon had produced the switchblade and handed it to "Big D", who'd taken it and gone to town on Harry.

"How about that, Voldemort?" he wheezed to the clouds gathering in the darkening July sky (though it was still 5 hours from sundown). "Your number one enemy, done in by his fat, useless Muggle cousin."

Then he passed out.

Draco Malfoy was having the best day of his life. He was standing before the Dark Lord Voldemort, along with four other Dark Wizards, each older than him, awaiting the receipt of his Dark Mark, the official indicator that he was one of the Dark Lord's elite servants. The Dark Lord was lecturing the assembled witches and wizards of his Army on the importance of diligant service and loyalty.

"Each of you will formally enter my service tonight," the snake-man hissed. "You have done well in your initiations, and each deserve the distinction of being named a Death Eater. Extend your left arms, so that I may grant you the honor of my Mark."

As a man, Draco and the other four did so. Taking his wand, the Dark Lord walked over to the first of the men, and began hissing in what Draco assumed was Parseltongue, having only heard similar sounds out of the mouth of Potter during his second year. The man gritted his teeth and sucked in his breath through his teeth; evidently the spells used to create the Mark hurt. The same happened for the next man in line, and the next. But before he got to Draco, something strange happened.

A stabbing pain shot through Draco's chest, and he dropped to one knee with a gasp, as though he'd been punched in the stomach.

"Harry!" he exclaimed, though why he did so he had no idea.

"What did you say?" Voldemort hissed, as the rest of the assembly looked on in shock.

Draco never got a chance to answer, because in that instant, he was enveloped in a black light and removed from the Death Eater hideout – through its anti-Apparition and anti-Portkey wards – before anybody could even think of a spell to stop him.

A couple hundred miles as the crow flies from where Draco had been, Hermione Granger was finishing up her summer essay for History of Magic on Ironjaw the Third's Second Goblin Rebellion when she was struck by a similar feeling.

When she exclaimed "Harry," however, she had a good idea why, and as a white light surrounded her, she wondered what Harry Potter could have possibly gotten himself into this early into the summer holidays.

She was deposited in the middle of a park, and immediately looked around for Harry, only to see him lying motionless on the ground with something sticking out of his chest: a knife handle. Rushing to his side, she saw that she was not alone; Draco Malfoy for some reason was also there, running towards Harry with what looked like concern on his face, which Hermione thought was decidedly odd.

"What's wrong with him?" a familiar voice asked in a decidedly unfamiliar soft tone as they knelt beside Harry.

"He's been stabbed, you bloody great pillock," Hermione said, feeling the side of Harry's neck for a pulse, letting out a relieved sigh when she was able to find one. It was weak and thready, but it was there.

"Well, what the hell are we supposed to do about it?" Draco snapped. "It's not like we can use magic on him; for one, it's summer, and for two, I don't know any healing spells."

"I think this would qualify as an exception to the Statute of Secrecy, Malfoy," Hermione retorted as a spell whizzed by Malfoy's head. Both conscious teens looked over where it had come from and saw an outraged Albus Dumbledore with his wand drawn and pointing at the pair.

"Move away from him, Miss Granger, Mister Malfoy," the Headmaster said. Both teens moved to comply, but stopped mid-motion.

"I SAID MOVE AWAY!" Dumbledore made a slashing motion with his wand, but a shimmering golden shield erupted around the trio.

"Albus Dumbledore, you will not interfere," a deep, foreboding voice intoned. Dumbledore paled, and Draco and Hermione did a double take when they realized the voice was coming from Harry, who was sitting up, despite the knife in his chest. His eyes were wide open as well, and glowing.

"The Balance will be restored," Harry said, still in the deep voice, ignoring the mounting rage in Albus Dumbledore's posture and visage. Then, in a softer voice, he spoke only to Draco and Hermione. "Hold onto me," he whispered. Both grabbed on to one of his arms, and before Dumbledore could say another word or cast another spell, all three vanished in a flash of light.

They reappeared in a well-appointed bedroom, with Harry laying in the bed and Draco and Hermione remaining on either side of him. Upon confirming they'd arrived, Harry nodded once and fell unconscious once again.

As he did so, a team of house-elves wearing nurses uniforms popped into the room and bustled Hermione and Draco out of the room "Sos wes can be tending the Master!" Both teens looked at the door in shock for a moment after it was slammed in their face.

"What. The. Fuck," Draco said. Hermione slapped him on the back of the head.

"Ow!"

"Language!"

"Fine, Merlin. Not even ten minutes ago I was standing in line to get a Dark Mark, and now I've been abducted twice by Harry Potter, nearly been cursed by Albus Dumbledore, and run out of a room by a group of house-elves," Draco said. "And that weird stuff Potter was saying about restoring the Balance? What could that mean?"

"Oh, I think I have a good idea," Hermione said. "But I'm not going to tell you."

"Why the hell not?"

"I don't talk to Death Eaters," Hermione said, only to have Draco shove his still-bare forearm in front of her face.

"No Mark. Not a Death Eater. Now I probably never will be," Draco said, not managing to take the regret out of that last sentence.

"Why not? Surely you can go back and explain?"

"I collapsed to one knee and shouted Potter's name in front of the Dark Lord's entire army. I wouldn't make it past the first guard post," Draco said. Hermione sniggered briefly before composing herself.

"Oh, how terrible," she said. "Really horrid, how you won't be able to go about Britain killing everybody you don't like."

"Oh, shut up," Draco said. "And tell me what you think Potter meant about Balance."

"You're a Dark Wizard," Hermione said, in a very matter of fact tone.

"Yes. Yes I am," Draco said after a pause.

"I'm a Light Witch," she continued. Draco just stared at her.

"Harry's Grey," she said, and crossed her arms to stare at him, waiting for him to put together the three pieces of information she'd given him.

"You've lost me," Draco said.

"The concept of Balance means that the Light and the Dark are completely equal," Hermione said, wishing she could conjure a set of scales to explain better. A clank sounded to her left, and she saw a small cabinet she was sure had not been there moments before, along with a set of scales and two figures, one white and one black.

"OK, look," she said, picking them up. "This is you," she said, putting the black figure on the left. "And this is me," she said, putting the white figure on the right. "Black and White. Dark and Light. Balance is Grey: the equilibrium between black and white."

"OK, but what does that have to do with Potter?"

"I just said, he's Grey. He's the Balance. We were chosen as representatives of our 'sides' of the spectrum, you for the Dark, me for the Light, probably because we're both people that Harry knows."

"But why?" Draco asked. "Why were we chosen? What chose us? What is all this Balance bollocks about?"

"We were chosen by Magic," Hermione said. "This happens every five generations or so, because inevitably either the Dark or the Light will have connived and schemed their way to an advantage when there needs to be Balance between the two. Voldemort is fighting the right cause the wrong way: he is killing Muggleborns and Light witches and wizards in the mistaken belief that reducing the population of Light witches and wizards will restore the Dark. While it's true that the Light has broken the Balance this time, killing won't bring power to the Dark, because neither side is supposed to have power."

Draco continued to gape at her.

"When Harry is healed, I'm sure he'll have some sort of idea of what this all means," Hermione said, as if Draco wasn't more confused than a Hufflepuff being told about human reproduction.

"...Right," Draco said, before promptly deciding the best thing for the moment would be to just stop being conscious, and maybe when he woke up he would have his Dark Mark and not be in some mystery house with Granger and Potter. So he passed out.

"Tsk," Hermione murmured before wandering off down the hallway, trying to gather clues that would tell her where Harry had taken them. Those elves had called him Master, but as far as she knew, Harry owned no house-elves. It would be very irresponsible of him to do so, since he was an officer of SPEW. The crests on the doors were neither those of the Potter family nor the Blacks. The first crest she had seen in Nature's Nobility, which she'd nicked from the rubbish in Grimmauld Place last year (and blamed the theft on Kreacher). She'd seen the Black crest there too, of course, but she'd seen it first on various and sundry items in Grimmauld Place. She continued down the corridor, through a door at the end of it, before a cacophony of voices caused her to gasp with shock.

"A new girl!"a devilishly handsome man exclaimed from a portrait to her left, where he was joined by a surly-looking man and a fairly attractive woman. "Tell me, girl, what year is it?"

"1996," Hermione replied.

"So soon?" the man asked, a frown replacing his previous rougeish grin. "But that means it's only been a hundred and sixty years since we were Chosen. How can the Balance have been disrupted so quickly?"

"Pardon me for asking, but who are you?"

"Horatio Prewett," the man said. "I was the last Grey Lord. To my left is my Dark, Dareus Prince, to my right is my Light, Imogen Bones. Are you the new Grey? If you go further down this hall, you'll find a few more female Greys, but not many."

"No, I'm the Light," Hermione replied. "My Grey is Harry Potter, but he's been badly hurt. Something called me and the man I suppose will be our Dark to his side, and then he told off Professor Dumbledore and brought us here."

"And who is your Dark?"

"Draco Malfoy," Hermione replied.

"Interesting, a Malfoy," Horatio said, now looking thoughtful. "Blond and a bit poncy, is he?"

Hermione stifled a giggle. "That's Draco."

"That's every Malfoy since 1066," Horatio told her with a wink. "Don't worry about your Grey, I'm sure he'll be fine. The elves here are top notch, and unless I'm much mistaken, every Grey since the 1370s has been brought here grieviously wounded. I brought Dareus and Imogen to me after a run in with a Welsh Green after a Quidditch match at Holyhead. It very nearly killed me."

"And, where is here, exactly?" Hermione asked.

"The old Peverell manor, Gossamer Park," Horatio replied. "The family is sadly defunct in name, though your Grey probably has a good bit of Peverell blood in him, but their home remains the home of the Balance. The Peverells had a bit of a thing for the number three, and its effects on magic. They always had three sons, every generation: one Light, one Dark, and one Grey, to keep the family balanced. Then came the last three Peverell sons: Antioch, Cadmus, and Ignotus. Antioch was the Dark, Cadmus was the Grey, and Ignotus was the Light. There's a fairy tale that's read to young witches and wizards about them, about how they met Death who was mad at them for conjuring a bridge over a river instead of drowning like a normal person would, and how he gave them each a 'reward' for their cleverness. Do you know the story?"

"No, I don't, I'm a muggleborn," Hermione replied. Horatio's eyebrows rose at that.

"Well, that certainly is uncommon. The Balance must be seriously out of whack if Magic has chosen a Muggleborn for the Light Witch. No offense meant, of course," he added at the look on Hermione's face.

"Anyway, Antioch and Cadmus both met with fishy ends. Antioch died heirless, Cadmus sired a daughter before his death, and only Ignotus lived to old age, but even he only managed to sire two sons. Not enough to maintain the Balance. So Magic started bringing in witches and wizards from other families to supplement the Peverells and maintain the Balance. Eventually, the Peverells stopped siring sons, and Magic took this place to be the home for her Chosen when they were needed."

"I know a little bit about what you mean by the Balance, but how are just the three of us supposed to correct the imbalance?"

"Put your Grey in charge," Horatio said. "A Ritual of Judgment will cement Magic's choices and boost your own natural powers immensely. I would have been a strong Grey wizard myself without the Ritual, but it made me a Lord, nearly a Force. Given a chance to display your powers in public, witches and wizards will flock to you. I'm sure you've realized this by now, my dear, but the general public will follow where its most powerful members lead."

Hermione's expression darkened as she thought about the hate mail she and Harry had received throughout the Triwizard Tournament after certain "facts" had been printed in the Daily Prophet, and the way people had stared at him at the beginning of last year. "Oh yes, I've realized."

"Once your Grey is healed, all three of you should undergo the Ritual of Judgment. There are various levels for each branch of Magic: the Light, the Dark and the Grey, but none Chosen by Magic have ever come out of the Ritual as anything less than a Master of their affiliation. Most come out as Lords, and most of the Peverells were Forces of their affiliated branch of Magic. The last Grey Force was Ignatius Davies in 1661," Horatio said.

"What are the levels?" Hermione asked.

"Well, they're ways of classifying the otherwise minute differences between powers and abilities of powerful wizards. A Knight is the lowest rank, but even a Knight of any affiliation is more powerful than your average witch or wizard by a factor of six and a half. From Knight, the ranks go up to Mage, Sorcerer or Sorceress, Master, Lord or Lady, Force. Forces are interesting because they can either be to an affiliation, or to an element. Merlin was a Grey Force, according to legend. From Force, there is only one more rank, which is almost unattainable: the Instrument. No mortal has ever emerged from the Ritual of Judgment as an Instrument. Most don't believe it's even possible."

"With his luck, Harry will come out as one," Hermione replied with a small smile. Horatio laughed.

"I would say you're very lucky, and very unlucky if he does," he said. "You'll be very lucky because he'll be very powerful and most likely a fantastic lover to both you and your Dark, but very unlucky because all the work you'll have to do will leave you very little time to enjoy him, at least in life."

"Enjoy him?" Hermione asked.

"Oh yes. Once you emerge from Judgment, you'll want to get your portaits painted while you're young and attractive. That way, you can shag through the afterlife."

Hermione's jaw dropped.

"It's the done thing, young lady," Imogen Bones spoke for the first time. "Now if you don't mind, I'd quite like to enjoy Horatio while he's all worked up. It's been so long since he's been properly feisty."

Part of Hermione saw that Dareus Prince's image in the portrait was already naked while Imogen was speaking frankly of sex and Horatio was telling her of it. With a squeak, she turned on her heel and walked back out of the corridor.

A/N: Well, I'm back! I have four completed chapters of this one, and a fifth in the works. I'm not sure how often I will be able to - or want to - post, just like I'm not entirely sure where I'm going with this, even four and a half chapters in. Setting is sixth year, obviously, as you see in the first segment. The influence from nonjon and petalsoft will likely wane after the early chapters, while this story will probably be heavily AU with more influences from outside sources than I typically use (even Japanese music, as ridiculous as that sounds). It will also feature an attempt at a heavy-handed, manipulative!Dumbledore and a slightly-less-douchey-than-normal!Draco.

Until next time!

-Phoenix II