A/N: See chapter 1 for disclaimer - they aren't mine, goddamn it. And here's where I veer away from JK's story a bit, but the changes I've made are pretty obvious.

Chapter Two

Harry took his seat in Charms with little enthusiasm.

Ron threw himself into the chair next to him with a curse. "Damn, I forgot to do the Charms essay! Flitwick's gone mental on us this year. I swear, if I didn't need the bloody NEWT, I'd have dropped it ages ago."

Harry made a few noises of assent, but he wasn't really sympathetic to Ron's situation; he knew that his friend had spent the previous evening playing wizard chess as opposed to doing the work. However, he wasn't wrong – all subjects were more difficult this year, a result of the upcoming examinations.

Harry was mercifully saved the task of having to come up with a real response by the start of the lesson. Flitwick clapped his hands imperatively, and for the most part the class shut up. Flitwick had demonstrated impressive magical abilities during the war, and respect had increased for the tiny wizard. Besides, no one wanted to antagonise him into setting more homework than he already intended to.

True to McGonagall's word, the class was indeed mixed. Harry shared Charms with people he knew from all four houses; Ron, Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan from Gryffindor, Hannah Abbot and Ernie Macmillan from Hufflepuff, Terry Boot from Ravenclaw, and – sat not too far from Harry – Draco Malfoy from Slytherin.

The latter had been extremely quiet in the entire month that they'd been back at Hogwarts. Harry had half-expected the former school bully to return to his old ways, gathering a crowd of Slytherin underlings and terrorising the younger years. He knew his expectations of the blonde were unfair, but then, old habits died hard. However, Malfoy had kept his head very low ever since the year had started, even going so far as to retreat slightly from his old best friends Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson – much to many people's shock, the two of them were now a couple, despite expectations that Parkinson would marry Malfoy. Apparently, the war had changed the Slytherin more than anyone had expected. The cocky, sneering teenager that Harry had spent so many years despising had finally grown up.

Charms passed in a blur of note-taking and partially successful attempts at the spells they were supposed to be mastering. Although Harry had never adored the subject as such, he had never particularly struggled, but he found himself wishing Hermione's timetable had allowed her to join their Charms lesson. He could have done with a few helpful tips from her, and, after narrowly avoiding one of Ron's failed attempts at the Geminio spell which had been on track to duplicate his head, he acknowledged that his best friend would have benefitted from Hermione's help too.

All in all, it was a relief when the lesson ended. For Harry, at least.

"Mr Weasley, I see no evidence of your essay." Flitwick eyed Ron dangerously, who had apparently been on the verge of attempting to escape the lesson on the sly. Harry shook his head slightly in despair, and finished packing away his books, leaning against the edge of a desk by the door while waiting for his friend to be given his detention time.

Someone stopped in front of him. The smooth, drawling voice was familiar, but quieter than he remembered it. "Potter."

"Malfoy," Harry inclined his head. The Slytherin hadn't pulled out his wand, insulted him, or even sneered, which he took as a good sign, and when his ex-nemesis didn't move, Harry tried to break the uncomfortable silence. "How's... things?" he asked lamely.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed slightly, but not threateningly. Harry noted the minor differences in his appearance; he was taller, towering over Harry by a good couple of inches, and slightly broader around the shoulders. His expression and demeanour, however, had changed the most; instead of emanating an unbridled superiority, he seemed to be watching his surroundings with a tentative mistrust. "They're fine," he replied shortly. "Thank you." He seemed to tack the last bit on as an awkward afterthought, and his voice was flat.

The two of them had called an uneasy, but apparently stable truce ever since Harry had returned the other's wand at the end of the war. Words like "thank you" would never have factored into one of their conversations before, unless snarled sarcastically, but things were different now.

"Surprised to see you back," Harry commented politely.

The corner of Malfoy's mouth twitched unexpectedly into a ghost of his old smirk. "Me, too." It wasn't clear if he meant that he was surprised at Harry's or his own return to Hogwarts.

After a moment of silence, Harry realised suddenly he was stood in Malfoy's way. He moved aside, the non-conversation having reached the end of its pitifully short life, and the blonde swept past him with a cursory nod.

"Blimey, at this rate I won't have time to sleep," Ron hurried towards him, keeping his voice hushed so that the Charms professor couldn't hear his complaint. "Detention tomorrow evening... What did Malfoy want?" He nodded his head in the direction Malfoy had gone.

Harry shrugged. "Nothing."

"Right. What are we waiting for, then? It's lunch, and I'm starving. Come on!" Ron exclaimed, cramming his books carelessly into his back and setting a fiery pace in the direction of the Great Hall.

Harry was about to follow when something snagged his gaze. It was a book – a Charms textbook – sat unobtrusively on the desk that Malfoy had vacated.

Harry frowned in uncertainty, then hurried over to scoop up the book. He weighed it carefully in one hand, debating whether or not it would be easier just to give it to Flitwick to keep hold of until the next lesson – but there was homework set, and Harry would probably see Malfoy before the end of the day. He placed the textbook carefully in his bag next to his own, and followed his best friend towards the food.

Hermione gasped at the Prophet. "What are the Ministry playing at?"

"What's wrong?" Harry demanded, turning to his best friend. She looked up, her expression anxious, and met his gaze, before wordlessly handing the paper to him. He didn't have to look further than the front page to see what she was referring to.

DEATH EATER ACTIVITY SUSPECTED

Despite reassurances that Aurors are working to the best of their ability to capture them, it seems that the Ministry are still unable to affect the capture of several dangerous witches and wizards. Although authorities have been searching for more than a year to discover the whereabouts of these criminals, there have been few breakthroughs, and many remain at large – including, among others, Alecto Carrow, Antonin Dolohov and the infamous Bellatrix Lestrange.

Worryingly, the afore-mentioned wizards and witches – once loyal servants to the Dark Lord – may have surfaced for the first time since their disappearance. Just two days ago, two Muggles were killed in their homes in Wiltshire, with the cause of death unknown; it is suspected, although has not been confirmed, that they were murdered through use of the Killing Curse. Ministry officials refused to comment on the matter, but it is thought that (cont p. 5)

The rest of the front page was taken up with pictures of the named Death Eaters. Harry saw the familiar faces of Carrow and Dolohov, before curling his lips up in a silent snarl of hatred as his gaze alighted on the image of Bellatrix Lestrange. He handed the Daily Prophet back to Hermione with clenched fists.

Ron frowned at them, abandoning the essay he was writing. "What's with you two?" Without waiting for an answer, he stood and leant over Hermione's shoulder, taking in the article, his expression darkening as he did so.

"It's been over a year," Harry said in frustration, grinding his teeth together.

"Do you reckon it was really Death Eaters who killed those two Muggles?" Ron asked worriedly.

Hermione bit her lip. "I don't know, but I think the more worrying thing is that the Ministry haven't got a clue either. It's not like they're much of a danger now that no one's, you know, leading them, but they should have found them by now."

Fingernails digging painfully into his palms, Harry breathed in sharply. "They should never have let them get away!"

"No, you're quite right, Harry," Hermione told him, her tone meant to placate him, but she seemed lost in thought. "Wiltshire... Interesting."

Harry wasn't listening. He didn't find the location of the attacks interesting at all. Instead, he was concentrating on reining in his frustration, feeling his fist clench and his head pound with a headache of fury; he was still desperate to make Bellatrix Lestrange pay for what she'd done. Memories of his godfather sprung unbidden into his mind, and Harry vowed – as he had done countless times – to avenge Sirius' death.

Footsteps pounded along the granite floor and frantic heartbeats kept time with them. He felt anger, a rage unlike anything he'd ever known before.

A wisp of dark cloak, mere shadow, flickered up ahead – his prey was close.

"Oh, he knows how to play, little bitty baby Potter," a voice cackled, mad, insane, more incensing than anything he'd ever known before. A maddening glimpse of the twisted face, the gleeful smile –

"Crucio!"

She fell to her feet, a shriek escaping her, but the cries of agony he had hoped for were not there. He saw green light, a wasted, once-handsome face, frozen forever in surprise...

"You need to mean them, Potter! You need to really want to cause pain – to enjoy it!"

They were running again, beyond where the others could help, if they were still alive. All that mattered was that he caught her. "I'll kill you! I'll kill you!"

The words were met with a laugh, an oh-so-familiar laugh. He rounded a corner and came face to face with the warped visage, the vicious smile of murderous joy. His body froze, betraying him, as dark coils of shadow wrapped around him in a sickening embrace.

A quiet cackle of triumph sounded from somewhere behind him, and now everything was turning black, taken over by the misting darkness that was enveloping him.

Just before he descended into the obscure shade that was looming so inevitably, words were whispered in his ear. "The little baby woke up fwightened, and fort what it dweamed was twoo –"

Harry sat bolt upright, gasping, fumbling for his wand. His dream seemed to follow him, taunting him, and he cast a wordless Expelliarmus before he'd even gotten control of his waking mind, eyes seeing shadows in the darkness.

Then everything caught up to him. He dropped his head into his hands, taking a deep shuddering breath, and slowly but surely regained control of himself.

Of course. This nightmare was not new. Although it had been a while, Harry had been jolted from sleep plenty of times by the image of his godfather's killer, chasing her down but upon catching her, never able to do more than just stand in horror as Bellatrix Lestrange's face loomed before him. The feelings of helplessness were worse than all but the most horrifying of his usual nighttime plagues, and no doubt brought on by the article in the paper that Hermione had shown him earlier.

Harry flopped backwards onto his pillow and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hands. He acknowledged grimly that his concentration would pay for this tomorrow.