Sorry this took so long. I had to sort out the ideas, discard those that weren't okay, rewrite stuff that ended up looking stupid... and polish the whole thing, with which I'm still not completely content, but oh well. Nothing's perfect, I guess. Hope you enjoy.

Chapter I

RETURNER

"Mom, Dad… It's done," he whispered the words as he was standing in front the headstone. "He's dead, but…"

He sighed and bent down to place the boquet of roses he's been holding in his hands in front of the white marble tablet, only to take a few steps back and sit down cross-legged.

"He's dead, but to destroy death? I thought I've been on the right track… I thought the powers…"

He was struggling to find the right words. He'd pondered visiting his parents's grave, and it seemed to be less and less of a good idea with each passing minute. He spent his life wishing that he could at least exchange a few words with his father and mother, or at least just to be where he was right now and talk to them and believe they're listening... However, being there and not knowing what to say only served to annoy him.

"Nothing's gonna bring either you or Sirius back. I know that. I've no family anymore… And while I was away, it's just… The Death Eaters, you know, they're still around. Some of his most…loyal, most extremist followers just escaped. People aren't afraid anymore, there aren't…raids and general public acts of violence, but… If you keep your eyes open, odd cases of death do show up. Isolated. Almost insignificant."

Another heavy sigh left his lips. Harry Potter, Savior of the Wizarding World, The-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Vanquish-The-Dark-Lord. He did that, making everyone relieved and happy and proud. And celebratory. Mostly celebratory. But he, the hero, in his grief over his godfather's death, could not miss the facts that still remained.

Too many of the Death Eaters haven't been caught. Lucius Malfoy simply wriggled his way out of justice, by ways of bribery and his silver tongue. No one, even among the captured ones, seemed to have any idea where Bellatrix LeStrange could be. And if the rumors were true…

"I wouldn't object if you said I've subscribed to a macabre tango with the Reaper, but I just don't think I can leave all this to… Well, fuck. Do you think Malfoy's actually right?" He asked, not even giving it a second thought that his parents would most probably berate him for his foul mouth, if they were alive and actually conversing with him. "Like, do I really have some sort of hero-complex, always wanting to save everyone?"

Suddenly he heard the crack of a branch and turned around. A little girl was standing behind him, looking at him intently. He got up and nodded towards her, adjusting his robe.

"Hello."

"Wh-who are you?" The girl asked. She was either a Muggle, which would have been slightly strange, considering the late hour, or the lack of his glasses and the unusual clothing he had were making him unrecognizable.

"Just someone mourning his family," he said. 'It's not even a lie.'

"Did you bring the roses? They're very pretty."

"Maybe I did," he answered and stepped closer to the girl. "Do you come here often?"

"N-no-o," the girl replied, shaking her head, "I just couldn't sleep and heard someone talking and come to check… we live across the street with my grandmother. It's odd to see people here in the night…"

She seemed to be examining him closely, running her eyes up and down his figure.

"Don't worry. I mean no trouble. I just got back from…a long trip and wanted to come visit my parents as soon as possible."

"Oh…"

"Can this stay between us?" Harry asked, smiling. "Like, a secret?"

"O-okay… I guess…"

He leant close to her ear as she nodded, concentrating strongly.

"Thank you," he said, and continued in a whisper. "Obliviate."

The magic word made the girl stiffen and stare blankly in front of herself. Harry stepped aside, straightened himself, and disappeared in a whirl of black.

When he plopped down on his bed a few seconds later, lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling, he was panting heavily, he fealt beads of sweat forming on his forehead and temple, and he could have sworn his head was on the verge of splitting, literally.

'Guess I'm lucky I didn't just pass out right beside her…'

- x -

It's been almost two months since none of his friends heard of him. As if swallowed up by the earth, he couldn't be found, no matter what. And of course, they've been worried, particularly Mrs. Weasley. She was caught staring out the window quite often, with a worried look on her face, accompanied by heavy sighs. The others tried to console her, whenever they stumbled on such an occasion.

"He surely is okay, Mum, don't worry," Ginny said once, patting her shoulder.

"C'mon, Mum, he kicked Snakeface's arse, what more proof d'you need that he can take care of himself?" Ron asked another time, as to state the obvious.

"I'm pretty sure he's alright out there, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione told her one night as she went to bed, one night she was staying over.

"Grief affects everyone in a different way, dear," Mr. Weasley once tried to soothe her as he embraced his wife and kissed his cheek. "He'll be back here before school, just wait and see."

"Oh, he won't escape my wrath if he isn't, I promise that!" Molly exclaimed suddenly. "But that's not the point, Arthur, the point is: is he okay? Is he safe and sound?"

"Well, you've got to give it to Ron, remember what he said? Harry did defeat Voldemort, if that doesn't warrant for him being able to get by, what will?"

"Oh, I… I suppose you are right… It's just that, the house seems to empty so fast sometimes…"

"I do miss the kids too, dear, but you can't stop them from growing up…"

A few days later, an unknown owl delivered a very short note to the Burrow. It only consisted of two sentences, but those were enough to make everyone smile with relief.

Dear All,
expect me soon. I'm excited to see you again.
Harry

- x -

He was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling and clutching his head as if it was likely to just roll away at any minute. Governed by some sudden urge, he sat up, crossing his legs, and looked around the bed, as well as the floor around, and his desk at the wall – all were littered with rolls of parchment. His entire correspondence, well, almost entire:the letters he received were there, but the ones he sent were, naturally, not. Only the unsent ones: those he left unfinished for one reason or another. He picked up the one closest to him.

"So many…thoughts and emotions, you know. Reasons and explanations that I'd like to tell. And I trust it's the same on your end as well…?"

One of his firsts. He threw it away and picked up another one.

"When you asked whether I trust you, I was…floored? I mean, honestly, like, what the fuck? As if we'd ever taken off that ground! Trust… And yet, somehow it didn't seem too stupid. Somehow it…felt like you were making sense.

What I'm trying to say is, I guess, I'm … glad … that you offered me to jump with you."

One of his more recent ones: elegant, curved lines and loops, tilted just barely, but enough to give the impression that they were eager to reach the right edge of the parchment.

Who would've thought exchanging letters would become such a fruitful exploration? Still, it only seemed to birth more headache instead of taking away from what he's already had. He heaved a sigh as he thought of the their past: years of animosity and spite and hatred, when in fact he really didn't even know the boy. Sure, it was bound in blood on Ron's part, and he did greatly offend Hermione, and naturally as a friend, Harry found nothing special in sympathising with them. But did that really justify his own opposition to everything that was Malfoy…or more exactly, that was Draco?

Yes, he gave less than a remarkable first impression, but, he reasoned, the boy had not recognised him at that time; yet afterwards he seemed to know all there was to know about him, so he probably would not have behaved the way he had, had he known his identity back in Madam Malkin's store. Then, there was the issue of his social status: his father being a Death Eater obviously meant he could not have been seen fraternising with the Boy-Who-Lived.

So, just, who was Draco Malfoy?

No matter how hard Harry tried, he had to come to the conclusion that he used to have no idea whatsoever.

"It does you no good to dwell on him so much, Harry," a voice suddenly struck his ears. "It does him no good either, actually."

Harry opened his eyes: he was indeed lying on his bed, and now was indeed staring at the ceiling, but, he realised as he sat up, there were no letters around him. There was only the shadow of a figure in his door, potentially the source of the voice that woke him up.

"I shall return, right? Tonight."

He didn't seem to be surprised or even puzzled at the other's presence, his mind was clear and sharp, despite the dream he just experienced.

"Hm. You might want to do a bit of rescuing first," the voice replied, the figure stepping into the light.

Harry couldn't help gazing at the outfit: the richly and heavily decorated dress in shades of purple and lilac, the violet and gold laced corset, the heavy-looking silver bracelet with chains hanging from it that wouldn't make any noise no matter the movement, the fingerless, black lace opera gloves, the long black nails adorned with silver and little steel-blue charms that seemed to captivate rays of light.

"Harry?"

Yet, as slim and frail as the figure looked, as gentle as the voice sounded, it was a man's, and as the teen lifted his gaze to his face, he got lost again: from the porcelain-like skin, the pale, fainlty shining lips, the one dark orb that wasn't covered by curly hair but was surrounded by impossibly long eyelashes that made it look like a veiled gate into the abyss…

"Sorry, Kalmia, you were saying…?"

I was saying: you might want to do a bit of rescuing first," the man replied, his voice still very calm, "before you return to your family tonight."

Family.

The word oddly echoed in Harry's head. He had no family: he never knew his parents, and the precious little time he had to spend with their two closest friends was as angst-ridden as funless, before they too met their demise during that ambush in the Ministry.

"You are happy with the Weasleys though," Kalmia supplied, leaning closer to him, smiling, as if he has been reading Harry's mind. "And they all are fond of you as well. You really should not dawdle, however. The Ministry's looking for your little dragon, to send him off to Azkaban."

"Would you stop referring to Malfoy like that?" Harry snapped, frowning. "He's not even my friend. Which brings me to the question: what makes you think I even bother?"

Kalmia straightened up and was examining his nails, giving off the impression of toying with light, using the small pieces of metal hanging off them.

"But you do, don't you? You wouldn't be curious about the reasons, if you didn't."

Harry remained silent and still: he didn't scowl, he didn't snort, he did no hand gestures. He seemed to be used to the other one just knowing about everything that went on in his mind; but he did resort to glaring at the man, which, upon noticed, earned him an explanation.

"Narcissa Malfoy was found dead, and Arthur Weasley has disappeared-…"

"What? What do you mean disappeared?" Harry interrupted, clearly shocked at the news.

"Disappeared, as in, vanished. Like those Death Eaters after Voldemort's defeat: no one knows where they are," Kalmia supplied, calmly.

"But… I mean… How?"

"Well, he left to work in the morning and never showed up. That enchanted clock they have at the Burrow shows him 'lost' as well, mind you."

The clock. The Weasley family's strange clock that wasn't even a clock, but a device that showed the location of each family member. Harry shuddered as he remembered…

"No, not danger. Well, it wasn't when I heard, anyway…"

"And… and Narcissa Malfoy?"

"She was found dead, like I said. The corpse on the floor of their Manor's entrance hall, in a pool of blood…which is actually strange as no wound on her body was reported."

"And the Ministry's on to her son for it?" Harry asked, his eyed grown wide. "Why?"

"Apparently, since Draco has gone missing too, I think they assume it's only logical-…"

"Logical? Did they really think so lowly of him, just because his father was one of Voldemort's favorite ass-kiss…er…sorry, I mean…I mean…you know…"

Kalmia frowned at Harry, his thoughts about the teen's foul mouth clearly showing on his face.

"I guess, it's no use getting upset about it. Especially if you don't even bother, anyway… Perhaps I was wrong there."

Harry knew he shouldn't bite the bait that was thrown at him, but he couldn't help it. The war was over and the fact was that Draco Malfoy did help distracting many of the Death Eaters on that fateful night, some of his friends might just be thankful for their lives to the blonde. He couldn't find the answers to the questions those acts aroused in his head, nor was he actually much bothered to look for them anyway: he had other things to attend to, and he was sure he could just corner the Malfoy heir about it when they return to Hogwarts for their sixth year.

"D'you know where he was last seen?"

"No… But if I did, I would probably have to say that had you sent him an owl, the bird would probably have found him somewhere around Gringotts…"

- x -

Draco Malfoy was seething with fury as he exited the building. He has been denied entrance to his family's vault, although the goblins gave no explanation at all, not even a hint.

'Bloody goblins,' he went on in his mind.

He planned to go shopping for certain things that he thought he'd need in the coming schoolyear. Though it was still weeks away, he wanted to avoid the last minute rush that seemed to happen every year: overcrowded streets and shops just weren't meant for a Malfoy. He figured he might as well check his family's vault, maybe even withdraw some money – until he was met with a shaking head.

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that, Mr Malfoy," the goblin said.

"I beg your pardon? I think I heard you saying you can't let me in my vault?" He asked back, not quite believing the words.

"Your family's vault, Mr Malfoy; and indeed, I can't let you in there."

"What do you mean you can't let me in there? Who's order was that?"

"I'm sorry, but I'm not allowed to say anything else, Mr Malfoy."

"What on earth-…"

"Please, I ask you to kindly leave now."

He frowned, but turned on his heels and made for the doors, trying to figure out what could have happened. Finding no possible reason however, he resorted to trying to assess just how much money he had with him. He knew his father used to keep quite an amount at home too, in a hidden safe, but he didn't feel like returning to the Manor just to come back to Diagon Alley shortly afterwards.

It was when he decided that he would go for writing tools when he felt his upper arm being grabbed quite strongly, by a dark a figure, who also handed him a mask.

"Put this on and shut your gob if you know what's good for you," the man muttered as he dragged Draco with himself.

"What-…"

"Do as told!"

Everything seemed to happen in but flashes and the whole incident was totally out-of-place. He examined the mask: it was designed to cover his left eye and cheek, but looked rather simple, being pure black with just one black feather in the place of the eyebrow. He wanted to shrug but only felt his arm hurting, and now his shoulder as well from being handled so roughly. Taking the mask in his other hand, he put it on and looked around, curious about where he was being led.

"Where-…"

"This way," the man behind him said, taking a turn into a rather inconspicuous-looking alley that was empty of people, with only a few small windows, on which even the shutters were closed. By the time he took in the surroundings, he was shoved in a very small room, the door slammed shut behind them.

"I wanna know-…"

"Dobby!" The man shouted.

A house elf materialised in an empty corner, wearing the most colorful clothes Draco has ever seen, and bowed deeply.

"I'm here, Harry Potter-…"

"Take us back to the house, Dobby, please," the command was given, sooner than it could have sinked in for the Slytherin that his kidnapper was none other than the Boy-Who-Lived. He felt a strange tingling in his skin as the house elf snapped his fingers and the next moment they were in a larger, albeit much darker room. Harry took off his robe and threw it on the bed.

"Well, that settles that then… thank you for the help, Dobby."

"Any time, Harry Potter, any time," the elf repeated. "Is there anything else-…"

"No, nothing, Dobby, thank you. You may leave."

"As you wish, Harry Potter," he said and disappeared in the blink of an eye.

Draco cleared his throat and shook his head, coming to his senses and realising his situation.

"Potter, what the hell's the meaning of this? I demand an explanation…no, scratch that, I demand you let me go right now!"

"Sit down and listen to me," Harry said, pushing him on the bed. "You'll be thanking me once I've told you."

"Oh, I can't wait to hear this…"

Harry pushed his spectacles up on his nose as he sighed: he had no idea how to break something like this, especially to someone whom he could never really get on with. There was the possibility of no trust at all, there was the possibility of a fight, there was the possibilty of reaction-less cold – all of which he thought would be easy to handle. But there was also the possibilty of the Slytherin breaking down, potentially even shedding tears, and this image unsettled the black-haired teen much more than he would have cared to admit. Because if he wanted to be honest with himself, he would have no idea how to handle something like that, not even with his closest friends, really, much less with his school-nemesis. He knew that the teen really loved his mother, although if he thought about it, he had no idea how exactly he was aware of that.

"Okay, listen here, I'll give you the whole story in a nutshell, try not to freak out until I'm finished, right?"

"I don't freak out, Potter," the blonde snapped.

"Yeah, well, you just might, this time. Anyway. I'm not sure how much you've been keeping up with the news since Voldemort's death, or how much you've noticed, actually. Because the things happening don't necessarily seem significant to just anyone. For starters, your father's disappeared, and that's not to mean he escaped from Azkaban – he never really made it there in the first place."

Draco's eyes were opening up more and more as he listened to the other teen's words. When his father was mentioned, he also opened his mouth to comment, but a quick glare from Harry made him change his mind.

"He's not the only though: Ron's dad's also missing, Bellatrix Lestrange wasn't caught either, and some others have been killed…your mother's being one of them. She was found in your house, in a pool of blood, from what I hear. Which is strange, because they found no wounds on her body…" Harry voice seemed to falter when he heard Draco gulp audibly, his eyes radiating shock. "The Ministry's now all out to have you sent to Azkaban, because whoever did it wants to frame you. Which is why I brought you here before they could've tracked you down. I can talk to Dumbledore, I'm quite sure he'd know what to do to save your arse…"

The air suddenly felt way too cold around them, and with a little bit of concentration, one could actually hear the hum of tension in the room. A good few seconds have passed before the Slytherin decided to speak. In a similarly cold, surprisingly calm but nonetheless threatening whisper.

"If what you're saying is true, Potter, I don't care about myself, I want to find the bastard who murdered my mother."

"Yeah," Harry nodded, "I did figure as much. But you've got to hold your horses for a while first. Getting caught would be of no use in that matter…"

"So you suggest I just stay couped up in here and do nothing? You can't be serious."

- x -

"Do you think he'll be okay?" Fred turned to his twin from the piece of parchment he was reading.

"Why wouldn't he? He's not a little boy anymore…" George replied nonchalantly.

"Oh, sure. But you know what I mean."

"Well, he seemed pretty determined, didn't he? Anyways, stop fretting about it. It's not like we can be held responsible for what he wants-…"

"That won't stop Mum from blaming us if this gets out of hand."

George's hand, holding a book, stopped in mid-air for just a second, before placing the book in its place.

"If this gets out of hand, Fred, we'll first have to survive, for the chance of getting scolded. Wouldn't you agree?"

"…and here I thought you're trying to tell me not to worry!"

At that moment the door to the room was slammed open and a very excited Ron yelled in to them.

"Guys! Come down, Harry's here!"

The twins exchanged a short glance and scampered downstairs to greet their guest. Sure enough, there Harry was in the kitchen: surrounded by their mother, Ginny and Ron.

"Oh, Harry, you look all skin and bones!" Molly cried.

"Where's your glasses, mate?" Ron asked.

"I'm so glad you're back, Harry!" Ginny claimed.

He did look rather slim, but then that wasn't really anything new. What was new was the lack of his spectacles, his almost-tamed black hair gelled upwards, his heavy black coat, and a generally stronger aura of self-confidence than what everyone was used to. He nodded towards the twins as he noticed them, mouthing "we need to talk" barely noticeably.

"I'm glad to be back too," he managed.

"Alright, give the poor bloke some air," George intervened, before Harry could have ended up suffocating.

"Come on, dear and sit down, dinner is almost ready. I'm afraid it'll only be the six of us then…" Molly said, sighing.

"I'll take your stuff up," Ron offered, but Harry wasn't paying him any attention. Instead, he was looking at Mrs. Weasley quizzically.

"Mr. Weasley's not coming home tonight?" He asked.

"Oh, dear… You haven't heard, have you?" The woman asked, but was only shaking her head as she busied herself with preparing the meal.

"Dad went to work one morning," Ginny explained in a low voice, leaning closer to him, "and no one's seen him since then. Mom gets pretty angsty whenever it's mentioned."

"What do you mean no one's seen him?" Harry asked back.

"He's just…vanished, Harry. He and some of his colleagues and… well, it's complicated. But let's not talk about it during dinner."

"Alright," Harry concluded as he took a seat at the table.

He didn't notice the frowns the twins sent towards him.