A/N: Yes, I know, it's been forever. -sigh-

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He remembered the way she was like the day she was, born, all tiny and pink, and perfect. Well- not perfect. He remembered how the whole family held their collective breathes for five years for a sign- just one sign! Just one!- that she was as magical as her elder brother. He remembered the way her hair always seemed to flow in just the right way, and he remembered how beautiful she looked when she screamed-

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They were there, waiting for him at the top of the stairs, staring at him like vultures, waiting for their pray. Not to long ago he would have cringed from this possibility- that the three would face him, defenseless and vulnerable. Not anymore. A large part of him would have silently cheered as they rended him limb from limb.

"What are you doing here?" Potter asked coldly, a leader who stands before a battle not yet over, but already won. His companions, Weasley and Granger, leered down at him with expressions of righteous fury. He tilted his head slightly sideways and gave the Golden Trio an inquisitive look, attempting to convey the fact that he didn't know without having to resort to some kind of interpretive dance.

"Answer me!" Potter commanded. "You are in my house-" Potters face screwed up a little as he said this, as if he had struck a sore point, "And have no right to barge in here without some kind of Explanation!"

For the first time in a long time, Draco felt completely and utterly helpless. There was no way that he could say anything in his defense. He could always use magic, but after that night, he wasn't sure if he ever wanted to use magic again. 'I'm as magicless as she was. Isn't that ironic, Father?' he thought, his inner voice shaking with suppressed emotion. He felt like breaking down, like crying in the middle of this stairwell, like screaming with no voice in front of Harry Fucking Potter. His emotions coiled around him like the snake his house was known for, trying to force him to do it, to give in.

Draco had never been very brave. But he had stood up at the most important time in has life, and he could stand up to this. 'Not the first time' a little voice in the back of his head whispered. 'Not when it really mattered. You left her to die.' He pushed the voice out of his head- he'd deal with it later- and smashed a brick wall between himself and his boiling emotions. Now was not the time to crack. Even when it no longer mattered, Draco still had his pride.

He looked up, ready to face whatever would come.

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He called her Labecula sometimes, by accident. She loved it. She thought it was his nickname for her, a small way of showing that he cared, even though she was a Muggle, although she was far to young to understand fully. He never had the heart to tell her that Labecula was his sisters name, and every time he called her that, he was thinking about her…

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Albus Dumbledore was a very wise man, and Remus Lupin respected that. Almost all of his decisions had been proved, in one way or another, to be the right choices. He had stood behind his teacher and mentor, though reluctantly, as he welcomed Severus Snape into the Order with open arms. He had stood behind him as he had accepted Remus, a werewolf, into the school, something, even at the tender age of 11, he had been dead set against doing. He had even stood behind him when he had put Harry with the Dursleys. But for some reason, letting Draco Malfoy into Order HQ just stepped over the boundaries.

A Malfoy at the Order! Unheard of. Especially since He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had practically delivered him to them on a silver platter. Voldemort didn't want him, and Remus didn't think it was because of his abhorrent dress skills. Yet none of these reasons seemed to phase the Headmaster. He just kept on smiling benignly and offering them lemon drops. Remus sighed, walking up the stairs. Something would have to be done.

"There's no daddy to save you here, so why don't you just cut the crap and talk already!" Harry stood at the top of the stairs, talking to a small blond boy directly in front of Remus. A small slant of sunlight hit the boy and Remus' sharp eyesight quickly caught the details. High cheekbones, slanted gray eyes, pale skin-

Remus did a double take. There was no way that the small, defeated boy that stood, cowering, in front of him was the same harsh, needlessly cruel boy that lived in a world of those who are Worthy and those who are Not. He remembered Draco Malfoy with an almost painful clarity. He had been the king of his court of Slytherins, manipulating them against each other with the cruel kind of joy one gets from ripping the wings off a fly, or casting Inferio on ants and watching them burn to death. And now here he was, cowed and broken, and although Malfoy had never, ever showed any kind of altruism towards him, Remus could not- would not- turn away and leave Draco to his fate.