Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews! Next weekend's chapter might be a couple days late because of all the midterms and essays I have due this upcoming week. This chapter and the next will be the two "calm before the storm" chapters, so enjoy the fluff while it lasts, I guess?

CHAPTER ELEVEN

MARS BRINGS WAR

o

Christmas morning was not a cheery affair in the Potter household. Harry, Lily, and Snape—who'd arrived last night in time for a gloomy Christmas Eve dinner—were sitting in the parlor, not speaking to each other unless it was absolutely necessary. The wireless was playing Celestina Warbeck, and the glittering star on top of their sad Christmas tree did little to brighten the room.

"Your present, Harry," said Lily, handing him a roughly wrapped package. Harry took it and stared at it with blank eyes.

Lily hadn't screamed at him much for the week he'd been home, though Harry suspected part of it was because Hogwarts forbade everyone except Elite students to use magic during the holidays. Harry wasn't sure if they would be able to incriminate him if he used wandless magic, but he wasn't about to take the risk. He was already walking on thin ice, being a Colossus and all.

Snape, as usual, wasn't talking to him, not that Harry minded anymore. He hated Snape now, and he hadn't forgotten what Dolohov had said about Snape helping kill his father.

I bet he's upset he can't find some way to kill me off, too, thought Harry, his fingers twitching, yearning to wrap themselves around Snape's sallow throat. He couldn't believe he'd once been naïve enough to think Snape could be a father to him.

"Here, boy," said Snape, handing him a thick and glossy black book. "It includes the instructions for many basic and useful potions. You have shown yourself to be atrocious at my subject, but perhaps this will inspire you."

Not meeting Snape's eyes, Harry took the book and placed it on his lap with his mother's package. Potions was one of his worst subjects, probably because he couldn't be bothered to study for it or put any effort into his essays. Snape never yelled at him during class, though, nor did he assign him detention for all his failed essays and tests. He almost treated him like he did the Elites.

Still, he had killed Harry's real father, and he was still a piece of shit who ignored him whenever possible. Harry wouldn't feel guilty for hating him. He wouldn't.

"Open my present," Lily whispered. "I went all the way to Gringotts to get it for you. It was lying in your father's vault for years. I figured you could use it."

Harry ripped open the brown wrapping paper and sucked in a breath when he saw what lay within. Running his fingers over what looked like liquid silver and felt like cool silk, he asked, "An Invisibility Cloak? Dad's?"

Lily gave a curt nod.

This was going to be so useful. He was already imagining all the different places he would explore in secret with Draco.

Harry cleared his throat. "Thank you, Mum." He shifted on the sofa and leaned towards her. Instead of hugging her, he awkwardly patted her arm.

An hour passed. A romantic song started playing on the wireless, and Snape and Lily stood up to dance. Harry left them in privacy and retreated up to his room to investigate his presents, especially the cloak.

A large eagle owl was using its beak to knock on the sole window in his room. Hastily, Harry crossed his room and slid the window open. The eagle owl gave a soft hoot and held out its leg to reveal a letter with a tiny package attached to it. Harry took both items and closed the window in the owl's face, ignoring its indignant squawk at being so rudely dismissed.

He unfolded the letter, his heart pounding, unable to believe it. Draco's neat and thin cursive writing filled the page. Harry read it, his face growing warmer and warmer with every sentence.

Harry,

How have your holidays been? This letter better get to you in time for Christmas. So far, this week has been awful. Mother and Father took me to all these useless and boring parties, and I had to stand there and deal with crazy old ladies trying to pinch my cheeks.

Anyway, I've been looking in Father's library for stuff on You-Know-What. I've told him that I've taken an interest in learning the Dark Arts, and he's been more than happy to supply me with reading material. I found these really old book on Summoning Arts that I think you'll find relevant to You-Know-What. I'll try to convince Father to let me bring the book to school, but if he doesn't, I'll have to copy down that chapter so I can show you. I seriously think we have a lead, Harry. You'd better kiss my feet in thanks.

Speaking of thanking me, I also got you a present, and it should probably be with the letter. I'm sure you forgot to get me one, but I'll forgive you this one time.

Face red and still unable to believe that Draco had thought of him enough to get a present, Harry ripped open the little package, which was wrapped in fancy gold paper, and extricated what looked like a small silver coin. It wasn't a Sickle, that was for certain. It had a curly M on it, but was otherwise blank.

Harry bit his lip. After Samhain, he had hinted to Draco that the Dark Lord wanted to kill him, but Draco was still helping him survive. Either he had purposely not dwelled too much on that part of the story, or he cared about Harry more than he did about his duty to the Dark Lord.

Heart pounding, Harry picked Draco's letter back up to continue reading.

I've given you a Connecting Coin, one in a pair. I have the other one. They've been in my family for ages, lying in the basement among piles of the other Malfoy artifacts. We have so many of these dusty old objects that I doubt Mother or Father will even notice two little coins missing. I'm not exactly sure how they work, but I think if you hold your coin in your hand and ask for my help, the coin that I have will burn and alert me. It'll also help me find out where you are, somehow. We'll practice with them when school's back on. Of course, we have the bond, so these coins won't really be necessary, but I figured they might prove useful at some point.

Merry Christmas, Harry.

—Draco

Harry put the letter down and squeezed the coin. Then he threw himself onto his bed and rolled around a bit, smiling so hard his face hurt. All in all, this had been a good Christmas.

The night before New Year's Eve, Harry mustered up enough courage to approach his mother. He'd been itching to ask her whether she knew about the whole Colossus business, but he suspected that reminding her about his magic would shatter the calm. His mother was pleasant to him these days, and he didn't want to ruin that.

But he knew a better opportunity wasn't going to come along. He would have to beat down his fear and ask her.

"Mum?"

Lily sat on the sofa with her legs crossed, reading a book. The warm light of the fire softened the usually harsh lines of her face, and for a moment Harry could almost see the beautiful woman she had surely been in her prime.

Snape wasn't here, but he would be arriving tomorrow for New Year's Eve, so it was a good thing Harry was asking Lily now instead of later. He didn't want Snape, Death Eater extraordinaire, to overhear. He could only hope that his mother would have the sense to keep it from her boyfriend, partner, lover… whatever Snape was.

"Mum?" Harry asked again, raising his voice, trying to grab her attention from the book she was reading.

"What is it, Harry?" Lily asked distractedly, turning a page.

Harry bit his lip and edged closer to her. "Mum, do you… have you heard of the word 'Colossus'?"

Lily froze. For a long moment, the two of them stared at each other.

"You know," she whispered at last, and the firelight flickered, drawing attention to the dark circles underneath her eyes.

"I… know, yes," Harry started. "And I—"

"So you'll know that you're not my son." Tremors consumed Lily's hands. At some point she had dropped her book, and now it was lying face-down on the floor.

"What?"

"Y-you know. You know you're n-not him, not my real son. They took him and k-killed him and replaced him with you, like they thought I wouldn't notice. It was so obvious you were a copy. You were so powerful and not human and not Harry. I tried to see him in you. I tried I tried I tried, please believe me when I say I tried so hard, Harry."

Lily burst into hysterical sobs. Harry wanted—no, he needed—to run far away and never come back, but some sick fascination with Lily's rambling kept his feet rooted to the ground.

"I-I shouldn't have done it. God, oh God, I made a deal with the d-devil, and I got exactly what I deserved. I wanted so desperately to save my son, but they killed him, and every night I go to bed I see Harry in his crib, crying for me, and I can't think of anything else because they took my mind. They took everything and gave me a monster, and they said you'd b-be the one—you'd be the one to kill—to kill…"

Lily's words were no longer comprehensible. She was blubbering now, her face a mess of tears and snot.

Harry backed away, his head spinning, his lunch rising in his throat.

He was Lily's son. He had her eyes. He looked exactly like his father.

He was wasting his time, listening to the nonsensical raving of a madwoman. Lily had lost her sanity years ago because of all the torture and emotional turmoil she had suffered during the First War, not because "they" had taken it from her, not because she had made a deal with the devil and lost her son. Lily hadn't ever had another son. He was her only son, Harry James Potter, and he wasn't a monster.

Harry ran up the stairs and didn't look back.

Unsurprisingly, Harry returned to school depressed and moody.

Draco was not discouraged.

"Harry? Harry? Harry!"

"Yes?" Harry said tersely, looking up from the library floor to glare at Draco, who had approached him from behind and was now tapping his shoulder incessantly.

Undeterred by Harry's attitude, Draco said, "You won't believe what I found in the old Malfoy library. You got my letter, right?"

"Oh, right," said Harry, running a hand through his hair. "Thanks, Draco. I really appreciated the coin. I have it with me right now, actually—"

"Forget about that," said Draco impatiently, tugging at Harry's sleeve. "Come down to my room. I need to show you something. Hurry! I'll explain on the way."

Grumbling underneath his breath, Harry followed Draco—or rather, was dragged by him—down the spiral staircases and into the Elite dorms. Draco chattered the entire way there, melting away Harry's bad mood like nobody else could have.

"The ancient Malfoy books have some really obscure information, stuff there's no way the Hogwarts library has. There are a few unique books in Father's archives, and I think I found us a lead on what the Hunger is in one of them. Half of the pages are ripped out, but it's better than nothing. I asked Father if I could bring it to school, and he said I could, as long I bring it back at the end of term," Draco was saying as they finally reached his room.

He grabbed the tattered black book lying on his desk and waved it in Harry's face. "The Lost Artes of Summoning. Father said that thousands and thousands of years ago, ancient wizards used to summon demons from different realms—I'm serious, Harry, don't laugh!—but it's impossible for modern wizards because we've evolved to do magic by refining it into spells, and demon summoning requires the 'rawest' form of magic, whatever that's supposed to mean. That's why the Summoning Arts are lost, because we're physically incapable of performing them now."

Draco turned to a page near the front of the book and cleared his throat importantly, holding the book open in the air so Harry could see the words and pictures on the page.

"This," said Draco, "is kind of a prologue to the text. It's an ancient legend about the Seven Royal Demons. Ancient Summoners tried really hard to track down the seven demons and summon them, but in the end decided that they were just a legend."

"What does this have to do with—"

Draco pointed to the bottom of the page with a flourish, and Harry squinted. The book was moth-eaten and written in slightly smudged and blurred ink, and he thought it miraculous that it was still readable after years of neglect.

"According to legend, the Seven Royal Demons are magical manifestations of humanity's worst weaknesses and threats, both internal and external," Draco explained. "So they're called the Disease, the Envy, the Rage, the Storm, the Sloth, the War, and the Hunger. The Hunger."

Harry seized the book and traced the list of demons with a shaking finger. "But this is just a legend. They don't actually exist, according to this book," he spluttered. "And even if they're not just a legend, this Hunger isn't necessarily the same Hunger in the Forbidden Forest. There's probably a lot of things with the name the Hunger, right? I mean, it's not an uncommon word."

Draco scowled, crossing his arms. "You could be a little more trustworthy, you know. Won't you let me finish? Turn to the next page."

Harry did, widening his eyes when he read what was on the page. Half of it was burned, but he could make out a single paragraph clearly. The description was vague in that poetic sort of way, but it matched exactly what they knew: The Hunger emanated a sort of "gravity," and everyone caught in it would be eaten.

"It must be the same one," said Draco, practically hopping up and down. "The book even uses the same word Firenze did—gravity!"

Draco really was amazing. Harry opened his mouth to tell him that, but found his lips unable to form words when he caught sight of Draco's flushed face and bright eyes.

"And guess what else?" said Draco. "Turn to the page after that."

Harry did, and in the center of it was a picture of a little red-colored squiggle, surrounded by incomprehensible text in a different language that didn't look like anything Western, or Eastern, or human.

"What's this supposed to be?" Harry asked, frowning.

"It's the same vortex mark that appears on my chest whenever our bond is in use," said Draco. "And the text surrounding it is in Ancient Runes. The next page has a translation. Apparently, the red vortex is the mark of the War. I think you must have some sort of connection to that particular demon. I mean, it looks exactly like the mark on my chest, and you gave me that mark when you gave me the bond."

"It can't be the same," said Harry, shaking his head so hard his brain felt like it was rattling in his skull. "I didn't know about these demons until today. If they're legends—well, maybe the Hunger isn't—then why would they have something to do with me?"

The memory of Lily's words washed over him, making his stomach curdle.

"You know. You know you're not him, not my real son. They took him and killed him and replaced him with you, like they thought I wouldn't notice."

"I made a deal with the devil, and I got exactly what I deserved. They took my mind. They took everything and gave me a monster."

No. He did not have any connection to any of this… supernatural demon stuff that Draco had pulled out of this random old book he'd found under piles of dust. (Why did Draco's father even have this book, anyway?) Harry was a normal human, and Lily irrationally hated his magic because she was mentally unstable.

Yes, he was powerful, but that was due to random chance. Wizards capable of controlling magic without a wand were born every century, and entire books had been written about the exploits of the most famous ones throughout history. They were fairly rare, but they weren't anywhere close to an impossibility.

But the creatures called me Colossus, said an annoying voice in Harry's head. If I was just a wizard capable of controlling magic without a wand, I doubt the Dark Lord would be so desperate to kill me, would he?

"Your mark is the mark of the War, Harry," said Draco, stubbornly. "I'm sure of it. It makes perfect sense. Everything fits! Why're you so against it, anyway?"

"I mean, you're the one with the mark," Harry barked, deliberately not answering Draco's question. "Maybe it doesn't have anything to do with me. To think of it, how do I even know you're telling the truth?"

For a second, Draco looked murderous. Then he gave Harry a sickly sweet smile. "Oh, you don't believe me, do you? I'll take my shirt off, then."

Harry squeaked, covered his eyes, and backed away, so hastily that he tripped over something and crashed to the floor. He heard the rustling of clothes over skin and did not dare look up, quite sure his face's temperature rivaled the sun's. Why was Draco doing this? Why did he want Harry to suffer? He knew that Harry hated seeing him change and hated changing in front of him; it was the reason why Draco always woke up early to get ready.

Draco let out a sigh. "Harry. Will you look already? I've prodded at the bond, and that's enough to activate the mark. Look at it and tell me it doesn't match the one in the book exactly. It's too similar to be coincidence, Harry!"

Harry buried his head in his arms, intensely curious to see Draco's bare chest but ashamed to admit that fact to himself. "Draco, put your shirt back on. This is indecent. We're only eleven. We're not supposed to be undressing in front of each other."

Draco gave an unimpressed sniff. "For Merlin's sake, Harry, you're impossible. You have some sort of problem, I swear. It's just skin."

Harry peeked at Draco's pale and smooth chest through his fingers, turned the color of puce, and clenched his eyes shut again. "All right. I admit it. I admit everything. It's the exact same mark. I'm connected to the demon called the War, which is totally real. I should also tell you that the Dark Lord is secretly my father and Dolohov is secretly my mother. Are you happy now? Put your shirt back on!"

Rolling his eyes, Draco dressed himself again. Of course, Harry didn't know that Draco was rolling his eyes, because Harry was most certainly not watching him.

"Now that we've established that," said Draco a moment later, buttoning up his shirt, his hair distractingly messy, "we need to find out how to destroy the Hunger so that it doesn't kill you on Beltane. If you've got a connection to the War, you might be able to exploit it."

Harry straightened up. "Does the book tell us what the War does?"

Draco sighed and paged through it. "No. Half of this book is completely ruined. The only material on the War is the picture of the vortex symbol and the Ancient Runes. The translations say something about the War being able to suck color from the world—you know, the usual dramatics you have in legends like these. But it's not really useful information."

"Does it tell us more about the Hunger, then?" asked Harry, leaning forward.

Draco shook his head and flopped down on his bed. "No. I swear this book is totally useless. Why was I even excited in the first place?"

"At least we have a lead," said Harry, weakly.

"A lead that leads us into a dead end," Draco added.

"You tried," Harry said, patting him on the arm. "What's the book even about, besides the legend of the Seven Royal Demons?"

"It goes into detail on how to make Summoning Circles. The pattern and stuff looks like a really, really, really old version of Ancient Rune circles," said Draco, waving his hand animatedly in the air. "To a summon a demon, you need to do something called a tithe of magic, whatever that's supposed to mean. I only think ancient wizards were able to do it. Kind of sad. A lot of the demons seem really useful. There's a particular demon that multiplies every time you try to kill it. If we could summon something like that, we'd be totally unbeatable. We could send it out to fight duels." Draco's eyes shone at this idea.

"A tithe," Harry repeated, chewing on his lip. "That means a small payment or something? A tax? So a payment of magic?"

Draco curled his lip. "That would mean you have to give up some of your magic to summon a demon. How does that even work? How do you 'give away' magic?"

"The Dark Lord can suck magic," said Harry slowly. "It's how he destroyed the wizarding world so quickly."

"The Dark Lord," Draco began in a heated voice, "didn't destroy anything. He fixed—"

"Oh, save your preaching for another day," Harry snapped. "You've missed my point. I remember that early on in the First War, he stole magic from Muggle-borns and absorbed it into himself. It made him insanely powerful. If he managed to summon the Hunger, which is supposedly a demon, he can do stuff with magic that a normal wizard can't. And he definitely has enough magic to make a tithe, especially if he can keep replenishing his supply by sucking out other people's magic."

Draco, of course, wasn't listening. "The Dark Lord didn't steal magic from anyone. He was just taking back what was rightfully his. There's no way a Muggle could ever be born with magic. Mudbloods aren't natural, Harry! If you think about it, it's obvious that they got the magic from somewhere, stole it from another wizard—"

"Does that help you sleep at night, Draco? No, really, does it? Does it make you feel better to think that all the children your father murdered were thieves?"

"You don't understand. You're a half-blood who's never learned the truth—"

"Then EXPLAIN it to me!" Harry roared, his magic shaking Draco's bed threateningly.

A part of him was begging himself not to continue this conversation, terrified that he would lose Draco if he did. But the braver part of him won out. He couldn't let this go on.

Draco was silent for a few long seconds, and Harry could hear him panting, could see his chest heaving with rage.

"I shouldn't have to," Draco said at last, making Harry's belly squirm with disgust and contempt.

"Why are you even helping me?" he snarled. "You do realize that the Dark Lord wants me dead, that he's scared of me? What're you going to do about that, Draco?"

"First of all," Draco huffed, "since I'm connected to you, I'll probably die if you do, so it's not like I have a choice in keeping you alive. Second of all, the Dark Lord isn't scared of anyone. I'm doing him a favor by helping you. You're so powerful, and you'd be a useful addition—"

The walls rattled as Harry lost it. "You think I'd join you? You and Nott and Bulstrode and the rest? Do you think they're going to hold hands with me, and we're all going to sing happy carols as we murder everybody? Are you insane?"

"No, I-I just—"

Harry didn't let him speak. "Why're you even being nice to me, if you think I'm so dirty-blooded and so unworthy of your naturally magical Pureblood arse? I am not your damn charity case, Draco!"

Harry still didn't know why Draco was being so friendly to him; he understood the reasons for his own fascination with Draco, of course. But what reason did Draco have to be loyal to him, to give him Christmas presents, to heal him every day? Harry had tormented him for weeks at the beginning of last term. Why was he going above and beyond? What reason did he have?

Harry was missing something big, and he didn't like it.

"Harry, I just said the Mudbloods were thieves, n-not you—"

"Oh please, you look stupid when you try to defend yourself. You think all dirty-bloods are scum. And you can't actually believe I'd join the side that thinks I'm an inferior being."

"There's no other side to join!" Draco shouted, his voice breaking.

"Well, I'm already on his kill list, so I don't think he'd be too happy to have me in his inner circle. That possibility's out for me," Harry sneered, making his way towards the door. "And by helping me, you're going against your lord. Just remember that." He paused by the threshold for a second, waiting for Draco to call him back and apologize.

Draco didn't. He buried his face in his pillow instead, hiding from his problems like an ostrich sticking its head into the sand.

At that moment, the illusion shattered, and Harry saw Draco for what he really was: a weak and pathetic little boy. For weeks, he'd constructed Draco as a kind of glorious savior, the sole blazing light in the dim and flickering world that was Harry's miserable existence at Hogwarts. He'd helped Harry in his darkest moments and pulled Harry back from the brink of death. And if that wasn't enough, he'd become his first and only friend. The last thing Harry wanted was to lose Draco's favor, as he knew he would if he pushed Draco too much about his allegiance to the Skulls and the Dark Lord.

But their friendship was built on shaky foundations, and he wouldn't disrespect himself any longer by letting it tremble like this. He didn't know what exactly what he wanted from Draco, but he didn't want this, this pitiful half-heartedness and wishy-washiness.

Harry slammed the door shut on his way out. Then he realized that Draco's shoulders had been quivering with what could've been quiet sobs.

"Harry?"

It was mid-January, two weeks after their little spat, and Harry was refusing to speak to Draco until he apologized for being wrong, which of course he hadn't yet. The two of them lay in cold silence in every night, simmering. Despite Harry's rudeness, Draco still let Harry sleep in his room and dutifully applied pain-relieving potion on his cuts.

But Harry wouldn't let himself turn into an adoring, mindless puppy who licked Draco's shoes for showing him basic human decency, even though sometimes he wanted to, especially on the days where he came back from an hour with the Justice Whips. Even during the height of their argument, Draco would sprinkle Dittany on him and tell him stories to make him feel better while his wounds scabbed over. In those feverish, agonizing moments, Harry wanted to grab Draco's shirt and offer to be his slave for eternity, but he wasn't about to admit that to anybody, ever.

Harry gave his head a little shake. "Are you going to say sorry?" he asked, turning to face Draco with a scowl. They were sitting in the library, working on History on Magic homework and not speaking to each other unless it was necessary.

Draco took a deep breath and closed his eyes, as if praying for patience. "What do you want from me, Harry? Do you expect me to stop serving the Dark Lord, to argue with my father on blood purity? Because if you expect that, you can just give up. Anyway, that's not why I'm trying to talk to you right now. I wanted to tell you that we should visit the Forbidden Forest to investigate the Hunger, unless you plan on dying on Beltane."

"But won't I get caught in its gravity if I go in there?" asked Harry.

Draco shook his head. "As long as you don't go in too deep, you should be fine. Except on Samhain and Beltane, obviously. We went near the Forest earlier in October, and you weren't caught in the gravity then, were you? The only problem we had were the acromantulas, but the creatures in the forest are back to normal. There'll probably be a slim window of time between now and Beltane where everything's peaceful. I bet the Insanitas will wake up again in April or at the end of March, so we have maybe two months to figure out a new plan. I want to find Firenze and ask him some questions."

"What plan?" Harry practically screeched. "We have no idea what we're doing, Draco! We're stumbling around in the dark. We don't know what that thing in the center of the forest is, or how to distract or destroy it. We can't even get near it! The only thing we can do is use our bond to keep me out of commission if the gravity tries to control me, and we'll have to keep using the bond again and again, on every damn Samhain and every damn Beltane—"

"No," said Draco, in a voice so irritatingly calm that Harry wanted to slap him. "We're going to destroy it. So go downstairs to get your coat; I already have mine with me. We're going to visit the Forbidden Forest, and its freezing outside. I'll be waiting for you behind the secret tapestry in the entrance hall."

Muttering under his breath, Harry left to get bundled up. He returned under the Invisibility Cloak, taking great pleasure in scaring Draco out of his skin and making him scream like a banshee.

"An Invisibility Cloak!" Draco gasped, once he'd gotten over the shock of an invisible Harry creeping up behind him and grabbing him by the neck with cold hands. "You've been hiding this from me for months! How could you do that? We could've used it so many times—"

"Not for months. Just two weeks," Harry corrected, raising the cloak to give Draco an opening to slip in. "My Mum gave it to me for Christmas. I meant to tell you the day we got back, but we ended up… you know. Anyway, I figure that if we're going to make multiple trips to the forest, it'd be best if no one saw us going down there. We don't want Dolohov to notice."

"Good idea," said Draco, adjusting the cloak so that it covered both of them fully. Fifteen ungainly minutes later—during which Harry stepped on Draco's feet several times and Draco nearly slipped on the cloak several more times—they arrived at the outskirts of the snow-covered Forbidden Forest. Once they were under the privacy of the thick canopy, they removed the Invisibility Cloak for increased mobility.

"Now what?" Harry asked, craning his head to stare at the tops of the ominously tall trees.

"We wander around until we find Firenze," said Draco.

"That's it? That's your great plan?"

"No, that's not my plan, you stupid bloody prat. We haven't come up with a bloody plan yet. That's why we're here in the first bloody place."

"Do you kiss your mother with that filthy mouth of yours, Draco?"

"As a matter of fact, I do. Would you like a demonstration, Potter?"

"Ugh, you're disgusting!"

Draco looked extremely insulted. "I'll have you know that I'm a fantastic kisser."

Harry widened his eyes, finding it difficult to breathe all of a sudden. "What? Who've you kissed? Do I know them?"

Draco's only response was an innocent whistle.

"You're lying!" Harry spluttered, that slight thickness in his chest solidifying into stone. Who else, besides Harry, was close enough to Draco to get a kiss with him? What did they look like? Were they a boy or a girl? What kind of person would Draco want to kiss? "Tell me who it was! Now!"

Harry badgered him about this for ten minutes straight as they navigated past spiny bushes and fat tree trunks, annoying Draco so much that he finally dropped the façade and smacked Harry on the backside of the head.

"Give it a rest, Harry. I didn't kiss anyone, okay? I was just messing with you. Can you actually try to be useful for once in your sorry life and help me look for Firenze, or should I steal your magic and leave you for the acromantulas?"

"There will be no need for that," said a low and calming voice, making Harry and Draco whirl around, their hearts beating frantically in their chests. "What did assistance do you require from me, human child?"

"Oh, thank Merlin you're here," Draco moaned, looking up at the centaur as if Merlin himself had arrived. "We've been walking around for ages!"

Firenze raised one pale eyebrow. Harry stared at him, open-mouthed. This was his first time seeing a centaur after all, and probably his last. He'd thought that most of them had been killed after the Dark Lord's rise to power (along with all the other sentient creatures who rebelled against his rule), but maybe the ones who lived in the Forbidden Forest had been left intact.

"It is fortunate," Firenze said, "that I was the one to cross paths with you, and not one of my kinsmen. I fear they would've been far less accommodating upon seeing two human children in the forest."

"We just have to ask you a question," Draco said quickly. "Do you—"

But Firenze wasn't paying attention to Draco anymore. He had fixed his huge eyes on Harry, who flinched a bit under his scrutiny.

"The Lord favored by Mars," Firenze whispered. "You were here in the forest on Samhain, were you not? I recognize your presence. The planets seem to realign themselves around you, especially Mars."

"Huh?" said Harry, stupidly.

Draco elbowed Harry in the ribs. "Mars is the planet of war. It was named after the Roman god of war, so when Firenze says you're favored by Mars—"

"It has nothing to do with the demon called War, okay?" Harry hissed back, lowering his voice deliberately so that Firenze couldn't hear him. "And planet-gazing can't tell you anything."

Draco just crossed his arms smugly, then remembered that Firenze was waiting for them to finish their side conversation. "We wanted to ask you if you learned anything else about the Hunger," he got out at last. "Could you just update us on what's been going on?"

Firenze cocked his head. "You will be pleased to learn that nothing has been happening. The Hunger has sunk back into the ground. Curiously enough, most of the acromantulas are dead. The Insanitas has gone dormant as well."

Harry wondered if he was forgetting something important about the Insanitas. Hadn't he been infected it with it? But he must have driven it out of his head, right? How else could he have returned to sanity before Samhain had ended?

"Oh, I was the one who killed the spiders, Firenze," Draco cut in. Harry felt a jolt of admiration run through him, but smothered it. He was meant to be angry at Draco, damn it. "You said something about the Hunger having sunk into the ground? What do you mean by that?"

Firenze shifted his hooves. "It is no longer there, neither it nor its dark web. The Hunger has left its lair, and you should be able to venture deep into the forest in relative safety. We believe it has sunk into the ground to gather energy for the next Purge. It should not resurface or reactivate its gravity field before April."

"So can we go there?" Harry asked. "Can we walk into its lair?"

"Its lair will be empty," Firenze clarified. "But yes. You will be able to go to the very center of the forest."

Harry looked at Draco, and found his own excitement mirrored on the other boy's face. "Thank you, Firenze!" Draco grabbed Harry's arm and tugged him forward, clearly more eager to investigate the Hunger's lair than to say goodbye to Firenze politely.

"Wait!" said Firenze, causing Harry and Draco to halt in their tracks. "I would like to tell the child of Mars something."

Harry turned around, barely resisting the urge to grit his teeth. "Yes?"

"Mars brings war," Firenze said, inclining his head. "The planets have foretold a violent and turbulent life for you."

"I could've figured that much out by myself, thanks," Harry muttered under his breath. Louder, he said, "Thank you, Firenze."

"Also," Firenze continued, "I think it prudent to inform you that you don't have a date of birth. The planets do not recall what position they were in when you came into this world."

"My birthday," Harry said, blood roaring in his ears, Lily's words pounding on his skull like a drumbeat of doom, "is July 31st."

"No," said Firenze, voice placid. "I would see it in the pattern of the planets if it was—"

"You can't see things in planets," Harry spat, stalking away from the centaur, not caring if he was being rude. "Come on, Draco."

"What was he talking about?" Draco asked as they stumbled over unruly undergrowth, nudging Harry's shoulder, but Harry ignored him.

After what felt like days but was probably less than an hour, they arrived at the ridge of a gaping hollow in the center of the forest. Fresh snow reflecting the cool winter sun above filled the treeless clearing. Thick silvery webs covered every inch of the hollow except for its muddy, dark center, which was bare of both snow and webs.

"That's where the Hunger must've been." Draco pointed to the center unnecessarily. "That's where it sunk down."

Harry precariously made his way down to the bottom of the hollow and reaching out to touch one of the giant misty webs, his heart flailing in his chest, almost expecting an acromantula to lunge at him. "What's with all these webs?"

"The spiders must have had a nest here recently," Draco guessed, joining Harry at the bottom and rubbing a few strands of the webs between his fingers until they fell apart. "I guess they were driven out when the Hunger took over, and I suppose I killed too many of them for them to try to make a new colony."

Webs, thought Harry. He remembered that the Hunger had placed a dark, infectious web across the forest ground on Samhain.

"A web," said Draco, his eyes lighting up, on the same train of thought as Harry but clearly further along it. "That's our plan, Harry! A web. Look at all these webs!"

"I see them," said Harry impatiently.

Draco didn't let himself be discouraged by Harry's tone. "We trap the Hunger in a web!" he cried out gleefully, taking Harry's arm and trying to twirl him in celebration.

Harry let himself be yanked around for a few seconds before remembering he was supposed to be mad at Draco and stepping away with a frown. "How? No offense, but I don't think a spider's web is going to keep it down. We don't even know if it has a physical body."

"Not a spider's web," Draco snapped, eyes going hard. "A magical web. There's a million of them out there, and we'll have to pick the most powerful one. I think a web that blocks the magic of anyone caught in it would work. The Hunger's going to come up right in that muddy spot, isn't it? What we need to do is place the web there, and when the Hunger rises, it'll be trapped and unable to do anything. It would be better if we could activate it the web whenever we wanted, so we could lull it into a false sense of security before Beltane."

That familiar all-consuming admiration rose up in Harry, but he tried to stifle it in order to analyze the idea properly. "How does that kill it?"

Draco shrugged. "I don't know what would kill the Hunger. But if we can find a web that can disable its gravity field, we can get close enough to it to try something without getting eaten."

Harry nodded seriously, leaning down to pick up some snow. "We'll have to research webs, and then we'll have to make it the long way—through spells and everything. We shouldn't use my magic this time, since I'll probably be…well, you know how well our plan with the illusion worked last time."

Draco snorted, and at that moment Harry threw the snow he'd been gathering at him. It hit Draco smack dab on the nose, and he doubled over, gasping. Harry doubled over too, laughing and already creating his next snowball. He would make Draco suffer for being a whiny, cowardly, purist prat, even if all he had to suffer was a snowball to the face.

"You dare?" Draco gasped out, face red and glistening with crushed snow.

Harry threw another snowball at him, making it quite obvious that he dared.

Draco let out a war cry and leapt at him, eyes wild. The two of them tumbled down ungracefully and rolled around in the little sunny, snowy clearing, each attempting to smother the other with a face-full of snow. Five minutes later, they collapsed on the ground side by side, panting, their energy spent.

Harry couldn't feel his face or his fingers, but he knew he was grinning.

Draco brushed his arm against Harry's, and Harry surprised himself by not moving away. "I'm sorry," Draco murmured, causing Harry to twitch beside him.

"For what? For shoving snow up my nose? You should be."

"No, I'll never be sorry for that," said Draco, smirking. But a moment later, the smirk slid off his face, and he bit his lip. "I'm sorry for trying to, uh, preach to you about the Dark Lord that day. I know you hate him, that you won't ever join him. I shouldn't have tried to… to explain our point of view. I won't do it again."

"But you won't change your mind?" Harry asked with a sigh.

"How can I?" said Draco, sitting upright to glare down at Harry. "I don't think you understand the position I'm in. You'll never understand."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You're so misunderstood. Nobody else will ever be able to handle all the problems you face."

Draco sniffed, ignoring Harry's sarcasm. He settled back down onto the ground. "Glad you got the point."

Harry waited for a second. "Do you think I'm inferior, Draco?"

"I think you're way stupider than I am," Draco began with a sneer, and Harry bristled and scooped up some more snow, preparing for murder. "But I don't think you're an inferior… person."

He turned to face Harry with wide and clear eyes. They were lying so close now that their noses were almost touching, and Harry could see a few snowflakes caught on Draco's eyelashes. He was struck with the ridiculous urge to run his fingers through Draco's damp hair.

"Okay," said Harry, his voice coming out so faint that he could barely hear it. "Okay, Draco."

Draco smiled at him, and Harry felt his resistance melt away like snow on a sunny day.