Thank you, FoodForThought, for your many great ideas! I don't know if any of it will happen, but it might! :)

The mansion where the Dark Lord resided was truly magnificent, something Draco would have readily admitted if only he had noticed it. As it was, his entire focus was divided between the girl walking by his side with her heavy shoulder bag bumping against her hip as she made her way through the halls and corridors unhindered and without hesitation and the person waiting for them at their destination. He was nervous, more so then he'd thought he would be as he'd thought he would know how to relate to Elijah now that they had established their continued friendship through Elijah's single-worded request and Draco's just as short confirmative. Still, there was so much he wanted to ask, so much he had to know, yet he had no idea of what to say when face to face with the vampire.

The bushy-haired girl leading the way seemed oblivious to his problems, a smile on her lips and her brown eyes alight with excitement, most likely at the prospect of coming in contact with all the books she had told him about when they'd made their way through the secret tunnel that had allowed them to leave the castle undetected. Draco had, of course, warned his friends that he would be away for a while so that they would not start looking for him and raise the alarm when unable to find him, but he had not told them what they were going to do, neither had they asked.

"Here we are!" Hermione happily stated by his side, rapped her knuckles against the wooden door they had stopped by to then open it without waiting for an answer. Draco stared at her, horrified that she could open a door so rudely without awaiting an answer, and he found himself questioning just how comfortable and at home the muggleborn by his side felt here in the Dark Lord's mansion. What if their Lord was behind that door and did not wish to be disturbed? The thought alone was enough to make cold dread spread through him, leaving a trail of ice along his spine as he slowly turned his attention from the bushy-hired girl to look through the door into the room.

It was an office, its walls covered with bookcases filled with old, rare books, heavy tombs in leather binding and brittle scrolls of parchment filling the shelves. A grand desk stood in front of the windows and Draco could all too easily picture the Lord witting behind the desk, his bloodied gaze raising to stare at them, shortly followed by the cruciatus from the yew wand. Luckily, the seat behind the desk was vacated and the room lacked the presence of the Dark Lord.

A crackling fire warmed the room and battled the cold weather of November that reigned over the outside world, coating the ground with layers of frost and turning their breath into fog in the mornings. Before the fireplace stood a couple of armchairs, one of them inhabited by a familiar blond clad in black robes, his blue eyes turning to them and practically shining in delight when finding Draco standing there in the doorway. An answering smile spread over the pureblooded teen's lips and he took a step forward to greet his friend when a light hiss drew his gaze to Elijah's lap where the great snake that was their Lord's familiar rested contently, the young vampire's hands stroking her scaled coils lazily.

He froze in the doorway, one foot in the room and the other in the corridor, his hand on the doorframe and his grey eyes widening as his smile melted away, his face loosing all colour. Slytherin or not, the Dark Lord's familiar had always scared him, perhaps even more so then the Lord himself since you could judge his mood and mentally prepare yourself for the worst whenever he was about to fire off a cruciatus. The snake, however, one did not judge, making it impossible to foresee if she was going to eat you, squeeze you to death or just flicker that forked tongue at you. Not knowing made him tense, and he watched frightfully as the snake's head rose to flicker it's tongue against Elijah's jaw, poising those venomous teeth much to close to his friend's throat for his liking.

"Don't worry, Draco," Elijah said softly, a reassuring smile on his lips. "She isn't about to eat you or anything, she just thinks you smell good."

"How would you know?" Draco questioned tensely. "It's not like you're a parselmouth."

A heavy silence settled over the room and blue eyes strayed from his silver gaze to move a bit to the side, making Draco turn to see Hermione return the gaze, silent communication passing between them. The brown, earthly gaze seemed to be scolding, encouraging and reassuring all at the same time, and Draco frowned at the realization that the two of them shared a secret that he had not been made privy of.

"Are you a parselmouth?" he asked, his tone demanding an answer.

Elijah took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a moment before opening them and looking Draco in the eye. Tipping his head forward and raising it again without loosing eye contact, Elijah nodded.

"How can that be? I thought Potter and our Lord were the only living parselmouths left," Draco demanded to know, his gaze moving from the nervous Elijah to the unnaturally still Hermione and back again.

"Elijah?" he prompted, causing the other blonde to swallow before taking a few, deep breaths as if to collect himself.

"That is true," he agreed quietly, blue eyes meeting with silver, calm on the surface but underneath swirling with uncertainty and a silent plead for understanding. How he was supposed to understand when he didn't even know what Elijah wished for him to understand was a mystery to Draco.

The his pale brows furrowed in thought as he realized the implications of the statement, clarifying that the only living parselmouths were the Dark Lord and Harry Potter while Elijah was a parselmouth as well. Or perhaps not as well but rather… Of course it would be possible with the polyjuice potion or a potent glamour, but it was still not possible because Draco had seen Elijah and the Dark Lord at the same time and Elijah would, therefore, have to be the disguised Harry Potter, but for the Gryffindor golden boy and faithful Dumbledore loyalist to have disguised himself in order to join the ranks of the Dark Lord…

"It's not possible," he breathed, his eyes wide and face pale. "You… you… you can't be…"

Elijah rose hastily from the armchair, causing Nagini to drop to the floor with an indignant hiss, yet the vampire ignored her as he stalked over to Draco hurriedly, almost as if afraid that the Malfoy heir would flee. He didn't stop until they stood but an arm length from each other, the calm completely gone from his blues, overtaken by a desperate hope.

"I'm sorry, so sorry," he mumbled and there was no doubting his sincerity as his voice was laced with guilt. "I've wanted to tell you, I really did, but I was so afraid of how you would react. I thought that maybe you might reject me, just like…" He cut himself off and shook his head, a few hard twitches back and forth before he locked eyes with Draco again, took a deep breath and continued his rambling. There was nothing Draco could do but listen apprehensively, dreading the confirmation of his thoughts that he expected was about to tumble disorderly from his friend's lips.

"I know I shouldn't have lied, but at that time it was necessary, and when it was no longer essential, well, then I was already afraid of loosing you. You really are a dear friend to me, Draco, and I wish to stay your friend," he said rather forcefully, seemingly gathering his courage.

"I really don't know how to say this but…" Elijah mumbled, the glanced and Hermione and gave a slight nod, making Draco wonder whatever the bushy-haired girl had communicated to him.

Straightening, Elijah took a deep breath and took his wand in a steady grip, reached up and tapped it atop his head. Black colour seemed to bleed from the tip of the wand, spreading over the blonde hair like a blotch of ink, the hair seemingly retracting and shortening to a messy nest of inky black. His face changed, small changes to the jaw and nose and the form of his eyes, eyes that changed from a dull, anxious blue to vibrant greens that portrayed just as much worry. His form transformed, thinning slightly and shrinking a little bit as a famous scar with the design of a lightning bolt appeared on his forehead.

Of course, Draco's mind supplied treacherously. It all adds up. And it did. The fact that Elijah had known his way around Hogwarts from the very beginning wasn't because he had been briefed on the castle's layout by the Dark Lord, but because he had already walked those halls for four years as a student under another name. His knowledge corresponding so well with what they had studied during previous years had the same explanation, just like his familiarity with the teachers and students at the school. The rather un-Slytherin characteristics that sometimes surfaced had been caused by living as a Gryffindor, and that was also the reason to why he had such a Gryffindor view of Purebloods and muggleborns.

Elijah hadn't bonded with Hermione and become friends with her during their shared classes of Ancient Runes – he had been her friend all along. He had, however, become friends with him, Draco Malfoy, his rival and enemy for all of four years. He had been sorted into Slytherin instead of Gryffindor, he had been turned into a vampire and he had joined the Dark Lord who no doubt knew of all this.

Harry Potter slowly lowered his wand, his green eyes flickering between Draco's silver ones as he swallowed nervously under the wide-eyed stare. However hard Draco stared, however hard he tried, he could not fit the Harry Potter he knew into the Elijah Spring he had come to know. It was, as he had already voiced, simply not possible.

"Draco?"

"You are incompatible," Draco stated. "For Harry Potter to become Elijah Spring, a Slytherin, a vampire and a follower of the Dark Lord…"

The Malfoy heir shook his head of pale hair, bodily expressing the impossibility of such a thing ever happening. While it would explain many of the things that had made Elijah into a mystery, it was simply too unlikely to be true.

The vampire grimaced but nodded, seemingly understanding the point that Draco was making. He sighed and reached up, scratching his neck in an awkward gesture that was so typical for Harry Potter that there simply could be no doubt as to who he was.

"Well, a lot happened," he mumbled, green eyes becoming a bit unfocussed as he thought back to the past before he turned his full attention onto Draco again, the look in the Malfoy heir's demanding answers and explanations.

"Okay, so… it all began during the summer," Harry told him, walked over the armchairs by the fire and gestured for Draco to follow so that they could both make themselves comfortable. Hermione drifted over to the bookcases, fingers trailing over the spines of the old books as she listened with half an ear, already having heard the story once.

"I was out with my cousin during the evening when a vampire attacked us…" Harry began, his green eyes gazing into the dancing flames of the fire as he narrated his story, telling Draco about the vampire attack, the death of his cousin and his uncle bringing him to the brink of death before the wild magic of the newly turned vampire saw it fit to kill the muggle. He told of escaping after having woken up, hiding in the park and being found by Death Eaters. Meeting their Lord again when it had only been months since Harry had witnessed Voldemort's resurrection only to pass out and wake up at the Mansion. He didn't leave any details out whatsoever, didn't hide any facts and told no half-truths as he described his time at the Mansion and the subsequent time at Hogwarts. Harry described how it had been, trying to hide who he was and how Hermione had slowly but surely revealed one truth after another, the reoccurring fights with Weasley, his former best friend, and how he'd battled the nightmares and blood thirst, and how Draco had rescued him from both. Draco listened intently to Harry's recollection of the fight with his sire, the few but horrifying days in the madness and darkness that was Azkaban, to then be saved and brought back to the Mansion.

When Harry was finished and silence settled over the room, Draco could only stare at him. The blonde wanted to be angry, to rage and curse and hex, but he couldn't. Something slight and restless flickered weakly in him before dying and he strongly suspected that that was the anger he wanted to feel, but he understood Harry far too well to be able to be angry with him. Keeping his identity had, at least in the beginning, been an unquestionable necessity, and after Hermione had found out and he could have told Draco, his fear of loosing a friend stopped him. He, Draco, would probably have done the same, or at least acted in a similar way, and even thought such a realization wasn't enough to buffer his anger, it was more then enough when combined with the sincerity in Harry's eyes and the fact that the first flood of anger had dissipated when Draco had quietly listened.

Groaning wearily, he leaned back in the armchair, letting his head fall back against the high back of the furniture and pushed a hand through his blonde hair, for a rare moment not caring if he caused disorder among his pale strands.

"I want to be angry at you for not telling me," he sighed, his tone resigned.

"You… want to be angry at me?" Harry asked quietly, his voice full of wonder and hope, the same emotions reflecting in the brightness of his eyes.

"Yeah," he answered with a slight nod. "Though the effort to summon up the anger would be too great to be worth it," he added.

An enormous smile blossomed on Harry's lips, his eyes impossibly bright and his face full of relief and joy. Draco observed with surprise that his simple words had been the cause to all those strong emotions, and he couldn't stop a smile from spreading over his own features as he realized how much their friendship must mean to Harry.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Hermione sitting behind the grand desk, a heavy tomb opened in front of her and a quill poised over parchment, ready to take notes. The sun coming from the window behind her cast her features in shadow, but he could swear that she wore that all-knowing, rather superior smile, as if she thought they were silly and had known all along that this was how it would end.

Realizing that his behaviour must be completely unbefitting of a Malfoy, DM cleared his throat and sat up straight, trying to regain some of his superior aura.

"I must admit that it is beyond me how someone so clearly Gryffindor could be sorted into Slytherin," he confessed, and Harry smiled brightly at him, a smile that promised uncountable stories of still unknown content.

XXX

The first of December had come and went, bringing with it a light powder of snow that left smudges of white on the ground, the sun threatening to melt it if only the globe of light and warmth would peek out from behind the seemingly endless cover of clouds that hid the sky from view. A low grumbling made Hermione look up to see her two friends sitting in the armchairs by the fire, an ongoing game of chess between them as Draco tied to teach Harry how to play without loosing horribly – with questionable results, if Harry's disgruntled grumbling was anything to go by. A smile curved her lips and she shook her head amusedly as she bent down over the heavy tomb that rested on the desk before her, brown eyes moving rapidly over the parchment that was brittle and yellowed with age, the ink having paled from its original stark black to a fading grey. The old volume was bound in dark leather with its title spelled out in golden letter on the front cover, a vague title that only distantly hinted to the true content of the book.

Dark Arts.

Hermione sucked in a harsh breath and blew it out through her nose, her heart jumping a beat at the forbidden words even thought they hadn't even been uttered out loud. She'd kept her reading material secret from the others, hiding the titles of the books by pressing them to her chest, putting parchment over them and making sure they lay flat against the desktop as she read. Why it was so important to keep it a secret, she didn't know. She held no doubt that the two boys playing chess before her would accept her newly found interest without too much trouble, especially when thinking if who they both were or, in Harry's case, had become. Still, she wanted it to be a secret, perhaps because she wasn't quite ready to truly acknowledge the fact that she seemed to be drifting from the light, perhaps simply because it was her secret and she wanted to keep it to herself.

Whichever it was, she readily indulged her impulse to keep the secret, finding it oddly fitting that she was secretly studying the Dark Arts – her heart jumped a beat again and her breathing quickened a bit – while seated by Voldemort's desk, her weight comfortably upheld by the Dark Lord's very own chair in which he had most likely been sitting himself. The thought chased a thrill of excitement down her spine and a smile tugged at the corners of her lips, her brown eyes shining.

Harry let out a whoop of joy, apparently having taken one of Draco's pawns, making the blond point out that it was his first lost piece while half of Harry's black pieces lay scattered. Hermione didn't even look up, busy with her own thoughts.

Two weeks had passed since Harry and Draco had made up, and Hermione had taken the chance to study the rare books that Voldemort's library held to learn about Dark Arts during their subsequent meetings. She had ploughed through several books on the subject, searching for the answer to her single question but unable to find a good one spelled out onto parchment. The question twirled and circled and danced around in her head, poking the inside of her skull whenever she was about to forget it, nearly driving her mad with its refusal to go away.

Why do so many seem to regard the Dark Arts as a threat?

She had to admit to herself that she, as well, had thought Dark Arts to be something bad, something evil, the mere name giving the particular branch of magic a negative ring. The more she read, however, the more certain she became that she was entirely wrong as Dark Arts did not at all seem to be a brand of magic separated from so called "light" magic. According to the books, magic was just magic, whatever you called it, and there was no dark or light, good or bad about it. The brand of "Dark Magic" seemed to have been created by the Ministry when they found certain strong spells to be too dangerous as they were harder to ward against then most spells and curses, but there was nothing indicating that there would be something particularly wrong with the magic of the spell itself. All that mattered was what you did with it, Hermione concluded, as she had found quite a few spells mentioned in the books that could, admittedly, be used for accomplish great evil, but also to do great good. To ban such magic simply because it was effective seemed unbelievable naïve, and even that reasoning seemed to have been lost with time as people these days superstitiously believed Dark Magic to be evil. It was clearly a case of lacking information and education on the matter, the effect further amplified when all Dark Magic was estranged and shrouded in dark shadows of mystery. Prejudice seemed to be the cause of this matter as for so much else that was wrong in their society, Hermione realized. Prejudice against all that could be seen as "Dark", which oftentimes spread to prejudice against magical creatures. It was sad, really, and clearly needed to be changed. The question was how that change was to be achieved.

Brown eyes rose from parchment to gaze at her two friends, thoughts racing through her mind as she unconsciously worried her bottom lip. The most appealing way of bringing about change was to study law and start working through channels of legislation and make legislative proposals to change the system from the inside by fully approved means. While it appealed to her Gryffindor honesty, she realized how impractical it would be as she surely would meat great resistance from within the Ministry, perhaps most surely from the Wizengamot itself, and changing anything would consequently be almost impossible. Not to mention her status as a muggleborn, something she preferred not to think about, enabling her to bullheadedly disregard all disadvantaged that her heritage gave her. Under these circumstances, however, it would most surely deprive her of the status and influence she would have needed to be able to achieve change. Her Gryffindor within wanted to throw itself at the challenge, but her intellect told her that there must, surely, be some other way that was more efficient and far easier.

Of course, she could try to gather others willing to support her cause, but she doubted that many would have any interest in engaging themselves in some small movement when all of wizarding Britain was engaged in war, holding its breath and awaiting the next move to see what either Voldemort, Dumbledore or the Ministry would do. It was more likely that they would see to the Ministry with hope and dependence, expecting their authorities to provide protection, then start criticizing them for some problem that they had all lived with and seen past for decades. To attempt such a thing seemed like a complete waste of time altogether, meaning she would have to join with some established force that was already a natural part of people's life. Sadly, none of the three great powers, namely Dumbledore and the Order, the Ministry and Voldemort, would ever work alongside her for quite obvious reasons: Dumbledore because he was undoubtedly one of the light wizards who were prejudiced against the "Dark Magic" that the whole question of prejudice revolved around; the Ministry because of the same reasons applying to trying to change it through legal ways as it would largely be the same situation in the end; and Voldemort…

Hermione sighed. However unwilling she was to admit it, the Dark Lord actually seemed to be her best option out of the three if she wanted to change anything since he was already working for change, thought obviously not of the same kind that she wished for. Still, a cooperation with him and his forces would be impossible since she would never be accepted due to her status as a muggleborn and she would never condone of the violence and torture they used in their extreme discrimination. Yet the Dark Lord that Harry called Tom seemed different from what she'd learnt throughout her time in the magical world; he seemed to be able to change, to listen and to grow more tolerant – her own presence at the Dark Lord's Mansion was obviously proof of that. Perhaps, it she just got to talk to him…

She shook her head sharply at the inane idea, resisting the urge to snort since it would draw attention to herself and her inner thoughts.

The fact that the man was able to tolerate her presence in the Mansion was no doubt dependent on Harry's wish for her to be here, and tolerance was in no way an equivalent to acceptance, proven by that fact that Voldemort shone with his constant absence during the time when the three friends met. The only time she had actually seen the man had been when they'd met for the first time, and that was only shortly as the Dark Lord obviously tried to minimize the time in their vicinity.

No, that's not going to work, she thought as she sighed again, casting a quick tempus and closing the book to put it away when she realized that it was due time to return to Hogwarts so that they would not attract attention by missing dinner.

XXX

The flutter of wings drowned out all other sound as the owls entered through the high windows during breakfast the next morning, the students seated along their respective tables craning their necks to look up, searching with their gazes for familiar owls and post that could be for them. Many of the owls had an official look to them and a pouch at the leg for money as they carried the day's issue of the Prophet, the majority of the breakfast-eaters receiving and paying for a copy, the rest looking to their friends to read over a shoulder.

Hermione, of course, was among those paying an owl for the paper, knowing the value of being updated on what happened in society even if the Prophet had been little more then a forum for slandering Harry lately. Brown eyes scanned the first page disinterestedly while she nibbled on a toast, but her gaze soon sharpened into focus, seeing the large picture of Fudge standing in the Atrium at the Ministry, holding his hands held up and waving them in a placating gesture, his bowler hat slightly to the side, a harried expression on his features. Along with the headline written in big, bold lettering, the picture covered the whole first page.

FUDGE PERMITS TORTURE AT HOGWARTS

The toast fell from slack fingers but Hermione didn't notice as she threw herself over the paper, flipping the page so fast she nearly tore it, her gaze flying over the text as she read the article. The contents started where Umbridge had been brought in by Aurors, continuing with the discovery that the Ministry-appointed professor had used an illegal Blood Quill that was commonly seen as an instrument for torture, and that the Aurors, with a bit of questioning, had found out that it had all been approved by Fudge himself. A vote of no confidence had come from the Wizengamot without delay, and Fudge was only to remain in office to handle the most basic functions of his position to keep the Ministry going until a successor had been appointed. Elections were to be held after Christmas, on the first of January, giving the candidates about three weeks to make themselves noticed by the wizarding population of Britain.

Having picked up on the essential information, she flipped through the rest of the issue, realizing that almost all of it had been dedicated to the new political development, except for a few small articles crammed onto the last page. There was a short article telling how Umbridge had grown paranoid because the students didn't like her and lashed out at two students, taking them to the Forbidden Forest and even holding one of the under the cruciatus, the story posing as background to how Umbridge had come to be arrested. The students had been left anonymous, but Hermione was sure that every student within the halls of Hogwarts knew who they were. What disappointed her was that there was no mention of them having been saved by centaurs, the article fleeting when it came to their so called "escape", no doubt caused by the prejudice against magical creatures. There were also interviews with parents expressing their worries about their children's security while at Hogwarts, an article accounting for the recent history they'd had with Defence teachers and how they'd all turned out to last for only a year, some expert discussing how the hiring of teachers should be regulated and so on.

Looking up and across the Great Hall, past all the students discussing the contents of the Prophet, she found silver eyes turning from Teo to look at her. A smile spread over pale features, a smile of victory and accomplishment, and Hermione realized that if they had not lured Umbridge into the Forbidden Forest that night, none of this would even have happened. They had made this happen.

A smile bloomed on her features in response as she felt that perhaps this would enable change within the Ministry.

What the teens did not notice was the blue, twinkling gaze watching over them, the wrinkles stretching over the wizened face of the Headmaster deepening further in a disapproving frown. Up until this year, both Granger and Malfoy had been perfect symbols for the good and the evil of the world, giving Harry the right perspective of the world as he had befriended the muggleborn and distanced himself from the culture of Purebloods by being hostile towards Malfoy. If those two antagonists suddenly proved to be compatible and grew to be close, then Harry's view of the world would be upended when he returned, something that could have unknown consequences.

That would not be acceptable.

This chapter is, according to Word, exactly 5000 words long! Isn't that just awesome? :D

Writing has been slow for me lately because I'm working on my last exams in school before I graduate, but once school is over, I'll hopefully have more time to write :) I have everything planned all the way to the end (except for the epiolouge) so it's just to sit down and actually write it - which has proven to be hard enough :/

I just hope you'll all have patience with me! :)