They landed in Minerva McGonagall's office. She half-rose from her desk, then sank back down again as her eyes flicked from Harry to Sirius to Remus and back again. Harry never thought he'd see his professor's face drain of all colour so quickly.

"He's back," Sirius said.

She didn't ask who he meant. "Are you sure?" was all she said though she didn't wait for an answer. Perhaps the grim look on Sirius' face was answer enough. Instead, she said, "Mr. Potter, you should go to the Infirmary. You're bleeding."

"I'm fine," Harry said, though it was hard to imagine being less fine. Professor Moody had kidnapped him, and his parents' old friend had been there, and that voice… Harry clenched his jaw to keep from crying. He was a fourth-year student at Hogwarts. He was a wizard. He didn't cry like some baby.

"Did you see him?" McGonagall asked.

"Heard," Remus said. "It's not the sort of voice one doesn't recognize. Even after years."

"Tell me what happened," McGonagall said, and somehow Harry was sitting in a chair, and a cup of tea was pressed into his hand, and he was telling her everything. Her mouth tightened when he said Moody's name, and when he mentioned Peter, he could see her hand shake, if only for a moment.

"Peter," she said. "Sirius, Remus, I'm so –"

"We are too," Remus said sharply. "But I'm more concerned about Harry's safety than – "

"Yes," Sirius said. He and Remus exchanged looks. "We'll deal with Peter later."

"You can't –"

"Things happen in a war," Sirius said. He sounded implacable. "And he threatened James' son."

She nodded. "Potter," she said again, pointing toward the door. "The Infirmary. Now."

"One of them said the blood of the enemy, forcibly taken," Harry said stubbornly. He wasn't leaving. Not until he knew more. "What did he mean."

Professor McGonagall shared a glance with Sirius he couldn't interpret, then plucked her wand up and waved it in a short pattern. "Indexius," she said. "Blood of the enemy." Half a dozen small bits of paper flew up and whisked themselves out the door.

"Fancy," Sirius said.

"Also slow," she said. "If you're expecting a fast answer, Mr. Potter, you are going to be disappointed."

"Voldemort is back," Sirius said baldly. "And while the details may take a while to unravel, nothing good is going to come of that. And now, Harry, please do as she says and get that cut looked at."

"But – "

"We will discuss ways to ensure you are safe at school while you are getting a plaster put on," Sirius said.

Harry looked nervously at Remus, who nodded. "We wouldn't let you go if we didn't think you would be safe inside the grounds," he said.

"But Moody," Harry managed to get out. "He took me – "

"I doubt he will be coming back," Sirius said. He glanced at McGonagall and added, "I assume his employment will be terminated."

"Indeed."

All three adults looked pointedly at Harry until he stood up and furiously stomped toward the door. The last thing he heard before he shut it all the way was, "I thought we had another year."

. . . . . . . . . .

Severus Snape tried to push his way past Sirius in the corridor. "Snivellus," Sirius said with mocking courtesy, stepping in his path. "On your way to a shampoo sale, perhaps?"

"Move, Black," Snape said. "I have to speak with Dumbledore."

"I can't imagine what he'd want to say to an ex Death Eater like yourself," Sirius said. His eyes fell to Snape's sleeve. "Miss the end of the Third Task to go to the cemetery? Hobnobbing with old friends?"

"Out. Of. My. Way." Snape took off, cape billowing behind him.

"I hate that man," Sirius muttered. "Death Eater scum."

"You know Lucius was there," Remus said mildly. He raised his brows. "You don't really believe he was imperioused the last time, do you?"

"I believe he'll do whatever it takes to keep Draco safe," Sirius said. His eyes were focused on the corridor Snape had disappeared down. "I don't know what Snivellus is loyal to."

. . . . . . . . . .

"Back?" Draco looked at Harry in horror. Ron and Neville glanced nervously at the door of their room, and Ron got up to check the lock, but all Draco could do was sit on his bed. Voldemort was the nightmare. He was what the zealots wanted back, and his parents didn't.

He hated Muggle-borns.

Hermione.

"Back," Harry said. His fists were clenching and unclenching, and he'd already told them the story twice. It was just that it was hard to believe.

Or, rather, it was the sort of thing you didn't want to believe.

"Obviously, we fight," Ron said.

"Fight who?" Neville asked.

"Death Eaters," Draco said. He thrust his chin forward. He was a Gryffindor. That meant he was brave, and even if every part of him wanted to run away right now, he wasn't going to. Harry was his brother, and you couldn't abandon your very own brother just because you were scared. Only the worst sort of coward would do that. Not a Gryffindor.

"Wouldn't 'Death Eaters' be your parents?" Neville asked.

"No," Harry snapped, then, "I mean – "

"There are spies," Ron said slowly. "I mean, there were, in the last war. Sometimes my parents tell stories."

"Exactly," Harry said. "My mum isn't a… a…"

"But she's not really your mum," Neville pointed out.

"She's as good as," Harry said. "And she's not a Death Eater."

"And neither is my father," Draco said. His father taught them to fly, and slipped them new brooms, and adored his mum. He wasn't perfect, but he wasn't a monster. Not like the men Harry had described, looming over him and cutting his arm. Moody, he would believe. Theo's father, yes. Crabbe's father for sure, but not Lucius Malfoy. Even Snape seemed more likely than his father. His father was… was…fashionable. Not dangerous. "He likes Hermione," he added as if it were the final argument, and perhaps it was because both Neville and Ron slowly nodded.

"It's true," Ron said. "If they were really Death Eaters, they wouldn't – "

"Exactly," Draco said. He cast a glance at the door. It was all too easy to imagine someone with their ear pressed up against the other side. "But we probably shouldn't say anything." Ron dutifully changed the subject, talking loudly about the Task, which had been predictably boring because all they did was stare at a maze, and you couldn't see anything. Diggory had won, though, which meant Hogwarts took the prize, and that was all right. The French girl had looked disappointed, but Viktor had been too busy trying to talk to Pansy Parkinson to seem to care.

"He could have any girl in the world," Ron concluded glumly. "And he picked her." He seemed to take Viktor's lousy taste as a personal affront. How dare his sporting hero like a Slytherin. "She's not even pretty."

"She's pretty enough," Neville said.

"Sure, for you," Ron said. "You're not some kind of international superstar."

. . . . . . . . . .

It had been years since Harry had shared a bed with Draco. When they'd been little, they'd fallen asleep like puppies because, despite both of their houses having more than enough beds for a dozen small boys, they'd liked to hide under the covers with smuggled sweets and Muggle comics. You couldn't do that if you weren't in the same bed. Now it would be weird, but as he lay in his own bed, staring up at nothing and listening to Neville breathe and Ron snore, Harry wasn't sure he cared.

"He wet himself," he said. "I didn't tell anyone that, but when he told Peter to introduce himself to me, he wet himself. I could smell it."

"That's what he gets," Draco said. "Betraying his friends like that."

Harry sat up and looked at his brother.

Draco shrugged his shoulders awkwardly where he lay. The movement made the blankets shift up and down, and then he said, "I'm not sharing a pillow."

Harry slid across the cold, dark room without needing to be asked twice. He dumped his own pillow – red and embroidered all along the edges with Snitches and lions – on the bed and lay down next to the one person he could say this to. "I was really scared."

"I would have been too," Draco said.

. . . . . . . . . .

"How was it?" Narcissa kept her back to Lucius and made a show of straightening some of her perfume bottles. This one was taller, so it should go to the back. That one rounder. It gave her something to do with her hands and let him answer without her staring at him.

"Terrible," he said. In the mirror, she could see him sit down on their bed and run a hand through his hair. "There were only six of us, plus Pettigrew and Crouch."

That startled Narcissa. "Peter Pettigrew," she asked carefully. One of Sirius' friends. Dead for over a decade, though apparently not. Not unless Voldemort had decided to bring a companion back from the other side of the veil.

"Disgusting man," Lucius said, which was more than enough confirmation. "Sirius arrived, his pet werewolf in tow."

"Oh?" Narcissa moved the bottle shaped like a dove to the front of her collection, then changed her mind and tried positioning it somewhere in the middle.

"Well, you mentioned the Dark Lord would develop an unhealthy obsession with Harry," Lucius said. "And it seems you were right. He'd had Crouch in position all year to kidnap the boy from Hogwarts – "

"There was a Death Eater in Hogwarts?" Narcissa's hand stilled.

"I think you can be sure he no longer works there," Lucius said, "But yes. The Defense teacher was disguised as that old Moody, lying in wait to smuggle Harry out. Which he did, and Nott cut the boy's arm open and collected some blood, and then Sirius was there, waving his wand around and threatening everyone."

"Was anyone hurt?" Narcissa still hadn't moved. Sirius.

Lucius snorted. "No one would would care about. The man's reputation as unpredictable to the point of insanity hasn't faded."

"The Blacks are unpredictable," Narcissa said, turning at last.

"Yes." Lucius met her eyes. He seemed to have aged a dozen years in the night. "It's one of the things I love best about you."

She summoned a piece of parchment and began to write on it. It was time, she thought, to be unpredictable. I would love to be on the Children's Christmas Ball Committee, she wrote, Thank you for asking me. My time is at your disposal.

. . . . . . . . . .

Draco kept waiting for someone – anyone – to say anything about Voldemort's return. No one did. Hogwarts was awarded the prize, and Dumbledore said mostly predictable things about international relations and our friends, and there was cheering. Professor McGonagall smoothly stepped into covering the Defense classes for the rest of the term, and the excuse given was that Professor Moody had suffered some kind of accident and been found locked in a trunk. He was recuperating at St. Mungo's. A new teacher would be found for the following year.

"I don't see why he'd need that much recuperating," was Pansy Parkinson's opinion on the whole matter. "He was missing for less than a day."

"I'm sure being locked in a trunk was traumatic," Hermione said, but while Draco had wasted no time telling Hermione what had happened to Harry, no one had let Pansy in on the secret, and all she did was sniff.

"He just didn't like teaching and wanted an excuse to quit. He was always a little creepy with that eye, anyway. Looking through people. Maybe next year we'll get a woman."

"That would be nice," Hermione said.

The train ride home ended with Draco flinging himself into his parents' arms on Platform 9 ¾ as if he were a first-year. He wanted to smell his mother's perfume and the oil his father used on his cane and reassure himself that they were fine, that no one had thrown them into a trunk.

That they weren't wearing silver masks.

Sirius and Remus stood next to his parents, and Harry's welcome was just as fervent. "Nothing keeps you down," Sirius murmured after he let Harry go. Too many nightmares of Harry in that cemetery had haunted him. It had been harder than he liked to admit to walk away from Hogwarts and trust that McGonagall could keep the boys safe.

"I'll write every day," Hermione promised. "And Sirius set up a floo up at my parents so I can visit the townhouse any time."

"A Muggle house connected to the floo network?" Lucius raised his brows and put on a vague sneer. "Is that even legal, Black?"

"No," Sirius said blandly. He smiled at Lucius, and the two men regarded one another for a long moment.

"Well, Draco will be over at the townhouse quite a bit," Narcissa said, interrupting their stare. "I volunteered for some charity work, and, as much as I love you all, I'll need the children to be elsewhere this summer."

Draco hoisted his bag to his shoulder and put his hands on the handle of his cart. Trunks needed to go home, even when all he wanted to do was stay at Harry's side. Before he could push the cart away, Blaise Zabini dragged his up. "My mum said she couldn't make it," he said. The words were half-defiant, half-afraid. "She said since I was already going to be at your place – "

"Of course," Sirius said. "Not a problem at all."

Harry threw Draco a wide-eyed, startled look, and Draco stared back in horror. This couldn't be happening. Zabini with them? At the townhouse? Where his mum was sending him? Where Hermione would be? "No," Harry said, echoing Draco's thoughts. "Fuck no. Zabini is not coming home with us."

"Language," Narcissa said. She was far less tolerant than Sirius and Remus when it came to that.

"Sorry," Harry muttered, but then he pointed a finger at Zabini and said again, "No."

"Yes," Sirius said. He smiled at Narcissa. "I'll drop you a line later, cuz."

"You do that," she said. Draco kept glancing back at Harry as they walked away. He mimed throttling first himself, then Zabini, but, despite the attempt at humour, he looked lost and alone.

This was going to be a long summer.

. . . . . . . . . .

A/N - Thank you to everyone for your enthusiasm and support as I pick this back up after 3 years.