Sixth Year

Her summer had been pretty lonely; the highlights had been the letters June had sent her while she and her parents went backpacking across Europe.

Now the new school year had begun; there was a new Potions teacher and Snape finally got his promotion to his long sought after DADA teacher position. Amara found her classes dragging, constantly feeling weighted down. Quidditch was her breath of fresh air; Draco had quit the Slytherin team so she never had to worry about sending Bludgers in his direction during the game. Rodger Davies had led the team to hard earned victories, and his hard work paid off as the Quidditch Cup finally seemed within reach.

A dark presence seemed to follow every student around the school. There were hushed whispers in every hallway, secretive glances stolen. Not even the Weasley twins' new joke shop products were enough to lighten the mood, though Peeves did enjoy his new toys.

A few months into the year, June broke up with her boyfriend of almost a year. It was a messy situation, resulting in June crying all over Amara's clothes one night in the kitchen. A few cups of hot chocolate and some cookies improved her mood, and their relationship was no longer one sided afterwards. Nowhere near what it had once been, but for the moment that was fine with Amara.

Draco was still ignoring her. She constantly saw him in the library, lingering around the Restricted section. Rumors were going around that he had joined the Death Eaters; while Amara didn't wish to believe it, she knew his father was an active follower of the Dark Lord and had a lot of power over Draco. He was never relaxed anymore. His eyes had a constant tightness and never spent too long looking at something unless it was a book. His smile and laugh were often forced. Though he exuded an air of exuberance, she knew it was one of the many walls he had to keep people from getting close.

As the year passed, Draco's health continued to decline. His hair was a constant mess from his nervous tousling of it, his movements were sharp and stilted. He snapped at most of his friends, only calming himself when Pansy Parkinson or Blaise Zabini laid a hand on his shoulder and whispered something in his ear. Crabbe and Goyle- two souls Amara would not doubt also became Death Eaters like their parents- followed his orders without hesitation yet still managed to piss Draco off the most.

There were two times as they approached winter break that Amara managed to catch Draco's eye. The first, in the library. She had been on a ladder reaching for a book when the ladder began to wobble, setting her off balance. Luckily she had not been too far off the ground so when she had fallen she was able to roll off most of the force, but she managed to roll her ankle badly and was muttering several curses under her breath. Tears had rolled down her cheeks and she had squeezed her eyes shut to attempt to dull the pain. Cool hands frightened her to reopen her eyes, only to find none other than Draco Malfoy kneeling in front of her. He had prodded at her ankle, taking note of where she hissed in pain before summoning a length of bandage and tightly wrapping her ankle, studiously avoiding eye contact while Amara had stared at him in disbelief. When he had finished, he simply said: "You should have Madam Pomfrey see that."

He had turned and started to stand when Amara came to her senses and grabbed his wrist. For a moment they had stayed like that, with Draco looking down at her hand. A murmured thank you had left Amara's lips as she lightly gripped his forearm. His left forearm. She had felt the faint presence of dark magic under her fingers, confirming what she had not wanted to believe.

"So it's true?" she had asked quietly, her voice breaking slightly in the middle of her question.

He turned his head down and away from her, ashamed. Not a word passed between them until she had spoken again.

"Just be safe, okay?"

His eyes had practically flown to hers, filling with disbelief as some of the tension seemed to drain out of him. She had smiled softly, releasing his hand to run her hand down the side of his face as more tears had fallen down her cheeks.

Then it was her turn to walk away, drawing back and making her way unsteadily to her feet and half hopping out from between the shelves. A quick glance back had revealed that he had not moved from the floor, but his hands had tightened into fists and his face was turned to the floor in front of him, his eyes screwed shut.

The second time had been at the beginning of December in the Great Hall. He had stormed in, tension evident in his quick stride. He had grabbed the front of Goyle's robes and whispered harshly into the overweight boy's ear. Then he sat between Zabini and a different girl, Astoria Greengrass. Zabini had placed a calming hand on the pale blond's shoulder with a sad smile. Astoria had given Draco a saucy smile and whispered something in Draco's ear that had him tensing even more, his grip tightening what looked to be painfully on his fork. Zabini had scowled at the raven haired beauty and snapped something back at her. He had then turned back to Draco and said something else that had the other Slytherin relaxing slightly.

Zabini had caught Amara's gaze after that and had given her a small smile and a wave before elbowing the now-scowling blond next to him and chuckling. Draco looked up to her and it was like everything about his demeanor changed; the tension in his shoulders disappeared, the worried creases in his forehead smoothed out, and he smiled slightly. A blush had risen in Amara's cheeks before she hurriedly looked back down at her food and stuffed a forkful of pasta into her mouth.

When she had looked back up, Draco had begun to eat, with more gusto than he had in the past few weeks. A contented smile fluttered at the corners of her mouth until she locked eyes with the very unhappy looking younger Greengrass sister sitting on the other side of Draco.

Now it was March. Every time Amara even glanced at Draco across the hall at meal times, Astoria was there beside him, glaring right at her. Zabini often snickered. Draco, in all his infinite stubbornness, kept his head bowed.

He had returned from Christmas break almost unrecognizable. His skin was gaunt and had an unhealthy hue, turning a pale grey rather than pristine white. His eyes were always downcast, but Amara could see they were often rimmed red. His hair fell flat, brushing his eyes but he made no effort to move it. His fingers twitched, he flinched every time someone walked by him.

In the library he poured over restricted section books of dark subjects, hiding in the back shadows and muttering lowly to himself- something he only did when he was extremely stressed. He disappeared between classes, even skipping one or two altogether, and was often seen out of bed after hours.

She was worried.

Then Ron Weasley almost died. She found out from Hermione that Harry saved him after drinking a glass of poisoned mead. Draco got even worse from then on. He skipped almost every meal, stopped paying attention in class. He lost even more weight, making his clothes sag unnaturally.

A few weeks passed, and she kept seeing Potter stare at Draco, sometimes even going through the efforts of tailing him. So Amara started shadowing Potter. It paid off when he followed Malfoy to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom; now she knew where he spent some of the time when he disappeared. That feeling of relief vanished when she found out just why Draco had been visiting Myrtle: to cry, to vent, to finally show all the emotions he kept bottled up.

When the spells started being launched, she scrambled from her kneeling place near the door to find a teacher; an unnecessary effort seeing as she ran into Snape, who boasted his usual unhappy expression, the moment she turned her third corner.

"Draco… Potter… Myrtle's bathroom," Amara gasped.

Snape's scowl deepened, sweeping his robes around her. She trailed behind him as he strode back to where she had come from.

"MURDER! MURDER IN THE BATHROOM! MURDER!"

Neither she nor Snape hesitated to sprint towards Myrtle's bathroom; Snape slammed open the door, revealing a blood covered floor with Draco in the center. Potter stood to the side, looking horrified as Snape knelt over a still-bleeding Draco and Myrtle wailed by the top of the stalls.

She had never seen Snape look so cold as when he ordered Potter to stay in the bathroom. As he half carried Draco out, Amara followed close behind, horrified herself at the giant slashes in Draco's clothes and skin. While the blood had stopped flowing and the wounds were healing, she still could not believe that much blood could come out of someone and have them survive.

The trio reached the hospital wing in record time. Snape flung Draco onto the nearest cot; Mada Pomfrey hovered on the other side, already fussing over the unconscious Slytherin. In a few curt words, Snape explained what had transpired in the bathroom. He then promptly turned on one heel and almost ran Amara over.

"I highly advise you get back to your classes, Miss Stormwind," he said coldly, one brow arching to deliver a perfect look of disdain. "Before I deduct 10 point from Ravenclaw for skipping class."

"Will Draco be okay?" she asked softly while peering around the scowling professor in front of her to the bloody cot.

Snape moved sideways slightly and successfully blocked her view of the boy she thought she once knew.

"Now Miss Stormwind."

His scowl deepened and Amara cowed slightly. She picked up her bag, which had fallen on the floor unbeknownst to her, and scurried through the halls to Charms.

Whispers spread through the hallways the next day. Harry Potter attacked Draco Malfoy. Harry beat Draco's ass in the girl's bathrooms! She couldn't really focus. In an effort to reorient herself, Amara decided visiting Draco in the hospital wing would satisfy her nagging mind. Upon entering the wing, however, she was met by the sight of Blaise, Pansy, and Astoria huddled around Draco's bed, laughing at something said out of earshot. Blaise shifted slightly, enough for Amara to catch a glimpse of Draco's slender hand tangled with Astoria's. Her eyes widened briefly and she ducked her head; a moment too late as Draco's eyes caught hers, the grin slowly vanishing to a hesitant smile. She stood in the middle of the floor, class books in hand and hair a usual tangled mess, probably looking like a deer stuck in headlights. His three friends followed his line of sight- Blaise gave her his usual cocky smile and wave, Pansy smirked, and Astoria looked downright vivid, a flush creeping slowly up her neck as her free hand clenched out of sight.

Amara gave a little wave before ducking into Madam Pomfrey's office. The head medwitch did not look too pleased at having her office barged into.

Draco was released later that day, and when Amara saw him running down a nearly empty hallway, he no longer looked like he had in the hospital. Gone was the brief aura of happiness, like a bubble popped it had been replaced with the stress and anxiety lines that had been dug into his pale face after Christmas break.

She wondered what could do that to a person. Had he been given a mission from He Who Must Not Be Named? Was he being threatened?

She was distracted for the entirety of the Quidditch final match against Gryffindor that following Saturday. Her hits were off, luckily not harming any member of her own team, but certainly not helping them any.

Ravenclaw lost the Quidditch Cup that game, losing to Gryffindor by 350 points.

She wanted to yank her hair out in frustration.

Ravenclaw Tower was in a slump that night, especially with the din of the Gryffindors' celebration not too far away. The team was dejected, several of the older students sipping firewhisky on the couches. Amara trudged up to her room and flopped on her bed, pulling the ties so the bed curtains would swish closed around her.

The next few days slogged by in a slow-motion blur. Her movements were mechanical, her eyes glossed over during class. June was a beam of sunshine every morning, happily hopping next to Amara during every meal they had together and chattered away. She piled on puns and bad "dad jokes," a concept Amara regretted introducing June to their fourth year.

Sleep was a luxury Amara was struggling with. She tossed and turned for hours, flip-flopping the line of REM sleep and drifting. One night she woke up to a faint green glow shining through the windows of her dorm; the other four girls were fast asleep as she tiptoed to the window and peered out.

The Dark Mark blazed in front of her in all its skull-and-serpentine glory.

Shit.

She threw on a sweatshirt over her tank top and sleep shorts, snagging her wand and sprinting out of the room. Her hair, mussed into a messy braid from her sleep troubles, was out of the way enough for her not to bother. Skipping steps and slamming into the walls of the Tower, she finally arrived in the main corridors where spells were being flung left and right, lighting up the normally dark hallways in colored bursts. On one side she could see Professor McGonagall lauching volley after volley of spells at three different figures in dark robes, on another she could see flashes of red hair as some Weasley took out another dark-robed figure with a well-placed stunning spell.

Amara jumped into the fray head on, adrenaline pumping through her as she fired her own hexes and jinxes at anyone in sight wearing a dark robe. Magic charged the air, shimmering slightly around each witch or wizard she passed. Torches occasionally flared around her as she spun and struck with deadly precision. At one point she saw a flash of white-blond hair and raced after it, narrowly avoiding a body lying in a small pool of blood as she turned a corner. Amara couldn't see Draco, however, so she changed course and began to run towards the courtyard.

Beams of lights crossed the open air, seeming to darken the skies above. Amara shot spells as she ran along the covered hall next to the courtyard, hoping to catch a few of the invaders off guard.

"The Dark Lord has returned!" one cried gleefully, shooting Unforgivable Curses left and right. "Lower your wands and he may show you mercy!"

His pals hollered with him, cackling the way only bad guys in Sunday morning cartoons from her childhood could. In an instant Amara felt a dizzying rush of magic as fire pulsed from the tip of her wand. She could almost feel it, crazy as it sounded, feel the fire, ready to leap towards her enemies. With a guttural yell she hopped the ledge and aimed her wand ahead of her, spreading the fire to the dark robes until they were screaming pillars of light, dropping to the ground and rolling.

When they dropped, Amara saw him; the great and powerful Dumbledore. His body was broken and bruised, one of his hands dead and rotting. Despite the condition of his body, his face looked at peace, as if the man had been sleeping rather than very plainly dead.

"No," she whispered, falling to her knees in front of the man she spent many years listening to. "No, he can't be dead, this can't be right…"

A bright-pink haired woman snagged her arm and dragged her behind a shattered pillar.

"Snap out of it," she yelled at Amara while simultaneously firing spells at the invaders that hadn't been set on fire. "We're not through yet!"

The rest of the fight was a blur. Amara was numb inside, the sight of Albus Dumbledore's broken body constantly present in her mind. She shuffled back into her dorm, stripping and stepping into a hot shower. She ended up sliding to the floor and letting the water wash her clean as she sat there for almost twenty minutes, staring blankly at the tiled walls ahead of her.

They held a public funeral for Dumbledore, before and after which several student went home to their families. Lessons had been suspended. Exams, postponed. Hogwarts fell into a haze. Whispers and rumors flitted every corner. Friends forced their way apart. June had gone home to see her parents, leaving Amara to wander the library alone, studying advanced charms and spell books, absorbing as much she could before classes resumed.

The day of Dumbledore's funeral, she spotted Blaise and Pansy in the crowd and made her way to them.

"Is he okay?" she demanded, snatching Blaise's tie in her hand desperately.

"He's fine," Pansy replied as Blaise tugged his tie away gently. "He's got his own battles to fight though, Mudblood. Better stay away from it all, wouldn't want you to get caught up in the crosshairs."

Amara half snarled at Pansy's sarcasm. "Call me what you want, Parkinson. Don't expect to get anything from me out of it. I told that to Draco many years ago and he took it to heart- I suggest you take a leaf out of his books and try it out sometime. Come off that high horse of yours," she poked Pansy hard in the chest, "and learn a few things for once in your fancy, pureblood life. We are sixteen fucking years old. In the Muggle world we'd only be halfway through high school. That's too damn young to be fighting a war. To be fighting alone. So forgive me for giving a shit about someone else and tell me is Draco Malfoy okay."

"He's fine." Blaise stepped smoothly between the two girls, eyeing the wand Amara had clutched tightly in her left hand. "Pansy wasn't lying about that. But you do need to back away from this, Stormwind. Draco didn't want you getting hurt because of him, he made that abundantly clear. And if you keep chasing this, chasing him, it won't end well for either of you."

"I'm not chasing him!" Amara yelled, drawing the attention of several students around them. "I'm not chasing him," she repeated in a much lower voice. "I just want to make sure he's okay."

Blaise and Pansy shared a look as Amara looked at her feet.

"Look," Blaise said, awkwardly scratching the back of his head. "I can't promise you anything. I can't promise you any news. But I'll do my best to keep him out of trouble."

Amara breathed out a sigh of relief.

"Thank you," she said earnestly, laying a hand on his left arm. Even through his robes and shirt she could feel the pulse of the Dark Mark. "Both of you."

And with that she turned away, missing the look of complete rage that covered Astoria Greengrass's face. Later that night she found a leather bound book on her bed, a note tucked into the ribbon binding it closed.

I think this may help shed some light on D's situation. Don't lose it; I think he'd kill me if that happened. -BZ

She pulled at the ribbon and cracked the journal open to the first page. Instead of seeing Draco's neat handwriting, however, she was greeted by a simple sketch of a girl with wild hair sitting at a long table, a wide smile covering her face as her eyes scrunched. Amara traced the quill strokes, marveling at the life Draco seemed to capture in the drawing without spelling it to life. On the back of the page she found a date; one from the beginning of their fourth year. As she flipped through the book she saw the occasional landscape, even one or two spell designs but most of the drawings over the past two years, she realized, were of her. In class, at meals, in the library…. This is how Draco had coped. He drew.

And the boy had talent. She smiled to herself as she traced the most recent picture; one capturing the small moment they had in the hospital wing.

This book gave her faith.

Draco Malfoy may have disappeared. He may be a Death Eater. But Draco Malfoy was not the prejudiced little shithead she ran into second year. There was hope for him yet.

He had changed. And if he could change, maybe others could too.