AUTHOR: Lord_Mhoram

AUTHOR EMAIL: Khel71@yahoo.com

CATEGORY: ROMANCE, ANGST, SLASH

KEYWORDS: HARRY, DRACO, SLASH

SPOILERS: ALL BOOKS

RATING: R

SUMMARY: When tragedy strikes Draco Malfoy during the happiest summer of his life, hints of the existence of an all-powerful ancient artifact emerge. With the Light and Dark engaged in a war to extinction, will Draco and Harry survive the Malfoy legacy?

DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Honest.

The author wishes to thank Beth for her tireless work as lifegiver to large portions of this fic.

Nothing Important Happened Today

Albus Dumbledore faced an extraordinary set of circumstances. The enemy who had for so long moved silently within the dark had broken forth, in overwhelming numbers. The evolution of the ongoing crisis was a sad, maddening trial. However, Dumbledore had made several difficult decisions that haunted him. His mind played back along the torturous past few hours as he walked to the new meeting hall. Consultation with his staff had been conclusive. Representatives of the Muggle government and the remaining Unspeakables had joined in approving the plan. Still, it was a worried Headmaster who observed the massive alterations to the castle.

He took a deep breath, thought longingly of lemon drops, and stepped into the meeting room. The Order of the Phoenix was gathered, loudly holding forth on the recent chaos. Dumbledore took his position in the middle of the vast U-shaped table and gazed at the old and new faces staring back at him. Without preamble, he began to speak.

"With this Order's approval, I will summon a Teacher of the Battle Lore from the West Hinterlands," said the old wizard.

Snape looked surprised, a rare occurrence regardless of circumstances. "A Hinterlander will lead?" he asked.

"No," replied Dumbledore. "It is not their nature to take on the whole of warfare for others; they only teach those who will raise arms."

"God help us," said Sirius. "We're reduced to bringing out mercenaries."

"A Hinterlander is not a mercenary, Mr. Black. Pray your remark remains unheard," said McGonagall.

"I suppose I don't understand as much as I should," interjected Lupin.

"Unsurprising. You were not an attentive student, were you?" sneered Snape.

Lupin glared but held his tongue.

Dumbledore nodded slightly to a slightly built witch, who was typing on what appeared to be a laptop computer. Lady Taemarantha VanScoy-Irvin was the newest member of the Order; an expert on the effects of magic on technological devices, she was also a folklorist and archivist.

"The Hinterlanders are masters of Core Magic," said VanScoy-Irvin. "Core Magic consists primarily of manipulating the energy that comes from the collision of Light and Dark magic. As you know, all magic stems from waves of energy emanating from quantum fluctuations at the sub-atomic level."

She continued hurriedly as she sensed her audience drifting. "Er, right, that's a better topic for later. The Hinterlanders are impressive fighters, and privy to secrets we can barely dream of. They will occasionally honor a call for help, if it serves a like need of their own. They will not serve Darkness."

She paused and made certain she met each gaze in the room. "Their traditional payment is in souls."

"Regardless of whom they serve, or how they are paid," spat McGonagall, "they will expose these students to the same practices that have been so disruptive--and addictive to others. This will become a slaughter!"

Dumbledore's eyes held no twinkle and his voice was devoid of merriment as he spoke. "I am prepared to hear any suggestions. Anyone? The time for alternative measures is passing rapidly," he intoned. The piercing silence of the room sealed the decision.

The next morning McGonagall departed to seek Harry and Draco, while Dumbledore prepared the distress signal.

On the deserted loading dock behind St. Mungo's a trio stepped out of nothingness. Two young men dressed handsomely as Muggle teenagers and an older woman wearing a severe business suit walked quietly out of the alleyway.

"No, we cannot Apparate into the hospital. The charms are fully in place; anyone attempting to enter by Apparating would be splinched. Hence this outlandish mode of dress," lectured McGonagall. Harry wasn't listening. His mind kept bouncing on an image of Ron. What if Ron were dead? Harry felt nauseous at the thought.

The inside of the hospital was a picture of disarray. The injured and dying were being attended as best as possible by swarms of mediwizards. The three made their way to a desk with a large open book filled with blank pages. Minerva touched her wand to it and said "Weasley, Ronald. Weasley, Percival." Black letters formed on the pages. "Weasley, Ronald, third level, room 312. Weasley, Percival, fifth level, room 574." "That's it!" said Harry, as he raced toward a door marked "stairs," with Draco close behind. McGonagall threw up her hands. "There's a perfectly good lift," she told herself.

Harry's mind was blank, empty but for fear. He pounded up the stairs to the third level, dashed through the door and ran down the hall. No one was outside room 312; it was silent compared to the chaos of the lobby. Harry cracked the door open, praying he'd see his friend. Slowly an image he recognized came into view. It was Hermione, holding Ron's hand. Harry entered the room and whispered, "Hi, you two." Hermione screamed and shot across the floor. She hugged Harry fiercely, actually catching him slightly off his feet.

"We...we…we were told you were mi-mi-missing, maybe dead." "Neither," said Harry. "We were just slinking around, waiting for someone to come get us, preferably some pretty Auror." "Oh Harry!" she cried. Wiping her eyes she pulled him to an empty chair beside Ron's bed. The second-youngest Weasley looked fine, except for the terrible pallor of his hands and face. "Blood loss," said Hermione, reading the concern in Harry's face. "They say he'll patch up soon enough." Hearing the soft patter of whispers, Ron woke. He tried to focus his bleary eyes on Harry. "Are you Harry then, or have I died?" he asked. Harry took Ron's hand, avoiding a large bandage on his wrist.

"Harry…yes, Harry!" Ron exclaimed, running his hand over his friend's face. He wrapped his arms around Harry's shoulders and pulled him down, trying weakly to hug him. "This is Ron; this is my brother," thought Harry, as if seeing him for the first time. Almost hesitantly he moved into Ron's seemingly frail arms, afraid to hurt his injured friend. When his face touched Ron's cheek, relief overtook him. He sobbed once harshly into Ron's neck and held him as tightly as he could. When they let each other go, Harry dabbed his own tears away, while Hermione helped Ron dry his.

The semi-awkward moment was ruptured by an imperious drawl, as the door opened and Draco's head popped in. "Granger! Weasley! I'm so thrilled you're alive. It'd be hard to find such delectable targets for derision with you two gone." He started to withdraw when Hermione gestured for him to come in. She approached him and stood staring into the impassive face. Clasping Malfoy's shoulder she said softly, "We love you, too." Ron blanched and hollered, "Not we! Her, that's her statement! I still think you're a colossal prat!"

"Pay him no mind, Draco," Hermione said. "He talks about you all the time." With that, she led the shell-shocked Malfoy out of the room, leaving a gaping Ron and Harry alone.

"She loves to boggle me, Harry," steamed Ron.

"I think it's cute," said Harry.

"Cute? CUTE?? I--ai!" yelled Ron as his injuries reminded him to lie still.

"After all, you guys did all call a truce when you found out…"

"That you two were shagging? Yeah, 'spose that would have been a pretty good time to stop the feud. But we really stopped hating him when he--he--"

"Helped me," Harry interrupted, changing the subject.

"So how bad is it?"

"Not bad really, a broken rib or two and a broken leg. They can heal that in a day or two. I'll need another day to build up."

"What happened?"

"I had gone to take Hermione a gift. I was just gonna leave it in her desk when the floor fell out from under me."

"Wow!"

"Yeah, wow. They pasted us pretty good," said Ron, his voice quavering a little.

"Who did, Ron?" asked Harry.

"I dunno! They were Death Eaters for sure; I mean they had the Mark and all. There was something that looked like a Dementor, and then some guys who looked like vampires. It was awful, Harry," whispered Ron as his voice broke entirely.

"You're safe now, ok? Just rest," said Harry in what he hoped was a soothing voice. "So, how's Perce?" he continued, as Ron relaxed slightly into the covers.

"He'll live. He broke all his arms and legs and he's got a concussion. Bloody showoff, always outdoing everybody!"

"Uhm, ok, Ron."

Ron grinned. "Just having you on some; seems the floor that fell out from under me landed on him."

"Crikey."

"Mum and Dad have gone to Hogwarts. No idea what's going on. Everything is hush-hush except for all the explosions. Hey, is it true about Malfoy's parents?"

"Yup."

"Double crikey! Nobody knows what's going on, do they?"

"If they do, they aren't sharing."

The door opened again; this time Professor McGonagall entered. "Mr. Weasley! Flat on your back, I see. Enjoy the rest. I'll see you in a few days."

"But-"

"You will know more when the time comes. We all will." As she left the room, she flung a package of chocolate frogs to Ron. They landed with a soft plop on his chest. McGonagall raised a finger to her lips and slipped out the door.

Giving Ron a parting grin, Harry followed the Transfiguration instructor out into the hall. He spied Hermione having an intense conversation with Draco. She started when Harry touched her shoulder.

"We have to go, Hermione."

She held him again, burying her face in his soft hair. "We'll see you there," she said.

The lift deposited Harry, Draco and McGonagall back at the entrance to the hospital. As they exited the lobby, the deluge of screams and moans washed over them. Harry suddenly smacked his palm to his forehead. "Does your scar hurt, Harry?" asked Draco. "No, and that's my point! Why wasn't my scar hurting during any of this?" asked Harry.

Under a darkening sky, Snape wandered around the edges of the lake. The Headmaster had not disclosed to him why he should be the "official greeting wizard," but here he was. In the deepest recesses of his soul, a labyrinthine maze of fear, fury and ice even during the best of times, anxiety flourished at the mention of a Hinterlander. Hardy wizards and witches needed little encouragement to cast a protection charm at the mention of the powerful, reclusive group. No one even knew what they called themselves. Were they cultists? Maybe they were hooded fanatics or a lot of over-rated nutters. Snape's grandmother had told him stories about the Hinterlanders when he was just a tiny wizard-child. None of those stories were of the least fragment of comfort at the moment.

In his reverie, he had missed a slight disturbance at the lake's center. There was a sound of bright bells coming from an ever-extending whirlpool, as a small crystal vessel pulled itself seemingly from the depths. The whirlpool formed into a spinning torus that rose above the surface of the lake. The cascading wall of water obscured the center of the vortex until it had floated gently to within meters of Snape's position. The song of the bells ended; the water receded, and a small boat was revealed beached at the water's edge. Standing on deck was a cloaked, hooded individual. The figure walked down a small gangplank and stood before Snape. In utter silence, a gloved hand extended a card. It read, "Elise Kingfisher. Teacher-at-Large," in spidery black script.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Snape, fighting a raging urge to push the figure back into the lake and run for the castle at top speed. Instead, he bowed. With a careless gesture, the figure tossed her hood back. Snape struggled to conceal his surprise. An oddly attractive woman stood before him. She had a thin, angular face framed by a mane of hair so black that Potter's looked washed-out in comparison. Streaks of pure white ran through the midnight sheen. Her eyes were dark, thought it was difficult to tell exactly what color they truly were.

"And your name?" she asked, with a voice as warm as the black of her hair was cold.

"Severus Snape," he replied while regaining his composure. "I am Potions Master for Hogwarts."

"Hm. It was kind of the Headmaster to send such a handsome man to be my escort. You lead; I shall follow." A slight flush colored Snape's neck, but never reached his face. Silently, they followed the lane to the castle.

Snape led the woman to Dumbledore's office. After gaining entrance, he bowed in acknowledgement of the Headmaster and turned to leave. His last glance at Elise seemed dismissive, but for Snape, it was rich with curiosity.

She encircled Dumbledore with a tight grasp and kissed his cheek. The old Headmaster blushed. "It is indeed gratifying to see you again, Elise. I had hoped they would send you."

"And you haven't hoped in vain! But what string did you pull, you old puppet-master, to get me?"

"I will tell you later. But I must ask, Elise, how bad are things from your perspective?"

Elise frowned. "Not as bad as might have been. Not as good as they would be had you called for me two years ago."

"I was hindered."

"Ironic. The Ministry paid a high price for collusion, eh Albus? The dog they fed grew up--and ate them."

"We will all pay before this is finished, and count ourselves fortunate not to be devoured. Can we win?"

The woman turned her dark eyes away. "Yes. You will all have to adapt. You'll have to accept that you're at war, and war brings change. But you've always been a sturdy people. You're fighting for an honorable reason. Most importantly, you didn't bring first blood to the conflict. That will greatly aid you."

Dumbledore looked sad. "There's so much we don't know. I cannot escape the idea that I have failed utterly. I am suffering my best students, the best wizards of the next age, to be turned into the dogs of war."

"My dear old friend. You've always been so burdened by conscience. We like that, you know. The images are so fulfilling to us. We see tragic, good people elbow deep in blood, or the whore's redemption, or-"

"Or Götterdämmerung?" interjected Dumbledore.

"Exactly," said the woman. It gets a lot of play with our kind. We love a good story. And Albus, unless these students of yours fight, there will be no next age. The Core will destroy this world before risking Voldemort bringing war to us. Simply put, your school is the only hope for the survival of your race."

"I had feared we would arrive at this point," said Dumbledore.

"Albus, just be glad you arrived."

"And the price?"

"One."

"I understand."

Harry, Draco and Professor McGonagall bounced out of Apparation at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. The two young men collapsed to the ground, moaning. McGonagall leaned against a tree, grateful for its solidity. After fighting his stomach down, Harry gasped, "How did we get here? Isn't it impossible to Apparate onto the Hogwarts grounds?"

"Yes, it most certainly is, which is why we didn't. We have been in Apparation for over an hour. I…I simply don't have it in me to explain it now, Mr. Potter. Let's say that you can teach an old dog new tricks."

They rested there momentarily and gathered strength. A light mist was falling as they walked across the field to the castle, with McGonagall in the lead. Harry felt a feathery touch on his wrist and started slightly. Glancing down he saw Draco's hand wrapped around his. The cold fingers were barely discernable. Draco's face was set in the same grim focus that had been broken only briefly during the past few days. He stared straight on as he said, "You were happy here." It was almost an accusation, lacking invective. "Yeah," said Harry. "I was happy with Ron and Hermione, and later with you. This was the first home I'd ever known. You don't have to ask about now. You know." The only response from Draco was his twining his fingers into Harry's as they walked behind their former teacher.

By the time they reached the courtyard, Harry's mind was wandering far and wide. His true life had begun here. Would it end here as well? He wanted to confide his fear in Draco, but he knew the other man would not endure an inquisition at the moment. Indeed, it was Draco's way to give and take heart-secrets as he chose, not as others willed. Harry thought of their first encounter. Kids are so dumb, he said to himself, wincing at the memory. But as he remembered how they had made their truce, his worry relented. Kids can be so very, very wise, too. The fundamental rock of the earth might be cracking, but more unlikely things had been accomplished than the repair of the world. He had fallen in love with Draco Malfoy. Surely Fate would endure one more impossible victory. Harry's internal smile broke across his face in a silly lop-sided grin. Draco arched one perfect eyebrow at the silent laughter playing across Harry's face. His curiosity went unanswered as the huge castle doors swung wide to admit them.

End Chapter Three

Author's Tag: Chapter Four progresses, but take a few moments to review the story so far!