For some reason one of them is you

Draco pov

Always know where your loyalties lie. That is one of the things that my father always said to me, like a threat of some sort. The Malfoy's have always served under someone. No matter our power, we are not leaders or commanders, we follow. We are quite good at it too, we've been doing it for a millennia's. It confused me of course because, certainly I knew where my fathers loyalties were and I knew where mine were implied to be, it was ingrained into my life, but my father has never said exactly who to lie my loyalties with.

He assumes that I am loyal to the family and because I am loyal to the family, that I am loyal to Voldemort. This is taken for granted and I know this, so I have never placed my loyalties. I have been waiting.

Power, is where my loyalties lie, great power. The final conflict is coming and soon I will be forced to join sides. The side I will choose? The side with the most power of course. How will I know which side has the most power would be the real question. That's as simple as choosing to ally with the greatest power. It all boils down to a secret that I have never told anyone, the secret that came with my birth.

The ability to feel power. Not just sense it but feel it as a tangible entity. A tangible entity, that depending on the power of the wizard, surrounds a person. Unless they mask it. The thicker and more substantial the air is around a person with that feeling the more powerful they are and power is the key to everything. The key to everything that a person yearns for in life, that and luck which is hardly reliable, except for maybe one person.

Potter has always been a lucky sort of idiot. Lucky he didn't die all those times. He had so much luck about him he swam in it, until as of late, of course. Our fourth year was the first sign his luck was waning, when Cedric came back dead and the Dark Lord was brought to power once more. The fifth year he nearly lost his mind to Voldemort and he also lost his godfather, along with others. His luck died out completely this last year, he almost died…so close. Almost to compensate for his lack of dieing, his last fragment of luck, fifteen people died. All because of him, all innocent.

Potter has always been the noble type; everyone saw what Cedric's death did to him, so much guilt. The death of Sirius almost shattered him, left him hollow and lost. Last year was the breaking point, those deaths. I was there and I saw them die, I saw his face. The utter horror and anguish on his face for not being able to protect those people. It broke him in a way I can't even comprehend.

One second he was staring at the corpses of those he failed, grief stricken, mostly at his own weakness. Then his eye twitched almost imperceptibly and a horrible smile crept upon his face. He turned to Voldemort then, who was standing triumphant, and he laughed. He curled to hug his belly, the laughter wracking his body so hard. Then he stopped, no slow dieing out or the laugher turning to sobs, it simply stopped, leaving an eerie silence in it wake. Potter took out his wand then and held the two ends with his hands. He broke his wand, right in front of the Dark Lord, he snapped his wand neatly in two and casually tossed it to the side where is fell against a burning beam that ate away the wand to nothing but a stick of charcoal.

"Kill me." Potter had said, opening his arms wide to Voldemort, as if to present himself for sacrifice.

The Dark Lord had snorted then and shook his head, "There is no sport in killing a rabbit that has its leg cut off. I shall come for you again, boy. I will not let you live next time so be prepared, give me a bit of a challenge next time."

Voldemort left and Potter had collapsed into the corpses and ash around him, no one else ever found out what happened that night. I then feared that I would have no choice but to place my loyalties in the Dark Lord's hands.

You might call me weak for fearing him but you would be foolish not to. Voldemort doesn't simply posses power but unlimited cruelty as well. The Lord has a tendency to kill any of those that displease him, including his own. If he doesn't favor you then your value drops and with little value you are not hard to kill. There is reason to fear in that.

Certainly because I am my father's son I have more ingrained power than most. Unfortunately, my father would probably kill me before Voldemort would. My father likes power and if the closest he can get, is to be the right hand of Voldemort. No one is going to get in his way, including his son. Then again my father has never been a kind man.

I say that he is not a kind man because he beat me. Although it would be rather shallow to say he is unkind just because he beats me but he also beats up mother and the houselves. He has a tendency to adopt muggle children under false names and slowly torture them to death. When children were unavailable there were always pets, the animal shelters seldom asked questions. That would make my father a malicious, sadistic homicidal man. I prefer to think of him as unkind because denial is a preferred method of mine.

Back to Potter…I thought when I had seen him snap that when he returned to consciousness in the hospital wing he would revert to the madness but I was wrong. When he woke up everything was back to normal, it was just good old Harry Potter, once again escaping the clutches of Voldemort. I though that I had imagined Potter's breakdown, then they had asked him about what had happened. It was just a flash, I would have missed it if I had blinked but it was unmistakable then. I had seen Potter lose it because just for a second, Potters eyes had flashed with the most unmistakable malice I had ever seen on anyone. He said that he didn't remember, that he must have hit his head when he passed out.

This year confirmed it. He hid it well. I , myself, could barely tell that Potter was being anything more than his normal guilt ridden sulkiness. It held out for a long time as well. He really didn't talk to anyone the first two days and few talked to him except to try and console him. They all failed to notice that when they were trying to comfort him that his eyes were filled with scarcely contained rage.

The first clue was in transfigurations yesterday. It was the first class we had had to use our wands in so far, the other classes and the days before being filled with reviewing to refresh summer rotted minds. When Potter had not produced a wand McGonagall had asked him why. His answer was that he had left his wand in his dorm. After McGonagall had taken five points from Gryffindor she told him to go and fetch his wand. He left and didn't return.

It also occurred to me not long after that Potter hadn't come for any meals since the sorting ceremony. A quiet inquiry to the elves in the kitchen found that he hadn't come down there, nor had food sent up. Nothing except water was all that Potter had ever requested from the elves. I also took the time while I was there to try and persuade the houselves to tell me where Potter's new chambers were. They declined to answer me.

No one really knows where they are. No one but Dumbledore, McGonagall and Snape know where it is and the password. Apparently the last attack was too close for comfort and they decided to hide him away. They were probably more worried about the fact that after a month at his relatives house he disappeared until the day before school started. Not many knew about that either but my father told me about it once, the next day they came and arrested him. I hope that his arrest had nothing to do with the anonymous tips I had been leaking to the Ministry. I hate my father.

Today, Potter's shell cracked. I wasn't ready for it, even though I knew. That look he gave me when I asked him what he was looking at. Those eyes were so hollow, a strange void humor filled them and pain, so much pain. I had thought, common logic, that if he hated me before he went off his nut, afterwards he would want to kill me. Wanting to draw me because I'm…beautiful? That was not one of them. Then he touched me.

It was incredible, for as long as he touched me I could feel his power and…his pain. The power swelling through him and engulfing me until I felt it as if it was my own and a pain twisting through every nerve and skin cell, like an incessant fire. I barely heard what he said into my ear I was so utterly intoxicated by the power and agony he held. That's why I chased after him, to have him touch me again. Just once more. When he broke my wrist my self-preservation kicked in, I was afraid of course. It takes incredible strength for a person to be able to accept death. I'm not one of them. Fear and caution are wise to hold around people with great power.

Potter's needs and wants, that crack in his armor. I have watched him, judged my fear and I have chosen. I know now. I know who to pledge my loyalties to. The one with the most power.

The entire class has gone by during my musings. I glance up, noticing the cauldron in front of me and of course who I have been paired up with. Potter, of course, I wonder if Snape really knows what he's doing sometimes. A small, grey spider crawls nonchalantly onto my hand. The potion is apparently done, currently simmering, mirroring up a lovely puce color. I glance at Grangers potion, same color and apparent texture. Potter finished a potion successfully without my help, probably without even looking up at the board either. I wonder if he even took the time to handle the ingredients.

Someone with the power to work spells without word, motions or a wand. Someone that can create a flower of pure light while at the same time force a disappearing step to hold him, or perhaps levitating himself up over it. All without breaking a sweat or showing any kind of strain. It is truly the work of amazing power. The spider spins out a bit of silk attaching it to my hand.

"Pour a small amount of potion into a vial and place it on my desk before you leave the class." Snape says sourly, not glancing up from the scrolls he's grading.

I turn my hand over slowly, watching the spider scramble into my palm, I get the distinct feeling that it's irritated with me. I start slightly, Potter's hand appearing in front of my face holding a filled vial. I gingerly take the vial, suppressing the need to touch him, even to brush against him briefly, to feel the power and pain again. I take the vial up to the desk, placing it alongside the others, hurrying back to my things to gather them before the classes ended, before he left.

The other students rise as Snape dismisses them, I stuff my things into my bag as quickly as I can. Potter is leaving, walking out the door, of course he's not gong to wait and speak with Snape, why should he? He is too incredible. I run after him.

I follow the stream of Gryffindor's and strain to filter out through the noise, the sound of him, the scent of his power. I slip past people, shoving past others in my way. I touch the smooth grained stone wall as I slip along, noticing in one of those strange instances that the world we live in is a constant dull and boring grey. It's almost as if it's to dull us down, to suppress the darkness of the world outside. I see ahead of me a glimmer of black hair and a blast of that disgusting red thing that Weasel has attached to his head that he calls hair.

"Potter!" I yell out, breaking through the last clump of asses in my way, stumbling up behind him, "Please allow me to talk with you." I say softly as I stand behind him.

He stops, the flood of students breaking around us like a boulder in the river. His friends wait as well, staring at me with unmasked hatred.

"Come on, Harry. You know Malfoy's just going to provoke you." Granger says with her air of all knowing importance, her wild brown curls seeming to bloom around her face, frame it.

Weasley just glares, clenching and unclenching his fists, his face slowly trying to do the impossible of turning the same shade of his hair. Potter waits until they are all gone, until the only ones remaining in the hall are his friends and the two of us. He turns slowly, a sad smile is fixed on his face, as if he is seeing something he will never see again, that was the smile he gave to his friends. The smile that he give to me, is weary but curious.

I close my eyes, reassuring myself, tasting the aura around him a final time. There is no going back now. I look at him, waiting patiently for what I am going to say. Behind him Weasel reaches up to clasp his shoulder and pull him around, to pull him away from me. A memory of pain resurfaces.

"Don't touch." I say, my words mingling in unison with Potter's. His eyes glancing lazily over to watch Weasley's hand, hovering inches from his shoulder.

Potter doesn't want to hurt his friends. Would he hurt Weasley if he grabbed his shoulder? Weasel hand pulls back and he regards Potter with an air or utter stupid confusion, as if this is the first time he has realized that there is something wrong with his friend. Both he and Granger have been to wrapped up in each other they both neglected to notice their 'friend' at all.

Slowly I bend my pride down, beating it down to this power in front of me. I lower myself to my knees, not bothering to catch my weight, rather letting it fall and impact painfully on the corridor under my feet.

I take a deep breath, forcing myself to meet his eyes, "I, Draco Malfoy, do humble myself before you. I come to you with an offer of myself. I give my loyalty to you, my honor my pride and power. I wish to give to you myself in any form you see fit, either as servitude or," I swallow, my voice shaking slightly, "sacrifice. If you should choose," I swallow my fear and stuttering voice, "If you should choose to accept my offer I will remain by your side and obey all commands you give unto me that I am able until I die. If you refuse my offer then I shall respect your decision and leave you in peace."

Something glimmers in his eyes, he smiles.