Rating: R

Warnings: This chapter contains slash, and that's it for this one. If you can't handle that, you should have pressed the Back button by the end of the first chapter. Likewise if you're under fifteen years old and not of my sister's mature disposition.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters and The Story So Far are property of J. K. Rowling and Warner Brothers, and I have no intent of contesting that right, especially since both have done extremely well in creating and maintaining the spirit of said characters and story. In case either one happens upon this story one day: congratulations and please don't sue me! I mean no harm.

Pleas: Reviews would be nice; flames are also welcome. I will make a spirited attempt to reply to every single one, but I can't guarantee it. Flamers be warned: I will be very logical, pedantic and probably curious in my response. It can be a nuisance, but you'll have to learn to live with it.

Thanks To: Penelope-Z, Thalia, Silver Radcliffe, S. Maldiva (Feel more sorry for Draco. I couldn't believe how much prodding I had to do to get Harry to come around. *Glares at the Boy Who Lived* *Evil grin* I'm not giving anything away about the ending, except that it isn't so near. There's a lot more set to happen yet.), Wednesday (You're right, not much really happened last time, but sometimes you've got to stop and sow the ground before you can smell the roses. Snape bows before you in humble gratitude—tries, anyway, the humble part's giving him a bit of trouble. Action? A very little bit, but not between who you're expecting.), SoulSister, Draco Malfoy_N_Harry Potter, Juliana Black, Canarde, Kcarke (Hermione has always struck me as a rather matronly, over-protective person. Sometimes she gets a bit mad in her method, which is just fun to use. The plan between Remus and Sirius was all I could concoct as a defence against Voldemort's plan, and the opportunity to play up Draco's concern for Harry was too good to waste.), DrWorm, Evil Windstar, Jessica (Yes, took him long enough, didn't it? Snape's getting tired of seeing Draco so unhappy, and of course he has his own reasons. You'll see.), MistWalker (Thank you. Creating the tarot readings gave me a good excuse to nick one of Mum's books for a while…^^;), Britt, cooldot (Emotionally packed? Heh…and it isn't anywhere near the climax yet. Thank you. J ), Katarina.

Special thanks to Apocalypse, who beta-read this chapter for me.

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, everyone!

All Torn Down: Silhouettes

Ride on • Through the night • Ride on

Ride on • Through the night • Ride on

…

There are visions, there are memories

There are echoes of thundering hooves

There are fires, there is laughter

There's the sound of a thousand doves

…

In the velvet of the darkness

By the silhouette of silent trees

They are watching, they are waiting

They are witnessing life's mysteries

…

Cascading stars on the slumbering hills

They are dancing as far as the sea.

Riding o'er the land, you can feel its gentle hand

Leading on to its destiny.

…

Take me with you on this journey

Where the boundaries of time are now tossed,

In cathedrals of the forest

In the words of the tongues now lost

…

Find the answers, ask the questions

Find the roots of an ancient tree

Take me dancing, take me singing

I'll ride on till the moon meets the see

…

Ride on • Through the night • Ride on

Ride on • Through the night • Ride on

…

Hogwarts empty was almost as stifling as Hogwarts full of students. The only students remaining at school during the holidays aside from the Dream Team were the three chosen by Voldemort to spy on Harry. Draco decided that if the atmosphere in the castle was typical of all holidays, he was glad he hadn't stayed before. The air reeked of suspicion and caution.

Meals were eaten at the staff's table, in deadly silence—not enforced by the teachers but by the emotions teeming through the air. Draco sat by Snape, the only person in whose presence he felt completely accepted. He would watch Harry talking to Ron and Hermione, seeing the faint signs of worry on the youth's face become more marked as Christmas drew near. Draco wanted to tell him not to worry, though it would be pointless. He'd tried, hadn't he, to keep Black from embarking on the foolhardy mission? Harry had still given in. He hadn't wanted to, but one word from Dumbledore and he folded. Draco couldn't understand what power the Headmaster exerted over Harry; it was subtle as a zephyr in a gale, but it was there nevertheless.

Berald and the Gryffindor, who was a seventh year and was only recognised by the teachers, did their jobs well. They glided noiselessly through the castle, happening to appear wherever Harry was, or hiding away nearby in order to eavesdrop. They certainly seemed more skilled at stalking Potter than Draco was; his efforts were dogged by the frequent murderous glances the Weasel threw back at him, between reading Granger's tome. It ground upon Draco's raw nerves to be kept so far away from Harry. At least once he would have been able to brawl with him, but now he couldn't get near.

He followed the trio down to Hagrid's cottage on Christmas Eve—happening to be in the vicinity of the Gryffindor common room when they skulked out in the early hours of the morning. The air was laden with winter fog and snow crunched and squeaked beneath Draco's boots as he followed at a safe distance. There had been light snowfalls since three days before school broke up, and without hordes of students to trample it into the ground, a thin but pristine layer of white lay across the lawns.

Hagrid hailed Harry, Ron and Hermione with a deep bellow and ushered them into the cottage. Draco, aware that he was in plain sight, contrived to look as though he had felt like a wintry morning stroll and had nothing to do with them. Once they'd disappeared inside, he hastened to the window and peered through the frosted glass.

All he could make out were vague coloured shapes and movement within the cottage, but he resisted the urge to wipe a clear spot on the pane, knowing that would give him away. Draco could hear faint sounds emitting from the room: Hagrid's hearty laughter, Harry's voice interceding Granger and Weasley's banter. A rosy glow tinted the room, cast from a blur where he judged the fireplace was, given that no one was panicking.

Draco felt like a lost child locked out of the gingerbread cottage, and the sweetest thing he saw inside was Harry. He brushed snow from the window sill and tucked his head down, bracing his arm against the sill as a pillow. For a few moments he allowed himself to pleasure in the memory of the kiss. He sighed happily, recalling the smell of him, and the taste. Yes, Harry was sweet, but not like some sugar-filled contrivance. Just himself.

When Draco looked up again, the curtains had been pulled closed over the window. He turned away, fighting back the bitterness that rose. He'd been their enemy for too long, especially to Weasley. How could they be expected to tolerate him after everything he'd done?

'Nothing worth seeing?'

Draco froze, jolted from his thoughts. Berald was standing a stone's throw away, watching him with cool, expressionless eyes.

'Well? It's damned cold out here, Malfoy. I'd like to get back to a nice warm fire if they're not doing anything important.'

Draco pulled himself together. He rolled a shoulder dismissively, allowing some of his old arrogance to show in his eyes. He and Gerard Berald had never got on. 'Go, then. There's nothing to see, and nothing worth hearing either.'

Gerard sniffed, glancing at the cottage's chimney. 'We should get up there and throw snow down. That'd hamper their Christmas cheer, all right.'

Draco snorted. 'Don't be daft. We'd be far too conspicuous. We're supposed to be watching them, not playing meaningless little games.'

Berald's face contorted into a sneer that made Draco want to pummel him. 'You'd never have said that before. You've changed too much, Malfoy.'

'What are you trying to say?'

'I'm saying, watch your step. You seem to think that the position of Prince-of-Darkness is yours by default, whatever you do. Wrong! Voldemort might be lenient enough to give you another chance, but trying to kill yourself is as good as a betrayal of loyalty. Watch your step, Malfoy, or you'll get thrown.'

Draco was shivering. He tried to pretend that it was from the cold. 'Thanks for the friendly warning. I never thought I was the Prince of Darkness, or whatever you want to call it. Everyone around me made certain I had no choice!'

'Really? You poor, oppressed thing. Well, here's your choice now: redeem yourself, and quickly, or you'd better run to Dumbledore and hope the old fool has enough magic left to protect you.'

Draco snarled. 'I have nothing to redeem myself for, Berald. Go back to your precious fire.'

Gerard looked him up and down with a slow, disdainful roll of his eyes, spun stiffly and slouched away, grinding the snow beneath his feet.

Draco stood still for a moment, debating whether or not to return to the castle. He turned and marched resolutely towards the Forbidden Forest for no real reason other than that it was in the opposite direction Berald had gone. He hadn't been there since the detention with Hagrid in first year. He realised by now that it had been his first encounter with Voldemort, too—a memory which still occasionally woke him up at night. After almost five years, he felt it was about time he set that ghost to rest.

The only trees in the Forest that still bore leaves were evergreens, but the growth and the fog were so thick that the various trails leading into its heart were lost to sight within a few feet. Draco shivered. Truly told, the bare gnarls raking skywards were more sinister than the midnight forest he recalled. But then, he hadn't seen much of it before; only the areas on which Hagrid's lamp had shed its light.

Draco chose a path and tramped along it. The trail was covered with dead, thorny undergrowth that caught at his boots and tore his robe. Draco ignored the thorns. They would give the house elves something interesting to do when he got back to the castle.

Even though it was winter, the Forbidden Forest was still very much alive. All around him, Draco heard soft footfalls, the slither of loathsome beasts sliding through the undergrowth ahead of him, the chirrups and calls of birds somehow hidden from view despite the starkness of the branches overhead. Sometimes he thought he saw eyes gleaming and faces watching him from behind a tree or a rock, and at one point he swore a little web-fingered entity sprang out from a cluster of toadstools he'd nearly trodden on, and shook a fist at him. But when he looked around, the creature was gone.

The path ended in the midst of a grove of pines. Draco spun slowly, taking in the rare, deep green iced with white frosting around him. The sky was lightening through the fog overhead, and his breath billowed and curled, silvery, through the air. Here, there was utter silence, and he wasn't certain whether the thick foliage of the trees around him blocked the noise of the outside forest, or whether someone had cast a Silencing Charm over the grove. It had the sense of something solemn and holy. Draco was torn between remaining to absorb the ambience and leaving the place undefiled by his presence.

The moment was trampled when a blur of pale colour broke through the trees in front of Draco. He cried out and jumped aside to avoid being run down by the thing, vaguely aware of hoof-beats and a deep, equine grunt as the creature hauled itself to a halt with great effort. There was a tense moment in which the two regarded each other, Draco snatching quick breaths and trying to keep his frantic heart from breaking through his ribs.

It was a centaur; a Palomino. Sweat glistened on his pale torso and he was panting with exertion. Draco wondered briefly how he could stand to keep his body bared in such cold, before he met the centaur's eyes. It watched him suspiciously from deep blue eyes that were half hidden beneath a shock of long, blond hair, and gave an imperious stamp, snorting. 'Who are you?'

Draco tried to gather his wits. 'My name is Draco Malfoy.'

'Malfoy?'

Draco glanced away, somehow ashamed. 'Yes.'

The centaur looked him over slowly, a distant look in the blue eyes. 'A Malfoy no more.' Draco looked up, startled, but the creature merely rolled his shoulders and pawed the ground. He jerked his head back in the general direction of Hogwarts. 'Student?' Draco nodded. The suspicion in the centaur's gaze deepened. 'Why are you here, Draco who isn't a Malfoy?'

Draco looked about the grove again, partly wanting to recall the sense of peace that had been scattered, but mostly out of a need to evade those searching eyes. 'I just wanted to see the forest.'

He flinched as he heard the centaur take a few steps closer to him. The unwavering gaze took on a knowing overtone. 'You fear to be touched.'

'I do not!'

The centaur sighed and tilted its head far back, staring at the rough circle of sky visible above the pines. 'The darkness falls,' he said mournfully.

Draco blinked. 'Sorry?'

'The darkness falls,' the centaur repeated without changing its tone.

'No it doesn't. It's morning. The darkness is lifting now.'

The centaur's gaze snapped back to him. 'The darkness,' he said firmly, 'falls. And the Lion is in the East.'

'Really? Good for it. I'm just going to—'

'The hyena waits in shadows.' The centaur's voice cut across Draco's, not so much an interruption as the continuation of a one-sided conversation in which Draco's opinion didn't appear. 'And I am Firenze.' Without a word more or a glance back, Firenze pushed his way out of the grove.

'Thanks for the enlightening conversation,' Draco muttered.

A freezing wind rattled the trees around him and Draco shivered, not so much from the intermittent gusts that sought their way through the branches to him, as the sound it made. The grove was fast losing its appeal. He stepped between the trunks of two massive trees, pushing low-hanging boughs out of his way. They snapped back into place once he was through, and amid the rest of the forest, it was impossible to tell that the grove was there.

He hadn't come out the way he'd come in, and the path was nowhere to be seen; nor was Draco certain of the way back now. Muttering a few expletives, he selected a direction and trod onward. After a while it became apparent that he'd chosen the wrong way. The trees were growing closer together and their shadows mingling with fog made it impossible for Draco to see more than a few feet ahead. His robes were growing damp and he was becoming bone-cold as he tried to find a comprehensible track through the mist. Draco was on the verge of turning back when a faint glow of firelight glimmering through the trees on the very limits of his vision caught his eye. He drew his robes close about him and headed to the light. Gods knew he could do with the warmth.

As he moved closer, Draco made out a figure sitting on the damp ground in front of the fire, back braced against the trunk of a convenient tree, mostly caught in the shadows cast down from the close boughs overhead. Draco paused, not certain that he'd be a welcome visitor.

'You might as well come all the way now,' the figure said. Draco relaxed slightly; it was the Gryffindor.

'How did you know I was here?' He called, taking a few more steps.

'I've been listening to you stamping around for the last five minutes. The Forbidden Forest isn't a good place to come for quiet.' The Gryffindor gestured at the undergrowth around him. He'd had to clear a sizeable patch to light the fire. 'Nothing moves in this place without something else knowing,' he concluded as Draco closed the last of the distance between himself and the fire. The warmth sent a shudder of pleasure through Draco.

'What are you doing here?'

The other boy shrugged. 'I felt like burning something and scaring the other creatures around here away for a while.' Draco was certain he was lying. 'You?'

'I haven't been in here for years. Chalk it up to nostalgia.'

The Gryffindor laughed. It was a short bark of heartfelt amusement, abruptly gone. He looked up at Draco appraisingly. 'You don't know who I am, do you?'

'No.'

The boy raised his hand to Draco. 'Kieran Harper.'

'Draco Malfoy.'

'Of course,' Harper grinned as they shook hands. 'Your exploits against the Potter fan-club are famous. Although, certain of us have noticed that they seem to have dissipated lately.'

Draco shrugged. 'I have more important things to do.'

'Or perhaps just bigger ones,' Harper suggested. He cocked his head, staring quizzically into the fire, although Draco had an idea the expression was subconsciously directed at him. 'So, what do you think of our Dark Lord's grand Christmas plan?'

Draco considered the question carefully. Kieran's tone made it a challenge, but his words made his loyalty to Voldemort seem ambiguous. He decided to take a small hop of faith. 'I'm glad we don't have to do it. Didn't exactly give a lot of notice, did he?'

The other boy grunted. 'So you prefer to stay here and watch Potter? Then again, you've been doing that for a while, haven't you?' He shifted slightly closer to the flames. 'But I am glad that it's not my hide on the line out there. Do you realise that after this the Ministry would have to be crazy not to pull out the Aurors against us?'

Draco was silent.

'No, much better to stay here. Do you think Dumbledore's got wind of any of this somehow?'

'Voldemort swore every one of us to secrecy.'

'That doesn't stop some people's lips from flapping. And I can just bet he's got spies planted somewhere.'

'You don't seem very worried about it.'

Kieran shrugged. 'We're Voldemort's, aren't we?'

'Is that supposed to be some twisted Gryffindor concept of fair play?'

Another short bark of laughter. 'So, just saying Headmaster does know—what do you think he'd do about it?'

'I don't know. He'd try something, though—anything—to stop it.'

'A desperate man, then...I don't see it, myself. He knows a lot more than he lets on.'

'You seem to have a lot of respect for someone who's supposed to be the enemy.'

'He's Voldemort's enemy, not mine. I'm just a minion.'

Draco sat down, glaring suspiciously at him. 'If you don't hate Dumbledore, why did you join with the Death Eaters? Is it Potter?'

'Him? Oh Gods, no. For all we actually know, Potter's just a pawn in all this—much the same as we are.' Harper raised his hand before him, idly watching the firelight glance off his nails. 'I joined because I decided I didn't want to be on the losing side.'

'Is that so?' Draco's voice was shaking; he couldn't help it. To hear Harry being talked about like that, as though he were some insignificant detail, not even worthy of hatred— 'And I suppose that if Dumbledore gained the upper hand you'd trade the Mark in and switch sides?'

Kieran looked steadily at him. 'We all do whatever it takes for us to survive. Why did you join?'

Draco bit his lip, staring hard at the fire. I was forced to, was what he wanted to say, but it was far too dangerous. 'I grew up surrounded by the Dark Arts. It seemed only natural that I become a Death Eater when the opportunity arose.'

'But sometimes the things that seem so natural feel utterly wrong,' Kieran muttered, gazing distantly through the fog-ridden shadows. 'And I bet your plan is to work your way up, as close to Voldemort as possible, yes?'

'That...is the idea.'

Harper's head tilted back to gaze at Draco's face. The fire reflected in his hazel irises made the look seem as it though it could pierce through Draco's skull to the thoughts within. 'Whose idea, though?'

Draco bared his teeth, aware that he might have somehow let slip something important. 'What does that mean? Don't stare at me like that!'

Harper didn't seem very worried about Draco's sudden flare of temper. He turned away to stare at a random low-hanging branch. 'You should go now. You might want to get someone to look at those robes, too. They're pretty wretched at the moment.'

'I was aware of that,' Draco said coldly, standing up and brushing himself off. 'Well?'

Kieran's head swung around. 'Well what?'

'Are you coming back to the castle?'

'Not now.'

'You just want to get rid of me, is that it?'

A careless shrug. 'It's no longer in my interests that you stay here.'

'Always looking out for yourself,' Draco muttered disgustedly. 'How did you get to be a Gryffindor?'

'I'm a turncoat, Malfoy, not a coward. And it probably isn't in either of our interests to admit this meeting ever happened. Goodbye.' Draco hesitated, still unsure of the way back to Hogwarts. Harper raised a languid arm and pointed through the trees behind him. 'That way's fastest.'

Draco nodded and set off, trying to ignore the noises of the forest around him. The fog was lifting, and he wasn't sure whether or not that was a good thing, because it meant he could see around him now and the Forbidden Forest was about as far removed from a topiary garden as a crone was from a princess.

After about ten minutes he emerged from the forest and continued towards the castle, bypassing Hagrid's now-empty cottage and the seething waters of the lake. The giant octopus kept ice from forming on the water's surface by constantly churning around beneath it, not that any of the creatures within the lake would suffer from a coating of ice. It was more that the octopus enjoyed its vantage point of the school and didn't want to the view to be clouded inconveniently, and so kept its tentacles firmly in the door of the gingerbread cottage.

Once inside, Draco hurried back to his room and tore his tattered robes off, changing quickly into clothes that wouldn't need darning. He hadn't run into anyone on his way, and now that he could properly see the thorns' handiwork he was very glad. Probably even the house elves couldn't mend that mess, but he should at least try them. He could get something to eat while he was in the kitchens—he'd have long since missed breakfast in the Great Hall. Draco gathered up his robes and walked through the wall.

Draco knew the way to the kitchens well: he'd once followed the Weasley twins there during his first year at Hogwarts and had since committed the way to memory. When he entered, the place was bustling. Dirty dishes loomed in precarious stacks on one end of a bench, at which sat a series of house elves busily scrubbing and drying as the items were passed along. At the far end of the bench was a crowd of elves from which one or two occasionally hurried away, clutching the clean dishes in neat piles in their hands. In another area of the room lunch was already being prepared by another busy horde, and several more were fussing over dirty linen. The place was a hive, and it was only the holidays.

A house elf scurrying back to the bench after placing a pile of plates in a cupboard bumped into Draco. It gazed up at him in utmost surprise and squeaked, 'Did sir want something?'

'Yes,' Draco said immediately. 'I want these robes—'

There was a watery clatter of dishes and the little elf was shoved aside, its face replaced by another, more familiar visage. 'What is young Master Malfoy doing here?'

Draco stared. 'Dobby? Is that you?'

The elf's chin came up defiantly. 'Dobby works here now.' Dobby's mouth widened into a wicked grin. 'And I is getting wages, too.'

A wooden spoon thrown with some force hurtled through the air inches above Dobby's head. He quailed and looked sheepishly back at the dishwashing line, from which a small female elf was advancing with a look of pure thunder on her face.

'Dobby! How many times is I telling you not to say that word! Dobby should be grateful that Dumbledore lets Dobby stay here at all!' The female ranted on, and Draco noticed that the rest of the room had gone oddly still as the other elves listened in. 'Asking money asks trouble, mark you! Dobby shouldn't be such a burden on the master, a whole Galleon he is paying for work any house elf will do for food and home! It is a disgrace on us all, surely Master Malfoy agrees.'

Draco blinked as attention turned abruptly to him. The female elf waited expectantly for his reply. He sat down and pointed at her. 'What is your name?'

'Winky, sir.' She smiled shyly at him, and a series of memories flickered through Draco's mind.

'That's right, you were Mr Crouch's house elf, weren't you?'

Winky's face metamorphosed to an expression of anguish and she covered her eyes with her hands. 'I is a bad, bad elf, Master Malfoy!'

From what Draco's father had told him, Winky had been a bad servant; not disobedient, but clumsy. However, he had a feeling she was talking about something else altogether.

'Nonsense,' he said, and she looked up in surprise. Draco shook a finger at her. 'There's no such thing as a bad elf who works at Hogwarts.'

Winky blushed. 'Sir is too kind.'

'Why do you ask for money, Dobby?' Draco said, becoming interested in the dispute in spite of himself. He knew a little about house elf customs, and the idea of an elf wanting pay seemed absurd.

Dobby sniffed. 'Dobby's work is worth paying for.'

'You is too big in your head!' Winky snapped.

Draco looked from one to the other thoughtfully. Obviously his robes weren't going to be seen to until the argument was somehow resolved. 'Does Dumbledore mind paying?'

The two elves stared at him, then at each other. A triumphant smile spread across Dobby's face. 'He does not, sir.'

'Then if Dobby wants the pay he offers, I suppose that's all right,' he said slowly, watching both their reactions carefully, as well as gauging the response around the room. Winky looked devastated, as did many of the others, but a few were beginning to look speculative. 'But of course, it isn't the traditional way of the house elf, and many masters wouldn't be prepared to pay at all. They would think you were being greedy.'

'Dobby does not want any master beside Dumbledore.'

'Isn't that lucky,' Draco said dryly. He held his torn robes out. 'Can you fix these for me?'

Dobby's eyes narrowed as he took them. 'How much?'

Draco sighed. 'I'm not paying you just for this.' Dobby's lip curled, but Draco held up his hand before the house elf could say anything. 'I will not pay just to have my robes mended. But I will give you some money if you agree to keep my room clean and do some oddjobs for me every now and again.'

Dobby's eyes brightened. 'How much?' he repeated.

'A Sickle each week.'

'Three,' the house elf immediately countered. 'Extra for oddjobs.'

Draco regarded him levelly. 'Two,' he said. 'Flat rate. And I'll buy you sweets and socks from Hogsmeade sometimes if you promise to keep this a secret.'

Dobby stared at him for a moment before extending a hand. Draco took it and they shook solemnly. 'Done.'

The other house elves were staring at them in sheer bewilderment. Obviously this was their first experience of haggling. Winky stepped forward. 'Please, sir, you mustn't need to pay for your room cleaning. We will do it for you.'

Draco turned to look at the rest of the elves gathered in the room. They had by now completely forgotten about what they were doing and were watching the three of them closely. He looked back at Dobby. I can trust one better than all of them. And I know how to deal with him.

'Thank you. That's very generous of you. But I know Dobby and I would prefer if he did this for me.'

Winky's shoulders sagged, and Dobby looked strangely troubled. 'As sir wishes,' she said, and turned away. The rest of the elves gradually began to return to their various tasks. Draco's stomach growled loudly as he stood up, and Winky spun around.

'Master Malfoy is hungry!' she cried. 'Why didn't you say?'

She darted about the room, snatching a freshly-dried plate and heaping food on it, some of which still spat and hissed from the heat of the pans. She returned to Draco's side with such swiftness that he could have sworn she sent a breeze flying past him. Winky held the plate up, smiling humbly. 'We is here to serve the students, sir.'

Draco took the plate gratefully, knowing far better than to argue—it would only result in more food being piled on. 'Thank you.' He glanced down at Dobby. 'Come on. I'll show you where my room is.' The elf nodded and followed him out of the kitchens.

They walked through the corridors in silence for a while. Draco was certain Dobby had only agreed to help him because of the offer of money. They had thoroughly disliked each other when Dobby was still property of his father; Draco's delight at home had been to taunt him and invent ever-more cruel punishments for mild transgressions. Lucius had encouraged his creativity and strictness. His mother...

Draco swallowed and pushed those thoughts away. Never mind them.

'Master Malfoy,' Dobby said quietly, breaking through Draco's thoughts. 'You is not a Prefect, so why does you have your own room?'

'I don't like to stay near the other Slytherins any more,' Draco said distantly. 'I found this room, and Dumbledore let me have it.'

'Dumbledore is a great man.'

Draco shrugged. 'That's what people say. I suppose he's all right.'

Dobby cast a sidelong look at him, taking in Draco's gaunt expression and the faraway look in his eyes. 'Why is Master Malfoy so sad?'

Draco stopped, his shoulders sagging. 'Why am I so transparent to everyone?'

'You is not clear at all,' Dobby told him. 'You is just sad. I do not remember seeing you like this ever.'

That said a lot. Dobby had been in his father's service even before Draco was born. Draco pulled himself together enough to turn into the Chimaera Hall. From there they located the right stairway and the tunnel opening halfway down. 'Dobby, has there ever been something that you wanted more than anything else, that you couldn't have?' I must be mad, confiding in a house elf.

The elf nodded solemnly. 'For Dobby there were two things like that.'

'What were they?'

'Freedom,' Dobby said, staring at Draco with piercing saucer eyes. 'And—Winky.'

'Winky?'

'She always fights with Dobby, but no one else even talks to him—except Harry Potter and his Wheezy and Herm-own-ee. And Winky is pretty and good and—' In the gloom, Dobby rubbed his head ruefully. '—And Winky is a good aim, sir.'

'And a good catch, too?' Draco whispered.

'Dobby thinks so. Is that why Master Malfoy is sad? Do you want something not allowed?'

Draco grimaced. ' 'Not allowed' is a good way of putting it. Yes.'

'What does Master Malfoy want?'

Draco choked, stumbling a little as his foot struck an uneven stone. 'Harry...'

He heard Dobby suck in a breath beside him. 'Master Malfoy is wanting Harry...Harry Potter? As Dobby wants Winky?'

'Yes.'

There was a brief silence. Then: 'I was thinking...Dobby means...aren't humans like house elves, sir?' Dobby's tone was guarded, and Draco cursed himself for having opened his mouth at all. 'Boy-humans are usually wanting girl-humans, yes?'

'You lived with my father for how many years, Dobby? And you still expect me to be...to act like normal?'

'Dobby sees.' His voice was very quiet, and fraught with worry. Draco sighed.

'I don't think you do. Perhaps it was too much to hope...turn backwards here. It's a trick wall.'

Dobby did so, and they entered the room together. Soft blue flames sprang from the fireplace, painting the stone walls round about with flickering light. The flames ran out in a day, but they were less complex spells than the light orb and didn't cast such permanent, stark light.

Draco placed the plate on top of the cabinet as Dobby looked around with an assessing gleam in his eye. 'Who was in this place before?'

'It's been empty for a long time,' Draco replied, opening the cabinet and rummaging through the contents. There was something he wanted... 'But the last person who stayed in here was called Tom Riddle.'

To his amazement, Dobby growled behind him. 'Dobby knows all about Tom Riddle. Evil man!'

'I know,' Draco said. His hand finally closed around what he was looking for, and he pulled it out. In his grasp was a small, red-leather bound book. Draco smiled a little, flicking through the pages. It was a book of spells—his very first grimoire, given to him by his mother when he was five years old, barely old enough to read the words inside. He could still remember sitting on her knee and watching her finger trace along the type as she read the incantations for him. Sometimes she would even cast the spells, most of which were harmless little charms, and he learned from her, little by little.

Lucius had been pleased by his aptitude for magic, and soon afterward he began to coach Draco in...other things...

The book snapped closed. Most of them were simple charms, but there was one spell towards the back that his mother had never cast, and now Draco knew why.

He probably won't appreciate it, but...

'Dobby?'

'Yes, sir?'

'Could you give this to Harry tomorrow? Please?' He held the book out, awaiting the house elf's response. Dobby took it gravely. 'And please don't tell him who it's from.' Draco had never been so civil toward a house elf, much less Dobby himself, and apparently it struck a chord.

'Free of charge.'

Draco almost laughed. Dobby flicked the torn robes over his shoulder and shuffled back towards the entrance. He turned back at the wall. 'Dobby does understand, Master Malfoy,' he said earnestly. 'And Dobby is sorry.'

He disappeared before Draco could formulate a reply.

~~~*~~~

Draco,

What have you been doing the past week, blowing bubbles? The attack was a fiasco, we were driven back by a couple of dogs! At the end of it only ten Muggles and three Mudbloods were killed. No ordinary dog could stop a gathering of Death Eaters. Plainly this was some scheme dreamed up by Dumbledore and his cronies, and no one heard a word from you or your friends at Hogwarts to warn us!

Another minor detail that you failed to warn us about: Dumbledore's henchmen launched an attack on Azkaban at precisely the same time. Wraiths were sent after our agents and actually succeeded in driving most of them away from the place. The timing is far too exact for the attack to be a coincidence.

Lord is furious, and you will wear the punishment for this breach of trust. There will be another meeting in Hogsmeade in two weeks, same time as before. You had better pray that the Dark Lord's wrath has abated by that time.

May the Dark Lord's final ascendance be great.

Be a man. Be a Malfoy.

Lucius.

Draco threw the letter on the desk and kicked the wall. 'Only ten Muggles and three Mudbloods killed'...only thirteen! 'How many were you hoping for, Father? A few hundred?'

He wrenched the top drawer open and took out a sheet of parchment. He picked up a quill and stabbed it into an open inkpot. The quill flickered madly over the page. Draco spoke under his breath as he wrote:

'Father—' His voice was a sarcastic snarl. 'I am well aware of my task here and I have been watching the Boy as instructed. He has shown no sign of knowing the Dark Lord's plan, and nor has Dumbledore. Hasn't it occurred to you that two dogs may just be two dogs?

'For all that you have washed your hands of me you insist on retaining the right to badger and insult me. I have done all that I am asked, and you cannot expect more. If I wear any punishment, it will be baseless.

'And I will be myself, not your puppet and not a doll carved in your image.

'Tell Mother I miss her. By the way, Merry Christmas, Father.

'Draco.'

Draco stopped and drew a breath. His hand was aching from the force with which he had driven the nib against the parchment. His eye ran over the words and he slumped into the chair. It was too reckless, gave too much of himself away. Another piece of parchment was removed from the drawer and he began to write again, re-wording and cutting sentences carefully. Draco cast his eye over it again, and wrote the letter one last time before deciding it was safe to send. He blew lightly on the wet ink to dry it and rolled the note, depositing it in his pocket.

The letter had been dropped to him by his father's owl during breakfast that morning. He'd had a good idea what it was about, but hadn't dared open it until he was in his room, and now he was glad he had waited. Draco sincerely doubted that he could have stifled his rage even in front of Berald and Harper.

He took the note to the Owlery before he decided against sending it at all. He stopped in the doorway when he saw that Harper was there as well, a snowy owl perched on his arm.

'You might as well come all the way,' Harper said, echoing their first meeting as he turned to regard Draco. His owl hooted softly.

Draco stepped inside, moving quickly to his own eagle owl. 'What are you doing here?'

Harper tapped a thin roll of paper attached almost imperceptibly to the white bird's leg. 'Writing to a friend. You?'

'Writing to my father.' Draco tied the note to his owl's leg. It stepped onto his arm, expecting to be carried to the door before it flew off.

'Not a friend, then.'

Draco glanced around sharply, but the boy was patting his bird's back and didn't say anything further to explain himself. 'Do you always set out to be so enigmatic?'

Kieran's eyebrows rose. 'I always make perfect sense to myself.' He shrugged. 'I suppose that's all I need to do, really.'

Draco shrugged his owl off his arm and with a sweep of its magnificent wings it flew off. Harper clucked his tongue and the snowy owl rose gracefully into the air, speeding past Draco.

'What happened? Did it work?' Kieran was clearly asking about the attack.

Draco forced his voice to be neutral. 'They killed thirteen people, but it was stopped by a couple of mad dogs running around, upsetting things. They didn't get to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.'

Kieran's brow rose further. 'A gathering of Death Eaters defeated by a couple of stray dogs? Perhaps I should change sides.'

Draco stared at him. 'Don't say things like that near me. Do you have any idea what Voldemort could do to you if he found you out?'

'Had a taste of it yourself?' Harper said softly. Draco looked away, cursing himself. How did this boy manage to twist his words so easily?

Kieran spoke up again after a few seconds' silence. 'I can look after myself, Draco.'

'What makes you think I won't betray you?'

Kieran stepped forward suddenly, his intense gaze searching Draco's eyes. Draco edged back, instinctively nervous of him, but Kieran's hands whipped out and caught about his wrists. He pulled Draco close, still staring. Draco wondered what he was looking for.

Kieran's mouth twitched at the edges. 'No, I don't think you'd betray me, Draco.' He leaned forward, his mouth brushing against Draco's ear as he whispered, 'I won't betray you, either.'

Draco closed his eyes, realising that the pads of Kieran's thumbs were moving in soothing circles over the tender skin of his wrists, pressing gently against the scars left by his suicide attempt. He shuddered violently, partly from the unfamiliar pleasure of having someone so close to him, purely because they wanted to be near him. Mostly, though, he was afraid of Kieran—of his ambiguity—of what he could do to Draco, now, or at the next Death Eater meeting. 'Let go of me.'

Kieran did so, and Draco cautiously opened his eyes. Harper was still staring at him, but the sharp edge on the gaze had faded.

'They're in the Library.'

Kieran swept out of the room.

Draco lifted his hands slowly, his fingers ghosting over the scars where Kieran had touched him. That had felt so…wonderful.

'I don't think you'll betray me...I won't betray you.' What the hell do you mean, Harper? What do you know?

He became aware of the owls staring down at him, rustling wings and hooting to each other from the perches. There were only a few in comparison to the crowded population that usually crowded Hogwarts, but their concentrated regard was still unnerving. He shuffled out of the room and made for the Library, determined to understand at least part of what Kieran had said to him.

~~~*~~~

Madam Pince glanced around suspiciously at Draco's entrance, but forbore to comment on his unwelcome presence. A kind of silent feud had grown between Draco and the librarian since he tried—and failed—to take a book on the Dark Arts from the Restricted Section in second year.

Draco drifted among the rows of shelves, searching for some sign of life other than the rustle of restless pages in the Restricted Section. He heard them before he saw them, hushed voices murmuring to each other. Emerging from a stack of A-Z Potions grimoires, he saw three figures seated around a table and hesitated. Of course it would be them. Who else would Harper have been talking about?

Ron spotted him first as Draco dithered between leaving and staying to watch. Distrust clouded his expression. 'What are you doing here, Malfoy?'

Draco's gaze wandered over the three of them. Ron and Hermione were sitting side by side facing him, opposite to Harry, who had his head in his hands. Hermione had been leaning forward and talking quietly to Harry, but looked up at Ron's question. Harry didn't move.

There was a letter and a clipping from the Daily Prophet in front of them.

'What happened?' Draco asked. 'What's wrong?'

'Thirteen people are dead,' Ron said coldly. 'Though I suppose that doesn't worry you.'

Draco didn't respond to the Weasel's jab; he was focused on Harry. He slid into a chair beside the boy, eyes not leaving his face. 'Are you going to be all right?'

Harry finally turned to look at Draco. His face was much paler than usual, and his eyes—he hadn't been crying but his eyes looked so weary, so very defeated.

'Is it Black?' Draco said hoarsely. 'Did he—did they get away all right? My father's letter didn't say.'

Harry nodded once, and turned away again. Draco clenched his hands to keep himself from touching him. 'Then what's so wrong?'

He heard Harry sigh, and then his voice, as tired as his eyes. 'What Ron said. Thirteen people were killed—thirteen! And we couldn't do anything to stop it—'

'It could have been a lot worse,' Draco said softly. 'The Death Eaters were counting on far more than that...'

'The dream was right. I should know better by now...'

Draco froze. 'You dreamed of this? You had a premonition?'

When Harry didn't answer, Hermione spoke up for him, watching Draco carefully. 'It's something to do with his scar, but we're not sure what. It...almost acts like a warning, when Voldemort's going to do something...'

Draco stared from Hermione to Harry in growing horror. 'That's what—in Divination last year, that's why—?'

Harry nodded, not bothering to look up. Draco's fists clenched until he felt flesh puncture under the pressure of his nails. 'If I'd known that, I'd never have teased you the way I did.'

Ron snorted something derisive, and Draco looked around sharply. 'I wouldn't have,' he said. 'I know as well as you do what that means.'

'I should have thought it would only make you laugh harder,' Ron retorted.

'You're wrong—no, Weasel, I mean it. I wasn't that bad, even then.' Was I?

Ron looked ready to start a fight, but Granger tapped his shoulder lightly and placated him with a small shake of her head.

Draco stood up. 'I really wouldn't have.' He looked again at Harry's silent form. 'Harry—' Gods, how easy it would be just to reach out and stroke that beautiful dark hair, to whisper comfort in his ear... 'I'm sorry.'

It was just a whisper, and Harry did nothing to show he'd heard, but Draco could almost smell the hatred emanating from Ron. He walked away.