* * *
Hermione flopped down on a sofa in the uncommonly empty common room (most everyone had already stumbled into exhausted slumber), groaning as she banged her elbow against the armrest. "Ouch, damnit. That hurt. Everything hurts. Remind me again why we're doing this, Harry?"
He looked over at her with outraged astonishment. "Hermione, it was your idea to start this all up in the first place!" As he spoke, he dropped himself next to her, removing his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose.
She flushed, "Yeah, I know – it's just...we started three months ago. I didn't think that they'd all still be so – so careless with the knowledge."
Ron didn't bother waiting to find a couch or a chair – he just stepped into the room and crumpled to the floor, forehead resting on his arms. "'S magic, Herm-ny – powerful stuff. O`course they're careless. It'so much more fun tha' way." The words were slurred and muffled, and it became quite obvious that Ron wasn't expecting a response when a soft snore followed his words.
Harry grinned despite himself. "It looks like Luna wore him out."
Hermione giggled a little and shifted to face Harry on the sofa. "Did you see her attempt at conjuring water above his head?! She got confused and dropped 10 liters of sludge over him! I thought he was going to wring her neck."
Smiling at the remembered image, Harry nodded and closed his eyes. "Yes, well. She's getting better. They all are, I think. How's Neville doing?" He didn't look up as he mentioned Hermione's study partner, and thus missed the rather becoming blush that tinted her cheeks.
"Quite well, honestly, Harry. I truly believe that the wand he'd been using just wasn't right for him – his grandmother had insisted he use his father's old one, but when it broke he went to Ollivander's for a new one. He's picking things up really quickly, so his confidence is increasing. The only problem is that if he makes just one small mistake, he's worthless for the rest of the session. He can't get past it."
"Oh. Is that how you're ending up so bruised?" He finally opened his eyes and looked over at Hermione, who nodded.
"Yes. We were trying a protection spell, and he got confused and made one tiny mistake – and suddenly he couldn't seem to complete anything but a reflective counter when I attacked. So I kept getting the backlash." She sighed ruefully and offered Harry a small smile. "It's my own fault, though. I ought to be able to stop it, but I was so worried about giving Neville instructions that I kept forgetting to duck."
Harry considered her words a moment, then met her gaze, holding it intently. "You're spending quite a bit of time with Neville lately, aren't you?"
"Yes, and?"
"And... so... what's going on between you two?" He ventured forward with an easy grin, giving her the option to deflect his question.
Hermione treated the question as seriously as she treated everything, but when quite a few minutes had passed she responded with a rather simple "I'm not certain."
Harry watched her for a few moments, then stifled a yawn and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her against him. "Well – if I know you, Hermione – and I do – I'm confident that you'll figure it all out soon enough." His hand sifted through her hair, the movements gentle and soothing, and she closed her eyes, snuggling closer.
"Mmm. I will. Eventually." She didn't hear his response, having quietly drifted to sleep while lying in his arms.
Time passed slowly, until finally Harry's eyelids slid downward.
The dark hall was full of dust and grime – the air was stale and cold. Dim, flickering candles provided the only relief from the stark nothingness that seemed to exist just three feet before him. Suddenly a harsh, vibrating scream ripped through the darkness; a hot gust of air seemed to move with it, as if the two were part of one large wave; unbroken, powerful and full of immense malevolence. The candles flickered out, leaving absolute darkness. He stilled completely, hearing only the harsh sound of his own frightened panting – until a soft, dreadful hissing began to tease his ears. It wasn't close – nor far away. A rustle to his right caused him to turn his head quickly, his eyes peering anxiously but blindly into the absolute absence of light. And then – a breath of air caressed his cheek, and his eyes widened as it seemed two dark orbs appeared just before him, reflecting just a hint of illumination from behind him. The light grew slowly, and he inhaled sharply at the scene unfolding before him – until darkness enfolded him once more, and he knew nothing.
Harry thrashed around in his sleep; the racing of his heart and his strangled cry roused Hermione instantly. She sat up, her eyes wide as she took note of her friend's panicked expression. When his eyes remained closed and he tilted his head back against the sofa, she bit her lip and brushed her hand against his cheek.
"Harry," she whispered softly. "Are you okay?"
When she received no response whatsoever, she turned quickly and hissed toward the boy on the floor, accompanying her summons with a pillow thrown directly at his head. Ron lifted his head leisurely, yawning as he considered his whereabouts.
"Ron!" The whisper was a bit louder this time, and the boy slid a hand through his red hair.
"Hmm?"
Another pillow smacked the tall boy in the face.
"Hey, damnit!" He looked around quickly, his bloodshot eyes glaring semi- threateningly in Hermione's direction. Until she tilted her head toward Harry, that is. Ron took one look at his friend and moved quickly to his feet, speaking calmly but commandingly. "Hermione, move away from him. Slowly. Get off the sofa and stand over here."
She gave him an odd look, but obeyed without question. When she'd reached Ron's side, he approached Harry slowly, speaking softly. "Harry? It's Ron. You're at Hogwarts, Harry. Remember? Come on back, you aren't supposed to be there. Come on, Harry... "
Finally, it dawned on Hermione that her friend's mind could very well be possessed by Voldemort at this precise moment, just as he'd been the night the snake had attacked Ron's father. She began to shake with fear – not for herself, but for Harry. Ron seemed to sense her anxiety and reached a hand back to squeeze hers reassuringly. Hermione took a deep breath, seeming to receive comfort from the touch, and she stilled, watching as Ron continued to coax Harry back to reality.
Finally, his eyelids fluttered and he looked up at the two of them. Realization dawned immediately, and he closed his eyes tightly, speaking flatly, "It happened again, Ron, didn't it?"
His friend hesitated only a moment before replying rather fatalistically, "Yeah, Harry. It did. You okay?"
Harry considered this a moment, then laughed a bit bitterly. "Oh, certainly. I'm wonderful. And you?"
Hermione bit her lip at the cynical tone. "We're fine, Harry. Nothing happened. Do you remember what you saw?"
The question resulted in various images flying through his mind – but not long enough for him to piece anything together. With a growl of sheer frustration, Harry jumped to his feet and hurried to his room, his murmured apology lingering in the quiet room as he closed the door behind him.
Ron shook his head wearily, "Poor bastard."
Hermione said nothing. There wasn't anything to say.
* * *
The next morning, the entire school was in an uproar – not because anyone had been hurt, or because there was news of Voldemort, or even because Peeves had played an incredibly cruel prank that resulted in half the student population transfiguring the other half into barnyard animals. No, the reason for the furor was rather simple; Colin Creevy had discovered that - with Professor Dumbledore's permission and support - Draco Malfoy, son of escaped Death Eater Lucius Malfoy, had returned to Hogwarts.
Gryffindor's common room rang with curses and complaints that Dumbledore needed to be committed to St. Mungo's at first opportunity. While everyone seemed angry and troubled, only Hermione, Ron and Harry appeared grim. They didn't say much, and didn't want to cause speculation by leaving the room, so they continued to stare at each other rather intently.
Neville noticed this odd behavior rather quickly, and nudged Ginny, who happened to be sitting next to him. She watched for a moment, her brows furrowing lightly, then shook her head. Now wasn't a good time to discuss it, not with everyone around. He picked up on her silent message, saying nothing, although he continued to watch the trio discreetly.
Perhaps fifteen minutes later, Hermione stretched purposefully and suggested that everyone get dressed and head down to breakfast. As soon as people began to move, Ron and Harry headed off to their room; when Neville and Ginny spotted Hermione heading discreetly in the same direction, they followed. Lurking behind them was Dean Thomas – Ginny's boyfriend – who was concerned after observing those two watching the others for the past half hour.
The door closed behind Hermione, and Ginny knelt down in front of the door, pulling out an Extendable Ear that she'd gotten from Fred and George.
"What are you doing?" Dean hissed quietly.
Neville and Ginny immediately pulled him down next to them, and she whispered quickly, "We're listening to Harry, Ron and Hermione. Shh! You'll have to share with me." She leaned against him, balancing herself in his embarce as she handed Neville her spare Ear. The three barely breathed as they struggled to hear the conversation in the room.
"Don't worry, Harry, I'm sure it's nothing. Probably just a coincidence" said Ron, ever the optimist.
"...I'm not so sure. We should learn everything we can. Think back, Harry, do you remember seeing Malfoy at all?"
"I don't know, damnit! I have no idea; I can't remember it!" Harry's voice was anguished, frustrated. Dean shivered as worry tightened his gut.
"Keep that up, and you'll be bald before you hit twenty." Ron's light joke seemed to not have been received very well, if the loud, amplified crash that caused the three eavesdroppers to wince in pain was Harry's response.
"I'm going to be dead before I'm twenty, Ron! Do you think I fucking care what my hair is going to look like!"
Hermione's horrified gasp was echoed by Ginny, Dean and Neville. "Harry! Don't you dare say such a thing."
For once, Harry didn't seem at all repentant. "Why not, Hermione? It's the truth, isn't it? I've been heading for my death since the moment Voldemort tried to kill me – and you know it!"
Hermione sniffled, and Ron seemed to have had enough. "That's quite enough, Harry. This situation sucks, and we all know it, but making Hermione cry isn't going to help anything. Get over the self pity and meet us downstairs. Don't bother coming if you're not willing to lose the attitude. We supported you through it last year, but it's time to grow the fuck up."
Ron easily ignored Hermione's protest, grabbing her around the wrist and tugging her to the door. After turning the knob, he glanced back, his anger dying just a little as he stared at his best friend. "You aren't going to die unless you give up, Harry. But only you can make that decision for yourself. When you make it, find us. We'll be around. We'll always be around."
Having said his piece, Ron left the room, dragging Hermione with him. After the door closed he leaned back against the wall and lifted a brow. "You can come out now, Ginny."
A soft curse preceeded a head of red hair around the closest corner, followed by a rueful-looking Dean and an obviously embarrssed Neville. "How did you know?"
"Some of your hair was showing beneath the door. Well, that, and you suck at eavesdropping. You all made quite a bit of noise."
"He's so reckless!" Hermione's words came out of nowhere, and Ron sighed softly as he watched her stare at the closed door that Harry hid behind.
"He'll be alright, Hermione. He just needs a few minutes. Don't worry so much."
"You could stand to worry a little more! You act like there's nothing wrong! Harry needs –" Hermione's furious tirade was interrupted quickly by a rather livid Ron.
"Harry needs to not be treated like a poor, motherless orphan who had a miserable childhood and lives at Death's door!"
Hermione looked at Ron, bewildered and upset. "But he is –"she began.
"No! No, Hermione! He. Is. NOT! Harry grew up, have you missed the bulletin? He isn't a child anymore, and he can't afford to be coddled." His voice, which had been loud and furious, softened as he took Hermione in his arms, squeezing gently. "We won't always be there for him, Hermione – as much as we want to, it just isn't possible. He has to rely on himself. He can't do that if we're sugar-coating things for him. What's more, he doesn't even want us to. He's just scared right now, and I sure as hell don't blame him. Hell, I'm scared."
She closed her eyes, ignoring her rather uncomfortable audience for a few moments. "So am I..."
Silence reigned for a minute or so, until Neville broke it nervously – as if he didn't really want to speak, but felt forcefully compelled to do so. "Harry will be okay, Hermione. He... he has strength, more than he even knows. My – my father was like that. But Harry's stronger than he ever was. He'll be okay." As speeches go, it wasn't a chart topper, but Hermione smiled a little anyway, sliding out of Ron's arms to embrace Neville thankfully. She could tell it had been hard for him to say such things. Ginny leaned back against Dean as she watched, gaining comfort from his solid presence behind her.
Ron scowled a little, but said nothing. Upon releasing Neville, Hermione squared her shoulders and swiped quickly at her eyes, releasing a long breath. "Well. Okay, then. Breakfast, anyone?"
"...I'd like some." The soft, hesitant voice belonged to Harry, who stood in the open doorway, his green eyes pleading for understanding.
Hermione offered him a smile and moved up on tiptoes to brush her lips against his cheek – forgiveness granted. As she moved away, Ron glanced at Harry sardonically. "So that's how you reel 'em in, eh, Harry? Temper tantrums and pretty little apologies?"
Both boys laughed as Ron shoved Harry down the hall. "Shut up, Ron."
Hermione and Ginny glanced at each other as Neville and Dean moved ahead of them, slapping the other two boys on the back. "Men," murmured Hermione, with disgust.
"Boys," Ginny corrected, and the two laughed and followed the others to breakfast, gratefully pushing worries, fears and specualtions to the back of their minds. There were more important things in life.
* * *
Draco sat on his bed, leaning on the backboard, his head tilted against the wall as he stared at the ceiling. He'd done it. He was back at Hogwarts, inside. Shielded, protected, hidden. Slytherin welcomed him back, of course – not that they had much choice. Of course, he couldn't trust them. Not one. He wasn't certain which ones had parents involved with the Dark Lord, and which ones didn't.
Slowly his lashes lowered, and a soft sigh escaped his lips. Nothing had changed, yet everything had changed. He had to pretend to be the person that he was, or used to be, or vice versa. Or... hell, he didn't know anymore. Didn't know who the fuck he was, what the fuck he was supposed to do.
Life had been so much easier when he'd had one goal alone – to please his father. Now that wasn't an option, and he was so horribly lost. It was torture knowing that – knowing that he had no true purpose, that he had so little control over his own thoughts and actions. What was worse was that he was every inch a Malfoy – and to a Malfoy, control was simply everything.
He felt worthless; he could hear his father's words echoing in his head. You're weak, Draco. You'll never learn, Draco. You don't understand the ways of the world, and I don't think you're even capable of it. You disappoint me, Draco – you're no true Malfoy.
With a slight groan, his long, slim hands raked through his blonde hair.
He'd prove his father wrong. He owed it to him to be better.
He was a Malfoy.
He was.
* * *
He stood utterly still, purposely controlling his breathing, anxious to hide his uncertainty. Something to his left shifted, jolting his side, but he didn't bother to look. His eyes remained locked on the stone floor, his hands curled into fists at his sides. A sticky moisture began to slide against his skin, but he barely noticed. No... no, don't. You can't ask this. You can't do this. His thoughts seemed like screams, aching and desperate and pleading for help - but there was no response. The force of his will went ignored. And he watched . . .
* * *
Harry leaned forward in his chair, his green eyes wide with shock. "You have to be kidding me, Professor Dumbledore! With his history..."
"Harry... you must learn that there is no black and white in this life. There are many, many shades of gray. Sometimes people do the right thing, for the wrong reasons. Should it matter, though? If the end is accomplished, do the means have any consequence whatsoever?
"I cannot tell you the correct answer; you must decide that for yourself." Dumbledore rested his folded hands atop his desk, his gaze steady.
"Professor, please... it's not that I don't trust your word, it's just... " Harry trailed off, not even certain what it was he wanted to say.
"Harry. Do you think that your own father was perfect? Are you perfect? Are your friends? Have you not known anyone who's ever made mistakes? I do not believe in judging people whose circumstances have dictated who they've become. Especially when they are not yet old enough to be set in their ways."
The young Gryffindor sighed and rubbed his temples wearily. "You believe I should give him a chance." It wasn't exactly a question.
"Yes. If you don't, no one will. Keep in mind, too, Harry, that this is what you wanted at the beginning of the year."
"I know. I know, it just... it seems suspect."
The aging Headmaster smiled a little, "Of course it does, Harry. It is suspect. I suppose it comes down to weighing things out and hoping for the best."
Harry looked at his mentor incredulously, "'Hoping for the best'! Professor, this isn't exactly just a House rivalry. It's a war!"
Dumbledore just smiled serenely. "Not much difference, then. There's still hatred and manipulations and lies – and those few who try to take the others for what they are instead of the name of their House.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, Harry. I've just received my complimentary gift from the Weasley twin's joke shop, and I'm quite anxious to try out the Enchanted Pogo Stick. Do have a good evening."
Harry grinned despite himself, wished the Headmaster good luck, and slipped out, thinking intently.
* * *
The heavy door to the Room of Requirement closed behind the rather morose young man who stepped inside, green eyes flashing lightly as he glanced around once, briefly. His gaze was quick, but penetrating, and Draco inhaled sharply.
"Potter? What the hell are you doing here!" Draco immediately reached for his wand, his free hand clenched at his side. He may have changed allegiences, but that did not mean that he liked or supported Potter.
"You won't need that, just yet. And I'm here because I asked you to come." Harry spoke quietly, stepping slowly into the dim lighting, the reflection bouncing gently off his glasses as he turned his head, hands lifted to show he intended no threat.
Malfoy hissed slowly, his stance not changing in the least. He'd been taught how to betray, and as such how to avoid betrayal. He didn't trust Potter one meter. Not one damned meter.
"The fuck were you thinking, ordering me around, Potter? I'm more than half tempted to turn you into a garden gnome just for presuming to think that you deserve any bit of my precious time." The words were spat at him, full of anger and distrust and perhaps just a small bit of sheer, overwhelming confusion.
Again, the reply was soft, calm. It wasn't threatening, accusing or pitying in the least. "It wasn't an order, it was a request. One I knew you wouldn't respond to if you'd known I was behind it. Will you hear me out, please?"
Draco narrowed his silver gaze, tilting his head a bit to keep a loose strand of hair from blocking his eyes. His jaw tightened, lifted. "You have 15 seconds, Potter. Time's wasting."
Harry nodded, replying simply, his arms remaining lifted near his shoulders, wand hidden from view. "I need your help."
Draco couldn't hide his astonishment immediately; it took a second, perhaps two. But hide it he did, and concealed it with slow, mocking laughter. "Oh, certainly, Potter. I'd be overjoyed to help you, us being such good friends and all."
"I'm not kidding, Malfoy. There's something I have to prepare for, and you're the only person whom I can think of who could do it right."
The Slytherin laughed maliciously, lifting a brow in feigned innocence. "I don't believe I heard you. Come again, Potter?"
Harry took a deep breath, releasing it very slowly. Only the white lines shadowing his tense jawline and the throbbing at his left temple visibly indicated how much he despised having to ask Malfoy, of all people, for a favor. Unfortunately, he just didn't see another way. He'd realized that Professor Dumbledore had a point; everyone deserved a second chance. More importantly – as much as he hated to admit it - he needed Draco.
"I said, Malfoy... that I need help, and you're the only person I know who is capable of doing it correctly." This time the words revealed no small amount of impatience, though his tone remained calm.
The small signs of tension were betrayed easily to the Slytherin's trained gaze, and inwardly he released a breath. If this was so difficult for 'poor' Potter, then it wasn't anything as simple as a trap or attempt to leak false information.
After a few moment's silence, Draco grinned and shook his head. "Cat got your tongue, Potter? I haven't heard an explanation yet."
Harry pressed his lips together, and finally Draco saw the anger in those forest green eyes. He smirked as Potter tucked his balled fists into his pockets, an obvious sign of someone trying desperately hard not to swing on someone. Much better. This he was used to. This, he understood.
"Apparently so. The Dark Lord must have stolen a bit more than just a few dreams, Potter. It seems you've lost a bit of your sanity, as well – standing there mute when you're clearly expected to form some sort of reply."
Draco's laugh was cut off abruptly as Harry's hands grasped his shirt, right near the collarbone. The Gryffindor used his body to force the taller boy backward, completely ignoring the wand still pointed in his direction as he slammed Malfoy against the wall, holding him there with the weight of his torso pressed against the Slytherin's, arms thrust against the stone wall.
"What the hell do you know about my dreams, Malfoy!"
Furious that he'd been caught off guard, Draco quickly lifted his knee into Potter's groin – he was a Malfoy. He played to win. Mere seconds after Harry doubled over in pain, Draco had his wand tucked in his waistband, and both hands gripped the other boy's wrists, holding them painfully up behind his back.
Harry shuddered, his entire body thrust against the jagged stones, glasses askew as he struggled in Draco's hold.
"Let go, you bloody git!" Draco smiled with satisfaction – it was rare to hear such absolute fury in Potter's voice, and yet know that the other boy was helpless.
"Hush, now, Potter. Your time is up, and I really can't stay. If you wanted to finish your request, I suggest you do it. Now." The voice that had begun soft and taunting ended with such cold finality that Harry squeezed his eyes in horror. He must be absolutely fucking mad to even think about asking Malfoy to do this. The Slytherin was no better than Voldemort, himself!
But – if he didn't do this, he wouldn't get another chance. He knew that, instinctively. Malfoys didn't give second chances. And there wasn't anyone else who could help him. Or at least, no one who would do as he asked, no one who wouldn't go easy on him. Damn it!
Harry kicked Malfoy's shin in sheer frustration, smirking when the other boy yelped, even though this resulted in his forehead being tapped none-too- gently against the wall in retaliation.
"I take it that means you've changed your mind, Potter?" There wasn't even an attempt to hide the anger, this time. Malfoy was furious. Somehow, it was easier this way.
Harry took a deep breath, then rushed out quickly. "IneedyoutousetheUnforgivableCursesonme."
Draco blinked once, then again, his hold loosening in sheer shock. Quickly, Harry moved to escape Malfoy's grasp, but he wasn't fast enough. Once again he was thrust painfully against the wall, unable to stifle a slight groan of pain.
"Don't move, Potter!" Draco hissed the words in absolute fury, incensed that he'd let his guard down again.
"I can't, Malfoy, my circulation's nearly cut off as it is!"
At this, the Slytherin glanced at the hold he had of the other boy's wrists. He was right, actually. Draco's grip was awfully tight. He smiled a bit. No matter.
"You'll live, Potter. Now. Tell me again what your request was. I don't believe I heard you correctly the first time."
That was it. The smug, arrogant tone sent Harry right over the edge. With almost no tensing of muscles to suggest his intentions, the Gryffindor raised his right leg until he could hook it behind Draco's. In an almost simultaneous movement, Harry put pressure against the back of Malfoy's knee, causing it to bend reflexively, throwing the other boy off balance just as Harry to tugged on his wrists – one managing to pull free - and whirled around, his fist swinging right for Draco's nose.
Draco howled in pain as Harry's fist connected, and he reared backward, clutching his nose. His eyes watered as Harry stared at him, tense, obviously waiting for a return strike, though his wand had yet to be drawn.
Silence reigned for a few moments, until Harry nearly spat out "I need to prepare to face those curses. I need to resist them, and I need to know how to use them. The way I see it, even Professor Snape wouldn't use them against me. Professor Dumbledore would forbid it. And I don't know anyone else with the background in the Dark Arts that you have. Furthermore, you've just proved that you don't seem to have a problem causing me harm."
Taking note of Draco's stunned expression, Harry seemed to calm, just a bit. Slowly his hands relaxed, one lifting to rifle through his shaggy brown hair. "Think about it. I'll be here tomorrow, same time. If you are willing, show up. If not – don't bother."
Without another word or look, Harry turned and left the room, the door closing softly behind him. Draco remained utterly still, until realizing that his nose was still throbbing painfully. Muttering a curse, he left the room and headed for Madam Pomfrey, his mind carefully blank – deciding not to process the words he'd just heard.
* * *
That night, Harry sat in his room wondering when exactly it was that he'd lost his sanity. For Merlin's sake, what had he been thinking? Draco Malfoy was his least favorite person at Hogwarts.
Sighing in frustration, the dark-haired Gryffindor stood and began to pace around the room he shared with Ron, currently MIA. At the moment, Harry was glad to have the privacy. He could just imagine trying to explain what he'd done to his best friend. The thought caused him to groan, and he flung himself haphazardly into the chair at his desk, determined to distract himself.
Homework to do, right? That'll work. Let's see – there's that Potions project to research. Snape gave it to us after Malfoy –
"Damn it!" Angry with himself for even thinking about the confident blonde, Harry rose to his feet and resumed his pacing, frequently thrusting his fingers through his perpetually mussed hair.
Now that the picture of the other boy was in his mind, it wouldn't seem to fade. With relish, Harry focused on the image of Malfoy's pained howling, clutching his nose and whining like a first year. He began to relax, wondering with an irrepressible grin how the Slytherin planned on explaining the injury to Madam Pomfrey. He wouldn't tell the truth, of course, for to do so would mean admitting he'd been bested by Harry Potter.
Carefully avoiding further thought of the moments where Malfoy had been in control of their encounter, Harry sat down once more and delved determinedly into his Potions homework.
* * *
Draco stalked into the Slytherin dungeon, absolutely furious. His nose was fine, now – he'd managed to convince Madam Pomfrey that he'd been the victim of a ravenous mob of giggling first years, desperate to get his signature. It was a good ploy, one he'd used often – he'd caught her once watching The Spells We Cast via Floo-Vision, a very long-running soap that he'd once made a cameo appearance in. Turns out the woman was rather star struck, though she hid it well most of the time.
The gathering room was empty, which rather disappointed Draco. He badly wanted the distraction of humiliating a witless student. Unfortunately, the only person he even saw on the way to his private room (which he'd obtained by blackmailing his assigned roommate into begging to room with others) was Blaise Zabini, who was most certainly not a witless fool. Annoying, yes. Stupid? No.
"You look rather disturbed, Draco. Something wrong?" Blaise drawled laconically, looking smug as he leaned his shoulder against the wall, arms folded over his chest.
Draco immediately wiped his face clean of all expression, a brow lifting as he murmured calmly "Other than the fact that you have spinach in your teeth, Zabini? Not a thing."
The distraction worked. Blaise immediately turned and hurried to the closest mirror, allowing Draco to walk past him and slip into his room, locking the door behind him.
For a moment he stood utterly still, staring blankly at his richly furnished room. Seconds past before he released a long, slow breath, the hands that had been fisted at his sides relaxing forcibly. A slim, aristocratic hand lifted to brush over his hair, sweeping back the loose strands that fell across his face now that he refrained from slathering it with gel every morning.
Merlin, he hated Harry Potter. How dare he think he could ask a Malfoy for a favor? The stupid fool – it'd serve him right if he did show tomorrow. Did Potter think that trying to work through Unforgivable Curses would be easy, painless?
Hell, it almost made him want to do it, just to see Potter cry. And he would cry. Draco's hands fisted eagerly at the thought. Until recently, his goal had been to see the Boy Who Lived in such pain and misery. And now – the opportunity to do it without even risking his new objective? He couldn't turn it down.
Draco pressed his lips together as he considered this, accepted it, and – in typical Malfoy fashion – began to plan. He didn't pace, or write things down. He knew better than to leave proof of his actions – it had been drummed into him since childhood that in order to manipulate, only one player could hold all the cards.
After quite some time had passed, the exhausted Slytherin slipped silently into bed, confident in the plans he'd made.
* * *
"Try again, Harry." Dumbledore spoke calmly, his tone leaving room for no argument.
Harry refrained from groaning, a hand lifting to rub his temples, his eyes closed wearily. "Please, Professor – this isn't doing any good."
"It is, Harry. You are already stronger. Again."
Once more he pressed his lips together and attempted to blank his mind. That accomplished, he pictures a wall...beginning slowly, brick by brick, until within a few seconds it finished, solid – a circular barrier shielding his thoughts. After holding it for a few moments his lashes fluttered, and he opened his eyes.
Dumbledore stared back at him, and smiled lightly. "How goes the D.A., Harry? Are you Representatives having any problems I would need to know about?"
Harry remained perfectly still – he'd found he'd lose his focus if he relaxed too quickly. Carefully he separated part of his mind – one part keeping the wall in tact, the other processing and responding to the world around him.
"Malfoy wants to restrict membership now that he's returned, but he was shot down pretty quick; you'd said everyone was allowed."
"Hmm. And you've followed my instructions that those below fourth year were not to be taught anything that might even remotely be considered a Dark Art?"
"Of course, Professor." Harry's words were simple, though his tone was rather hesitant. The wall seemed to solidify somehow as their meaningless conversation continued – almost as if reflecting his gathering confidence. Or perhaps exactly as if doing so.
"How do the students progress, thus far? What have you been teaching them?" Dumbledore's words remained as friendly and even as ever, but Harry's wall began to tremble. He grit his teeth and reinforced the bricks, carefully ignoring the images dancing teasingly outside them.
"S..so far, they've done well. Some can be a bit rowdy, but when we threatened to eject them from meetings they calmed down. We... we've worked on Expelliarmus... and... Protego...and..." Harry's eyes were half-closed, his jaw clenched tight as he began to try and 'screen' some of the images Dumbledore projected. His goal was to see them completely, thoroughly – without confusing them with his own thoughts.
"Continue, Harry." The Headmaster's voice was demanding, and Harry's skin began to glisten with effort as he tried to take deep, calming breaths.
"...And Stupefy. We worked hard on that one, as well as Accio – using objects not visible or nearby. In addition, we've begun to teach Impedimenta and various Deflection spells to the older students, while focusing on Alohomora and Flagrate with the younger." Dumbledore's eyes narrowed with satisfaction as Harry continued the conversation with newfound fluidity.
Harry's kept his green eyes locked on Dumbledore's as he continued to speak, though within his mind images of a younger Dumbledore's attempts to master Occulumency resulted in various items shattering when the then- student lost control. The Professor watched as Harry relaxed even further, even smiling a little as he watched the pictures from an outside viewpoint, as opposed to seeing from Dumbledore's eyes. And then the images wavered, changed. Harry's parents, volunteering to fight against Voldemort at an Order of the Phoenix gathering.
The young Gryffindor inhaled sharply as his bricks started to fade, and he went silent as he forced himself to strengthen them. Tears appeared in his eyes as his hands fisted tightly and he tried desperately to pull the image backward and tug away from seeing the scene only from Dumbledore's viewpoint.
A soft, rough sound of exertion emerged from Harry's throat, not that he noticed. Thus, he also missed the intense sadness that passed over his Headmaster's face as he pressed onward, sharpening the images, trying to entice the boy into the deception that he was living the scene. Once again, Harry wavered, and the images flew past him, sucking him in until he could feel the scratchy throat and headache that Professor Dumbledore had at the time.
Watching the Gryffindor fall once more into the trap, Dumbledore leaned back in his seat and prepared to end the transmission, when suddenly Harry shuddered and spoke, his voice trembling, but oddly adamant.
"I'm not you."
"I beg your pardon, Harry?" The Professor leaned forward curiously, uncertain.
"I'm you... I can see what you see and feel what you feel, but I know that I'm not you. Rather... I can sense your emotions and your thoughts, and you can... you can feel my presence, Professor. We aren't merged, we aren't one."
Shocked, the aging Headmaster broke the transmission, his own energy having begun to flag. Quietly he waited until Harry's gaze registered the present reality, though his green eyes seemed slightly glazed.
"Do you remember, Harry?" Taking a deep breath, Harry nodded and glanced at the floor, then back at his mentor.
"I did it, Professor." Tired and dazed, the boy lifted his hands to rub his throbbing temples, though his elation and pride was evident in the grin he gave his teacher.
"'It'?" Dumbledore looked oddly stunned, as if this particular event hadn't been forseen. Which, of course, was the truth.
"I could tell the difference. I was with you, but I wasn't actually you. I knew. I didn't have that before, with Voldemort. Now I do. I have gotten stronger." Harry was excited, and with a small portion of his mind he restored and protected his shield, barely thinking of it consciously.
The Headmaster removed his glasses, wiping them carefully as he leaned back into his chair. After a few moments, he spoke, very slowly.
"Harry... I have never been able to accomplish such a thing. I am only able to watch as a non-existant presence, able to see everything from my point of view – but never from within another. At least, not to where I can recognize and separate it from my own thoughts. You have done extremely well. Congratulations."
He grinned at the praise he received, and stood carefully. "Thank you, Professor. ...Do you think this will help? With Voldemort, I mean?"
Dumbledore nodded, gesturing lightly. "It will help, Harry. I'm not certain to what extent, but it will help. Now – you've worked hard tonight. Go, get some sleep. And do come see me next week. We are not finished."
Harry nodded and hurried toward the Gryffindor dormitory. He couldn't wait to tell Ron and Hermione.
* * *
Harry sighed softly as he trudged up the stairs, humming lightly beneath his breath to distract himself as he headed toward the Room of Requirement, taking his time because there was no way in hell Malfoy would actually show. He was on his own, just as he'd been during his years with the Dursleys – even though there were people physically present, he'd had to fend for himself. It was nothing new.
A hand sifted through his dark hair as he approached the door, smiling a little as he thought of the requirements he'd prepared before suggesting this as a meeting place. Carelessly, he stepped inside the dark room – completely surprised when a quiet, cold voice spoke definitively from the opposite end of the room.
"Entrappe," spoke the voice, and Harry inhaled sharply as a flash of green light blinded him. Moments later his vision cleared, and he growled low in his throat, finding himself pressed back against a stone wall, his wrists bound together and held above his head, somehow holding him stretched so that he could just barely reach the floor.
Several clicking noises accompanied Harry's desperate yanking, and soon three candles flickered delicately in the dark room. The Gryffindor looked over immediately, gasping when he spotted Draco standing at the opposite wall, a rather sadistic smirk creasing his lips.
"The hell do you think you're doing, Malfoy!" It wasn't a question, but a furious exclamation, promising retribution. The response it received was calm, almost soothing in tone.
"What you've asked me to do, Potter. Now hush." Harry stared in disbelief as Draco walked forward, his posture confident as his free hand slid against Harry's hip, caressing lightly. Stunned, the Boy Who Lived parted his lips in a soft exclamation of shock, shaking his head a bit as Malfoy's hand slid over his stomach and caressed the other hip, then patted lightly as he retrieved Harry's wand.
"There we are. You won't be needing this for the next hour, Potter. I'll just keep it for... safekeeping, hmm?"
Harry clenched his jaw tightly, his hands fisted dangerously above his head. "Give it back, Malfoy."
Draco smiled a little, hearing those words echo in his mind, though spoken in a younger, naïve voice. "Ahh, Potter. You really are too trusting. I do hope I'll be useful in curing you of that."
Harry attempted to kick out at Draco, but his balance was almost nonexistent – he only managed to offset himself, causing his body to slam painfully against the wall. Quickly he closed his eyes and inhaled slowly, trying to relax, to think his way out of this. Damn Malfoy, anyway. This isn't what I meant!
Draco laughed maliciously at Harry's inept attempt to attack, then turned and moved to a chair seated perhaps 10 feet from the Gryffindor.
"I've been waiting for this for a long time, Potter. I'm going to relish it. I hope it's everything you wanted – and more." The words were deliberately provoking, and it took every ounce of control Harry had to try and control his anger, trying to keep from giving away his every thought.
Draco saw through the attempt with little effort. "You'll have to do better than that, Potter. The Dark Lord is as powerful as he is because, unlike others who've tried, he understands the emotions of those whom he targets. And make no mistake; even those who are his supporters are still his targets, and he knows them well. You are his greatest enemy, Potter. Trust that he knows you. He knows what you expect, and he knows how to manipulate you. It will be the way you least expect, or perhaps the way you most expect. He'll get at you through Granger or Weasley, or perhaps through me. Perhaps I'm just here because he told me to be here. Have you thought about it, Potter? Have you considered every angle? I highly doubt it. Had you, you'd never have been stupid enough to meet me alone. I intend to see that you regret it." He paused, silver gaze locked with forest green. After a moment, the Slytherin lifted his wand toward the softly panting Gryffindor.
"Scared, Potter? No?" Harry remained utterly silent, desperately trying to decide where Malfoy was heading with his charming little speech. Draco saw the calculation, and shook his head. "Try harder, Potter, you're giving it all away."
Once again, Draco watched Harry's every emotion flicker and throb from those revealing green eyes. Taking a deep breath, the youngest Malfoy steadied his wand and spoke firmly "Crucio."
Harry jerked immediately as the green flash hit his chest, flinging him back against the stone wall. An agonized groan escaped his throat as his entire body began to tremble with pain. He felt as if he'd had liquid metal poured down his throat – he could feel the searing melting of his flesh, taste the metallic flavor of his own blood, hear his own whimpers as he struggled desperately for air, unable to breathe past the agonizing ball of desolation that filled his lungs. And beyond it all, he heard Draco's soft, mocking laughter. Hatred filled him, reminding him of his intentions, and that small flicker of light in his world of torture called to him. No. No, not like this. Fight it. Stop it, damnit, you can do this. Block it out... Merlin, please, block it out! Make it stop!
The pain vanished and Harry fell limply against the wall, no longer noticing the rough scrape of rope that kept him erect.
"How are we, Potter? I went easy on you – it is your first time, and all." Cool, polished wood lifted his chin, and dazed green eyes tried desperately to focus on the boy standing before him.
"You... are going... to die... Malfoy..." The words were torn from Harry's throat, and as they escaped he found he could breathe, and for a moment the only sound in the room was his own shuddering gasps.
"Yes... I expect I will, Potter. Life is a fatal condition, you know."
Draco stared intently at Harry, his silver gaze roaming over the other boy's form, taking note of the trembling that Potter just couldn't conceal, the faint outline of his ribs as he sucked in air, the small rivulets of blood that fell along Harry's wrists from gouges created by his own nails. After a few silent, tense moments, Malfoy nodded and met Harry's eyes.
"Not bad, Potter. Again. And this time, I'm not stopping when I think you've had enough. Crucio."
It was the only warning he received before the nauseating waves rolled through him again and he cried out, just once – a sharp cry borne of anger, not pain. Once again his breath was taken from him, his body trying desperately to curl up in on itself as his vision went black, and his world existed only because he could feel the pain and the agony – it was all life was, really. Pain and torture and misery abounding atop one another repeatedly, until you had no will in you to fight it off, anyway.
Tears began to slide down Harry's cheeks, and Draco inhaled sharply. His wand wavered, but didn't move, and he found himself whispering intently, "There... right there. Now you know... you know what it is, so you can fight it. Do you see it?"
But the boy before him just shuddered violently, and Draco shivered. Not again, I don't want to do this - not again! And suddenly the pain was gone, and the ropes disappeared. Harry collapsed to the ground, his face red from lack of air as he panted heavily, tears continuing to leak unchecked over his soft skin, falling almost soundlessly to the cold stone floor.
For an entire minute, neither boy moved. Draco stared at Harry, his lips parted lightly, breathing so hard he felt like he'd been running a marathon – until finally Harry opened his eyes and lifted his head to stare unflinchingly up at the other boy. Draco held his gaze for mere moments before whispering softly, "Now you know."
Harry's lashes lowered, and seconds later the click of the door closing indicated that he was now alone.
* * *
Outside the Room of Requirement, Draco bent over and closed his eyes, desperately trying to bring himself under control. I didn't do it. I stopped it, I went back on my word. Oh, Merlin... I've done it, I've started it. If he knows... ah, hell, if he knows... Dropping Harry's wand just outside the door, Draco quickly turned and headed for the doors, not remotely caring that he wasn't allowed out this late. It didn't matter. He couldn't breathe. If he could just get out...
In the garden, he collapsed to his knees, digging his hands in the dirt – as if doing so would ground him, steady him. It didn't – it couldn't. Nothing could. He shouldn't have done this, but how could he not? He'd been warned – Merlin, not enough. I wasn't warned of this! I wasn't told, I'm not prepared. And I can't stop it, now. Father, help me, please...
Within the room, the young boy whose destiny had been marked long ago slowly pushed himself to his feet. His pale cheeks remained stained by the tracks of his tears, his lower lip cut where his teeth had dug in, blood drying on his strong hands – but perhaps the greatest reminder of the past hour was the bleak knowledge that shone from his green eyes.
Late that night, two Hogwarts students stumbled to their dorms and shut themselves in their rooms. One stared at the ceiling, his mind a hollow shell with nothing but fear, desperation and bleak determination bouncing repeatedly off its walls. The other buried his head beneath his pillow and tried to forget his failure, his weakness, his choices. Neither slept, and come dawn, each had a resolution backed by such profound determination that Hogwarts had never seen its like before.
* * *
Hermione flopped down on a sofa in the uncommonly empty common room (most everyone had already stumbled into exhausted slumber), groaning as she banged her elbow against the armrest. "Ouch, damnit. That hurt. Everything hurts. Remind me again why we're doing this, Harry?"
He looked over at her with outraged astonishment. "Hermione, it was your idea to start this all up in the first place!" As he spoke, he dropped himself next to her, removing his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose.
She flushed, "Yeah, I know – it's just...we started three months ago. I didn't think that they'd all still be so – so careless with the knowledge."
Ron didn't bother waiting to find a couch or a chair – he just stepped into the room and crumpled to the floor, forehead resting on his arms. "'S magic, Herm-ny – powerful stuff. O`course they're careless. It'so much more fun tha' way." The words were slurred and muffled, and it became quite obvious that Ron wasn't expecting a response when a soft snore followed his words.
Harry grinned despite himself. "It looks like Luna wore him out."
Hermione giggled a little and shifted to face Harry on the sofa. "Did you see her attempt at conjuring water above his head?! She got confused and dropped 10 liters of sludge over him! I thought he was going to wring her neck."
Smiling at the remembered image, Harry nodded and closed his eyes. "Yes, well. She's getting better. They all are, I think. How's Neville doing?" He didn't look up as he mentioned Hermione's study partner, and thus missed the rather becoming blush that tinted her cheeks.
"Quite well, honestly, Harry. I truly believe that the wand he'd been using just wasn't right for him – his grandmother had insisted he use his father's old one, but when it broke he went to Ollivander's for a new one. He's picking things up really quickly, so his confidence is increasing. The only problem is that if he makes just one small mistake, he's worthless for the rest of the session. He can't get past it."
"Oh. Is that how you're ending up so bruised?" He finally opened his eyes and looked over at Hermione, who nodded.
"Yes. We were trying a protection spell, and he got confused and made one tiny mistake – and suddenly he couldn't seem to complete anything but a reflective counter when I attacked. So I kept getting the backlash." She sighed ruefully and offered Harry a small smile. "It's my own fault, though. I ought to be able to stop it, but I was so worried about giving Neville instructions that I kept forgetting to duck."
Harry considered her words a moment, then met her gaze, holding it intently. "You're spending quite a bit of time with Neville lately, aren't you?"
"Yes, and?"
"And... so... what's going on between you two?" He ventured forward with an easy grin, giving her the option to deflect his question.
Hermione treated the question as seriously as she treated everything, but when quite a few minutes had passed she responded with a rather simple "I'm not certain."
Harry watched her for a few moments, then stifled a yawn and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her against him. "Well – if I know you, Hermione – and I do – I'm confident that you'll figure it all out soon enough." His hand sifted through her hair, the movements gentle and soothing, and she closed her eyes, snuggling closer.
"Mmm. I will. Eventually." She didn't hear his response, having quietly drifted to sleep while lying in his arms.
Time passed slowly, until finally Harry's eyelids slid downward.
The dark hall was full of dust and grime – the air was stale and cold. Dim, flickering candles provided the only relief from the stark nothingness that seemed to exist just three feet before him. Suddenly a harsh, vibrating scream ripped through the darkness; a hot gust of air seemed to move with it, as if the two were part of one large wave; unbroken, powerful and full of immense malevolence. The candles flickered out, leaving absolute darkness. He stilled completely, hearing only the harsh sound of his own frightened panting – until a soft, dreadful hissing began to tease his ears. It wasn't close – nor far away. A rustle to his right caused him to turn his head quickly, his eyes peering anxiously but blindly into the absolute absence of light. And then – a breath of air caressed his cheek, and his eyes widened as it seemed two dark orbs appeared just before him, reflecting just a hint of illumination from behind him. The light grew slowly, and he inhaled sharply at the scene unfolding before him – until darkness enfolded him once more, and he knew nothing.
Harry thrashed around in his sleep; the racing of his heart and his strangled cry roused Hermione instantly. She sat up, her eyes wide as she took note of her friend's panicked expression. When his eyes remained closed and he tilted his head back against the sofa, she bit her lip and brushed her hand against his cheek.
"Harry," she whispered softly. "Are you okay?"
When she received no response whatsoever, she turned quickly and hissed toward the boy on the floor, accompanying her summons with a pillow thrown directly at his head. Ron lifted his head leisurely, yawning as he considered his whereabouts.
"Ron!" The whisper was a bit louder this time, and the boy slid a hand through his red hair.
"Hmm?"
Another pillow smacked the tall boy in the face.
"Hey, damnit!" He looked around quickly, his bloodshot eyes glaring semi- threateningly in Hermione's direction. Until she tilted her head toward Harry, that is. Ron took one look at his friend and moved quickly to his feet, speaking calmly but commandingly. "Hermione, move away from him. Slowly. Get off the sofa and stand over here."
She gave him an odd look, but obeyed without question. When she'd reached Ron's side, he approached Harry slowly, speaking softly. "Harry? It's Ron. You're at Hogwarts, Harry. Remember? Come on back, you aren't supposed to be there. Come on, Harry... "
Finally, it dawned on Hermione that her friend's mind could very well be possessed by Voldemort at this precise moment, just as he'd been the night the snake had attacked Ron's father. She began to shake with fear – not for herself, but for Harry. Ron seemed to sense her anxiety and reached a hand back to squeeze hers reassuringly. Hermione took a deep breath, seeming to receive comfort from the touch, and she stilled, watching as Ron continued to coax Harry back to reality.
Finally, his eyelids fluttered and he looked up at the two of them. Realization dawned immediately, and he closed his eyes tightly, speaking flatly, "It happened again, Ron, didn't it?"
His friend hesitated only a moment before replying rather fatalistically, "Yeah, Harry. It did. You okay?"
Harry considered this a moment, then laughed a bit bitterly. "Oh, certainly. I'm wonderful. And you?"
Hermione bit her lip at the cynical tone. "We're fine, Harry. Nothing happened. Do you remember what you saw?"
The question resulted in various images flying through his mind – but not long enough for him to piece anything together. With a growl of sheer frustration, Harry jumped to his feet and hurried to his room, his murmured apology lingering in the quiet room as he closed the door behind him.
Ron shook his head wearily, "Poor bastard."
Hermione said nothing. There wasn't anything to say.
* * *
The next morning, the entire school was in an uproar – not because anyone had been hurt, or because there was news of Voldemort, or even because Peeves had played an incredibly cruel prank that resulted in half the student population transfiguring the other half into barnyard animals. No, the reason for the furor was rather simple; Colin Creevy had discovered that - with Professor Dumbledore's permission and support - Draco Malfoy, son of escaped Death Eater Lucius Malfoy, had returned to Hogwarts.
Gryffindor's common room rang with curses and complaints that Dumbledore needed to be committed to St. Mungo's at first opportunity. While everyone seemed angry and troubled, only Hermione, Ron and Harry appeared grim. They didn't say much, and didn't want to cause speculation by leaving the room, so they continued to stare at each other rather intently.
Neville noticed this odd behavior rather quickly, and nudged Ginny, who happened to be sitting next to him. She watched for a moment, her brows furrowing lightly, then shook her head. Now wasn't a good time to discuss it, not with everyone around. He picked up on her silent message, saying nothing, although he continued to watch the trio discreetly.
Perhaps fifteen minutes later, Hermione stretched purposefully and suggested that everyone get dressed and head down to breakfast. As soon as people began to move, Ron and Harry headed off to their room; when Neville and Ginny spotted Hermione heading discreetly in the same direction, they followed. Lurking behind them was Dean Thomas – Ginny's boyfriend – who was concerned after observing those two watching the others for the past half hour.
The door closed behind Hermione, and Ginny knelt down in front of the door, pulling out an Extendable Ear that she'd gotten from Fred and George.
"What are you doing?" Dean hissed quietly.
Neville and Ginny immediately pulled him down next to them, and she whispered quickly, "We're listening to Harry, Ron and Hermione. Shh! You'll have to share with me." She leaned against him, balancing herself in his embarce as she handed Neville her spare Ear. The three barely breathed as they struggled to hear the conversation in the room.
"Don't worry, Harry, I'm sure it's nothing. Probably just a coincidence" said Ron, ever the optimist.
"...I'm not so sure. We should learn everything we can. Think back, Harry, do you remember seeing Malfoy at all?"
"I don't know, damnit! I have no idea; I can't remember it!" Harry's voice was anguished, frustrated. Dean shivered as worry tightened his gut.
"Keep that up, and you'll be bald before you hit twenty." Ron's light joke seemed to not have been received very well, if the loud, amplified crash that caused the three eavesdroppers to wince in pain was Harry's response.
"I'm going to be dead before I'm twenty, Ron! Do you think I fucking care what my hair is going to look like!"
Hermione's horrified gasp was echoed by Ginny, Dean and Neville. "Harry! Don't you dare say such a thing."
For once, Harry didn't seem at all repentant. "Why not, Hermione? It's the truth, isn't it? I've been heading for my death since the moment Voldemort tried to kill me – and you know it!"
Hermione sniffled, and Ron seemed to have had enough. "That's quite enough, Harry. This situation sucks, and we all know it, but making Hermione cry isn't going to help anything. Get over the self pity and meet us downstairs. Don't bother coming if you're not willing to lose the attitude. We supported you through it last year, but it's time to grow the fuck up."
Ron easily ignored Hermione's protest, grabbing her around the wrist and tugging her to the door. After turning the knob, he glanced back, his anger dying just a little as he stared at his best friend. "You aren't going to die unless you give up, Harry. But only you can make that decision for yourself. When you make it, find us. We'll be around. We'll always be around."
Having said his piece, Ron left the room, dragging Hermione with him. After the door closed he leaned back against the wall and lifted a brow. "You can come out now, Ginny."
A soft curse preceeded a head of red hair around the closest corner, followed by a rueful-looking Dean and an obviously embarrssed Neville. "How did you know?"
"Some of your hair was showing beneath the door. Well, that, and you suck at eavesdropping. You all made quite a bit of noise."
"He's so reckless!" Hermione's words came out of nowhere, and Ron sighed softly as he watched her stare at the closed door that Harry hid behind.
"He'll be alright, Hermione. He just needs a few minutes. Don't worry so much."
"You could stand to worry a little more! You act like there's nothing wrong! Harry needs –" Hermione's furious tirade was interrupted quickly by a rather livid Ron.
"Harry needs to not be treated like a poor, motherless orphan who had a miserable childhood and lives at Death's door!"
Hermione looked at Ron, bewildered and upset. "But he is –"she began.
"No! No, Hermione! He. Is. NOT! Harry grew up, have you missed the bulletin? He isn't a child anymore, and he can't afford to be coddled." His voice, which had been loud and furious, softened as he took Hermione in his arms, squeezing gently. "We won't always be there for him, Hermione – as much as we want to, it just isn't possible. He has to rely on himself. He can't do that if we're sugar-coating things for him. What's more, he doesn't even want us to. He's just scared right now, and I sure as hell don't blame him. Hell, I'm scared."
She closed her eyes, ignoring her rather uncomfortable audience for a few moments. "So am I..."
Silence reigned for a minute or so, until Neville broke it nervously – as if he didn't really want to speak, but felt forcefully compelled to do so. "Harry will be okay, Hermione. He... he has strength, more than he even knows. My – my father was like that. But Harry's stronger than he ever was. He'll be okay." As speeches go, it wasn't a chart topper, but Hermione smiled a little anyway, sliding out of Ron's arms to embrace Neville thankfully. She could tell it had been hard for him to say such things. Ginny leaned back against Dean as she watched, gaining comfort from his solid presence behind her.
Ron scowled a little, but said nothing. Upon releasing Neville, Hermione squared her shoulders and swiped quickly at her eyes, releasing a long breath. "Well. Okay, then. Breakfast, anyone?"
"...I'd like some." The soft, hesitant voice belonged to Harry, who stood in the open doorway, his green eyes pleading for understanding.
Hermione offered him a smile and moved up on tiptoes to brush her lips against his cheek – forgiveness granted. As she moved away, Ron glanced at Harry sardonically. "So that's how you reel 'em in, eh, Harry? Temper tantrums and pretty little apologies?"
Both boys laughed as Ron shoved Harry down the hall. "Shut up, Ron."
Hermione and Ginny glanced at each other as Neville and Dean moved ahead of them, slapping the other two boys on the back. "Men," murmured Hermione, with disgust.
"Boys," Ginny corrected, and the two laughed and followed the others to breakfast, gratefully pushing worries, fears and specualtions to the back of their minds. There were more important things in life.
* * *
Draco sat on his bed, leaning on the backboard, his head tilted against the wall as he stared at the ceiling. He'd done it. He was back at Hogwarts, inside. Shielded, protected, hidden. Slytherin welcomed him back, of course – not that they had much choice. Of course, he couldn't trust them. Not one. He wasn't certain which ones had parents involved with the Dark Lord, and which ones didn't.
Slowly his lashes lowered, and a soft sigh escaped his lips. Nothing had changed, yet everything had changed. He had to pretend to be the person that he was, or used to be, or vice versa. Or... hell, he didn't know anymore. Didn't know who the fuck he was, what the fuck he was supposed to do.
Life had been so much easier when he'd had one goal alone – to please his father. Now that wasn't an option, and he was so horribly lost. It was torture knowing that – knowing that he had no true purpose, that he had so little control over his own thoughts and actions. What was worse was that he was every inch a Malfoy – and to a Malfoy, control was simply everything.
He felt worthless; he could hear his father's words echoing in his head. You're weak, Draco. You'll never learn, Draco. You don't understand the ways of the world, and I don't think you're even capable of it. You disappoint me, Draco – you're no true Malfoy.
With a slight groan, his long, slim hands raked through his blonde hair.
He'd prove his father wrong. He owed it to him to be better.
He was a Malfoy.
He was.
* * *
He stood utterly still, purposely controlling his breathing, anxious to hide his uncertainty. Something to his left shifted, jolting his side, but he didn't bother to look. His eyes remained locked on the stone floor, his hands curled into fists at his sides. A sticky moisture began to slide against his skin, but he barely noticed. No... no, don't. You can't ask this. You can't do this. His thoughts seemed like screams, aching and desperate and pleading for help - but there was no response. The force of his will went ignored. And he watched . . .
* * *
Harry leaned forward in his chair, his green eyes wide with shock. "You have to be kidding me, Professor Dumbledore! With his history..."
"Harry... you must learn that there is no black and white in this life. There are many, many shades of gray. Sometimes people do the right thing, for the wrong reasons. Should it matter, though? If the end is accomplished, do the means have any consequence whatsoever?
"I cannot tell you the correct answer; you must decide that for yourself." Dumbledore rested his folded hands atop his desk, his gaze steady.
"Professor, please... it's not that I don't trust your word, it's just... " Harry trailed off, not even certain what it was he wanted to say.
"Harry. Do you think that your own father was perfect? Are you perfect? Are your friends? Have you not known anyone who's ever made mistakes? I do not believe in judging people whose circumstances have dictated who they've become. Especially when they are not yet old enough to be set in their ways."
The young Gryffindor sighed and rubbed his temples wearily. "You believe I should give him a chance." It wasn't exactly a question.
"Yes. If you don't, no one will. Keep in mind, too, Harry, that this is what you wanted at the beginning of the year."
"I know. I know, it just... it seems suspect."
The aging Headmaster smiled a little, "Of course it does, Harry. It is suspect. I suppose it comes down to weighing things out and hoping for the best."
Harry looked at his mentor incredulously, "'Hoping for the best'! Professor, this isn't exactly just a House rivalry. It's a war!"
Dumbledore just smiled serenely. "Not much difference, then. There's still hatred and manipulations and lies – and those few who try to take the others for what they are instead of the name of their House.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, Harry. I've just received my complimentary gift from the Weasley twin's joke shop, and I'm quite anxious to try out the Enchanted Pogo Stick. Do have a good evening."
Harry grinned despite himself, wished the Headmaster good luck, and slipped out, thinking intently.
* * *
The heavy door to the Room of Requirement closed behind the rather morose young man who stepped inside, green eyes flashing lightly as he glanced around once, briefly. His gaze was quick, but penetrating, and Draco inhaled sharply.
"Potter? What the hell are you doing here!" Draco immediately reached for his wand, his free hand clenched at his side. He may have changed allegiences, but that did not mean that he liked or supported Potter.
"You won't need that, just yet. And I'm here because I asked you to come." Harry spoke quietly, stepping slowly into the dim lighting, the reflection bouncing gently off his glasses as he turned his head, hands lifted to show he intended no threat.
Malfoy hissed slowly, his stance not changing in the least. He'd been taught how to betray, and as such how to avoid betrayal. He didn't trust Potter one meter. Not one damned meter.
"The fuck were you thinking, ordering me around, Potter? I'm more than half tempted to turn you into a garden gnome just for presuming to think that you deserve any bit of my precious time." The words were spat at him, full of anger and distrust and perhaps just a small bit of sheer, overwhelming confusion.
Again, the reply was soft, calm. It wasn't threatening, accusing or pitying in the least. "It wasn't an order, it was a request. One I knew you wouldn't respond to if you'd known I was behind it. Will you hear me out, please?"
Draco narrowed his silver gaze, tilting his head a bit to keep a loose strand of hair from blocking his eyes. His jaw tightened, lifted. "You have 15 seconds, Potter. Time's wasting."
Harry nodded, replying simply, his arms remaining lifted near his shoulders, wand hidden from view. "I need your help."
Draco couldn't hide his astonishment immediately; it took a second, perhaps two. But hide it he did, and concealed it with slow, mocking laughter. "Oh, certainly, Potter. I'd be overjoyed to help you, us being such good friends and all."
"I'm not kidding, Malfoy. There's something I have to prepare for, and you're the only person whom I can think of who could do it right."
The Slytherin laughed maliciously, lifting a brow in feigned innocence. "I don't believe I heard you. Come again, Potter?"
Harry took a deep breath, releasing it very slowly. Only the white lines shadowing his tense jawline and the throbbing at his left temple visibly indicated how much he despised having to ask Malfoy, of all people, for a favor. Unfortunately, he just didn't see another way. He'd realized that Professor Dumbledore had a point; everyone deserved a second chance. More importantly – as much as he hated to admit it - he needed Draco.
"I said, Malfoy... that I need help, and you're the only person I know who is capable of doing it correctly." This time the words revealed no small amount of impatience, though his tone remained calm.
The small signs of tension were betrayed easily to the Slytherin's trained gaze, and inwardly he released a breath. If this was so difficult for 'poor' Potter, then it wasn't anything as simple as a trap or attempt to leak false information.
After a few moment's silence, Draco grinned and shook his head. "Cat got your tongue, Potter? I haven't heard an explanation yet."
Harry pressed his lips together, and finally Draco saw the anger in those forest green eyes. He smirked as Potter tucked his balled fists into his pockets, an obvious sign of someone trying desperately hard not to swing on someone. Much better. This he was used to. This, he understood.
"Apparently so. The Dark Lord must have stolen a bit more than just a few dreams, Potter. It seems you've lost a bit of your sanity, as well – standing there mute when you're clearly expected to form some sort of reply."
Draco's laugh was cut off abruptly as Harry's hands grasped his shirt, right near the collarbone. The Gryffindor used his body to force the taller boy backward, completely ignoring the wand still pointed in his direction as he slammed Malfoy against the wall, holding him there with the weight of his torso pressed against the Slytherin's, arms thrust against the stone wall.
"What the hell do you know about my dreams, Malfoy!"
Furious that he'd been caught off guard, Draco quickly lifted his knee into Potter's groin – he was a Malfoy. He played to win. Mere seconds after Harry doubled over in pain, Draco had his wand tucked in his waistband, and both hands gripped the other boy's wrists, holding them painfully up behind his back.
Harry shuddered, his entire body thrust against the jagged stones, glasses askew as he struggled in Draco's hold.
"Let go, you bloody git!" Draco smiled with satisfaction – it was rare to hear such absolute fury in Potter's voice, and yet know that the other boy was helpless.
"Hush, now, Potter. Your time is up, and I really can't stay. If you wanted to finish your request, I suggest you do it. Now." The voice that had begun soft and taunting ended with such cold finality that Harry squeezed his eyes in horror. He must be absolutely fucking mad to even think about asking Malfoy to do this. The Slytherin was no better than Voldemort, himself!
But – if he didn't do this, he wouldn't get another chance. He knew that, instinctively. Malfoys didn't give second chances. And there wasn't anyone else who could help him. Or at least, no one who would do as he asked, no one who wouldn't go easy on him. Damn it!
Harry kicked Malfoy's shin in sheer frustration, smirking when the other boy yelped, even though this resulted in his forehead being tapped none-too- gently against the wall in retaliation.
"I take it that means you've changed your mind, Potter?" There wasn't even an attempt to hide the anger, this time. Malfoy was furious. Somehow, it was easier this way.
Harry took a deep breath, then rushed out quickly. "IneedyoutousetheUnforgivableCursesonme."
Draco blinked once, then again, his hold loosening in sheer shock. Quickly, Harry moved to escape Malfoy's grasp, but he wasn't fast enough. Once again he was thrust painfully against the wall, unable to stifle a slight groan of pain.
"Don't move, Potter!" Draco hissed the words in absolute fury, incensed that he'd let his guard down again.
"I can't, Malfoy, my circulation's nearly cut off as it is!"
At this, the Slytherin glanced at the hold he had of the other boy's wrists. He was right, actually. Draco's grip was awfully tight. He smiled a bit. No matter.
"You'll live, Potter. Now. Tell me again what your request was. I don't believe I heard you correctly the first time."
That was it. The smug, arrogant tone sent Harry right over the edge. With almost no tensing of muscles to suggest his intentions, the Gryffindor raised his right leg until he could hook it behind Draco's. In an almost simultaneous movement, Harry put pressure against the back of Malfoy's knee, causing it to bend reflexively, throwing the other boy off balance just as Harry to tugged on his wrists – one managing to pull free - and whirled around, his fist swinging right for Draco's nose.
Draco howled in pain as Harry's fist connected, and he reared backward, clutching his nose. His eyes watered as Harry stared at him, tense, obviously waiting for a return strike, though his wand had yet to be drawn.
Silence reigned for a few moments, until Harry nearly spat out "I need to prepare to face those curses. I need to resist them, and I need to know how to use them. The way I see it, even Professor Snape wouldn't use them against me. Professor Dumbledore would forbid it. And I don't know anyone else with the background in the Dark Arts that you have. Furthermore, you've just proved that you don't seem to have a problem causing me harm."
Taking note of Draco's stunned expression, Harry seemed to calm, just a bit. Slowly his hands relaxed, one lifting to rifle through his shaggy brown hair. "Think about it. I'll be here tomorrow, same time. If you are willing, show up. If not – don't bother."
Without another word or look, Harry turned and left the room, the door closing softly behind him. Draco remained utterly still, until realizing that his nose was still throbbing painfully. Muttering a curse, he left the room and headed for Madam Pomfrey, his mind carefully blank – deciding not to process the words he'd just heard.
* * *
That night, Harry sat in his room wondering when exactly it was that he'd lost his sanity. For Merlin's sake, what had he been thinking? Draco Malfoy was his least favorite person at Hogwarts.
Sighing in frustration, the dark-haired Gryffindor stood and began to pace around the room he shared with Ron, currently MIA. At the moment, Harry was glad to have the privacy. He could just imagine trying to explain what he'd done to his best friend. The thought caused him to groan, and he flung himself haphazardly into the chair at his desk, determined to distract himself.
Homework to do, right? That'll work. Let's see – there's that Potions project to research. Snape gave it to us after Malfoy –
"Damn it!" Angry with himself for even thinking about the confident blonde, Harry rose to his feet and resumed his pacing, frequently thrusting his fingers through his perpetually mussed hair.
Now that the picture of the other boy was in his mind, it wouldn't seem to fade. With relish, Harry focused on the image of Malfoy's pained howling, clutching his nose and whining like a first year. He began to relax, wondering with an irrepressible grin how the Slytherin planned on explaining the injury to Madam Pomfrey. He wouldn't tell the truth, of course, for to do so would mean admitting he'd been bested by Harry Potter.
Carefully avoiding further thought of the moments where Malfoy had been in control of their encounter, Harry sat down once more and delved determinedly into his Potions homework.
* * *
Draco stalked into the Slytherin dungeon, absolutely furious. His nose was fine, now – he'd managed to convince Madam Pomfrey that he'd been the victim of a ravenous mob of giggling first years, desperate to get his signature. It was a good ploy, one he'd used often – he'd caught her once watching The Spells We Cast via Floo-Vision, a very long-running soap that he'd once made a cameo appearance in. Turns out the woman was rather star struck, though she hid it well most of the time.
The gathering room was empty, which rather disappointed Draco. He badly wanted the distraction of humiliating a witless student. Unfortunately, the only person he even saw on the way to his private room (which he'd obtained by blackmailing his assigned roommate into begging to room with others) was Blaise Zabini, who was most certainly not a witless fool. Annoying, yes. Stupid? No.
"You look rather disturbed, Draco. Something wrong?" Blaise drawled laconically, looking smug as he leaned his shoulder against the wall, arms folded over his chest.
Draco immediately wiped his face clean of all expression, a brow lifting as he murmured calmly "Other than the fact that you have spinach in your teeth, Zabini? Not a thing."
The distraction worked. Blaise immediately turned and hurried to the closest mirror, allowing Draco to walk past him and slip into his room, locking the door behind him.
For a moment he stood utterly still, staring blankly at his richly furnished room. Seconds past before he released a long, slow breath, the hands that had been fisted at his sides relaxing forcibly. A slim, aristocratic hand lifted to brush over his hair, sweeping back the loose strands that fell across his face now that he refrained from slathering it with gel every morning.
Merlin, he hated Harry Potter. How dare he think he could ask a Malfoy for a favor? The stupid fool – it'd serve him right if he did show tomorrow. Did Potter think that trying to work through Unforgivable Curses would be easy, painless?
Hell, it almost made him want to do it, just to see Potter cry. And he would cry. Draco's hands fisted eagerly at the thought. Until recently, his goal had been to see the Boy Who Lived in such pain and misery. And now – the opportunity to do it without even risking his new objective? He couldn't turn it down.
Draco pressed his lips together as he considered this, accepted it, and – in typical Malfoy fashion – began to plan. He didn't pace, or write things down. He knew better than to leave proof of his actions – it had been drummed into him since childhood that in order to manipulate, only one player could hold all the cards.
After quite some time had passed, the exhausted Slytherin slipped silently into bed, confident in the plans he'd made.
* * *
"Try again, Harry." Dumbledore spoke calmly, his tone leaving room for no argument.
Harry refrained from groaning, a hand lifting to rub his temples, his eyes closed wearily. "Please, Professor – this isn't doing any good."
"It is, Harry. You are already stronger. Again."
Once more he pressed his lips together and attempted to blank his mind. That accomplished, he pictures a wall...beginning slowly, brick by brick, until within a few seconds it finished, solid – a circular barrier shielding his thoughts. After holding it for a few moments his lashes fluttered, and he opened his eyes.
Dumbledore stared back at him, and smiled lightly. "How goes the D.A., Harry? Are you Representatives having any problems I would need to know about?"
Harry remained perfectly still – he'd found he'd lose his focus if he relaxed too quickly. Carefully he separated part of his mind – one part keeping the wall in tact, the other processing and responding to the world around him.
"Malfoy wants to restrict membership now that he's returned, but he was shot down pretty quick; you'd said everyone was allowed."
"Hmm. And you've followed my instructions that those below fourth year were not to be taught anything that might even remotely be considered a Dark Art?"
"Of course, Professor." Harry's words were simple, though his tone was rather hesitant. The wall seemed to solidify somehow as their meaningless conversation continued – almost as if reflecting his gathering confidence. Or perhaps exactly as if doing so.
"How do the students progress, thus far? What have you been teaching them?" Dumbledore's words remained as friendly and even as ever, but Harry's wall began to tremble. He grit his teeth and reinforced the bricks, carefully ignoring the images dancing teasingly outside them.
"S..so far, they've done well. Some can be a bit rowdy, but when we threatened to eject them from meetings they calmed down. We... we've worked on Expelliarmus... and... Protego...and..." Harry's eyes were half-closed, his jaw clenched tight as he began to try and 'screen' some of the images Dumbledore projected. His goal was to see them completely, thoroughly – without confusing them with his own thoughts.
"Continue, Harry." The Headmaster's voice was demanding, and Harry's skin began to glisten with effort as he tried to take deep, calming breaths.
"...And Stupefy. We worked hard on that one, as well as Accio – using objects not visible or nearby. In addition, we've begun to teach Impedimenta and various Deflection spells to the older students, while focusing on Alohomora and Flagrate with the younger." Dumbledore's eyes narrowed with satisfaction as Harry continued the conversation with newfound fluidity.
Harry's kept his green eyes locked on Dumbledore's as he continued to speak, though within his mind images of a younger Dumbledore's attempts to master Occulumency resulted in various items shattering when the then- student lost control. The Professor watched as Harry relaxed even further, even smiling a little as he watched the pictures from an outside viewpoint, as opposed to seeing from Dumbledore's eyes. And then the images wavered, changed. Harry's parents, volunteering to fight against Voldemort at an Order of the Phoenix gathering.
The young Gryffindor inhaled sharply as his bricks started to fade, and he went silent as he forced himself to strengthen them. Tears appeared in his eyes as his hands fisted tightly and he tried desperately to pull the image backward and tug away from seeing the scene only from Dumbledore's viewpoint.
A soft, rough sound of exertion emerged from Harry's throat, not that he noticed. Thus, he also missed the intense sadness that passed over his Headmaster's face as he pressed onward, sharpening the images, trying to entice the boy into the deception that he was living the scene. Once again, Harry wavered, and the images flew past him, sucking him in until he could feel the scratchy throat and headache that Professor Dumbledore had at the time.
Watching the Gryffindor fall once more into the trap, Dumbledore leaned back in his seat and prepared to end the transmission, when suddenly Harry shuddered and spoke, his voice trembling, but oddly adamant.
"I'm not you."
"I beg your pardon, Harry?" The Professor leaned forward curiously, uncertain.
"I'm you... I can see what you see and feel what you feel, but I know that I'm not you. Rather... I can sense your emotions and your thoughts, and you can... you can feel my presence, Professor. We aren't merged, we aren't one."
Shocked, the aging Headmaster broke the transmission, his own energy having begun to flag. Quietly he waited until Harry's gaze registered the present reality, though his green eyes seemed slightly glazed.
"Do you remember, Harry?" Taking a deep breath, Harry nodded and glanced at the floor, then back at his mentor.
"I did it, Professor." Tired and dazed, the boy lifted his hands to rub his throbbing temples, though his elation and pride was evident in the grin he gave his teacher.
"'It'?" Dumbledore looked oddly stunned, as if this particular event hadn't been forseen. Which, of course, was the truth.
"I could tell the difference. I was with you, but I wasn't actually you. I knew. I didn't have that before, with Voldemort. Now I do. I have gotten stronger." Harry was excited, and with a small portion of his mind he restored and protected his shield, barely thinking of it consciously.
The Headmaster removed his glasses, wiping them carefully as he leaned back into his chair. After a few moments, he spoke, very slowly.
"Harry... I have never been able to accomplish such a thing. I am only able to watch as a non-existant presence, able to see everything from my point of view – but never from within another. At least, not to where I can recognize and separate it from my own thoughts. You have done extremely well. Congratulations."
He grinned at the praise he received, and stood carefully. "Thank you, Professor. ...Do you think this will help? With Voldemort, I mean?"
Dumbledore nodded, gesturing lightly. "It will help, Harry. I'm not certain to what extent, but it will help. Now – you've worked hard tonight. Go, get some sleep. And do come see me next week. We are not finished."
Harry nodded and hurried toward the Gryffindor dormitory. He couldn't wait to tell Ron and Hermione.
* * *
Harry sighed softly as he trudged up the stairs, humming lightly beneath his breath to distract himself as he headed toward the Room of Requirement, taking his time because there was no way in hell Malfoy would actually show. He was on his own, just as he'd been during his years with the Dursleys – even though there were people physically present, he'd had to fend for himself. It was nothing new.
A hand sifted through his dark hair as he approached the door, smiling a little as he thought of the requirements he'd prepared before suggesting this as a meeting place. Carelessly, he stepped inside the dark room – completely surprised when a quiet, cold voice spoke definitively from the opposite end of the room.
"Entrappe," spoke the voice, and Harry inhaled sharply as a flash of green light blinded him. Moments later his vision cleared, and he growled low in his throat, finding himself pressed back against a stone wall, his wrists bound together and held above his head, somehow holding him stretched so that he could just barely reach the floor.
Several clicking noises accompanied Harry's desperate yanking, and soon three candles flickered delicately in the dark room. The Gryffindor looked over immediately, gasping when he spotted Draco standing at the opposite wall, a rather sadistic smirk creasing his lips.
"The hell do you think you're doing, Malfoy!" It wasn't a question, but a furious exclamation, promising retribution. The response it received was calm, almost soothing in tone.
"What you've asked me to do, Potter. Now hush." Harry stared in disbelief as Draco walked forward, his posture confident as his free hand slid against Harry's hip, caressing lightly. Stunned, the Boy Who Lived parted his lips in a soft exclamation of shock, shaking his head a bit as Malfoy's hand slid over his stomach and caressed the other hip, then patted lightly as he retrieved Harry's wand.
"There we are. You won't be needing this for the next hour, Potter. I'll just keep it for... safekeeping, hmm?"
Harry clenched his jaw tightly, his hands fisted dangerously above his head. "Give it back, Malfoy."
Draco smiled a little, hearing those words echo in his mind, though spoken in a younger, naïve voice. "Ahh, Potter. You really are too trusting. I do hope I'll be useful in curing you of that."
Harry attempted to kick out at Draco, but his balance was almost nonexistent – he only managed to offset himself, causing his body to slam painfully against the wall. Quickly he closed his eyes and inhaled slowly, trying to relax, to think his way out of this. Damn Malfoy, anyway. This isn't what I meant!
Draco laughed maliciously at Harry's inept attempt to attack, then turned and moved to a chair seated perhaps 10 feet from the Gryffindor.
"I've been waiting for this for a long time, Potter. I'm going to relish it. I hope it's everything you wanted – and more." The words were deliberately provoking, and it took every ounce of control Harry had to try and control his anger, trying to keep from giving away his every thought.
Draco saw through the attempt with little effort. "You'll have to do better than that, Potter. The Dark Lord is as powerful as he is because, unlike others who've tried, he understands the emotions of those whom he targets. And make no mistake; even those who are his supporters are still his targets, and he knows them well. You are his greatest enemy, Potter. Trust that he knows you. He knows what you expect, and he knows how to manipulate you. It will be the way you least expect, or perhaps the way you most expect. He'll get at you through Granger or Weasley, or perhaps through me. Perhaps I'm just here because he told me to be here. Have you thought about it, Potter? Have you considered every angle? I highly doubt it. Had you, you'd never have been stupid enough to meet me alone. I intend to see that you regret it." He paused, silver gaze locked with forest green. After a moment, the Slytherin lifted his wand toward the softly panting Gryffindor.
"Scared, Potter? No?" Harry remained utterly silent, desperately trying to decide where Malfoy was heading with his charming little speech. Draco saw the calculation, and shook his head. "Try harder, Potter, you're giving it all away."
Once again, Draco watched Harry's every emotion flicker and throb from those revealing green eyes. Taking a deep breath, the youngest Malfoy steadied his wand and spoke firmly "Crucio."
Harry jerked immediately as the green flash hit his chest, flinging him back against the stone wall. An agonized groan escaped his throat as his entire body began to tremble with pain. He felt as if he'd had liquid metal poured down his throat – he could feel the searing melting of his flesh, taste the metallic flavor of his own blood, hear his own whimpers as he struggled desperately for air, unable to breathe past the agonizing ball of desolation that filled his lungs. And beyond it all, he heard Draco's soft, mocking laughter. Hatred filled him, reminding him of his intentions, and that small flicker of light in his world of torture called to him. No. No, not like this. Fight it. Stop it, damnit, you can do this. Block it out... Merlin, please, block it out! Make it stop!
The pain vanished and Harry fell limply against the wall, no longer noticing the rough scrape of rope that kept him erect.
"How are we, Potter? I went easy on you – it is your first time, and all." Cool, polished wood lifted his chin, and dazed green eyes tried desperately to focus on the boy standing before him.
"You... are going... to die... Malfoy..." The words were torn from Harry's throat, and as they escaped he found he could breathe, and for a moment the only sound in the room was his own shuddering gasps.
"Yes... I expect I will, Potter. Life is a fatal condition, you know."
Draco stared intently at Harry, his silver gaze roaming over the other boy's form, taking note of the trembling that Potter just couldn't conceal, the faint outline of his ribs as he sucked in air, the small rivulets of blood that fell along Harry's wrists from gouges created by his own nails. After a few silent, tense moments, Malfoy nodded and met Harry's eyes.
"Not bad, Potter. Again. And this time, I'm not stopping when I think you've had enough. Crucio."
It was the only warning he received before the nauseating waves rolled through him again and he cried out, just once – a sharp cry borne of anger, not pain. Once again his breath was taken from him, his body trying desperately to curl up in on itself as his vision went black, and his world existed only because he could feel the pain and the agony – it was all life was, really. Pain and torture and misery abounding atop one another repeatedly, until you had no will in you to fight it off, anyway.
Tears began to slide down Harry's cheeks, and Draco inhaled sharply. His wand wavered, but didn't move, and he found himself whispering intently, "There... right there. Now you know... you know what it is, so you can fight it. Do you see it?"
But the boy before him just shuddered violently, and Draco shivered. Not again, I don't want to do this - not again! And suddenly the pain was gone, and the ropes disappeared. Harry collapsed to the ground, his face red from lack of air as he panted heavily, tears continuing to leak unchecked over his soft skin, falling almost soundlessly to the cold stone floor.
For an entire minute, neither boy moved. Draco stared at Harry, his lips parted lightly, breathing so hard he felt like he'd been running a marathon – until finally Harry opened his eyes and lifted his head to stare unflinchingly up at the other boy. Draco held his gaze for mere moments before whispering softly, "Now you know."
Harry's lashes lowered, and seconds later the click of the door closing indicated that he was now alone.
* * *
Outside the Room of Requirement, Draco bent over and closed his eyes, desperately trying to bring himself under control. I didn't do it. I stopped it, I went back on my word. Oh, Merlin... I've done it, I've started it. If he knows... ah, hell, if he knows... Dropping Harry's wand just outside the door, Draco quickly turned and headed for the doors, not remotely caring that he wasn't allowed out this late. It didn't matter. He couldn't breathe. If he could just get out...
In the garden, he collapsed to his knees, digging his hands in the dirt – as if doing so would ground him, steady him. It didn't – it couldn't. Nothing could. He shouldn't have done this, but how could he not? He'd been warned – Merlin, not enough. I wasn't warned of this! I wasn't told, I'm not prepared. And I can't stop it, now. Father, help me, please...
Within the room, the young boy whose destiny had been marked long ago slowly pushed himself to his feet. His pale cheeks remained stained by the tracks of his tears, his lower lip cut where his teeth had dug in, blood drying on his strong hands – but perhaps the greatest reminder of the past hour was the bleak knowledge that shone from his green eyes.
Late that night, two Hogwarts students stumbled to their dorms and shut themselves in their rooms. One stared at the ceiling, his mind a hollow shell with nothing but fear, desperation and bleak determination bouncing repeatedly off its walls. The other buried his head beneath his pillow and tried to forget his failure, his weakness, his choices. Neither slept, and come dawn, each had a resolution backed by such profound determination that Hogwarts had never seen its like before.
* * *
