Hey everyone, this is my first try at writing these things. Please let me know if you like it.

Disclaimer: Apparently everyone has to have this, even though this is a fanfiction website, hence no one owns anything by default. But I give all credit for the invention of these characters and this alternate world to the genius of JK Rowling.

I Mustn't Show Weakness

Chapter 1 – Ponderings

Outside the window of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, the rain was falling torrentially. It had rained all day like this...it seemed the skies were trying to empty themselves once and for all on the world. The dreary sky exactly reflected the mood of the tall, skinny, tousled-haired young man with glasses who sat staring disconsolately out of the window in his bedroom. Absent-mindedly, with one hand, he rubbed his forehead over the spot where a lightning-bolt shaped scar was burnt into his skin. His shockingly green eyes, that held far too much care in them for one so young, closed slowly in a weariness that did not come from lack of sleep.

Lying on a small table next to him were several pictures, all featuring a dark haired man with a mischievous, knowing smile, who often waved and laughed at the unseen picture-taker. In a couple of the pictures he was obviously much older, and his face looked gaunt and hollow. But still he smiled and waved.

Harry opened his eyes and looked down at all he had left of Sirius. All the miniature versions of his godfather smiled back at him without a care in the world.

"I wish I could talk to him, just once. That would be enough," he thought miserably.

He wanted to tell Sirius everything that had happened, to talk to him about all the worries and fears that plagued him constantly. He needed his godfather's advice more than ever now.

He could feel Sirius' presence all through the house; everywhere he went, he saw a chair Sirius had sat in, a mirror he had cleaned, a closet full of his clothes. It was enough to drive him insane. He often found himself talking to Sirius as though the blank walls would answer him back. Being here was a constant reminder of the happiness he would never get to keep.

Last summer, when Harry had spent two weeks here before school started, the pain had been unbearable. He had locked himself in the bedroom and refused to speak to anyone. Though he had been grateful to get away from the Dursleys, it had been a bad idea to bring him to his godfather's house when the gaping loss inside him was still so new. Ron, Hermione, and everyone else in the house seemed to respect this and gave him his privacy, checking up on him every now and then to make sure he was ok.

Gradually through the school year, in the company of his friends, the colossal empty hole inside had started to repair itself. Being back here, however, opened it anew.

There was no getting away from it, no distractions here. At times he became so angry at the house, at the world, that it was all he could do to keep himself from destroying everything around him...at other times, like now, he became so depressed that he could barely move.

It wasn't just Sirius that was upsetting him. Over and over again, both waking and in dreams, he revisited the battle of just two months before.

The dank smell of the dungeons as he ran down the steps with Ron, searching desperately for Hermione...the horror of seeing all the Death Eaters closing in around her...Voldemort's hungry, snakelike face with the glowing scarlet eyes leering at him...no, no, not again, he refused to relive it again. The look on Malfoy's face...no! But the memories came back, overpowering him...

Harry and Ron skidded to a halt at the bottom of the stairs to the dungeons of the school. There, bound and lying on the floor, they could make out Hermione in the dim light along with several other students from muggle families. There were at least fifteen Death Eaters circling around them, their wands held high and ready to strike. They all seemed to be looking at someone in the corner of the room, waiting for a signal.

Harry's scar erupted in white-hot pain, and he knew then exactly who the hooded figures were looking at. This was it, this was the fight... he had to kill Voldemort now and fulfill the prophecy. His heart was pounding at a million miles an hour as he said to Ron quietly,

"You can't meddle in this - I have to do this alone."

"Harry what in bloody hell are you talking about? We have to save Hermione!!" Ron hissed.

"No, this is between me and Voldemort...Ron, listen to me. Get Dumbledore, NOW. I have to fight Voldemort alone, I have to kill him...Dumbledore will take care of the Death Eaters. Go now before it's too late," Harry whispered urgently.

Ron was looking at him, fear in his eyes. "I don't understand...why do you have to kill him, you can't –"

"Ron PLEASE just go, I promise you that if I survive this I will explain everything. GO!"

Ron took one last, terrified look at him before sprinting back up the stairs towards the Headmaster's office...

Harry blinked and shook himself, trying to stop the memories. He didn't want to remember. But they relentlessly forced themselves back into his mind's eye.....

The jet of green light passed over him, ricocheting off the wall and heading towards the huddle of hooded Death Eaters...it struck one of them, and without a sound they fell with a sickening thud. There was complete, stunned silence for a second, then –

"LUCIUS!" one of the hooded figures dropped to their knees and began shaking his still, prostrate form in an attempt to wake him.

"Leave him!" Voldemort shouted, and then turning to Harry he hissed, "This is the last time, Potter."

And in a burst of light, Voldemort and all of the Death Eaters were gone.

Harry lay on the ground where he had fallen, staring in shock at the crumpled body of Lucius Malfoy lying on the floor.

Harry sighed, returning to the present once again. He knew this last year at Hogwarts, if Draco Malfoy returned, would be hell. Pure hell. He was almost sure that the blond-haired Slytherin blamed him for his father's death, though Dumbledore must have told him otherwise.

What if he was plotting revenge at this very moment?

No, he shook his head. He couldn't think about that or he would go mad. He would take it as it came.

­­­­

At the same time, far away from Harry Potter, another young man was staring out at the rain as it fell. He ran a hand through his perfect, slicked back, white-blond hair. His pale, handsome face was marred only by the deep dark circles that cut into the skin under his slate-colored eyes. At the moment, those brooding eyes were about as dark as the sky overhead.

His fists clenched in anger. This thing, this...disaster, wasn't supposed to have happened. It was all Potter's fault... it had always been Potter's fault. He'd never hated anyone more than he hated that boy at this moment.

Not that he missed his father particularly. The man had been a force of power and fear in Draco's life from his earliest memories. As a child, he had lived in constant fear of invoking the terrible anger he knew Lucius was quick to.

But while he had respected and feared his father, he had no intention of becoming him. He was a Malfoy. He served no one.

However, he still had one more year to get through at that dilapidated institution people called a school. He scowled, looking down at the open letter on the table next to him.

Dear Mr. Malfoy –

I would like to extend my congratulations to you on your appointment of Head Boy this year. Enclosed you will find your badge. In light of recent events, there were many who doubted your eligibility for this position, but I personally have faith that you are a separate being from your father, and that you will not abuse the privileges you are offered. Please accept also, my sympathies for your father's death. On September 1st, please report to the Head's compartment on the Hogwarts Express, where your duties and responsibilities will be explained to you. You will be sharing dormitory facilities with this year's Head Girl at school. Congratulations again and have a pleasant remainder of the summer.

Yours sincerely,

Headmaster Albus Dumbledore

He had to admit, he'd been surprised when he'd gotten the letter. Since there was now no denying that his father had been a Death Eater, he'd wondered if he was even going to be invited back to the school. The old fool was more trusting than he had previously thought.

Being Head Boy suited him fine, however, as he would have his own room with no one to bother him but the Head Girl. He wondered who it would be.

I hope she's not a prude, whoever she is. It would be quite convenient to have someone he could shag whenever he felt like it, without getting in trouble for having a girl in the boy's dormitories. The corner of his mouth twisted upward into a smirk for a half second, before he frowned again.

There was still the question of Potter. He had to pay for what he had done. But how? He'd have to consider the matter.

Harry was interrupted from his dark thoughts by the sound of quiet footsteps coming up the stairs, and then Hermione tentatively opening the door and entering the room.

"Harry, are you feeling ok? You look pale..." she was looking at him with concern.

"Yeah, I'm fine...just erm...thinking...anyway, what're you doing up here?"

"I was just coming to check on you..." she sat down on the edge of the bed, looking thoughtful. Harry turned back to the window.

The silence that ensued was a comfortable one. The two were such good friends that they didn't always need to say anything; just enjoyed each other's company. However, after a couple of minutes, Harry asked quietly, "Do you think Malfoy will come back this year? After what...happened?"

Hermione was silent for a moment. "I'm not sure. I mean...can he come back? Since it's been proven now that his father is...was a Death Eater?"

"I don't know. I suppose Dumbledore is the one who decides things like that," Harry rubbed his scar again absent-mindedly.

Hermione sighed. "I hope he gets expelled, honestly. He deserves it." Harry nodded his agreement.

There was silence again for a few minutes, interrupted only by some sort of banging downstairs that Harry assumed was Ron looking for food in the kitchen.

Hermione eyed the pictures of Sirius sitting on the table, then cleared her throat a bit nervously. "I...we do understand what you're going through, you know, you don't have to avoid us –"

Harry sighed. "I'm not avoiding you."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Right, so that's why you've been holed up in here for days, Harry...because you're not avoiding us."

"Do you think it's easy for me to be back here again?" he snapped.

"No, of course not," she said, her tone instantly becoming soothing. She and Ron had both learned what caused Harry's temper fits, and how to avoid them. "We're just lonely without you, and we were wondering if you'd come downstairs for lunch..."

"Lunch? It's..." Harry, temporarily distracted from his anger, looked down at his watch. "Four o'clock! Do you mean to tell me you haven't had lunch yet in all this time, with Ron around?"

Hermione smirked. "This afternoon, our dear Ronald accidentally let Pig out of his cage. He ransacked the entire kitchen in his effort to look for a letter to deliver to someone, and it has taken this long for Ron to clean it up again. Mrs. Weasely wouldn't let him have his lunch until he finished."

Harry grinned. "Bet he was really over the moon about that one..."

They heard a shout from downstairs. "Oy! Harry! Hermione! What's taking so long? I'm so hungry I could eat my bloody hand off!" Ron bellowed, before stomping back to the kitchen.

Harry and Hermione exchanged amused, knowing glances, before proceeding downstairs to join him.