Thanks a bunch to everyone who reviewed!

Just a few quick answers:

This will NOT be slash.

Harry's caring about his looks isn't a big thing. He isn't supposed to be a particularily attractive boy, and I have no wish to make him one. It is more of a casual way for him to, every once in a while, escape the miserable reality of his existence...

Why is Draco helping Harry? Read and find out:)

Harry and Draco landed with a thud, and Harry was startled to find himself right outside the Leaky Cauldron. He straightened up and quickly checked his pocket for his wand, just to make sure it was there, before turning to Draco with a questioning look. Draco shrugged.

"I figured this would be the best place to go," he mumbled, sounding nothing like his usual, cocky self.

The location had, of course, nothing to do with Harry's puzzlement, however, he let the matter lie for the moment, realising that the middle of a dark, London street was not exactly the ideal place to discuss Draco's loyalties. He gave the boy a nod and turned towards the building, walking quickly up to the door. Checking that Draco had followed him, he quickly opened it and stepped into the fairly deserted bar, looking around for Tom, the innkeeper.

After looking around for a few minutes Harry established that the innkeeper was, in fact, nowhere in sight, something he found extremely odd, seeing as he was always there, lurking in some corner, ready to 'welcome' anyone who so much as thought about setting a foot inside. Something wasn't quite right, he knew it. He stuck his hand inside his pocket and grabbed a firm hold of his wand, before heading over to a small table where two elderly witches sat talking animatedly and drinking something that looked suspiciously like tar –the only difference was that it was giving off a strange blue-coloured smoke. He put his hand up to his hair to flatten his fringe, not wanting to attract attention, but found that his hair had grown so long that this was no longer necessary; his bangs were already doing a very nice job of covering "that hideous scar," as his dearly devoted relatives would have put it.

As he and Draco approached the table, the two witches put a halt to their conversation and gave them both curious glances before they put down their glasses and sat up straight, seemingly wanting to appear polite and sophisticated. Harry had a sneaky suspicion they might have realised who he was, despite his well-hidden scar.

"Um," he said uncertainly, putting a hand absentmindedly to his head. "I was just wondering –you wouldn't happen to know where the –um, innkeeper might be, would you?"

They said nothing; they just kept staring at his head as though it were some sort of rare and unusual sight one didn't see every day. This was, naturally, not new to Harry, but nonetheless, it never did cease to annoy him, and he found himself tearing his hand rather violently from his head and taking a step towards them.

"–Or anyone else we might talk to, for that matter…" he continued, his tone revealing his mildly irritated state. The two ladies remained silent however, still staring at his head.

Harry raised his eyebrows at them, and was just about to say something rather impolite, when they both started smiling, and one of them waved at something a little to the side of his right ear. It occurred to him at that moment that they had, all along, been staring at someone behind his back, and, gritting his teeth, hoping it wasn't another Death Eater, he spun around and found that he was standing in front of a person he had had many thoughts about and multiple arguments with himself over during the past few weeks.

Harry looked at the man, and was reminded of how the sight of him would make him feel warm inside; happy; safe. Whatever his troubles might be, he would always consider them over whenever Albus Dumbledore arrived. His headmaster had always been a man he could put his faith in, however, the unique trust that had existed between them had all but evaporated since Sirius' death, at least on Harry's part. Dumbledore had been the pillar, the rock, the wise man who always knew everything, and Harry had learned to respect him for his serenity and conviction. He had come to see him as a loyal guardian and an unwavering friend, and that was why his disappointment had been so great after the events at the Ministry. Dumbledore's mistake had not only lost Harry the closest thing he had ever had to a real family; it had showed him that even the ones he thought he knew the best and trusted the most, could fail him completely. It had lessened his faith in people, and this lack of belief hurt him more than anything else, as friendship had always been so important to him. Now his headmaster stood surveying him closely, as he had done on so many other occasions, his eyes sad, but warm.

"Harry," he said simply as the innkeeper, who had finally appeared, started scurrying around, tidying things up and offering to take Dumbledore's cloak.

"That will not be necessary Tom, thank you," he said before turning to Draco, his expression becoming one of mild surprise. "Ah." He put a hand to his long, white beard. "Young Malfoy."

Draco, whose gaze had been fixed on the floor for a while, now looked up into the eyes of the headmaster, blinking slightly but keeping his expression determined as Dumbledore surveyed him thoroughly. Harry had a nasty suspicion legilimency was being used.

It seemed like they stood in silence for hours, but at long last, Dumbledore turned his gaze back to Harry and said "I wish to talk to you, Harry. Alone."

Harry wanted to tell his headmaster that he had no interest in talking to him, that whatever he had to say wasn't going to change anything; he wanted to tell him of his disappointment and make him feel guilty, really guilty, but he couldn't find the words so he just nodded, following Dumbledore out of the bar and into a small room at the very end of a long, dark hall.

The moment they were inside, Dumbledore shut the door and cast several silencing charms on the room before going over to a small table and sitting down in a little wooden chair, motioning to Harry that he should sit down opposite him.

Harry did as he was told, sitting down and putting his head in his hands.

Dumbledore cleared his throat and Harry looked up to see his headmaster looking at him with a very concerned expression.

"Is everything alright, Harry?"

Harry just looked at him and resisted the urge to say 'Why yes, everything is perfectly fine. You know, I just lost my godfather, the last person who was anything like a family to me, I have completely lost hope that my life can ever turn out the way I want it to, everything irritates me, and my existence sucks –couldn't be better!' Instead he just put his head in his hands again, clenching his teeth furiously.

"My head hurts," he said quietly, which was also true; his head had started hurting slightly while he was still talking to Lucius Malfoy, and now it pretty much felt like someone had run over it with a freight train.

Dumbledore sighed wearily.

"That will often happen you know, when you-"

"I know." Harry cut him off sharply, lifting his eyes up to meet his headmaster's again, daring him to continue on the subject. How he knew in the first place was beyond Harry, but it didn't matter. He didn't need a lecture about it; the pain his head was in at the moment was enough to make him decide that he was never going to drink again, at least not to the extent he had been doing it that day.

Dumbledore nodded quietly, as if sensing what Harry had been thinking, and didn't press the matter further. Instead he leaned forwards carefully and fixed Harry with that all-knowing stare once again.

"I need you to tell me exactly what happened tonight, Harry," he said, his voice soft and calm. "Every detail you can remember. It is of the utmost importance to both yourself and the Order."

Harry moved his seat backwards angrily.

"It's always like this, isn't it?" he said forcefully, standing up and glaring at his headmaster. "I go through something unpleasant and you come around afterwards, wanting to hear the details, picking up the loose ends, trying to fix everything. But you can't fix everything, especially not when the damage is already done… I can't always-"

He stopped; he didn't really know what he wanted to say, and he didn't know why he was refusing to answer Dumbledore's question in the first place. He tiredly sat back down in his chair and looked his headmaster straight in the eye.

"I went out, Malfoy followed –apparently- he took me to some sort of room with no windows or doors, he took my wand, mocked me, no doubt trying to get my temper up –Death Eaters seem to find that particularly amusing- he performed the Cruciatus curse on me a couple of times –nothing new, yadda yadda… When he tried to do it one last time however, I sort of just held out my hand, said 'wand,' and the thing came flying into my hand. I disarmed, stunned, and bound Malfoy, then Malfoy –that is, Draco- surprisingly helped me apparate out of there." Harry said all of this in a slow, monotonous drawl, never taking his eyes away from Dumbledore's.

Suddenly, he thought of something that should have occurred to him earlier in the evening, and probably would have, had he been in any fit state to think properly, or think at all, for that matter.

"Um," he said hesitantly, scratching the back of his head nervously. "Will the Ministry of Magic –um-"

He was cut short by a coy smile from his headmaster.

"I think you will find, Harry, that after the happenings of last month, and its unwarranted behavior of last year, the Ministry will be more than willing to overlook this particular incident." Dumbledore gave him a reassuring look before adding,

"The wizarding world owes you as much."

Harry nodded, feeling, if not a whole lot better, slightly less nervous than he had been a few moments ago. His nervousness had, however, caused his anger to abate, and now, lacking that emotion to restrict it, it came back with full force. He was growing tired of this conversation; all he wanted was to go to bed and sleep for a while, feeling perhaps, just for a while, like a normal person. His headmaster was not finished with his inquiries however, and now he fixed Harry with that questioning, all-penetrating look yet again.

"You just said that you performed wandless magic Harry, am I right?" Dumbledore said quietly. Harry shrugged.

"If that's what you call it…" he mumbled. Dumbledore nodded patiently.

"It is indeed," he confirmed. "It is also a quite impressive thing to be able to do. Few wizards can. –I can," he added, at the curious look on Harry's face. "Only to a certain extent of course; certain spells simply can't be done without a wand. The killing curse is an example of that. No one has ever succeeded when trying, at any rate." Harry frowned, his anger now replaced by curiosity.

"Wouldn't all spells of such complexity be impossible to do without a wand?" he asked, interrupting his headmaster. "I have read a little over the summer, and I came across a paragraph in a book that spoke of wandless magic. From what I could tell, only very simple spells can be done without a wand, summoning spells and such." Dumbledore nodded knowingly.

"Most wizards, if they possess the ability to do magic without a wand, an ability very few do possess, can indeed only do the simplest of spells using only their hands. However, there are exceptions. Few, but they do exist." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled; he seemed almost excited for a moment, then he turned his head down and sighed heavily.

"I have found myself to be an exception," he said calmly, and Harry did not find this bit of information the least bit surprising. If anyone was to be an exception when it came to magic, it had to be Dumbledore. Now his headmaster lifted his head back up and again fixed his gaze on Harry.

"I showed no sign of my ability however, before I was much older." His eyes twinkled again. "You are very young, Harry. I have not heard of many cases where the wizard performing controlled, wandless magic has been under thirty years of age. I do emphasize controlled, of course, because nearly all young wizards have performed some form of wandless magic, or thought-magic, as it is also called (Harry nodded, recognizing this name from his summer readings), at some point, without meaning to. You know all about this, of course." Harry nodded again.

"To be able to control it is, however, a different matter altogether." The headmaster paused and Harry quickly made use of the silence.

"So you are saying that I could be an exception, is that it?" Dumbledore merely sat there in silence, seeming to examine him as he pondered. Then Harry was struck by a sudden thought.

"Can Voldemort do magic without a wand?" he asked, lowering his voice. He didn't know why he had bothered to do this; Dumbledore had, after all, cast numerous silencing charms on the room. It just seemed like an appropriate thing to do when speaking of Voldemort.

Dumbledore smiled. Harry had apparently asked the question the headmaster was hoping he would ask.

"You will find that Tom Riddle's magic is limited to wand-magic only," he said, then added as an afterthought "-at least as of this day." Harry raised his eyebrows.

"So the power the Dark Lord knows not –could that be it then?" he said hopefully, feeling all of a sudden that things might just work out after all. Dumbledore folded his hands and leaned his head upon them, his smile fading.

"I am afraid it is not quite that simple, Harry," he replied, looking very sad indeed. "I believe, I can not be quite sure, but I do believe, as I have said before, that Voldemort transferred a little bit of himself into you the night he tried to kill you –the night he killed your parents. And I believe thus that you have not only your inherited magic, which is quite formidable by itself –your father and mother were an astounding witch and wizard- but you also have some of his, Voldemort's, power. And this, I believe, gives you the potential to be infinitely more powerful than he could ever be. I believe that his and your power combined, the power that flows within you, is the power the prophecy speaks of."

Harry frowned again.

"But wait, I thought that the power the Dark Lord knows not was all about my mother's love for me –that was what you told me at the end of last year, was it not?" he said, suddenly remembering his and the headmaster's conversation at the end of last term. Dumbledore nodded.

"Yes, that is indeed part of it," he replied calmly. "But I have given the topic a lot of thought over the summer, and when I thought about what Voldemort did to you at the end of your fourth year; how he overcame the obstacle of your mother's love's protection, I thought that her love for you could not possibly be the only power the prophecy spoke of. If so, we would already be defeated, would we not? At least in theory. We do not know everything your mother's love may have done for you, and we can not know until something happens to show it to us. It is a very mysterious form of magic, love. Especially one as strong as your mother's love for you."

Harry nodded, lowering his head. He felt a lump in his throat, and he was determined not to break down in front of the headmaster. But damn, those kind, sympathetic eyes were not making it easy…

They sat in silence for a while, Harry trying to stay calm, Dumbledore all the while watching him closely. Harry wished he wouldn't.

"Harry," Dumbledore said quietly, after a long pause. "Harry, I think you have been through enough for one night. I think, perhaps, it is time to get some rest, hmm?" Harry looked up at him again and sighed.

"Yeah," he said weakly, getting to his feet. "Yeah, I'm pretty tired."

Dumbledore got up as well and came over to him, putting an arm around his shoulder, as he was having some difficulty walking properly. His head felt as if it had been split in two, and his vision was becoming very fuzzy. His whole body felt like lead, and he really just needed to find somewhere to lie down and, preferably, sleep for many hours.

Dumbledore removed the silencing charms and opened the door quietly, leading Harry through it. Before they started walking down the hall however, he turned to Harry again, grasping his shoulders.

"Just before I leave you, I thought you should know," he said in a whisper. "We are looking for Lucius Malfoy, though we have had little luck as of yet. We do find strong traces of magic around certain spots however, and we do believe the place you were in was above the ground. I am going to speak to young Mr. Malfoy now, and I am hoping he will be able to give us some information, maybe even lead us there." The headmaster paused for a moment and looked around before he continued. "We are also questioning him thoroughly about his loyalties and trying to find out if it is, in fact, safe to trust him."

"Can't Veritaserum get you far there?" Harry interrupted quietly. Dumbledore gave him an affirmative nod.

"Yes, we will be using Veritaserum," he admitted. "We have to make sure that you will be perfectly safe in his company (Harry narrowed his eyes) –yes, Harry, assuring that he is to be trusted, you will be in his company. He is in danger as well now, you know. Lucius Malfoy does not look kindly on those who betray him, regardless if they are family. Draco Malfoy is not as pampered and spoiled as you think (Harry raised his eyebrows) –with presents and other material things, perhaps, but there is little love in the Malfoy family."

Dumbledore stopped abruptly, turning Harry around and leading him down the long hallway to the bar again. When they walked into the room, Harry could see that he, Dumbledore, Draco, and the innkeeper were now the only ones there. Draco looked very tired, but he still jumped up when they entered the room and when Dumbledore asked if he could question him, he didn't object.

They took Harry to his room first, making sure everything was ok, then, after the headmaster had bid him goodnight, they walked off and left him there by himself.

The first thing Harry noticed was that there were two beds in the room; it appeared that, as long as Draco was proven trustworthy, he would be staying very close to Harry. Harry wasn't quite sure how he felt about that. The boy had helped him escape from Lucius Malfoy, but only after Harry had showed a spectacular display of power.

He didn't seem too happy about his father torturing you though, a little voice said in his ear. And the little voice was right in that. Draco had seemed different in a way, but it wasn't enough to convince Harry that he had switched sides completely. He might be having second thoughts about this and that, but Harry doubted that anyone like Draco Malfoy could have had a complete turnaround.

Harry walked over to his bed and lay down without bothering to undress. His mind was racing; the events of the evening were playing again and again inside his head, and he couldn't really come to a decision on anything.

He soon fell into a restless sleep, only to be awoken a little later by a hand on his shoulder. He opened his eyes carefully, then, as he saw whom the hand belonged to, he sat bolt upright and backed away.

Draco mumbled "Sorry," and went over to his own bed, sat down, and looked at Harry.

"I didn't mean to startle you," he said quietly, looking uncomfortable. "It sounded like you were having a nightmare or something."

Harry got up, rather embarrassed at his reaction and started pacing the room. He did just have a nightmare; just one of many about Sirius and Voldemort and death and destruction…

"Sorry," Harry said back, thinking that he must still be dreaming, as he was apologizing to a Malfoy. "I did have a nightmare… I have a lot of those." He stopped, fixing his gaze on Draco.

"I wanted to ask you though, since I'm up anyway, why did you suddenly decide to help me tonight?" he said carefully. Draco looked down at his sheets for a moment, then looked up again.

"It wasn't so sudden, really," he started. "My father has, as you know, all my life, told me that certain people are worth more than others. All my life, he has been telling me of the Dark Lord and his ambitions and his magnificence. All my life, I have been trained to be a Death Eater, just like my father. And it all seemed so great. I felt that it was right; we were the ones who were standing up to power and choosing our own, independent way." Draco pulled his fingers absentmindedly through his hair, gave Harry a quick look, and continued.

"Anyway," he said, straightening up. "This summer my father –the git- took me with him to a Death Eater meeting, and I got to see the Dark Lord in person for the first time in my life. It was, at least, the first time I can remember. I could sense a great power emanating from him, no doubt about that, and in the beginning, I was impressed. My glorious fantasy of him, and of us, was soon to be squashed however. As the meeting proceeded, I became more and more aware of what was driving my father and the others present to serve this man; it wasn't loyalty, it wasn't, as I had imagined, pride and honor; it was fear. Pure fear. They were all cowards, and that was the reason they were there. They cowered under his glare and froze under his wand. They had no self-respect whatsoever! Even my father, whom I had admired my entire life for being someone of rank and dignity, squirmed like a frightened animal when the Dark Lord advanced on him. It was disgusting."

Draco paused, seemingly to angry for words. He stood up and made his way to the bathroom in a towering rage. Harry heard water running, and shortly after Draco reemerged, his face and hair completely soaked. Now he went over to stand opposite Harry, and lunged into his tale again, without a word on his strange behavior.

"Well," he started, as if nothing had happened. "Later that evening, or night, my f- …Lucius decided that he wanted me to come along on one of their raids. So I followed them to a little muggle town, where they chose a completely random house and rang the doorbell, as casual as anything. When the slightly confused, middle-aged man came out to greet them, they promptly put him under the Imperius curse and made him tie up his wife, then kill his three children. One of the little girls probably hadn't yet turned three. After they had all watched this, they lifted the curse from him and left." Draco shuddered violently, and took to rubbing his shoulders gently, as if he were cold.

"They were laughing, Harry, while doing this," he said, sounding thoroughly miserable. "They had cowered under the glare of that madman, scared for their own lives, just an hour before, and now they stood there watching the whole, horrendous thing with smiles on their faces. They are hypocrites, the lot of them! To think I ever even considered joining their ranks –to think that I would ever have been part of something so pathetic, so pointless, so blatantly evil… And then, when I saw you tonight, how beaten down you looked –and when I got to witness how strong you were despite of it, and how my f- how that man used your courage, -it was just…"

Draco shuddered again and went over to his bed, sitting down and pulling all his blankets around himself. Harry went over to his own bed and sat down as well, not knowing quite what to make of all this. This was Draco; Draco who, just a month ago, would have stopped at nothing to make his life hell, Draco who was thought by everyone to be the most firm supporter of Voldemort at Hogwarts, Draco who would never miss a chance to call someone a mudblood. Draco.

"I know what you're thinking," Draco said quite unexpectedly, making Harry turn his head up so quickly that he hurt his neck.

"Oh yeah?" said Harry snidely, rubbing it carefully. "What, you're a legilimens now?" Draco's eyes flared with anger as he shook his head slowly.

"I didn't mean it like that, you prat," he said forcefully, suddenly back to sounding like a Malfoy. "You're thinking that you can't trust me after the behavior I've displayed during the past five years. I don't blame you. I'm not asking for immediate trust either, and I certainly will not beg you for it. All I ask is a chance."

He raised his eyebrows as if saying 'Well, how about it then?' and Harry found himself letting out an exasperated sigh.

"Fine then," he said tersely. "I will give you a chance, if that is all you want."

Draco nodded curtly and Harry flopped down onto his pillows, now so exhausted he could hardly keep his eyes open. He heard Draco clear his throat loudly and he sat up again, glaring at the boy.

"What – now?" Harry said irritably.

"Uh, do you usually sleep with all your clothes on?" Draco asked, looking highly disdainful. "Didn't the mug- I mean, didn't your dear relatives teach you about pyjamas?"

Harry let out a snort of laughter. He found it quite amusing that Draco had stopped himself from calling his relatives for muggles, especially as it was a term he used often himself, when speaking about them.

"It's fine, you can call them muggles, -that's what they are aren't they?" Harry said, still amused. "Just don't call people mudboods and such. Muggle is only a descriptive term, after all."

"So is mudblood though," Draco replied, smirking. Harry rolled his eyes.

"No, Malfoy," Harry said, as if talking to a two-year-old. "Mudblood is a highly derogatory term, and you know it full well. And yes, I do know about pyjamas, I am just too tired to even think of moving right now, so I am going to sleep just as I am. Do you have a problem with that?" Draco stopped smirking and let out a huge yawn.

"No," he said tiredly. "No, whatever, I could care less."

And with that, they both lay down. Draco, it seemed, fell asleep immediately, but Harry, despite his fatigue, could not seem to relax. He was so confused; everything had turned itself upside-down in one day, and he wasn't entirely sure he liked it so much. He lay in deep rumination for a long time, and at long last he drifted off to sleep.

Tomorrow, everything would be different.

Sorry it took me so long to update -I hope you liked it! Please review!