Prologue
Author notes: First of all, I'd like to thank my counts FOUR betas, Kat (who shall hopefully be making an account soon, damn her), Liz (lizren), Maddy (magnumzero), Courtney (deppinthought). Lauren (hat-and-clogs) gets an honorable mention. Hmm…it seems like I'm getting progressively angstier on here. I started out with total fluff, then moved to a weird angst one-shot, and now this, which goes beyond the realm of angst and graduates into The Kind of Angst Where LOTS of People Die. UM so if you review I'll love you forever and for always. Oh, and seriously, it does sort of have a plot eventually.
When the Order of the Phoenix assigned Harry to spy on Draco Malfoy, an active Death Eater, Harry was conflicted.
He was thinking back to the last time he had seen Malfoy, robes whipping out of site around the Hogwarts gates. Minutes before, Harry had stood, invisible, on the Astronomy tower with Dumbledore and Malfoy, watching him struggle with himself, watching his wand lower a fraction of and inch away from Dumbledore. Harry hadn't known what to think then. As much as he could never forgive Malfoy for deciding to serve Voldemort, he had seen the pain and the fear on his face. And he had pitied him then. But just for a moment, albeit a moment which stood out vividly in Harry's memory.
He remembered Malfoy crying in the bathroom, remembered his choked sob of "No one can help me," remembered the Sectumsempra curse which had left long X-shaped gashes across Malfoy's chest, remembered his own shock and horror and fear.
In a reasonably sized portion of Harry's brain, he had sympathy for Malfoy. In another slightly larger portion, he instinctively hated Malfoy because of who he was working for in this never-ending war.
Even so, Harry was conflicted.
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When Draco received orders to tail Harry Potter and report his findings to the Dark Lord, Draco was conflicted.
He thought about everything Potter had been through. He thought about how Potter's parents had been murdered by Draco's own master. He remembered the deaths of Cedric Diggory, Sirius Black and Dumbledore during their time at school. He pictured the permanently weary expression etched on Potter's prematurely lined face the last time he had seen him, five years ago in the sixth and what turned out to be final year at Hogwarts. Draco had felt a drop of sympathy for Potter, imagining the daily trials he endured.
But Draco had had his fare share of hardships at Potter's hands too. He ran his hands over his chest and felt the long, ropy scar marring the skin. He thought with hatred about how Potter had given it to him. Then he heard Potter's frantic "No," as he saw what his curse had done, remembered Potter kneeling at his side, scared, horrified.
But then, most painfully of all, Draco thought of his parents' deaths at the hands of the Order of the Phoenix the year before—his father had died in Azkaban (indirectly Potter's fault), and his mother in their own manor while Draco was away. He didn't know if this had been exclusively Potter's doing, but somehow he felt like he needed to blame Potter.
Even so, Draco was conflicted.
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And so they set out for each other, apprehensive and confused and thoughtful. They had no idea where their missions would lead. They were afraid to know.
Author notes: Uhh...Chapter one is better than this. Please read it before you cruelly judge me.