A few days later, Harry found Draco sitting in the library doing his homework. The Slytherin acknowledged him with the briefest of nods, and Harry's heart sank even farther than it had since the rejection in the dressing room.

Draco sighed at the dejected expression on Harry's face, and then, organizing the work in front of him, tried to look professional. "I have been thinking, Harry, and I have decided that no matter what has happened between us, it is still in my best interest to help deal with your Cunning Plan." He grimaced inwardly; the line sounded as rehearsed as it was.

Harry's expression hardened. "Don't pull that professional, hardhearted shit with me, Draco. I've known you too long."

Draco's mask dropped, and pure anger filled his face. "Fine. Frankly, Harry, I don't give a flying fuck about you, but I want He Who Must Not Be Named dead, so I'm willing to help you."

Harry was hurt by this, but he hid it and sat down at the table.

------------------

Lucius watched as Voldemort poured the olive oil onto the floor and cast a Disillusionment charm on it, so that it was practically invisible. He set out the Veil of Mysteries and shifted it like someone who is just bought a new painting and is trying to find its most advantageous position on the wall. Finally he was done, and they sat down to wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Finally, the Dark Lord got impatient. "Lucius, is your son coming or what? Don't tell me he's lost his memory too…"

Lucius shifted nervously. "Well…"

Voldemort put his head in his hands. "Why am I cursed with stupid followers?" he wailed.

"Well, My Lord, the problem is this. I wrote to Draco after I had already forgotten the Plan, and so he doesn't know any of the details. It is my fault, My Lord." He bowed his head, but either he was not as good at pulling off the Repentant Death Eater Look as his son, or Voldemort was more resistant to it than Harry, for the next thing he knew he was being held in the air by the collar of his shirt.

"You will go find them NOW!" Voldemort snarled, before throwing him out the door.

----------------------

Draco was lying on his bed when there was a thunk at his window. He sat up with a start and looked over to see his father's owl sitting on the other side of the glass and tapping at it impatiently. He ran over to let it in. It had a message in its beak.

He unrolled it quickly and read it.

Bring Harry to the Very Secret Hiding Place as soon as you can or risk the Dark Lord's wrath, it read.

"Shit," Draco said aloud, and then he ran from the room.

-------------------------

He found Harry on his way back to the Gryffindor dormitory. The Boy Who Lived had his nose in a book, and he was making his way along the hallway very slowly. It was therefore relatively easy for Draco to catch him, but Draco was afraid that the rest of the plan was not going to be quite so easy.

"Harry," he gasped, trying to catch his breath. "Go get the clothes. It's time to go face the Dark Lord."

"Shit!" Harry exclaimed, unknowingly echoing Draco's earlier words, and, dropping his book, he ran the rest of the way to his room.

When he came back, they made their way out of Hogwarts and through the grounds until they were past the wards. Then Draco grabbed Harry, and before Harry could wonder how the Slytherin knew how to Apparate, they had arrived at Voldemort's Very Secret Hiding Place.