Any and all recognizable characters, names and places are copyright J.K. Rowling. I'm making no profit whatsoever and sincerely hope she doesn't find my writing too offensive. All other characters, names and places, as well as the story itself, are copyright me, and if you nick them, I will set Angust, my pet angst sprite on you.

I advise discretion to those under sixteen in the reading of this chapter, it is slash and this means that at some point there is a bit of 'boy love' going on. I don't write such scenes particularly vividly, but I do write them, and there is one in this chapter. You are warned.

Do enjoy this latest installment of Conquer, from this chapter onwards; things are going to get tough for our favorite boys.

* * * * * * * *

Chapter Three

As Head Boy, Harry had been patrolling the dormitories with Hermione, trying to get the students to shut up and go to sleep, so he hadn't had a chance to visit Professor Snape and replenish his now nonexistent store of Dreamless Sleep Draught. He had taken the potion every night for the last few months of sixth year, while he was still at Hogwarts. It had been the only way for him to get a full night's sleep since December.

Not that he couldn't actually sleep. He was almost always knackered these days, so sleep came to him easily enough, it was what happened after sleep came that forced his use of the potion, regularly made up for him by the Potions Master.

Since events last December, the raven-haired Gryffindor had found it impossible to sleep on Hogwarts grounds without his subconscious throwing new terrors at him each night. Anywhere else and he was fine, his body seemed to realise he wasn't close to where it had happened. It was the aura of magic about the place, the same field of magic that surrounded anything from the wizarding world, which held the memories within it that his own magic picked up on subconsciously. Often, afterwards, Harry had found himself being shaken awake by Ron or Dean, his throat burning from the screaming and his body covered in a fine sheen of cold sweat, while a fearful Neville looked on. Seamus, of course, slept through anything.

The only times it didn't happen were when he forgot his Occlumency. On those nights he would become immersed in Voldemort, living whatever the Dark Lord was doing at that time. Whenever that happened he vowed not to let himself forget again. Though he invariably did, much to his and Snape's disquiet.

Normally the nightmares were very general, a mish-mash of fragmented memories and circumstances, real or imagined, but always with such a sense of terror and foreboding, of impending doom, that he always, without fail, woke screaming, unable to sleep afterwards. Occasionally though, they were more specific and he relived the most terrible moments of his short life. Always, once woken, he would lay, staring at the canopy above his bed and wait for the others to sleep again and then sit, alone and cold inside, in the common room, watching the dawn light chase away the darkness.

He knew it all stemmed from that two day period last December, after all but a few students had left for the holidays, before Christmas day itself.

Sylvia.

He had failed, for the third time in as many years, to save someone he knew. In this case, a twelve year old Gryffindor muggle-born who had a crush on him. The smile on Voldemorts thin lips as he casually snapped her neck before disapparating haunted him still.

He threw his robes over the back of the chair at his new desk. A moment later his t-shirt and jeans followed and he slipped into the unfamiliar bed, resigning himself to an early awakening. He wondered briefly how Draco was doing with his former comrades down in the dungeons.

He sighed and resolutely began the task of emptying his mind of all thought and emotion, making himself comfortable in the process. He pulled the duvet up to his chin and closed his eyes; he was so practiced at this by now that he did it without consciously realizing and was very soon just a bubble of consciousness floating gently in a void.

Soon, he dreamed.

* * * *

He was early for Double Potions.

As he entered the room, still munching on a slice of toast he had nicked from the empty Great Hall as he passed, he looked around for Snape. The Potions Master wasn't anywhere in sight so he dropped his bag beside his table at the rear of the room and sat down, dropping his head into his hands with a very tired sigh.

A moment later, head still in hands, chewing on the final bite of toast, he heard someone else come into the room. It was unusual considering he was very early himself and tended to be the only student up at this time. He didn't look up, though, until a bag was dropped next to the seat on his right.

"Merlin's Beard, Harry, you look terrible."

It was Draco. He smiled wearily as the blonde sat down next to him giving him an assessing look, fair brows pinched together slightly in a concerned frown. He tried to say 'good morning' but his voice came out in a croak, so he coughed and tried again.

"Morning."

Draco's brows rose slightly, questioningly, as he stood again and began to set out his equipment, "I hate to ask, but....?"

Harry put his head in his hands again, "I ran out of Dreamless Sleep Draught and didn't get a chance to ask Snape for some more." He sighed and then jumped as a quiet voice said, "Is that so, Potter? Stop by after lessons tonight, then."

They watched the Potions Master as he swept into the room, pausing briefly to look at them with eyebrows raised as he passed. When he reached his desk and did nothing more than rifle through the papers piled atop it, Draco turned back to him, "I don't remember you taking anything over the summer?"

Harry nodded and stood, getting out his own equipment, "I'll tell you about it later." Draco simply nodded and they worked in comfortable silence, occasionally watching as Snape wrote the day's work on the blackboard. A few minutes before class was due to start Pansy Parkinson came in, not looking at them, followed a few moments later by Daphne Greengrass, Terry Boot and Justin Finch-Fletchly.

Now that the whole class was here, Snape began to take a little more interest. He greeted them rather gruffly and strode to the front of the room, casting the six of them a withering look. Harry mused over the fact that one Severus Snape always liked to give some sort of rehearsed opening lecture, normally to scare students into paying attention and making sure they were reminded of what to expect in his lessons.

This tactic hadn't worked on Harry the first time he'd faced it and he knew it was a wasted effort now, so he switched off until Draco nudged him pointedly. Snape was just explaining what today's potion would be. He flicked his wand at the empty board and the neatly scrawled instructions he had written up earlier reappeared.

"The Polyjuice Potion. This highly restricted concoction allows the imbiber to take on the appearance, down even to the very fingerprints, of whomever they have acquired a sample of. Hair is most commonly used. If you all actually studied this summer, you should understand the concept; the potion was in your reading." Snape glared around at the six of them, his dark eyes resting on Harry for a moment longer than was comfortable. Then he abruptly turned and gestured at the instructions, "The potion is to be started today and finished at a later date, to be revealed by lessons end. Get on with it."

Harry grinned to himself when Snape turned, despite the headache that was beginning to make itself known behind his eyes and temples and set too. "What's so amusing?" Draco murmured halfway through slicing his knotgrass.

"Just remembering the first time I saw Polyjuice."

Draco paused, blinked, began cutting the knotgrass again and asked, "You've made Polyjuice before, then?" The surprise was evident in his voice, despite the low tone he was using to avoid detection by their austere Potions Master. Harry carefully sliced the leeches, adding them one by one to his cauldron before he answered, acutely aware that Draco could either be amused or offended by this particular piece of his history.

"Hermione made it second year," he murmured as quietly as the blonde had, making sure Snape was out of ear shot, "We were under the mistaken belief that you knew who the Heir of Slytherin was."

Draco's brows rose, "Christmas day, right?" Harry nodded slightly with a small smile. "So, it was you!" Though his voice was still low, Harry could hear the surprise and dawning realization, "You managed to dupe me right up until Crabbe and Goyle turned up. Minus their shoes and robes, of course." He was smirking now and evidently amused by Harry's admission.

Draco paused mid slice and appeared to stare at the ceiling, "I would have loved to have found out who the Heir was, back then."

"I'd noticed." Harry replied with another grin. "Couldn't give a shit now, of course," the blonde continued, and he could well believe that, they both knew very well who the Heir was, and neither or them had a particularly good track record with the man he had become. Harry frowned down at his Boomslang skin as he began shredding it, then Draco nudged him with a sharp elbow muttering, "I still can't believe Granger isn't at least in Ravenclaw."

Sharing a knowing grin they worked the rest of the lesson in silence, Harry doing his best to ignore the now rather prominent headache, fighting not to rub his itchy eyes, especially as his fingers were covered in leech gore and traces of powdered Bicorn horn. When class began to draw to a close, Snape stood and stalked around the room, inspecting each potion in turn.

He flinched slightly as Justin's potion was denounced with a particularly cold sneer. The Potions Master declared it absolutely atrocious and banished it with an impatient flick of his wand, ordering him to return after lessons today to remake it. Terry Boot's got the same treatment, but Daphne stood straight backed and jaw clenched as Snape glared into her cauldron and declared it to be acceptable. Then it was his turn.

Snape swept over, narrowed his eyes at the slight smirk playing on Draco's lips and glared down into Harry's cauldron. One eyebrow arched in that all too familiar look of exasperated annoyance, a look he had cultivated since discovering Harry had indeed gained the marks required to take a place on his Advanced Course. Harry's consistent good marks and newly developing ability to thoroughly understand every nuance and complicated mixture of any potion he set had begun to annoy the Potions Master, despite their diplomatic truce.

Eventually, after saying nothing, Snape moved to Draco's potion. Harry let out a silent breath he hadn't even been aware he was holding and glanced at the young man standing next to him. As expected, Draco's potion was as good as his own; Draco had always been good in this class, even without Snape's nepotism. Snape sniffed again, almost delicately, and stalked off toward Pansy who suddenly looked a little panicked.

"What have we here, Parkinson?" Snape drawled rather acerbically. Harry and Draco both paused, recognizing the tone, and turned to watch the exchange. Normally Pansy wasn't too bad in this class, as despite her rather, well, fickle nature, she seemed to have a good head for the subject. Right at this particular moment even Terry and Justin, already slighted by Snape and muttering darkly together, (Harry would marvel at that some time later, a Hufflepuff and a Ravenclaw? Almost as unprecedented as a Gryffindor and a Slytherin!) had turned to watch this new development. "P-polyjuice, Sir?" Pansy seemed to quail under Snape's glare and she fiddled with her sleeves, absently rubbing her left arm as she blinked up at the improbably tall man. "Polyjuice? You call THIS, Polyjuice?"

Harry tuned out the rest of the acid remarks in a carelessly practiced manner and concentrated instead on the way Pansy played so awkwardly with the sleeve of her left arm, noticing that she had opted for tighter fitting ones on her usual school robes this year. She kept pulling the cuff down and over the back of her hand, as if to make sure her wrists were covered entirely. He frowned slightly. It was a suspicious nervous gesture that she hadn't had before the summer.

"Dark Mark," Draco murmured in his ear, so quietly as to be almost unheard. He turned to look at him, eyebrows lowered quizzically as he cleaned away his ingredients - they had to leave the potion itself, Snape was going to pour them into long time storage capsules after the lesson - carefully scrubbing the chopping board. Draco smirked slightly again, "I'll tell you later." Harry quirked one eyebrow and said nothing.

Obviously fighting a laugh, which would have drawn Snape back to their table and probably landed them both in detention, Draco picked up his mortar and pestle, preparing to put the newly cleaned equipment back into his bag. Shaking his head slightly, Harry kept half an eye on him, half an eye on the squirming Pansy, which was why he only half caught what happened.

Draco seemed to seize up slightly as he bent to grab his bag. With an almost inaudible cry of pain, he dropped the mortar and pestle, clutching at his wrist, not making any attempt to stop his expensive equipment from smashing on the solid stone floor.

Harry almost went to hug the blonde, but at the last second forced himself to simply lay a hand on his shoulder, whispering urgently, "Draco? What's wrong?"

The noise had attracted the attention of Snape and the other students, the former strode towards them, the latter simply stared. "What is going on here, mister Malfoy? Potter?" Draco straightened, almost, but not quite, shaking Harry's hand off his shoulder and looked his Head of House straight in the eye, "Nothing, Sir, just a little clumsy this morning."

Snape continued to glare at them for a moment, and then swept off to the head of the room, flicking his wand at the blackboard which now held their assignment.

A little shocked at the events, Harry nonetheless noticed that Draco was still clutching his wrist, and he knew the blonde well enough by now to be able to tell when he was in pain, the look in his pale eyes and the lines of his jaw hid nothing from him.

* * * *

"So, what was that all about?"

They had about twenty minutes of break before their next classes and had arranged, previously, to meet up with Ron and Hermione in the library to pass the time. Draco guessed it was something the Gryffindor trio did often.

"It was nothing, RSI, what were you on about, needing Dreamless Sleep?"

Harry blinked at his quick change of subject, but seemed to shake it off as they headed, side by side, in the direction of the library. Draco raised one fair eyebrow as the dark-haired youth pulled an apple out of one of his robes pockets and began to munch on it before answering, almost offhandedly, "Last Christmas."

Draco scowled slightly; he should have known really, that incident had left quite a few students with emotional scars, just as Cederic Diggory's death had after fourth year. In fact, his mother had forced him to send his father a letter detailing the events, telling him his father would like to hear about it all; that it would probably cheer him up. He suppressed a shudder at the memory.

"I haven't been able to sleep properly on Hogwarts grounds since then." Harry took another bite, looking at the ground before their feet thoughtfully, "Something about the magical field here. Hermione could explain it better." Another bite, "Anyway, without the potion, I have nightmares, bloody horrible ones and that's saying something."

He caught Harry's eye at that comment and frowned slightly. The Gryffindor only shrugged, saying, "I'm a bit of a connoisseur," with a smile.

There were a few moments of silence as they negotiated the hoards of younger students fighting to get past. As they did, Draco noticed most of them gave Harry and himself strange looks; some calculating, some appraising, a few downright brutal. He was sure, at one point, that as they moved past one group of students, he heard his name. He looked over his shoulder but received only a blank stare from the one girl who appeared to be watching him.

Well. This really was only to be expected, and why was he surprised? He'd heard students muttering his name in dark tones enough times over the years that he was quite used to it by now. It was just highly strange to have it happen now, after he'd turned his back on his father and the Dark, when, for once, he hadn't actually done anything untoward.

He shook off the creeping feeling of the eyes on him and turned back to Harry, "I take it you don't sleep then?"

They entered the library and looked around, catching the familiar glimpse of bright red hair off to their left, by the windows. As they set off, Harry muttered, "Once I'm awake, I can't get back to sleep again. Without the potion, I get roughly two hours. Hey, Ron," he finished in more normal tones.

Draco dropped his bag on a chair, silently digesting this information as the red-head greeted them. "Where's Granger?" He asked after a moment, noticing her absence, it was unusual to find Ron without Hermione these days. Said youth's eyes narrowed slightly, "Her name is Hermione, and she's back in the stacks."

Draco rolled his eyes, blithely ignoring the look Harry gave him as he did so, instead, pulling out his time table and going over it. He hadn't actually looked at the thing since grabbing it absentmindedly off the breakfast table on his way past. He had known, thanks to Harry, that he had Double Potions first thing, so hadn't bothered looking at the rest of it 'til now.

"Is it me, or do I have the rest of the day off?" In fact, upon closer perusal, he noticed he had quite a few free periods this year, and one full day free every first Friday. Harry pulled out his own time table and grinned, putting his feet up as he did, "Yup, so have I. Looks like you and Hermione have double Muggle Studies next, though." This last was directed at Ron who now had his nose stuck in said lessons set text.

The red-head nodded distractedly, "I've got Divination after lunch, too."

There was an unmistakable hint of excitement in Ron's voice as he said this, despite his entirely relaxed and distracted manner. It made Draco wonder, albeit briefly, why the taller boy didn't plan on furthering his education in that area and taking it up as a career. He supposed it may have had something to do with the war and Voldemorts constant appearances.

"I suppose this gives us more time to get all our work done this year."

"I'm glad someone plans on using his free periods productively," Hermione's voice, slightly muffled, drifted over to them. Ron's ears went pink and Harry smiled. The girl herself appeared a moment later, arms full of books - which she hastily dumped on the table forcing Harry to remove his feet in a rush lest they get crushed - and sat down between himself and Ron. She turned an appraising look on him while poking her boyfriend's knee and saying, "I hope you were paying attention."

Ron only frowned and disappeared behind his book. Draco raised his eyebrows at Harry who grinned and repositioned his feet on the table as Hermione began rifling through her books. Draco shook his head with a smile and pulled out his Potion's Assignment.

The 'five minutes left' bell went and Hermione re-gathered the books, stuffing them rather hastily into her shoulder book-bag as Ron stood, nose still in his own text. They were both gone, with hasty and distracted goodbyes, a few moments later. Draco turned to Harry, eyebrows raised quizzically, "What was with all the books?"

The raven-haired youth shrugged, finished his apple and idly banished it with a careless flick of his wand that belied the power needed behind the spell, before saying, "The new books, brought in over the summer. She likes to read them before," here he put on a startlingly good impression of Hermione's sternest tone, "everyone else ruins them with dirty fingers and coffee stains."

Draco smirked as Harry pulled out his own Potion's Assignment and the set book they had bought only a short while ago, but which he was sure the taller boy had already read cover to cover. Without removing his feet from the table, and apparently ignoring the sign on one of the closer stacks telling him he shouldn't have them there in the first place, the Gryffindor set about his essay.

Shaking his head, Draco followed suit and was highly surprised when the lunch bell went two hours later. He hadn't realised quite how long they had been sitting there, over looked by Madame Pince and the various students trailing through, eyeing them as they passed. He was pretty sure he'd seen Blaise pass by at one point, but he hadn't been paying particular attention, he'd been enjoying quiet conversation with Harry, debating over the properties and misuses of Polyjuice.

Before they began packing they measured their essays so far. Fifty-two inches really was enough to be going on with, but at least he nearly had that down already, and he couldn't help noticing that Harry didn't use over- sized handwriting anymore. In fact, it was almost as small as Hermione's.

On their way down to lunch, dodging enthusiastic first years and curious or sarcastic older students, as well as the odd furtive glance or seething glare, Draco surreptitiously massaged his left wrist. It still ached from earlier and the long hours of essay writing for Snape hadn't helped. He thought back to what he'd told Harry. R.S.I? He had no idea where that had come from, it certainly wasn't something he had ever suffered from, though Merlin knew, many witches and wizards did.

He remembered that he had actually been about to tell Harry that he had no idea what was wrong with him, but the connection between his brain and vocal chords had been temporarily overridden. He closed his eyes, briefly. It had been the exact same feeling that had taken him when he refused to go to The Burrow with Harry that last day together in Bath.

He pushed that thought to the back of his mind and concentrated more on fighting his way through the swarms of migrating students. Maybe it was just R.S.I, after all, what with all the extra wand work over the summer; he should stop worrying about it.

He parted with Harry at the door to the Great Hall, giving the taller boy a parting look full of a heat he really couldn't disguise and which made the Gryffindor grin sheepishly as he headed for his rowdy dorm mates. Still rubbing gingerly at his left wrist, Draco made his way to his own table and sat down between Crabbe and Goyle who both looked a little groggy, though he was sure he didn't understand why as they didn't have any lessons until Wednesday.

"Not sleeping?" He asked pointedly. They both shook their heads. 'Scintillating conversationalists, indeed', he thought, remembering the term he had used to describe them to Harry over the summer with a smile.

He didn't stay long. He had an exceptionally small appetite normally, but today he felt like eating even less. He ate what he could then stood up, apologizing to his two friends, ignoring the various glares directed at him from his fellow seventh years. He was pleasantly surprised when Crabbe and Goyle didn't follow him, this time last year, they would have. He slung his bag over his shoulder and, shooting Harry a quick smile as he left the hall, made his way down to his common room.

When he entered his room he was a lot less pleasantly surprised to feel that his wards had been breached yet again. He closed the door and stood in the center of his room, concentrating. Make that breached twice. He frowned, eyebrows pinching together slightly. One was definitely Blaise again, but the other he couldn't place. He recognized it, of course, but couldn't place it.

Opening his eyes, they fell automatically on the only thing in the room that was wrong. There was an envelope on his pillow. He blinked, surprised. What the - ?

Dropping his bag he strode to his bedside and picked it up suspiciously. It wasn't particularly heavy, but the parchment was softer than the usual stuff found at Hogwarts. He blinked again, once again trying to figure out who the second intruder had been, and picked up a letter opener from his desk, slitting the parchment easily. He unfolded it and instantly recognized the handwriting.

Harry.

He smirked and shook his head. Of course he would recognize the power in here, he'd spent the summer with the boy, but he hadn't actually been present during any wand work, not the real stuff, so he wasn't attuned to his unique signature yet. Merlin, he must have written this while they were doing their Potions Assignment. But how, and where, had he learned such a powerful spell?

'Draco,
Come out of the common room, midnight. And try not to walk into me. Harry'

He shook his head again. What the hell was the Gryffindor up to?

* * * *

"Harry?" He closed the portrait behind him and looked around. Ok, so this was weird. It wasn't the first time he'd snuck out of the common room at night and certainly wouldn't be the last, but it was the first time he'd pre-arranged it. Or at least, he realised with a smirk, had it pre-arranged for him.

He stepped out into the hallway and suddenly felt a presence behind him. He looked over his shoulder. Nothing. What was going on? Something touched his cheek and he almost yelped despite himself, jumping backwards slightly. It had felt like lips, but oddly muffled.

"Oh, stop being such a Slytherin."

Harry's voice. Harry's voice sounding amused. "Where the hell are you?" He asked quietly, getting his breathing back under control. He almost lost it again when Harry's grinning head appeared a few feet in front of him. He watched as the dark haired figure appeared, as if he had swung something off one of his shoulders. An invisibility cloak? Harry held one arm out a little, apparently inviting him under with him.

"Where did you get this?" he asked as he slipped under the taller boys arm, moving close to his side. Harry dropped the cloak back over the both of them and shrugged slightly, "It was my fathers; Dumbledore returned it to me for Christmas, first year."

What the hell were the Potters doing with a rare invisibility cloak?

They walked in comfortable silence for a while, steadily getting closer until Harry appeared to give in and wrapped his left arm round Draco's waist. Draco smiled, enjoying the feel of his strong arm wrapped round him. "Where are we going anyway?" He kept his voice low, not really expecting an answer. He didn't get one, just an almost inaudible chuckle.

They climbed an intolerable amount of staircases that he at first attempted to count, but soon lost himself. When they passed the Gryffindor portrait, Harry pointed it out with a small grin. Now at least he could understand why Longbottom had lost all that weight. He gave the large, pink, woman in the painting an appraising look before following Harry's tugging arm and turning the corner and going up yet more stairs.

They eventually reached a door. Harry threw the cloak off them both and unlocked it with a careless Alohomora. One eyebrow raised quizzically, Draco stepped through and looked around. He shivered suddenly as a cold wind blew over him. He was only wearing his pyjamas and dressing gown and he was on the roof. It was cold. He wrapped his own arms around himself and listened to Harry closing the door behind them, "Harry, it's cold, what are we doing up here?"

He heard Harry chuckle and then warm arms wrapped round him from behind. He turned his head slightly and met dark green eyes, he shivered slightly again and the arms tightened nicely. "Second thoughts, I don't care," he leaned back into the embrace comfortably, Harry chuckled again, then whispered "I just wanted to show you something." Draco's interest was perked, "What?"

The taller youth moved round him slightly, one arm wrapped round his waist again and nodded off to their right, "Over here, you'll see."

They made their way through the maze of chimney stacks and sloped edges to the far side of the roof. He wondered how Harry had discovered this place and when. A few scenarios passed through his head, one of which was a distressing image of the Gryffindor trying to find somewhere to jump from, though he hoped Harry had never reached that point. He gripped Harry's hand with his own and squeezed gently. Twinkling green eyes turned to him and he smiled, receiving a grin in return.

Finally Harry came to a stop and said, "Here," before maneuvering behind him again, wrapping those long, warm arms around his waist once more. He glanced around, "What? I don't see anything."

"Slytherins," he was sure he detected a hint of derisive laughter in that and turned slightly to look at Harry, "Pardon?" A grin, "You're blind. Turn round, I'll show you." Brows pinched together slightly, he turned back and Harry's right arm lifted, pointing. "There." He watched as the sweeping gesture took in the entire valley. He blinked.

"It's a view, Harry." He felt the taller boy suddenly droop against him in silent laughter and then Harry's arms moved up and wrapped round his shoulders instead. "Yes, it's a view, Draco. Just look at it."

So he did. From their vantage point they could see the whole valley, from the Quidditch pitch, to the green houses, to the lake, all surrounded by the Scottish mountains. He took all this in and then looked up. The sky was completely clear, which explained the cold, and the stars were stark against the midnight blackness. He realised that, if you put it all together, it was in fact quite beautiful, especially with the bright full moon moonlight glinting on everything around them.

He sighed and leaned back against Harry, finally seeing what it was he had been brought up here to see. "Told you," Harry breathed against his ear. Just exactly when did you get so sentimental? He asked himself silently, marveling at Harry's ability to romanticize just about anything. It was doubly fascinating when he took into account the fact that Harry hadn't exactly led a very heart warming life thus far.

"How did you find this place?" He asked quietly. He felt Harry shrug slightly, "I needed somewhere to escape to last year. I found the door one night and explored." He nodded, understanding that need for escape, he had felt it a lot himself last year, though he had invariably ended up locked in his own room rather than seeking out the heights.

Harry moved away and he turned, watching him as he found a gently sloping bit of the roof and sat down. For a moment Draco stood, looking at Harry framed by the stars and various chimney stacks, then he followed and settled himself between the Gryffindor's knees, leaning his back against Harry's chest. He felt Harry's chin rest on top of his head and pulled his arms over his shoulders where they wrapped round him again, holding him tightly. "So, who else have you shown this to?"

Harry sighed in what sounded like contentment, "No one. Though I'm sure other people must have found it by now." Draco thought about that for a moment, but he could only think of one thing to say, "Ah." So this wasn't just Harry's escape, this was the place he fled too to hide from the world, the place he probably hadn't even told Weasley and Granger about.

In the ensuing silence he absently plucked at one of Harry's sleeves, vaguely comforted by the neatly muscled arms draped over his shoulders and round his chest, by the gentle weight of Harry's chin on the top of his head. He settled back a little more comfortably and closed his eyes, letting the Gryffindor keep him warm, listening to Harry's steady heart beat. He could sit like this forever, relishing in the new comfort Harry had brought to his life, forgetting the real world and everything that had happened to him. Sitting like this, he could almost believe he and Harry didn't have the pasts that they did, that they were two normal teenage boys, enjoying the evening.

After a while, Harry shifted slightly, pulling his sleeves down over his hands and the cloak over the both of them, obviously for some extra warmth. It was vaguely disquieting to feel your body and everything that was touching it, but not be able to see it. This new arrangement was definitely warmer though.

"I think, if we make it through the first week without the Slytherins trying to kill me, or the Gryffindors you, we'll do alright." Harry's voice was quiet, controlled, attempting to betray nothing as he said this, but Draco now knew that he had been worrying about it. He had to admit he was right though, Hogwarts students tended to get over things in a week or two, so the shock of his and Harry's friendship should pass soon, especially considering most of the students had half known since the summer anyway, what with Goodensnake's article in the Daily Prophet.

"Yes, then things can get back to a relative normality," he near whispered in response. Harry's arms tightened slightly and they sat in silence again, watching the Scotch mist rolling down the mountains around them, wavering slightly when it hit the invisible magical field surrounding the grounds. It was quite beautiful, really, though he was sure the view was rather ordinary. He blinked at the absurdity of it all.

He extricated himself, gently, from Harry's arms and stood, moving over to the waist high wall around the rim of the roof. Despite the cold and shivering slightly, he placed his hands palm down on the top and looked over.

He looked at the Quidditch pitch on the far side and then to the green houses, before turning back to the mountains and the rolling mist, once again watching the way it wavered and created ghost shapes in the air as it hit the magical field. He realised, quite suddenly, as he watched the swirling shapes that this was the first time he had ever felt at all content on Hogwarts grounds. This moment, right now, as he watched the sleeping world around him, with Harry only a few feet away, his watchful and silent companion.

No wonder the Gryffindor liked it up here; there was a comfort to be found on the roofs that could never be found on the ground, let alone in the cold and silent dungeons, in his own rooms, where he had lived the better part of the past six years. With a smile, he realised he felt something similar whenever he took to the skies. With a tiny pang of regret, he thought of the days he had still been part of the Slytherin Quidditch team, before he had quit in an attempt to get away from everything and everyone last year.

He pressed his palms into the rough grain of the old stone, closing his eyes and listening, letting the texture of the stone and the sounds of the night play over his senses. The light, but distinctive, fizzle of magic around the whole grounds, the soft breeze through the trees of the Forbidden Forest, barren though they were due to the winter. The strange sound of birds singing during the night. The unmistakable, almost unnoticeable, sound of a sleeping building. Harry's footsteps drawing nearer.

He didn't turn as Harry stepped up next to him and made no comment as the taller boy leaned down, placing his lower arms on the wall, hands clasped together. "What are you thinking about?"

There was a short pause before he answered. "About what a strange day this has been."

Harry laughed, "Tell me about it. I don't think I've had that many dirty looks in one day since fourth year."

Fourth year. Well, that brought back memories. Unpleasant ones. '....half the Triwizard champions have died .... how long d'you reckon you're going to last, Potter? Ten minutes into the first task is my bet.' Isn't that what he had said? He had meant every word of it, just not in quite the way he had presented it. When he'd found out about the dragons, his heart had plummeted unpleasantly and though outwardly he had been rooting for Cedric - simply on principal - inwardly he had been crossing his fingers on the hope that Harry would survive.

He turned round and leaned against the wall, looking down into Harry's upturned face. He looked happy, but there was something in his eyes, behind the shield of his glasses, that hinted at something being wrong.

"What are you thinking about?" He mimicked Harry's earlier question, but didn't really expect an answer. If there was one thing he had learned about the youth over the summer, it was that Harry didn't talk about anything that was bothering him. Apparently it was some learned response, after having no one to talk to until he was eleven and then having to keep secrets and live through painful situations for the past six years, it was hardly surprising.

Harry stood and sat next to him on the low wall, shoulder to shoulder, with the invisibility cloak folded neatly over his knees. "Nothing really. Just wondering how the rest of the year will go. We've only been back a day..."

He lifted his arm and trailed the cold fingers of his right hand over the back of Harry's neck comfortingly, "Stop worrying. I'm a Slytherin, remember? I'll be using all my cunning and artifice to get through the year." He paused, Harry had looked, just for a moment, like he was about to say something, but then thought better of it, instead turning it into a smile. Sliding his fingers into the thick, soft, dark hair, he continued, "And you, as well as Granger and Weasley, will be wasting all that Gryffindor bravery I hear so much about on the enterprise."

Harry shook his head, closing his eyes in quiet laughter. Smiling, Draco stood and picking up the cloak, which he then dropped to the floor, placed himself directly between Harry's knees, one hand still brushing languidly through the dark mop of hair. A moment later Harry's hands were on his hips, sliding through the folds of his dressing gown. The hands didn't still until they pushed gently under his pajama top and brushed against his bare skin. Harry's cold fingers made him jump slightly.

"Sorry," Harry whispered with a small smile as he stood, but Draco didn't care, it had been far too long since Harry had touched him, skin to skin. He simply smiled and gently coaxed the taller boy's head down until their lips met.

The first day of their last year at Hogwarts, and he was standing on the roof kissing Harry Potter. Not two months ago, this would have only happened in a dream, a dream, in fact, that he would have told himself to forget as pure fantasy. Rather childishly, he wanted to stick his tongue out at that part of himself, but it was currently otherwise engaged in a much more adult fashion.

It was certainly cold up here, but this was definitely a nice way to warm up, especially if the Gryffindor continued his physical explorations. He slipped one arm around Harry's waist and pressed close, loving the feel of one of Harry's hands splayed out halfway up his back, the other tucked gently under his waistband in that ever so comfortable spot just above his rear.

They hadn't done this since that night in Bath, in his hotel room, and he had sorely missed the physical intimacy. Oh sure, they'd kissed and hugged and so on, but they had spent the summer at the Weasley place, and it was hard to find any privacy, so they had been unable to do anything with this intensity or passion. So long as he could keep Harry in his arms, he didn't care if anything else happened this night, he just wanted to relish in his touch.

They came up for air a few moments later and Harry moved to his neck, gently kissing and caressing with his lips. Draco placed a hand on Harry's bottom and pressed their hips together firmly as the taller boy explored his neck and throat. He was thoroughly warmed now, some parts more than others and the feel of the Gryffindors body pressed tightly against his own was almost intoxicating. He leaned his head back slightly, giving Harry's questing lips more access, his eyes falling open slightly. Lost in the sensations roving his body, he didn't pay any particular attention to the Thestral that flew silently overhead.

With an almost inaudible groan, Harry claimed his lips again and he lost himself in the expert caress of Harry's tongue against his own as they sparred almost playfully.

With a tiny grunt of surprise he realised Harry's hands had slowly moved, worked their way over him. One was still resting on his back, just under his shoulder blades, as if to hold him up, the other had moved around the inside of his waistband and was now gently caressing the trail of hair that led from his navel downwards. His stomach pulled inward slightly at the tickling sensation and then contracted when Harry's hand moved down and began stroking him.

He buried his face in the crook between Harry's neck and shoulder, stifling a moan of absolute pleasure. Lips pressed against the back of his neck and suddenly he was enveloped in the long fingered hand.

"Oh, Merlin," he breathed, fighting the urge to bite into Harry's skin. This was definitely not what he had thought would happen when he followed the instructions left in the note. He had wanted it, had even dared to hope for it, but hadn't really believed it would happen, not yet, they hadn't been together a month! He had been perfectly content to wait until Harry was ready, even though he didn't known when that would be; perfectly content with any closeness Harry was willing to give him.

He closed his eyes and forgot to think, becoming completely lost in the feel of Harry's firm grip. If anyone had thought to ask right then, he wouldn't have remembered his own name. As the grip tightened he gave into the urge and bit into Harry's shoulder, gripping the back of his top with both hands. Harry whispered something, but he didn't hear, all his attention was centered on the steady rhythm between them.

He held for as long as he could, relishing in the feel of it all, of Harry doing this to him and the release, when he finally allowed it, almost knocked him out. He bit back a deep throated moan of intense pleasure and collapsed against Harry's chest, gasping with each pulse, riding the waves as the taller boy slowed his own breathing.

Again, he heard Harry whisper something, it sounded like a simple cleaning spell, and he opened his eyes. He tried to speak as Harry's arms encircled him, but his voice came out as a croak. He swallowed and tried again, "Bloody hell, Harry."

Very eloquent. Top marks for the attempt though.

What felt like an age, but surely couldn't have been more than a few minutes later, his brain kicked back into gear. He leaned up and kissed Harry, slowly and gently, with all the passion he currently felt. It was his turn.

He pushed Harry down until he was sitting on the low wall, and then slipped down until he was kneeling at his feet, between his knees. He looked up with a smirk. The taller boy blinked, though there was an undisguised heat in his eyes, "Draco, you don't have to," he whispered. He leaned into the hesitant touch of Harry's hand on his cheek and grinned, "I know."

He smoothed his hands up Harry's inner thighs and watched the taller boys face as he gently uncovered him. The green eyes darkened, then closed and he smirked to himself as he leaned forward and gently nibbled. There was a sharp intake of breath above him, the hand on his cheek moved up and through his loose, breeze blown hair.

Enjoying himself immensely, he licked, nipped, sucked and caressed until Harry moaned his name in a strained voice, clearly begging for more. He didn't give in until Harry's hand tightened in his hair, at which point he swallowed him whole.

"Oh, God, Draco!" The vehemently spoken words spurred him on and Harry's other hand found his hair, both tightened before it moved to his shoulder and gripped. It appeared the Gryffindor didn't know what to do with them until finally, he let him finish. Harry had curled up over him, but he didn't care, that was just what he wanted, he'd been aching to do this to him for weeks.

As the Gryffindor quietly panted above him with each pulse, he swallowed, finally gently licking the last away before tucking him back in again and leaning up, putting his arms around the other boys chest. "That was...." He smiled as Harry trailed off and urged the taller boy's arms around him again.

They simply held each other for what felt an eternity, both attempting to re-catch their breathing. Eventually, Harry chuckled and quietly said, "A little impulsive, is what I was going to say." "Hmmm," Draco agreed, not really caring, so long as he could stay like this forever and never return to the real world, the world of dead hands and red eyes, the world where he was looked at with nothing but loathing.

He wasn't paying any particular attention to how much time passed, but the moon had moved significantly by the time Harry quietly said, "We should go, we've got Transfiguration first thing and I really don't want to face McGonagall while still half asleep." Well, he had a point.

They found the cloak again and wrapped themselves in it before heading back to the door, which once again, Harry opened with a careless flick and softly spoken Alohomora, that he couldn't help thinking was entirely too easy in his hands these days.

He rather groggily accepted the invisibility cloak when they reached the portrait hole to the Gryffindor dorm and common room. Apparently Harry wouldn't need it to get to his own room. They embraced and kissed and he left Harry standing watching empty air until his footsteps died away down the stair case at the end of the hall, taking the long walk back to the dungeons on his own.

It was still cold, and Hogwarts was eerily quiet, there was something about the school that was wrong when there were no students around. He skirted Peeves and Mrs Norris and met no one else until he reached his own corridor. Snape swept into the hallway a second after he had and he jumped out of the way just in time, pressing himself against the wall as the House Master walked hurriedly past him.

What the hell was he doing up? He had an insane urge to drop the cloak and simply ask the man, but though he considered him a friend these days, he didn't do it, settling instead for watching him stalk down the hall way and disappear round a corner at the end. He released a breath and quickly entered his common room, making his way to his room as quickly as possible without taking off the cloak.

He slipped the silky material off his shoulders as he closed the door behind him, wondering what the Potions Master was up to. He threw both the cloak and his dressing gown onto the back of his desk chair and slipped under the covers of his invitingly warm bed, forgetting about his respected teacher as the events of the night crept back into his thoughts.

As he curled up, wrapping the duvet over his shoulders, he smiled.

* * * *

He watched as Harry swung the invisibility cloak over his shoulders. "Harry, where are you going?"

Tha raven haired youth jumped slightly, which was an odd sight to see when you could only see his head, and turned to look at him. "Oh, Ron. I'm just going for a walk." He was smiling in the lopsided fashion he had when he was talking of Malfoy. Ron rolled his eyes, "Just don't be back too late, give Malfoy my regards."

Harry snorted lightly and his head disappeared from view, a moment later the portrait opened then closed. Harry was gone. Ron shook his head and returned his attention to the Tarot cards placed in front of him on the table. He was concentrating on the suit of Cups this evening. He didn't have Divination again until Friday, but he found the cards unendingly fascinating, so putting off the homework like he used to do, didn't even cross his mind.

Wrinkling his long nose slightly, he picked up the book again and flicked to the page that described the suit.

'Feelings and emotions. The suit of Cups describes the shifting and ever- changing world of feelings, and the prime symbol of feelings is the element of water. Like water, feelings are always changing.'

He looked down at the fourteen cards spread out before him, noting the repeating depiction of water in various forms, the pale blues, mauves and pinks, the repeated use of water type symbols - such as fish and mermaids - and of course, the Cups themselves.

He had to familiarize himself with each card and the emotion it depicted and apparently the best way to do this was to associate each one with a part of his own life. It was a tiring business, but very rewarding and already, he had most of the cards of this suit down. Trelawney, of course, wanted him to have the whole suit memorized for Friday, for his double lesson with her. He guessed she was going to make him give her a reading on emotions for the coming month.

He stared at the Page of Cups for a while; funnily enough the character drawn on the card looked just like Harry. Well, a Harry with long hair and no glasses, anyway. It was slightly weird. Though not quite as weird as the King of Cups. The figure on that card distinctly reminded him of Lucius Malfoy. It was mildly chilling, but both resemblances helped him in learning the meaning of the two cards.

He sighed and placed his chin in his left palm, resting the weight on his elbow as he stared at each card, occasionally reading the description and divinatory meaning out of the book. He sat tapping his index finger on the six for a while, unable to remember the meaning. With a sigh, he picked up the book again.

'The Six of Cups indicates a time of memory and nostalgia, suggesting that comfort can be drawn from returning to the past when the present is difficult. The Six of Cups also indicates that long held dreams could become a reality.'

"Bugger," he mumbled under his breath, he was never going to get this. He blinked and snorted. He was being negative again, of course he was going to get this, he'd mastered the I-Ching last year, the Tea Leaves, Crystal Ball, Pendulum, even Palmistry, this was just another step along the way and he would beat it. Just not at quarter to one in the morning. He had Transfiguration in less than eight hours, and facing McGonagall while half a sleep was not on his to do list.

Heaving a gentle sigh, he began picking up the cards, placing them together again in order. He pulled the small decorated bag towards him and put the fourteen cards back with the other sixty-four. As he slung the long rope like strap of the bag over his head and right arm a wave of pressure washed over him.

"Oh, no." He instantly sat back down again and dropped his face into his hands, knowing precisely what was about to happen. At least these days he had prior warning, a warning he could understand. Within moments, he blacked out and his head hit the table with a gentle thump.

He was standing in a darkened room, lit only by small candles standing in a circle. He blinked and looked around, doing his best to memorize everything he saw. The room was stone, no windows, no doors, just stone walls that looked old, though clean. The candles were the only decoration.

Sitting in the middle of the floor were two figures, wearing robes of a single colour, the one on the left wearing a robe of solid yellow with gold trimming on the collar and cuffs. The figure on the right wearing a robe of solid blue with trimmings of pink at collar and cuffs. He'd have to look the associations up when he awoke.

He moved closer and suddenly the shadows faded, the candles burning a little brighter, shinning on one head of black hair, one of silver. It was Harry and Malfoy. Harry was the one in yellow and gold, Malfoy the one in blue and pink. They were sitting cross legged on opposite points inside the circle of candles. Their hands were resting on their knees, palm up, fingers relaxed. They both had their eyes closed.

Harry's glasses were missing.

He moved closer again, looking closely at their faces. They both seemed peaceful, relaxed. There was no actual emotion evidenced in their expressions. He started slightly when they began speaking, in complete unison. At first, they spoke so quietly that he couldn't catch what they were saying, but eventually their voices began to rise.

'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches .... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies .... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not .... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives .... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies ....'

They repeated this over and over, speaking slowly, monotonously, evincing no emotion whatsoever as they repeated the words. He took a step back as their voices rose and the full impact of what was being said hit him.

It was a prophecy. A full blown prophesy, something he'd not been privy to in his visions before. But that really was only secondary as he seemed to understand it. This prophesy was about Harry, Harry and Voldemort. He had to remember it.

As he listened, he stepped closer again and the two boy's eyes opened. They both turned to look at him, still speaking together the words of the prophesy. Their eyes were white. They were blind, but they were looking directly at him as they spoke. That was strange in itself, normally during a vision, the people he saw never saw him. He stayed where he was, looking at them as they stared at him with their blind eyes until they finished speaking and sat in silence once more.

For a moment he simply stood and then they turned again, closing their eyes and sitting as they had when he'd first seen them. The silence was now deafening, he wanted to know more, but the room faded from view to be replaced by a new one.

This time the walls were smooth, again without windows or doors. Instead of exposed stone, they were a startling shade of blood red. There was no visible source of light but he could see perfectly. What startled him was the figure standing completely silently in the exact center of the room.

Severus Snape. He was screaming, face contorted in pain, fingers curled in claw like fashion, tears streaking down his sallow cheeks. It was incredibly chilling, to see so much raw pain on this man, to see him screaming and screaming, but to hear absolutely nothing.

The Potions Master was wearing a Death Eaters robes, the mask lying on the floor between his feet. The robes were torn, muddied, bloodied. He could see scratches on the mans hands and face, some old and scabbed over, others new and still weeping, blood sliding over his skin.

He had an almost overwhelming sense of fear, but not for himself, nor for Snape. Snape was scared for someone else, and he couldn't figure out whom. He closed his eyes trying to figure it out, but as he did, the feeling dissipated. When he opened his eyes again he was standing in another stone walled room.

There was a small window high up on the wall, barred with rusted iron and no glass. The walls were muddy, covered in mould and dirt, the floor was strewn with straw. It was damp and obviously made from compacted earth rather than stone. There were old iron chains with lockable cuffs dangling at random points along the walls.

Lying in the middle of the floor with chains trailing from her wrists, her hair completely covering her face, her school robes torn and muddied, was Hermione. He stepped forward. He knew this was a vision, not the truth, possibly nothing more than a metaphor, but he still felt shocked and afraid. What did this mean?

There were no other objects in the room, not even a door, only Hermione lying on the floor. He stepped closer and moved around her, taking in everything he could, so he could write it down accurately later.

There were sore marks on her wrists, as if she had struggled against them for a long time, cuts on the exposed skin where her robes, and the clothes under them were torn. Her hair was matted, possibly with blood, but it looked more likely to be dried mud, though on closer inspection, it was neither. He didn't know what it was, and he wasn't sure he really wanted to know.

He closed his eyes in exasperation and when he opened them again, the vision had changed once more. He was standing in a rapidly withering field of sweet corn. He looked around, completely lost. The sky above him was bleak, gray and swirling as if the clouds were being battered by fierce winds that didn't reach the ground. Suddenly a piercing sound hit him.

He turned, clutching at his ears and falling to his knees. Three women were screaming. No, the same woman at three different ages. Pure black eyes, white skin, long gray hair, wearing robes of solid black. They continued screaming, not taking a breath, staring straight up at the sky, their hands clasped before them.

The scream grew steadily louder, more piercing. He fell to his elbows and screwed his eyes shut. The sound disappeared and the ground under his knees and elbows changed from rough soil to smooth nothingness.

He opened his eyes. There was nothing. He could feel his limbs, feel his body, but he couldn't see it or anything. He climbed to his feet and looked around.

There were two glowing figure right in front of him, one glowing green, the other blue. He blinked. The green was being held in the arms of the blue and both were crying silver tears. There was an overwhelming feeling of sadness and loss in the air.

Slowly, the scene faded and he was standing in a woodland clearing. This time he was enveloped by a sense of urgency, not from the scene itself, but what felt like himself, his own inner power telling him this was urgent, that he needed to understand this vision.

Listening to his instincts, he turned and saw what was so urgent. Lucius Malfoy.

The man was standing directly in the center of the clearing. He was wrapped neck to toe in ivy, the vines tangled around him tightly. Yet he was smiling, smirking in fact and there was a malicious glint in his eyes.

As he watched in astonishment, the vines began to wilt, to die. They were shriveling and breaking as he watched, very soon the man would be free. He stepped back, wishing this wasn't happening. This vision he could read perfectly well without the help of Trelawney or Dumbledore.

He stepped backwards as the ivy shriveled away completely, breaking down into dust, as Malfoy stepped forward out of its hold. Malfoy closed his eyes and when he reopened them, they were red and cat like.

"Master," he drawled and lifted his left arm.

The scene disappeared and he was staring at something out of focus.

"Ron?"

He jumped, sitting up with a start. He was awake and back in the common room, exactly where he had been. How long had he been out?

"Ron?" He turned at the sound of his name. Harry was standing next to him, giving him a worried look, "You alright?"

He blinked and ran his hands over his face, through his hair, "Yeah, must have fallen asleep." Harry frowned slightly and then nodded, though he kept the worried expression as Ron stood. "What time is it?"

Harry glanced at his muggle watch, "Two in the morning."

Two in the morning? Bloody hell, he'd been under for over an hour. He always marveled at the amount of time lapse when the visions took him, it didn't matter how short the actual vision was, he always awoke after much more time had passed than he would have believed possible. Trelawney had once said something about the Spiritual world, were the visions stemmed from, worked on a different time scale to the corporeal world.

He shook his head slightly, working to keep the visions clear in his mind, the words of the prophecy ringing through his senses. He had to write it all down as soon as possible, before he slept, as if he fell asleep, he'd forget them.

"Did you and Malfoy have fun?" he asked, attempting to distract Harry from wondering how he could have fallen asleep right after packing away his things. Unexpectedly, Harry blushed and smiled, ducking his head slightly to hide, "Yeah, fun."

Ron drew himself up slightly, "I'm not going to ask," he gave his best friend a very knowing look as they made their way up the stair case to the boy's dorms. They parted at the door to the room he shared with Dean, Seamus and Neville, all of whom he could hear snoring, and watched Harry as he silently made his way further up the stair case to his single room at the top of the tower.

He crept into the room and within the privacy his curtained off bed gave him, he wrote up every single detail he could remember of the visions. He didn't allow himself to sleep until nearly an hour had passed.

Pulling the duvet up to his chin, he wondered, just before he drifted off, where Harry's invisibility cloak had gone.

* * * *

Azkaban. The wizarding world's ultimate deterrent and all round punishment. The worst criminals and it has to be said, the occasional innocent, languished within its confines, despairing of ever seeing their freedom again.

The Dementors had departed months ago, to join Voldemort and his Death Eaters, but the prison was still feared by every Witch and Wizard in Britain and Europe. The official's had had to come up with a new way of keeping the inmates in order, though. Now, instead of there being horrendous creatures sliding around, intent on sucking the happiness from every soul, there were spells that had the same effect.

Powerful spells were wrought into the very walls of each cell. Spells that caused lethargy, paranoia, nightmares when they slept, slow loss of memory and self, spells that brought out the worst memories of a person and engulfed their very spirits within them. Few retained their sensibilities.

Of those few, Lucius Malfoy was a member.

Lucius Malfoy had no true nightmares and no 'bad memories'. Whatever visions the spells wrought over his mind, he neither believed nor entertained, knowing, with the full conviction of a devoted Death Eater, that he would one day be free and as such, the nightmares and bad memories were void. He sat through each with a bored expression, thinking only of the day he would be free to exact his revenge on the Potter boy. The very boy who had looked at him blankly during the Wizengamot while giving evidence and given him a small smile as he was led away, leaving behind the respect he had garnered over the years as well as no small amount of his dignity.

He closed his eyes and imagined torturing that smile off his young face. The screams of his fellow inmates turned into the screams in his mind, the screams he would entreat Harry Potter to give him.

He hated this place. Hated that he had to live in such squalor while that boy ran around foiling every plan his Lord made. Hated that he had spent the better part of a year eating nothing more than slops and bread, drinking stale water and using a toilet that was situated in the same room in which he slept. Hated that he had lost a significant amount of weight and that his hair hung about his shoulders like dirty straw. Hated that his face had begun to give way to age, the bags under his eyes, hated the dull, slate gray his eyes had become where once they were nearly silver. He hated, most of all, the damn beard he had been forced to grow.

Oh, he was a vain man, he knew this very well. He had been brought up to value his appearance. Since he could walk and talk, he had been taught how to groom himself, how to appear in public. A good appearance always gave outstanding first impressions. Even now, in this place, with his hair as it was, and his body verging on gaunt, he did his best.

He was certainly a cut above the rest of the inmates. Without a wand, it was hard, but he combed out his hair and beard as often as possible and cleaned on every given occasion. He made sure his clothes were kept neat, even though he was wearing prison robes of a gray light weight material. He bartered with the new guards, most of whom were known to him, to have his cell magically cleaned at least once a month.

Through the execution of these few privileges, he was held in high esteem by the other inmates, at least four of whom were his fellow Death Eaters, detained on the same fateful day in which he had been. Jugson, Dolohov, Macnair and Mulciber. Crabbe, Avery, Rookwood and Lestrange had been the only ones to escape, Bellatrix, his sister in law, taken by Voldemort himself, Crabbe and the others fighting off the Aurors and disapparating. Rabastan was in St Mungo's; his head still that of a baby's.

He gave a hearty sigh and leaned forward, head in hands, staring at the unevenly set stones of the straw covered floor. His straggly hair fell forward, it was now obscenely long, covering his hands and hiding his face from view. He understood why he had been left so long, it was almost a given that the Dark Lord would attempt another breakout soon after his imprisonment, which was exactly why he hadn't done it. He had waited instead, probably setting up new plans.

He was outside the loop, and it bothered him greatly. Never before, since Voldemorts return, had he been so out of the chain of command and knowledge. It was infuriating to not know what was going on out in the world. He only rarely received any news, normally from Narcissa, sending him the odd cut out from the Daily Prophet; he hadn't received anything from her since the early summer though, relating to the failed attempt to kidnap Potter. And, of course, the one about his son.

Goodensnake's article had incensed him. To hear in such a callous fashion that his only son had defected, to join Dumbledore! That he had, of all things, befriended Potter! He had raged about it to Macnair, another of the few who was unaffected by the spells, cursing The Boy Who Ruined Everything for hours.

He knew his son too well to think him using Potter as a means to hide from the Aurors or any other such nonsense. No, Draco was truly friends with the boy and it was just another reason to torture Potter, to take as much pleasure from hurting him as he could, and now that Draco was no longer for the Dark, he could use his own son to hurt the boy without remorse.

He picked up the last cutting that had been sent to him and scanned through it. This one had been sent to him by unknown persons. It was a cutting from that most stupid of magazines, 'The Quibbler.' How could that idiot, Lovegood, have approved this for printing? Ridiculous.

He smiled to himself and put the cutting back down again. He glanced out the window, the tiny, barred window that looked over gray waters and gray sky. It was dismal. He had been forced to look at that view for over a year. But soon, soon it would be over and he would once again have his freedom.

He lay back on the horrible wooden palette that served as a bed and putting his arms behind his head, stared up at the ceiling. He crossed his ankles, looking every bit the haughty aristocrat that he was and smirked.

* * * * * * * *

Mildly Interesting Info:

R.S.I - Repetitive Strain Injury. Over working of the muscles, tendons etc in one particular joint, I suffer it in both wrists from the amount of time I spend typing. I imagine Witches and Wizards would suffer it occasionally because of the constant wrist-flicking in wand work.

The rooftop scene - Inspired by the film 'Velvet Goldmine' (at least, I think that's what it's called, perhaps 'Velvet Underground?' something like that at any rate) from the scene where two of the main characters (both blokes) of the film make love on the roof of a building while it's snowing. It's a very touching scene.

The Tarot quotes - all the quotes, as well as the description of card faces, are from 'Beginner's guide to Tarot' by Juliet Sharman-Burke, the card illustrations were done by Giovanni Caselli. This book and deck are real and I am actually learning the Tarot with them and do indeed feel the Page of Cups looks like Harry and that the King looks like Lucius. Also, the Six of Cups is the one I'M having problems remembering ^^

The Visions - Inspired by the serial killers mind in 'The Cell.' I just liked the way the imagery was set out in that film and the bleakness and surrealness was the true inspiration, especially the one of the three screaming women, which as well as being directly influenced by The Cell, is influenced by the Maiden, Mother and Crone of my religion. Each vision in this chapter has a direct link further on in the story, so be warned.

What Happened Last December? - You will find out, just be patient.

As you may have noticed, this chapter took a lot longer to write than the previous ones, it is also ever so slightly shorter - this is because I'm going through some rough times RL as well as having a lot of university work to be going on with. I'm working through my problems, and the work is getting done, however, so the next chapter shouldn't take quite so long.

You may also notice that I haven't gone 'all out war' like I promised I would, this is simply an authors discretion, I didn't think it would fit, so I haven't written it. Sorry if this disappoints anyone ^^

Here's the school timetable for Seventh Years:

Week one:

Monday: Potions, Potions, Break, Muggle Studies, Muggle Studies, Lunch, Divination.

Tuesday: Transfiguration, Charms, Break, Arithmency, History, Lunch, Herbology.

Wednesday: DADA, DADA, Break, Ancient Runes, Ancient Runes, Lunch, Charms.

Thursday: Arithmency, Care of MC, Break, Transfiguration, DADA, Lunch, History.

Friday: Divination, Divination, Break, Herbology, Herbology, Lunch, Care of MC.

Week two:

Monday: Potions, Divination, Break, Ancient Runes, Care of MC, Lunch, Muggle Studies.

Tuesday: Charms, Charms, Break, Transfiguration, Transfiguration, Lunch, History.

Wednesday: Muggle Studies, Potions, Break, Herbology, History, Lunch, Ancient runes.

Thursday: Arithmency, Arithmency, Break, Care of MC, Care of MC, Lunch, DADA.

Friday: Transfiguration, DADA, Break, Muggle Studies, Divination, Lunch, Potions.

Astrology: Every Saturday at Midnight.

Each lesson is an hour long, break is thirty minutes and lunch is fifty, the day starts at eight thirty, finishes at two fifty. If I've got the math wrong, give me a shout oo;

Now, I know you're all thinking, 'they only have a one week timetable at Hogwarts!,' I decided to base the 6th form time table on the time table I used in 6th form, it seemed more appropriate, and gave me some fun to figure it all out. I will be adhering to it, so it also gives you all something to watch ^^ My poor old brain will not like me, I'm sure of it.

I look forward to reading everyone's thoughts on the chapter!

Hannah