Conquer

by WhisperElmwood

After the events over the summer, Harry and Draco must return to Hogwarts for thier seventh and final year, but just what the hell is going on? Sequel to Divide HarryDraco RonHermione Chapter 05 uploaded

5. Chapter 04

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.

* * * *

Chapter Four

Quidditch trials. Admittedly, Gryffindor Quidditch trials, but it was somewhat relaxing to watch Harry up in the air as he flew around, watching, occasionally taking part, calculating. As Captain, Harry was conducting the trials for new Chasers. Chaser was the only position going this year as Ron had greatly improved as Keeper, Ginny had turned to be the only Chaser, Sloper and Kirke had stayed as Beaters and Harry had been reinstated as Seeker.

As he watched, Draco mused on the fact that Harry had been right in his assessment of the Hogwarts student body. It had been only two weeks since the beginning of the new school year, since that first night back, and the dark looks, rumors, muttering in the hallways, had all dissipated. To be replaced, inevitably, with Quidditch fever. It certainly wasn't a bad thing; at least now they could walk down a corridor between lessons without having to fend off what Harry called 'Twenty Questions'. It also freed up a lot more time to do their homework assignments and catch any alone time they wanted.

Fiddling with his latest Arithmancy assignment, something he had brought with him to at least make it seem he was keeping busy rather than spending the hour doing nothing but boy-watching, he sat back and mused over that last thought. After that rather eventful evening on the roof, they hadn't been able to get much more time alone, it appeared seventh year was going to be a sight more arduous than sixth, and that had been hard enough.

Most evenings had been spent writing extra long dissertations for Advanced Potions, practicing complicated spell casting for Advanced Transfiguration or going through the complicated workings of Arithmancy. Harry hadn't fared any better; having DADA instead of Arithmancy in his case didn't seem to be any less of a crutch. He had no idea how Granger was coping with four courses at once, each as grueling as the other, as well as the new elective she'd decided to take in Ancient Runes and he had often seen Weasley elbows deep in a pile of Divination books. He also had his occasional tutorial sessions with Vince and Greg, even though they were doing Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures, they still needed a little extra help now and then.

He sighed silently and determined to get on with his assignment; he only had two more days to complete it. And these are supposed to be the best years of our lives, he thought a little reproachfully. A few moments later some movement to his right made him look up, surprised. Normally, he was left alone, so this intrusion was more than a little unwelcome.

Granger. She was lugging her book-bag over one shoulder, climbing around the stands, trying to brush her still bushy hair out of her eyes so she wouldn't trip over anything. Following her, rather dreamily, was Luna Lovegood. After two weeks back at school, he still hadn't figured out exactly why it was Harry liked the girl so much. It was fairly obvious, even from where he was sitting, that Granger also didn't share in the affection.

Maybe it was her loneliness? As he watched the two girls make their way up to him, he pondered it. Luna was one of those neglected types, from the same kind of mold as Longbottom, or even Harry himself; always on the fringe of things without many true friendships. Her strange sense of style surely didn't help her in this case; today she had her long blonde hair tied in a braid that coiled round her head, with strands of loose hair and hairpins sticking out every which way. She also happened to be wearing obtrusively large pink plastic hoops in her ears that just exasperated her large eyes, making them even more prominent than usual.

Draco smiled to himself when he caught Granger giving the younger girl an almost dirty, highly disapproving look, her eyes resting on the earrings for a moment, but Lovegood didn't appear to notice. Granger's eyes turned to him a second later and he gave her a short finger wave, absently flicking them in her direction, acknowledging her glance more than anything else.

As the two girls finally drew near him, he settled on the reason for Harry's partiality must have something to do with Lovegood being a bit of a kindred soul. Granger dumped her over-large bag on the seat to his right and sat down on the next one along, Lovegood taking the empty seat next to her. Granger looked up at the small crowd of airborne teenagers above them and asked, "How are they doing?"

He raised an eyebrow, putting away the essay he knew he would not be able to continue with the two girls sitting so close. "Appallingly, of course. But you know how it is, Harry's giving them all a chance whether they deserve it or not." There was a snort from behind Granger, but he declined to acknowledge it. Granger 'harrumphed' at him, but continued to watch the try outs for some time, a little gasp she tried to hide when Weasley was almost knocked from his broom betraying the fact that she wasn't really interested in the game play.

After a time, there was the call of an owl off to his left and he turned. Owls normally headed straight to the Great Hall at breakfast, or even occasionally at evening meal. For an owl to turn up during the day and during the weekend, was unusual to say the least. Taking his eyes off Harry and the Gryffindor Quidditch trials, he tracked its soaring form over the Forbidden Forest. It seemed to be heading straight for the Quidditch grounds.

Hermione gasped again, almost jumping out of her seat, distracting him. He looked back at the trials and realised he had missed Ron actually being knocked clean from his broom by a bungling second year standing in for Beater. Luckily, Harry had caught the redhead and re-sat him on his broom. He smirked slightly, feeling a slight pang of something that reminded him of years gone by, when he had hated the two of them with great vehemence. Jealousy probably, that Ron was up there with Harry rather than himself.

Shaking his head slightly, he turned back to find the owl, wondering where it was headed, whom the letter was for and was surprised to find the bird heading straight for him. He blinked and watched it, tracing its flight with his eyes as it drew closer, lifting his arm for it to rest on when it was within ten feet.

The bird's wings spread gracefully, talons pushing forward, grasping his unprotected wrist tightly, but not drawing blood. His arm drooped under the owl's weight for a moment. Hermione made an interested noise from his right, but he ignored her and stroked the soft feathers on the top of the owl's head before taking the scroll of parchment from its beak. As soon as he had taken it, the bird once again spread its wings, for a second gripping his wrist so tight as to be painful, then it took off and flew back the way it had come.

Not staying for any treats then? A little unusual for messenger owls, but not unknown. He sat back, raising an eyebrow at Hermione's interested expression as he slipped a finger under the wax seal, flicking the scroll open a moment later. He was greeted, at first, with an official Ministry Logo.

"What the...?" His eyes widened of their own volition as he forced the parchment completely open and began to read:

"Dear Sir,
First, let us assure you that the correct authorities have already been informed and are currently working on remedying the situation and that if you should so wish it, we can, and will, offer any protection that you desire.
We regret to inform you, therefore, that your father, Mister Lucius Malfoy, has escaped from Azkaban Prison. Early this morning it was found that your father, along with several other prisoners, had escaped the confines of the gaol.
It is believed that the above mentioned had outside help and escaped during the hours of one and three thirty in the morning, inquiries are continuing into establishing the exact circumstances.
Again, we wish to inform you that if you request it, we will give you protection, as well as anyone whom you believe needs it. We offer our condolences and wish you safety in your future endeavors.
Yours,
Alberto Crowley, Custodian of Security."

The script was straightforward and a little untidy, as if the author had been rushed and a little fretful. Draco could completely understand why. He took a deep breath, counting silently, curling his fingers and hand over the parchment. The wax seal shattered in his grip and fell through his fingers. Opening his eyes, he brushed the fragments from his robes irritably and stood suddenly.

Without a word to either of the girls, keeping his face as controlled and composed as possible, he grabbed his bag, shoved his way through the empty stands and made for the door leading out. He was going to his room. There were things to be done.

With a glance up at Harry, who had stopped and was giving him a slight look of worry and surprise, he slammed the door behind him.

* * * *

He hadn't been able to fly for two weeks. Two weeks! It felt like an age and the suspense had been grating at his nerves. So much so, in fact, that he had even gotten to the point of snapping at Ron and Draco during one of their friendly arguments. Both had paused and given him a surprised look before continuing as if he hadn't spoken. Hermione had simply smirked, with, he swore, the word 'boy's' on her lips.

Today wasn't anything like a real match, nor even anything like a real flight, but it was in the air, on brooms, so that was enough for him. Even if he was getting rogue bludgers and quaffles thrown at him by very eager second years. He dove and swooped round, behind a luckless second year trying out for chaser, scaring the girl half-witless and rose directly in front of one of the others. The boy dropped the quaffle with a yelp of surprise.

"Morrisey, you'll get more surprises than that in an actual game, pay attention!" he shouted as he swerved past the third chaser try out, another girl, who didn't bat an eyelid. She'd probably get a place, if he had anything to say about it. He almost laughed when he remembered he was captain and that, of course, he had the last say in the matter. He often forgot in the rush of the wind, the thrill of the flight, that he had been made captain. Ginny, the only chaser left with the team after she had switched from seeker when he was reinstated last year, caught the dropped quaffle before it reached the ground and swung back up into the air again, grinning widely.

He glanced towards the stands, smiling as he saw Draco's cold reception towards Luna. Draco had never liked the younger girl, but Harry did; she was another lonely soul whose quirky nature appealed to him and she happened to be rather intelligent underneath all the weirdness. He winked at Hermione, who had discreetly placed herself between the two blondes, and took off once more towards the group of Gryffindor students, anxiously awaiting their own trials.

He settled next to Ron as the next three students switched with the last three, looking them over as they did so. "Who was the girl? With the spiky hair?" He asked in an undertone so as not to be heard by the other students.

Ron looked over at her then back at Harry, a glint in his eyes, "That's Ruth Somerset, third year muggle born from Reading. She was rather good, wasn't she?"

Harry nodded, "She's on the team, but lets not mention it 'till we've seen the rest and got at least two more." He sat for a moment longer, watching Ruth as she flew back to the group of waiting students. She seemed to treat the broom as if it were a part of her, her movement as light and natural as his own. When she reached the group, she lay down across the handle, crossing her toes over the brush, propping her head on crossed hands, closing her eyes and lying almost cat-like fifty feet above the ground, as if she felt truly at home in the air. It was a feeling he recognised in himself often enough.

For a moment he was reminded forcefully of Sylvia. She had been the same, showing, at the young age of barely twelve, the self-assurance that would one day have made her beautiful. He closed his eyes briefly and shook his head, banishing the thoughts before they caused any more emotional havoc that would promote disaster so high above the grounds.

With a parting grin at Ron, he flew back to the rear of the grounds to watch the latest three, preparing himself to swoop around them, as he had the others, looking for those who could hold their own. As the mock game started, he drew closer, looking for an opening. As his eyes passed over the trial, they were drawn to a small shape heading for the grounds. It looked like an owl. He blinked and forgot about it, keeping his mind on the trials.

He watched, swooping in occasionally, startling one of the players, and taking note of the reactions of the other two. He saw out of the corner of his eye the sudden movement of a bludger heading straight for Ron, who was looking the other way. The stand-in Beater who had hit the ball Ron's way looked scared, completely unable to warn the red-head of what was about to happen. Normally such an incident was common-place; but today there were so few experienced players and certainly no experienced Beaters, (they had detention already) that this was a potentially lethal situation.

As the ball moved within five feet of his friend, Harry hurtled across the pitch. When it was within two feet, Ron turned and saw it coming, but too late. As it struck the youngest Weasley boy soundly in the chest, Harry was ten feet away and gaining. Ron's grip on his broom slipped from the shock and he began to fall.

With absolute clarity, Harry knew how it would go, saw in his mind where his best friend would land, what would happen to him. He grit his teeth and put on an extra burst of speed, checking his position, allowing, automatically, for wind and air friction. He saw the look on Ron's face as he began to fall and muttered an oath that came out sounding strange to him. He blinked it away and within seconds, he was under Ron, thrusting out an arm, gripping the broom with his knees.

The taller, older, boy's weight hit him like a stunning spell. The air was knocked from his lungs, and his arm wrenched almost from its socket, but Ron gasped and grabbed him in turn. Mere seconds later, the world returned to normal, time slowed down again and Harry looked into the wide eyes of his friend.

"Thanks, Harry. Merlin, I thought I was a gonner!" Ron wheezed the words, rubbing his chest with the one hand Harry wasn't desperately clutching, gently swinging in the after math of his sudden stop at the expense of Harry's shoulder.

Ginny, who had managed to keep her head amongst all the panicking or whooping trial members, had actually caught her brother's broom before it drifted off and hit a tree. After a moment or two's work, Ron was safely ensconced back on his own broom once more, still rubbing his chest and ordering the younger students back into line with a gruff tone.

Harry sat for a second, looking at his tingling right hand, remembering the oath he had uttered in some language he didn't understand, realizing that as he had said it, his hand had tingled. He hadn't noticed in the rush to catch his friend. He flexed his fingers, trying to figure out what had happened, what he had said, then shrugged, putting the matter aside until he had time to think about it.

He glanced over at Hermione and Draco. She looked as if she had nearly fainted, which was highly understandable. He was sitting with his shoulder to the pitch, watching the owl Harry had spotted. He allowed himself an extra moment to look at his boyfriend, admiring the line of his back, the curve of his neck. Then, smiling to himself, he got back to the trials.

A few minutes later he happened to glance back at the stands again. As he did so, Draco stood, clutching what looked like a letter in his tightly clenched fist. Hermione and Luna gave the Slytherin interested and slightly shocked looks, a second later the blonde had grabbed his bag and was shoving his way through the empty stands toward the door.

Harry, surprised, stopped mid-flight; luckily, he was at the other end of the pitch by this time, supposed to be watching the latest three. He watched as Draco paused at the door, looking up at him, something glowing in his pale eyes, before wrenching the door open and disappearing down the dark stairway. Just moments later, as he seriously considered taking off after him, Hermione slipped through the door.

What the hell was going on? Draco had looked determined but scared, which was not normally an emotion he evinced. Ron called out from the other side of the pitch and he had to go, he had trials to conduct. He shook his head, telling himself Hermione knew what to do, and got back to the trials.

They had finished with all the students and all that remained was to end the session and tell them they would get back to them with the decision later in the day. He flew side by side with Ron and Ginny, his mind almost entirely concerned with where Draco had rushed off too as they touched down.

Ginny nudged him as the three of them escorted the student's back to the changing rooms to clean up and change back into their normal robes, "What's wrong with you?" She slung her broom over her shoulder, looking for all the world as if she were a Quidditch master, giving him an intent look with her deep blue eyes. Ron glanced at them both, copper eyebrows raised slightly. Harry rubbed the back of his head with his free left hand, "Nothing really. I just saw Draco run off, is all."

They stepped into the changing rooms and were instantly hit by the noise of fifteen Gryffindor students of varying ages talking, changing, and showering; they made their way to the last empty stalls at the back of the room. As they reached the doors and each opened one, Harry continued, "He looked a bit... surprised."

"Probably found a broken nail," Ron muttered from the next cubicle, Ginny instantly berated him - "Ron! Be nice" - from the stall on his other side. Harry smiled to himself as he pulled a sweater over his head and Ginny asked him, "Any idea what's wrong? He doesn't seem the type to just run off."

Pulling on his day robe, he thought back, "No, he isn't. Hermione went after him though."

As he said this, Ron made a muffled sound from the cubicle to his left, which he interpreted as disgust and shock. Harry chuckled, clearly hearing Ginny forcing back a giggle at her brother's reaction.

He sat on the small wooden shelf, listening as the two Weasley's finished up, opening their doors and moving into the main room. Lifting his now un- gloved right hand, he flexed the fingers, remembering once more the tingling sensation. As he thought about it, he realised the sensation had been not unlike that of using a wand. It had felt a little like the tiny, almost unnoticeable, tingle of magic that passed through the body and into the tool during spell casting. Except this sensation had been almost ten times stronger.

The noise in the main room had lessened and was now almost gone. All he could hear were the voices of the Weasley siblings as they tidied up, chatting quietly about Quidditch; occasionally Ginny admonished her older brother over some comment or other.

He flexed his fingers again, muttering an oath to see if the same thing happened. The word came out as intended, his hand felt normal, but something stirred within him. He balled the hand into a fist, looking at it with a frown and decided he would talk to Lupin about it later. He stood, packing his quidditch robes into the rucksack he used for them and opened the door as he slung it over his shoulder. He slipped the second strap over his other shoulder as he stepped into the main area and joined his two friends in cleaning the room.

Twenty minutes or so later, just as they were finishing, the door opened and Luna wandered in, carrying Hermione's book-bag, as well as her own satchel. She still had the dreamy look, but she looked a little more here- and-now at the moment. Harry smiled in greeting, "Where's Hermione?"

Luna shrugged, "She just ran away, following Draco."

Ron frowned and took the book-bag, shrugging the strap over his head and shoulder as Ginny grabbed both their rucksacks. At that moment, Hermione stepped through the door, a pained expression on her face.

* * * *

As Malfoy took off, with a scowl deeper than any she had previously seen, Hermione made a quick decision. "Luna! Watch my things for me!" she dumped her book-bag on the surprised sixth year's lap and followed after the blonde Slytherin, trying to catch up with him before she lost him. She had been watching him carefully ever since the owl had turned up. Watched his changing emotions as they crossed his face. She didn't know him as well as Harry did, but she had seen enough over the waning weeks of the summer, and the past two weeks here to be able to assess his mannerisms and elusive facial expressions, so she could give an educated guess.

As he had read the letter, she had seen the signs of fear, resignation, and anger. She knew that fear made him even angrier and wasn't looking forward to catching him in this mood. But she desperately wanted to know what had been in the letter to cause him to loose his composure so dramatically, wanted know if there was anything she could do to calm him down, to talk about whatever it was.

Her robes flew about her legs, nearly tripping her as she ran down the rickety wooden staircase. Impatiently, she gathered them up in one hand, not caring that the world was now privy to the fact that she was wearing her tatty weekend jeans and rather un-glamorous trainers underneath.

Catching her breath as she stood at the bottom, she looked around. Malfoy was halfway across the grounds already, making his way to the entrance of the main building. She had to confess herself surprised, he seemed such a laid-back and lethargic young man, putting about airs and graces that disguised him almost completely. To see him showing, first, half a dozen emotions in under a minute and second, this turn of speed, took her aback.

Robes still in hand, she gave chase, ignoring the looks from the few students out at this time – mostly first and second years – who had already been surprised by Malfoy running past, and was soon gaining on him. By the time he had disappeared through the front door, Hermione was making her way up the staircase. She knew where he was headed, so she didn't stop to look for him as she passed through the door into the entrance hall, simply putting on an extra burst of speed, heading for the staircase that lead to the dungeons. Where she finally caught up with him. And surprised herself.

"Draco!"

It didn't just surprise her; the younger boy stopped mid-stride and turned to look up at her, all in one movement, almost spinning on the spot.

"Leave me alone, Granger." With that he began to move off again, but ever persistent, Hermione rushed down the last of the steps in time to grab his right shoulder with her left hand. His momentum and her sudden stop caused him to spin suddenly and, with a grunt of surprise, trip. With a gasp of surprise and sudden distress, Hermione tightened her grip, trying to stop the inevitable. He began to fall and she was dragged down with him.

They landed in a heap, limbs a-tangle; her nose was rather embarrassingly pressed into his chest and she could smell soap and a hint of lavender mixed with his own personal scent. It was so different to either Ron or Harry, whose scents she barely noticed anymore after years of being with the two of them, day in day out for most of the year.

After a moment of shocked silence, Malfoy made an urgent attempt to get away. Hermione blushed a little and did the same, but as they stood she kept a hold on his sleeve, preventing him from making another bid for freedom and his own rooms.

"Let go of me, Granger," he said quietly, tightly; his voice sounding oddly strained.

Hermione composed herself and looked at him, noticing for the first time, two things. Firstly he had the letter clenched extremely tightly in his left fist, which seemed to be shaking slightly. Secondly, his eyes were rather wet, as if he were fighting back tears. She blinked, shocked, momentarily forgetting everything she knew about him, everything she assumed, seeing simply a scared teenager, too proud to shed tears in front of anyone; whether he knew them, liked them, or not.

She swallowed; trying to reconcile what she now saw with what she knew, "What was the letter about? At least tell me that?" She asked the question quietly, with the odd feeling of not wanting to break the fragile feeling barriers he was currently holding up by speaking too loudly.

He stared at her a moment in silence, until she gave in to it and continued, "I'm sure Harry would like to know..." She realised too late that she had said the wrong thing, the walls hardened behind his eyes and his brows drew together. Now he just looked pissed off.

He leaned in a little, his voice dropping, taking on an even angrier tone, "I'm sure he bloody would, so I'm telling you now to tell him to stay the hell away from me! I don't want anyone trying to talk to me, least of all you Gryffindor's." He paused, moving back a little. For a second his eyes closed, and she saw him physically constraining himself, trying to calm down, "Just tell him... my Father has escaped."

He violently shook her hand loose and span on his heel. Within moments Hermione was alone in the hallway, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling, her skin cold with shock. Lucius Malfoy was free?

She took a deep breath, one hand clutching at the collar of her robes. How had it happened? She wanted to know everything, but knew there was absolutely no chance now of catching him. He wouldn't tell her anyway. No wonder he was acting the way he was, if he had just been told that. She gathered herself, looking around, trying to get her bearings, and then headed back up the stairway and across the entrance hall.

Harry was going to be furious; he was going to want to go down to Draco, to talk to him, calm him. But the blondes words had been abrupt and to the point. He didn't want Harry down there; he didn't want anyone down there. She was going to have to enlist Ron to help her prevent Harry from going anyway, especially after she repeated the Slytherin's words to him.

She reached the grounds in time to see Luna Lovegood slipping into the changing rooms with her book-bag, her tightly bound hair shimmering in the late afternoon light. She sighed and rushed across the field, trying to compose what she would tell them in her head as she walked. When she reached the door, she paused to catch her breath and straighten her robes. Then she pushed open the door and stepped in.

* * * *

Harry was furious, but not for quite the same reasons Hermione had thought he would be. When she related everything to them, Ron, Ginny and Luna had looked shocked, worried; but he had been only angry. He had known since the summer after fifth year, after the Wizengamots, that it was merely a matter of time before Voldemort freed the surviving DeathEaters. It was no great shock to him that now was that time, Voldemort was obviously getting frustrated. The only shock was Draco's reaction. Harry had resigned himself, long ago, to the possibility of Voldemort one day freeing the man, getting his most loyal lackey back again, and had thought Draco had done the same.

Evidently not.

Harry was furious because, despite all the warnings Dumbledore and himself had given them, the Ministry had been obstinate and refused to do anything about upping the security of Azkaban prison after the Dementors had gone. Spells that leaked your worst nightmares and memories into your waking life were nothing to such an accomplished, if insane, wizard like Voldemort. Neither, apparently, were the shielding, unplottability and locking spells all over the prison any more of a deterrent.

He wanted to go down right away, to talk to him about it, forgetting completely his decision to go and see Lupin. Then Hermione told him exactly what Draco had said on the matter. For a moment, Harry was shocked, but then his resolve strengthened; he would not be deterred that easily, Draco was his boyfriend dammit, and you didn't leave your boyfriend to suffer alone. He allowed Ron and Hermione to talk him into not going there and then, but said nothing on not taking a midnight stroll.

The common room was full of excited younger students when they got back and he left the Prefects to keep the place in order, sitting down by the fire to contemplate who should join the Quidditch team. Ron joined him a little while later and they sat and talked it over for an hour or so, finally coming up with two names. Ruth Somerset and Lillian Oshi. Harry made the announcements and then took his leave, going to bed a lot earlier than usual. Ron and Hermione watched him the whole time, obviously expecting him to do exactly what he was planning.

He climbed into bed after the nightly ritual, setting his wizarding alarm clock to wake him at midnight. He intended to get some sleep tonight, even if it was only a handful of hours, for he knew that going down to see Draco would probably result in a long nights arguing. Rolling over, he took a very small dosage of Dreamless Sleep and curled up, carelessly banishing the light in his lamp with a flick of his wand.

He drifted lazily for what seemed a lifetime; tendrils of thought encasing him in warmth and comfort. It was nice, kind of a relief, being able to sleep without either becoming Voldemort or reliving the worst moments of his life. His eyes closed and his mind wandered. He expected; no, he knew that once he slept, he would know nothing until he woke, but this time that didn't happen.

For some reason, his mind, while he slept, splintered into a host of images, each one different with a separate set of emotions, meanings; significance to his life. The day he met Draco in Bath, Uncle Vernon throwing him across the hotel room, saving Draco from the muggle thugs, the DeathEaters. The whole summer passed through his mind, moments picked out like shards of diamond in a pile of quartz. His mind settled on the image of himself this afternoon; centered on the tingling sensation.

He realised that this was not the first time he had felt such a thing. When at Malfoy Mansion, when he had attacked the DeathEaters with all his fury, he had felt it, Draco had seen it, but he hadn't noticed until now. Something was stirring within him, and he didn't know what it was. As he realised this, other small instances from the past two weeks came to mind. The more strenuous DADA classes in particular seemed to have more than a handful of times when he had felt the sensation without realizing. Talking to Lupin began to have a more urgent edge, surely the man would have some idea of what was going on? Failing him, perhaps Dumbledore, though his Headmaster was busy these days and he didn't like to interrupt him without good reason, nor even to rely on him too much.

When he woke, he had only a vague recollection of the dreamlike musings.

His eyes lit instantly on the window. It was pitch dark outside; not a single glint of light was in the sky, indicating the onset of winter with a thick covering of clouds. He was used to the sight and the silence of the grounds. Rubbing his eyes, he slipped his feet from the bed, letting the change in position and weight pull his body into a sitting position. He picked up and put on his glasses as he slipped his feet into his slippers, stretching with a yawn as he stood.

He automatically made his bed and padded silently over to his desk, snatching a quick glass of freezing cold water from the ever re-filling jug. He draped his fathers invisibility cloak over his shoulders as he drank, listening hard to the tower as he placed the empty glass down again and made his way to his door. He stopped at the door; one hand on the knob, the other playing idly with his wand, listening to make sure no one was in the hall before opening the it.

Ron was standing directly opposite him, leaning with his back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, a long suffering expression on his face, "Harry, you're predictable, mate."

Sighing, Harry stepped through into the hall, closing and locking the door behind him. He raised his eyebrows at his friend and they made their way down to the common room in amicable silence.

When they reached the large room, Ron turned to him, "As a Prefect I ought to be stopping you from doing this, but as you're Head Boy, my best friend and 'Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived', I'll let you off just this once."

Harry wrinkled his nose at the popular title, but smiled, "'this once'?"

They reached the door and Harry pulled up the hood as Ron gave him a scathing look, "Just try to get some sleep tonight, and don't say we didn't warn you if he blows up in your face."

Harry grinned, "Thanks, and don't worry, I know what I'm doing." Ron shook his head and pushed open the painting for him, giving him a very disapproving look, "See you tomorrow, Harry."

The corridors were cold, but not so cold he regretted not putting on his dressing gown, in fact, the chill was refreshing and served only to wake him up a little more. Erring more on the cautious side, Harry kept to the shadows, flitting undetected through the patches of moonlight that littered the floor and walls around him. He began to sense that same feeling he always felt when around at night, Hogwarts just did not seem right when it was this empty, it felt cold, unloved and so ancient that it could be alive.

He reached the Entrance hall and paused; Peeves was floating up near the ceiling, busily making some trap or other, humming a rather annoying tune to himself with a little sneer on his face. Harry waited, anxiously watching the Poltergeist, occasionally catching an obscene word. Eventually he grew impatient, and making sure there was no one else within earshot, he crossed the hall as soundlessly as possible. He reached the stairway down to the dungeons and, with one more apprehensive glance up at Peeves; he shrugged, gave a silent sigh of relief and headed down the stairs into the cold shadows.

Draco had given him the password ages ago; they had swapped so as not to complicate things if anything like this actually happened. He hadn't thought anything would happen, mind, but he was thankful that he had thought about it anyway. Finding Draco's room would also be simple; he had been there twice now and knew the way. The only thing giving him any worry was his reception once he got there; Draco was famous amongst the seventh and even sixth and fifth year students for his temper.

"Questionable Duplicity," he whispered at the entrance, once again marveling at the mouthful of a password that just must have been chosen by Snape himself, then slipped through once it was open enough, closing it tightly behind him as he stepped into the room. Ever since his second year at Hogwarts, Harry had disliked the Slytherin common room. It was entirely too dark, with rather sinister looking furniture. The two times he had entered the room since the start of term this year, he had been reminded of the first time he had entered, and why he had done it. Talking to Draco that day as if they had been friends for the longest time had been a painful experience, but one he now treasured, though Draco had been different then.

He ran his gaze round the room, making sure there was no one around who could have witnessed the miraculous self-opening portal. Obviously it could be blamed on Peeves, but entirely too many of his exploits had been over the years and he felt he was over-extending the mischievous ghosts usefulness.

There was no one in sight, so he adjusted the cloak, making sure he was completely concealed and headed off to the far right doorway that lead to Draco's own room. This corridor was darker somehow, and colder, he wondered how Draco could stand it. He reached Draco's room and stood for a moment looking at the door, feeling the pressure of strong magic emanating from within. The blonde had extended his protection since this afternoon's events.

He placed his right hand, palm flat against the door and closed his eyes. Yes. Much more protection than previously. There were also a few more detection and revealing charms. Almost all of them had Draco's signature feel. Two were different, but he knew who had cast them all the same. Blaise.

He concentrated and a slight magical breeze drifted through the hallway, gently lifting the invisibility cloak around him, ruffling his hair and touching his face with soft coolness. Taking a breath, he pulled out the two charms cast by the new DeathEater with a slow motion of his right hand, pulling it back from the door and holding it steadily, palm up. He opened his eyes and looked at the two small, faintly glowing, balls of magic resting on his palm. Releasing the breath, he closed his fingers over them and held tight for a moment, willing them to dissipate, watching as tiny tendrils of magic seeped through his fingers to fade into the shadows around him.

Then he shook his hand and blinked.

What had he just done? His wand was resting in his pocket, so how the hell had he just done that? He blinked, looking at his hand again. A little nonplussed and intently curious, he knocked on Draco's door with the offending hand, the remembered feel of the two spells lingering on his palm. He heard movements inside at the same moment he felt that stirring deep inside him again. This time it was almost painful, and just as Draco opened the door with an annoyed expression on his face, Harry clutched at his chest and all but fell to his knees with a faint gasp.

Strong hands grabbed his shoulders almost tenderly, holding him up. "Harry?" The annoyed expression was gone from Draco's face, replaced with one of concern. He felt the hood being pulled back, closing his eyes involuntarily as the light from Draco's room spilled over him.

"What's wrong? Harry?"

* * * *

Draco grunted with surprise as Harry fainted and went slack in his arms. For such a skinny youth, he was surprisingly heavy.

Without a second thought, he lifted Harry's unconscious form and carried him into his room, nearly slamming the door behind him as he kicked it closed. He laid Harry on his bed and after satisfying himself that he was alright and not about to choke on his own tongue, moved to his cabinet, opening the door with a quick word and searching it's contents with unhurried movements. After a moment, he found what he was looking for and stood, quickly moving back to his bed as he took the stopper out of a small blue glass bottle.

He leaned down slightly and waved it under Harry's nose. Almost instantly his face contorted with disgust and he turned away, screwing his eyes shut tighter.

Draco stoppered the bottle once more and placed it on his bedside table, sitting carefully on the mattress next to his boyfriend. "Harry?" He leaned over him and slid the invisibility cloak off the Gryffindor's shoulders; it was much easier to relate to someone you could actually see.

The annoyance he'd felt at hearing Harry's knock had dissipated in the shock of having him faint on his very doorstep – as it were – and now he was just trying to figure out what had happened. He shook Harry a little on the shoulder, but got nothing other than a vague mumbling and faint stirring for his troubles.

Whatever had caused Harry to faint was not normal. He rolled the other youth onto his back again and re-tried the 'wake-me-up' potion that he had had to try a few times on his own mother in the early years of his Hogwarts career, when The Dark Lord had been just beginning to break back into the world. This time it had a much more promising effect and Harry's eyes opened.

"Draco?" he asked tiredly, coughing at the stench of the potion. Draco raised an eyebrow, re-stoppering the bottle and wrinkling his nose a little as bit of the scent wafted up to him, "Yes. What happened?"

Harry sat up looking a little bewildered, running a hand through his hair.

"I'm not sure... I – I did something just now, and then..." He patted his chest lightly and Draco got the sense he was trying to explain something almost entirely foreign to him. Whatever it was, he was sure it had been painful. He stood, giving Harry a worried look, "Give yourself a moment to wake up, then we'll talk, ok?"

Harry nodded slightly and flopped back onto the mattress. Draco turned and crossed to the other side of his room. He conjured up two mugs and a pot of tea and began stirring it lazily, getting it as thick and strong as he liked it.

"I did some magic."

He turned back, "Is that all? You shouldn't have conked out like that."

"I didn't use my wand."

Draco stopped mid-stir.

"It's not the first time I've done it, but it was the first time I'd done it on purpose..."

Harry was sitting again, speaking quietly, looking at his hands in wonderment. Draco composed himself and poured the two mugs of tea. What Harry had just said was extraordinary. There were many witches and wizards who could perform magic without the aid of a wand – it was just a magical tool for helping focus, after all – Dumbledore and Snape were two of them, his father another; but to be doing it at his age and without any of the training? No wonder he had fainted. But what the hell had he done outside this room?

Draco handed Harry one of the mugs and took a sip from his own, "I thought you were getting a bit," he paused, trying to think of the right word, "proficient with your wand. You don't seem to need it anymore." Just a couple of years ago, he would have been jealous of Harry's talent, but this night, after all they'd been through, he only worried.

"What did you do, anyway?" he asked, sitting on the bed opposite him.

Harry took a sip then looked up, there was an intensity in his green eyes that was almost breathtaking, "Blaise had a couple of spells on your rooms again," he shrugged, "I removed them."

Draco frowned. He had known nothing about them, which was strange, because he checked his room every day now, checking to make sure she hadn't been keeping it up. To hear he had missed two, and not felt a thing when they were being removed, was unsettling to say the least. He put the thought aside and decided to ask Harry, now that he seemed more awake – what the hell he thought he was doing down here in the first place. "I thought I told Granger to tell you to stay away?"

Harry smirked into his mug, "Yeah, you did, she did. You know me though, rule breaker to the core." He looked up then and Draco found himself caught by the gaze, "I had to come."

His annoyance returned, though somewhat lessened by the look in Harry's eyes and the fact that he had fainted only a few minutes before. He had, of course, expected Harry to come down anyway, but that didn't mean he couldn't still be annoyed at him for doing so. With the day he had had, he felt he had a right to be annoyed.

"I take it she informed you of my Father's escape?"

Harry nodded but Draco noticed there was no hint of surprise in his expression. Had he known? He squared his shoulders and leant back against the footboard of his bed, "Apparently the Dark Lord released him and a few of the others last night. The letter didn't say much more than that. Useless incompetents."

Harry placed his own mug on the bedside table, "I noticed the new protection. I take it you sent an owl to Gringotts to have your account moved?"

Draco eyed him warily. Had Harry really gotten to know him that well? "Among other things."

One of which had been a letter to his mother, who probably knew anyway, considering she was with Him more now than she ever had been before Lucius had been sent to Azkaban. He rubbed at his left wrist absently, once again feeling that niggling pain. It was beginning to spread up his forearm these days, into his elbow.

"How do you feel?"

He snapped, "How do you think I bloody feel?" He glared at Harry, "Stupid bloody question, Harry. Now piss off." He stood and grabbed the two mugs, stalked across the room and dumped them a little more harshly than necessary on the desk. One of them cracked. He growled and banished them, as well as the pot, with an angry flick of his wand.

"It wasn't exactly unexpected," Harry said quietly from the bed.

Draco turned abruptly, "What would know about it?" he shouted.

Harry sighed, which just infuriated him even more, "It was inevitable, really. Your father was one of Voldemort's more loyal followers, him and your Aunt Lestrange. Since December, he's been getting desperate for competent followers."

Draco scowled. Like that hadn't been obvious from the start, "It may have been inevitable, but I wasn't exactly ready for it yet." His voice was a little more acerbic than he had intended, but he wasn't happy, so didn't care at the moment. "My father was supposed to be in that place for the rest of his life. If you must know, I was expecting the Dark Lord to be dead before he got the chance to try freeing him!"

Harry frowned as he gave him an accusing glare, "If you mean what I think you mean..."

Draco lost all pretences of control, "I mean, you were supposed to have killed him by now!"

Harry sat up a little straighter.

"Since the day I was old enough to understand it, I've been told over and over again that you're supposed to be the savior of the wizarding world! You stopped him when you were a year old, Harry! Why couldn't you stop him when you were fourteen?" He paused, taking a deep breath, "We wouldn't be going through any of this shit – I wouldn't have been – none of this would have happened, if you'd just managed it then."

There was silence.

Harry turned his head and looked at the floor. Draco regretted saying what he had, but it would have come out eventually, the truth always did, it was ingrained in his very being, and had been from the moment he was born; 'Tell the truth always, Draco,' his father had said during one of his many lectures. 'Lying leads only to more lies, and then where are you? Besides, the truth hurts infinitely more than a lie ever could.'

But he hadn't intended on telling Harry this at all. Ever since Voldemort had first come back, since his father had started disappearing off to Dark Moot's, he had hoped, almost against all odds, that Harry would kill the monster before he could do any more harm. After the summer when Voldemort had tried to force him, his hopes had doubled, trebled, he hadn't wanted to have to meet the Dark Lord again. Rationally, he knew a fourteen year old boy wouldn't have been able to do anything, especially when he had just seen a friend murdered before his eyes. He knew how extraordinary it was that Harry had managed to escape at all that night. But there was a part of him, even now, that had wished Harry had done more, had stayed longer, fought harder.

He ran a hand through his hair.

"I'm sorry," he whispered and meant it.

Harry continued to look at the floor as he replied in a quiet tone, "Hind sight's a wonderful thing."

Draco shook his head, at himself. He was being stupid. Everything he thought, wished for, Harry had probably thought exactly the same things. Harry had more right to think like that than he, for what had he done during those early years? Followed his fathers every whim, acted like a spoilt brat. At first he'd even looked forward to meeting the Dark Lord. He had no right whatsoever to be feeling like he was, Harry had looked death in the face four times in his short life, and each time it had been at Voldemort's hands. Each time he had picked himself up and carried on. Harry had so much on his shoulders; it was a wonder he managed as well as he did. He didn't need to have his boyfriend saying what he just had, thinking like some panicky Dumbledorian.

"I shouldn't have said that," he said, just as quietly.

"Do you think it?" Harry was looking at him now and he couldn't reply; he couldn't lie to Harry, not now, not ever again. At the long silence, Harry nodded, "At least I know that now. At least I know what you think." Draco watched as he got up, still a little unsteady from his earlier faint – though maybe it had more to do with how he was feeling? – picking up his invisibility cloak as he did. "I'd better go."

As Harry made to leave, Draco rushed across the room and grabbed his sleeve, "No, please," he swallowed, looking at Harry, "stay."

Harry looked at the floor again. "Harry, please."

On impulse, he did something he never instigated himself, he wrapped his arms around Harry's still form and pulled him close. There was no way he could take back what he had admitted, but he could try to explain. After a moment, Harry dropped the cloak and wrapped his own arms around Draco. Relieved, Draco held him tightly, burying his nose in the crook of the taller boy's neck.

* * * *

The escape had been relatively simple. There were only human's guarding the gaol, granted, humans and rather potent spells, but humans none the less, and Lord Voldemort had dispatched them all with something akin to pleasure. Each and every guard in or around Azkaban was now dead, or dying. Those already dead were the lucky ones. Lord Voldemort had been in a good mood and had decided to try out a handful of new hexes. There had been bits of guards everywhere. Most of them still alive.

Voldemort had taken only those still of vaguely sound mind, those who were useful to him; the rest he had either tortured, killed or left. His master had changed in the year since he had last been at his side. He wasn't entirely sure how, but it was true none the less.

Lucius had no idea where they were now, all he knew was that they had traveled a long distance, without rest, and now they had stopped. He had been segregated from the rest of the escapees; he was left in the charge of Bellatrix Lestrange, his wife's sister. The two of them were left sitting together in a near empty room.

He desperately wanted a shower, but knew better than to ask for anything of his fellow Death Eaters. Instead, he simply passed the time thinking of what he was going to do now that he was back with his Lord, back where he belonged. Over the year he had thought of many things he could suggest to Lord Voldemort, mostly ways of getting rid of Potter.

He stood when he heard familiar footsteps coming down the hallway leading to the room. Bella stayed as she was, sitting in an armchair, a bored expression on her face. He couldn't help but notice that his sister in law had truly gone insane during her stay in Azkaban Prison.

He smoothed down his tattered robes and waited for the footsteps to reach the door. When they did, it was Narcissa who opened the door for their Lord. He stalked in, more forbidding after another year's time to regain his health. Following him, with a slight sidestep wheedling movement, was Peter Pettigrew. Lucius held back a sneer. He always had and always would hate the detestable little man, not least of all because he had once been a friend of the Potters. That he was traitorous scum just bore up his belief that everything to do with the Potter's was loathsome.

He bowed deeply when Lord Voldemort stopped before him. His meticulously groomed, over-long beard and hair dangling obscenely. He would have to do something about that as soon as was possible.

"Up, Lucius. Now."

His master's voice had not changed. It was still slightly high for a man, silky and venomous. He straightened and looked his master in the eyes.

"I am most displeased, Lucius."

Lucius blinked.

"Not only did you not get for me the prophecy, but you also managed to get yourself, and others, imprisoned." Lord Voldemort's voice dripped with rage, though he was speaking barely above a whisper. "I have had need of you this past year, Lucius. It is not acceptable that you allowed them to take you from me. You, who have played the Ministry for sixteen years. You, who were the most respectable wizard in the Ministry. You, who were my right hand in all my dealings."

Voldemort paused and folded his spindly arms across his toast-rack chest.

"I have Narcissa and Bella for what I need now. You seem somewhat.... redundant. I am sure, though, that I shall find something for you to do. Do not cross me, or let me down again, Lucius. I may not be quite so forgiving."

Lord Voldemort held out his hands, Narcissa and her sister took one each and escorted him from the room. As the door closed, Lucius stared at it. What was going on?

"Dropped a little in his esteem then, Malfoy?"

Lucius turned. Wormtail was sitting in the chair Bellatrix had vacated, that stupid, vacant, wavering smirk on his lips. The little man obviously was still a coward, but being under Lord Voldemort's wing for the past two years had given him a little more courage than he would otherwise have expressed in this situation. He looked smugly self satisfied.

"I have done nothing, Peter."

"Perhaps that is the reason?"

With a bit of effort, he managed to keep his temper under control. "What are you doing here? Why has our Lord left you with me?" Out of the confines of the magical barrier in which he had lived for the past year, he held out his left hand and conjured a hair tie as he spoke. He sneered at Wormtail's expression as he tied his annoyingly long hair out of the way.

"His Lord wished to speak with the women alone, but wanted you watched. So he chose me." Wormtail shifted in his seat, puffing out what there was of his chest. It was disgusting, verging on perverse; he was almost preening. Lucius believed the man looked more like a rat every time he saw him, and today was no exception.

"And what did you do, for him to bestow such an honor upon you?"

The rodent inflated his chest again, smirking, "Nothing of any particular interest to you. Unless, of course, you are still interested in your son?"

Lucius, who had, by this time, moved to stand by the window, turned abruptly. Wormtail's metal hand gleamed in the moonlight as he flicked a mote of imaginary dust from his sleeve.

"I care nothing for my son. The moment he decided to join Potter, he was lost to me. I have no son."

Wormtail looked amused more than anything else, and left it at that.

For over an hour not a word was spoken, but the whole time Lucius' brain worked, trying to figure out what Voldemort had planned for him, why he had left him with this scum of the human race. Every minute, his temper frayed a little more, and every moment he remembered Wormtail was there, the more the desire to beat him from the room took hold.

At length, Wormtail spoke, "Narcissa is lovely, is she not?"

Lucius turned and eyed the balding man suspiciously; "I do beg your pardon?" His tone was acid, and his voice dripped with all the Malfoy dignity he could muster.

Wormtail sat a little straighter in his chair, his face breaking into a sickly smile, "She hasn't aged a day since you left, you know."

Lucius took a breath, "You have watched her?"

Wormtail quailed, just slightly and only for a second, before once again picking up on where he had left off, "Indeed, I believe she grows ever more exquisite with each passing day."

Why, why, Wormtail was provoking him, he could not understand, but it was beginning to work, the insidious man's words were beginning to grate at his control.

"She now has your job, by the way. She is our Lord's right hand woman." The barest of pauses, "Perhaps she is more..."

That was the trigger. His control snapped in an instant. The very idea of his wife with another man, even if it was his Lord Voldemort, was too much. With but a seconds pause, he shot towards Wormtail, who squealed, and lifted him by his neck with one hand, choking the breath from him. Wormtail scrabbled uselessly at his wrist with both flesh and metallic hands. Neither worked. Lucius slammed him against the nearest wall and stepped in close, "Where are your amusing comments now, Rat?"

Wormtail squeaked rather like his namesake, cringing back in fear, struggling to breathe. Lucius growled and slammed him to the floor with all the force he could muster. He kicked the little man as he squirmed to move out of the way. And again as he yelped in fear and pain. Crouching low, he slammed his fists into the thin body below him, again and again, putting all his strength into each punch, working out all the anger he had stored up over the year, all the humiliation.

Wormtail's squeals grew weaker, and he stopped struggling, simply attempting to cover his face and head with his arms, curling into a fetal position. Lucius didn't care. He continued pummeling the younger man, treating him as a muggle would a punch-bag, not seeing the blood flung from his fists. He paused once, briefly, to catch his breath, not caring that his knuckles were bruised and bleeding, that Wormtail had stopped moving altogether and was covered in his own blood.

He didn't realize, until the clapping began, that he had an audience.

As soon as his mind registered the applause, he stopped and straightened. Voldemort was sitting in the armchair, clapping lightly, his red, cat-like eyes trained on his own pale gray. Lucius dropped his fists to his sides and stepped back, ignoring the pathetic blood covered form at his feet, and waited.

After a moment, the applause ceased and Voldemort steepled his fingers, resting his chin on the long, white thumbs. "Magnificent," he whispered, eyes hooded slightly in what could have been admiration.

Lucius did not respond. After a moment, Lord Voldemort began to speak, his voice low, controlled, sinister, "It is so rare to find true rage, and even rarer to find it within a mind and body capable of exploiting it in any way the person wishes, in a mind so knowledgeable of the human bodies frailties. Yes. Truly magnificent."

Lucius simply stood, not entirely understanding what Lord Voldemort was saying.

"I had suspected as much of you, Malfoy. Now I know I was correct. Thank you."

Taking a breath, Lucius frowned, "For what, Master?"

Voldemort smiled his serpentine smile, red eyes flashing, "For being exactly what I needed. A pity poor Wormtail did not catch on to what I intended." The red eyes searched his own for a moment, "Do not blame him for what he said, it was I who instructed him, and created this little charade. Though, I do believe he truly thought he was being 'honored', as you put it, for his loyalty and petty scheming."

Lucius took all this in and then nodded. His fists unclenched and his temper was once more under his control. He glanced at his knuckles, then back to his master, "What was he saying about my son, Master?"

Voldemort smiled again, "Ah, well, on that point alone, I do believe he was almost correct. He did suggest a plan of action to me, but it was ludicrous. I rejected it immediately. Narcissa and I have concocted an alternative and am, indeed, already implementing it."

His blood ran a little cold at the thought, but he had renounced his son weeks ago, Draco was no longer any concern of his and would have to face whatever Lord Voldemort decided to throw at him as the traitor that he was. He looked down at what he believed to be a body. He prodded it with one booted toe, "What shall I do with this?"

Lord Voldemort stood, slowly, and moved closer, "He is not dead. Take him to the medical wing." Voldemort paused for a fraction of a second, an assessing look in his inhuman eyes, "Commendable reaction to the question of your wife's fidelity, by the way."

* * * *

Harry awoke warm and unimaginably comfortable. It took him a moment to realize why. Draco was pressed up against his back, one arm round his chest, the other under his neck and folded over his collar. He smiled to himself and closed his eyes again, settling back into Draco's warm embrace.

He didn't know what the time was, and he didn't care. All he knew was that they had talked late into the morning, eventually falling asleep together. He felt that, after last night, their relationship was taking a new turn, a turn for the better. He curled the fingers of one hand gently around Draco's left wrist, slowly stroking the pale skin, feeling the pulse just below, running his fingertips over the pale, downy hairs on the back of his arm. He studied the almost translucent skin, imagining, just for a moment, the Dark Mark stark against his pale coloration. Just a few short years ago, Draco would have given his life to Voldemort and, amongst other things, they wouldn't be lying here this morning. He couldn't help but think that if life had turned out just a little differently, he may have ended up facing Draco in battle.

Pushing the thought away, he rested his hand against Draco's wrist again, feeling a form of reassurance in the pulse against his fingers. It quickened just slightly and he smiled.

"Good morning, Draco," he all but whispered.

Draco stirred slightly, gently removing his arm from under Harry's head. As he moved over a little, Harry rolled onto his back and looked up at the blonde. "How are you this morning?", he asked gently, watching him flex his right arm, working out the kinks and numbness. Draco yawned in response, but his eyes were smiling.

Harry lifted a hand and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. He'd forgotten to take his glasses off before they fell asleep; he now had two tiny indentations in his nose. As Draco laboriously climbed to his feet, Harry sat. At least they had both been in their bedclothes when they fell asleep, once or twice before, he had slept in his day clothes and each time, had regretted it when he awoke.

He watched Draco stretching for a moment, hearing the soft clicking of his joints, the sudden, gagged yelp of pain as he stretched his left arm surprised him. He frowned. "Draco?"

Draco turned, rubbing his left forearm, he shrugged, "Morning stiffness, you know R.S.I"

Frowning, harry shrugged in return and stood, stretching a little less daintily. He thought of something and turned to look at Draco as the blonde began collecting clothing and a set of clean robes for the day from his wardrobe, "It's going to be all over the papers today. And tomorrow. Probably for the rest of the week."

Draco looked at him over his shoulder; "I had thought of that and am quite prepared to handle whatever those imbeciles out there have in store for me."

Harry nodded and picked up the invisibility cloak from where he had dropped it the night before. Draping it over his shoulders, he grinned at Draco's raised eyebrow, "I'm Head Boy, I'm not to be seen wandering around in my bedclothes. I've got an example to set, you know."

Draco rolled his eyes, "You'll have to wait a moment then and follow me out when I go to the Great Hall." After the barest of pauses he continued, "Where, no doubt, Weasley and Granger will attempt to remove me from existence for your disappearance overnight."

Harry chuckled, "I doubt it; Ron helped me escape last night. They know exactly where I am."

"Well then, even more reason for my not turning up at breakfast."

Harry openly laughed at that and waited patiently for Draco to wash and dress. The blonde had taken to leaving his hair loose since the summer, which softened his look somewhat, turning him into more of a fallen angel. When they left his room and entered the common room, Harry safely ensconced under the invisibility cloak, most of the seventh year Slytherin's were waiting for him. The only one's missing were Crabbe and Goyle – both of whom were understandably disinclined to associate with the other Slytherin's much anymore.

Draco stopped at the doorway, one hand still on the handle. Moving close, Harry placed a hand on Draco's back, whispering as lightly as possible, "Ignore them."

Draco's back was tense under his palm, but it didn't show in his countenance. He glared at the Slytherin's. "If you are waiting for me to cow in fear, rejoin you, or anything of the sort, I am afraid you are rather sadly mistaken."

Harry watched in silence as Blaise stepped forward, Pansy at her elbow.

The Slytherin students were always very careful when speaking, choosing their words carefully, even amongst themselves. Blaise did this now, dropping the Sunday Prophet at Draco's feet. Harry looked at the front page and had to catch his breath on a gasp. He stepped backwards involuntarily and Draco flinched as his fingers left the blondes back. Regaining control of himself, he stepped back and put his hand back, pressing lightly, reassuringly.

The title of the Sunday Prophet read:

'FIFTY DEAD IN PRISON OUTBREAK!'

The subtitle:

'Hundreds more tortured as convicted Death Eaters escape.'

Underneath it was a huge photograph covering the entire page, of the prison itself, reduced to rubble. At first it looked like a muggle photograph as nothing was moving, but if you looked closer, you could see the stirring of a breeze through the dust on the floor. The Photographer and Editor had not held back, this photograph showed, very clearly and in full color, body parts scattered around the grounds.

"Your Father's loose, Draco."

"As I have been informed, Blaise." Draco folded his arms across his chest, an impatient tone in his voice, "Whatever it is you wish to say, get it over with, I'm rather hungry this morning."

Blaise bristled slightly and a hush fell over the room. Pansy glared at him, her pretty face looking pinched because of the unfamiliar expression. Harry watched the faces around the room. He knew for a fact that every one in this room had Death Eater parents, and he could guess that at least half of them had joined Voldemort themselves. Not a one of them had changed in the last six years; they all looked like aristocratic bullies, lounging in their decadent, emerald coloured and mahogany armchairs.

He was surprised though at their decision to confront Draco this morning. He would have thought they would wait a while for the news to sink in, the shock of such devastation at Azkaban to fade a little. He thought, a little bitterly, that the letter from the Ministry had understated the circumstances of Lucius Malfoy's escape rather spectacularly.

"You're on the losing side, Draco." Blaise indicated the paper lying at the blonde's feet. Draco finally deigned to look down at it and Harry felt the muscles in his back tense even more under his hand. Draco looked for a moment, then turned back to the girl, "Well, he is rather messy in his approach. That doesn't mean he's going to win, dear. Come back when you have a little more proof than an escape from a prison warded only by humans and a few paltry spells."

Blaise and Pansy appeared to want to continue the discussion, but Draco turned and stalked out of the common room, holding the door open slightly longer than was necessary to let Harry through after him. Once out in the hall, Harry looked around to check no one was in sight and pulled the cloak from his head, "Draco?"

"I'm alright. The letter was just a little more vague than it should have been on the exact details of my fathers escape...." Draco was breathing harshly, his eyes closed as he leaned back on the painting entrance. Harry put out a hand, lightly touching the other boys shoulder. For a moment nothing happened, and then Draco was in his arms, holding him tightly.

They stood for a moment in silence, arms wrapped tightly around one another, Draco's fingers clenched in his invisible cloak, giving the blonde the comfort he needed without comment. Eventually, Draco stood back and they released each other. Smiling slightly, Harry brushed Draco's bottom lip with his thumb before pulling the cloak back over his head, "I'll see you in the hall," he whispered, quickly brushing a kiss on Draco's cheek before hurrying up the hall.

* * * *

As he stepped out of the Gryffindor common room, dressed and showered, he nearly walked right into Seamus. "Woah! Oh, hi Harry!" They both took a step back from each other, preventing the collision that would surely have happened if they didn't, and Seamus grinned at him.

"Hey, Seamus. What you doing back up here so early?" He closed the portrait behind him, garnering an annoyed 'harrumph' from the Pink Lady as he did so. Seamus grinned again, "I could ask the same of you, mate. Out with some lovely lady last night? I know I was."

Harry laughed in spite of himself, "That Ravenclaw girl?" Seamus nodded with a happy grin. If he hadn't known, right from the start, that Seamus was rather stoically straight, he may have entertained the idea of pursuing him last year. But as it was, the modestly handsome Irish rogue had been left to it and had been dating a girl from Ravenclaw since late November of their sixth year. From the looks of his fellow Gryffindor this morning, the relationship was getting serious.

They walked down to the Great Hall in amicable silence, Seamus apparently lost in thoughts of the previous night, Harry wondering how the school was going to take the news of the escape from Azkaban, the enormous loss of life. How was Draco going to fare? They had received merely a glimpse of the reaction he was likely to receive this morning, and that had been only the seventh year Slytherin's. How would the three other houses react?

Ron and Hermione were waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs when they finally reached the entrance hall. Seamus gave him a mocking look, "So you were out all night then?" and grinned as they parted at the bottom, waving slightly as he headed into the Great Hall for breakfast.

Harry gave his two friends an inquiring look. Hermione was clutching a copy of the Sunday Prophet to her chest, the very issue that had been thrown at Draco's feet, Ron a small stack of toast wrapped in a napkin. "Come on, we need to talk to you."

With a slight frown of worry, Harry followed the two of them out of the entrance hall and down the corridor to an empty classroom. As the three of them sat down, he asked, "What's wrong?" Hermione pushed the newspaper toward him and he unfolded it, opening it to the second page. When they glanced at each other, surprised, he said, "Draco had this thrown at him by Blaise this morning, I've seen the front page."

The story inside wasn't very informative. They still had no idea how the escape had taken place, nor what hexes had been cast to create such devastation, but it did describe, in sickening detail, what had happened to the human guards and left over prisoners by the hexes. Most of the guards had been found in pieces all over the wrecked building, the inmates had been less lucky. Some of them had still been alive when they were found, but died soon after.

"Voldemort's made his first move then," Harry said tonelessly, closing the paper and pushing it back toward Hermione. Ron, he couldn't help noticing, had flinched ever so slightly at the name, but didn't make anything of it, simply handing him the toast as he spoke, "I dreamed this. Two weeks ago, I dreamed Lucius was going to escape."

Harry blinked, "Pardon?" Hermione did not look surprised, had he already told her then?

Ron sighed, "Dumbledore told me not to tell anyone about the true extent of my gift. I'm not just your run of the mill, typical Seer; I actually have prophetic visions as well. Two weeks ago, that first night you went out to visit Malfoy, I was practicing my Tarot and the visions took me."

Visions plural? He was more than surprised by this, and Dumbledore had told Ron not to tell anyone? Why? Ron continued, his voice a little tight, "In this particular vision, I saw Lucius Malfoy wrapped tightly in growing vines, but as I watched, the vines withered and died and he stepped free. The imagery itself was enough to scare the crap out of me, but the feelings held within the vision were terrifying. Not only had he been freed from captivity, but something inside him has been freed as well."

Harry looked directly into his best friend's deep, blue eyes, wondering and a little scared by what he was being told. Ron didn't blink as he continued, "I don't know what's happened, but I wrote down everything I could remember and told Dumbledore the next morning. It wasn't the only vision I had that night. I saw both of you, Malfoy, Snape. None of the visions were particularly nice. Firenze and Dumbledore have been working on interpreting them for the past two weeks – but I don't think they're doing very well. Vision interpretation isn't very easy, you tend not to put the connections together until the event has passed."

"Like this one," Hermione whispered. Ron glanced at her, "Well, this one was easy to interpret, we just didn't know when it was going to happen, and Dumbledore couldn't persuade the Ministry to up the spells and protection on Azkaban – not without any solid proof of why it was needed."

Harry shook his head, running a hand through his hair. This was a little too much information to take in at once. Ron was a prophet? Dumbledore had tried to warn the Ministry of this Break out from Azkaban? He sighed and then realised something; Draco wasn't here. "Where's Draco?" he asked, looking at this two friends.

Ron and Hermione looked at each other for a second, then turned back to him, "He wasn't in the Great Hall," Hermione said quietly, "We assumed he as with you, that you would know where he was?"

Harry stood so suddenly the chair he had been sitting in fell backwards and crashed to the floor, he was already stalking to the door before Ron and Hermione had pushed back their own chairs. If anything had happened to Draco in the time it had taken him to get up to Gryffindor tower, change and come back down again, he wanted to know right now.

Ron and Hermione following closely behind him, he stalked as quickly as he could, without running, to the Great Hall and stepped in, looking around. The tables were all full of excitedly chattering students, the Sunday Prophet obviously being handed around so everyone could see the pictures and read what had happened at the prison. Some looked up at him as he stepped in, giving him a worried, wondering look, nudging the students next to them. In less than a moment, the entire student body was looking at him, and he couldn't see Draco anywhere.

He glared at the Slytherins. All of them were there, including Crabbe and Goyle. And hadn't they professed the need to look after Draco? The need to protect him, as they had done since the first year? Blaise smirked at him from her usual seat. Maybe he was overreacting, but to loose Draco on the very morning the world found out about his fathers escape from Azkaban, the very morning the seventh year Slytherins had confronted him, was a little too coincidental to be overlooked.

For a moment his eyes met Dumbledore's, then he glanced at the other teachers at the table, noticing that Snape wasn't among them. He swung round and stalked back out of the hall.

* * * *

Draco touched his fingers to the cheek Harry had kissed, smiling slightly at the remembered touch. Being kissed by an invisible person was disorienting, but somewhat nice; the silky feel of the invisibility cloak giving the kiss an enchanted quality that appealed to him.

The painting opened behind him and before he register what was going on, or even that anyone was there, Theodore Nott had pressed him up against the far wall, the other boys face so close to his own that he could barely breathe. Only a year ago, Nott had been a weedy little rat of a boy, much like Peter Pettigrew had been – and still was – these days however, the re- emergence of the Dark Lord seemed to have agreed with him. He was still a little short, but what he lacked in height, he more than made up for in muscle and brute strength.

"No witnesses out here, Malfoy," he whispered into Draco's ear.

Draco clutched at the forearm pressed against his collarbone; it was seriously beginning to choke him. "No witnesses to what, Nott? A paltry attempt at scaring me back in line?"

The pressure on his upper chest intensified and Nott's free hand moved up, the fingers tangling in Draco's silver-gold hair, pulling his head back against the rough stone work of the wall. That hurt! Draco grit his teeth, forcing his body not to move in reaction to the rough treatment.

"To witness me beating the shit out of the only Slytherin without any sense, Malfoy." Not tightened his fist in Draco's hair and banged his head against the wall as he leaned in closer, "Tell me, when did the Great Draco Malfoy decide we weren't good enough for him anymore?"

Draco didn't reply as he shifted, trying to move his legs so he could do some permanent damage to Nott's chances of ever procreating, but the smaller boy reacted fast, insinuating his own knee between Draco's legs. He felt it lift slightly, the thigh pressing firmly against his groin. Nott grinned, showing all his uneven teeth at once, "Or are you simply shagging the Potter boy so you don't have to face reality? The Dark Lord will win in the end and put a stop to all this mudblood and half breed malarkey."

"What I do with Potter is none of your business, Nott," Draco managed to grind out between his teeth and through the pain in his throat, "And we need the muggle borns and half breeds to keep us alive, idiot."

Nott growled at him, pushing harder with both forearm and thigh, he slammed Draco's head against the wall again – the resultant mesh of pain and asphyxiation making him nearly black out. There were flashes of light behind his suddenly closed eyelids.

"You really believe that? That Dumbledorian bullshit? You Malfoy's are weaker than I ever thought! No wonder the Dark Lord wants you all weeded out."

Draco grabbed at the hand in his as it tightened again, pulling out a few strands that caused pinpricks of pain over his scalp. Through the pain he heard the portrait door open and gasped as Nott turned, his forearm momentarily backing off and lessening the pressure on Draco's throat.

"Zabini. What do you want?"

Blaise? Oh, the day just got better and better.

Nott's arm pressed again and Draco wheezed, wishing he had had time to grab his wand so he could hex the smaller boy to the end of next month. His tired mind managed to catch what Blaise was saying, "Nott, what the hell do you think you're doing? Down here, in the open, where anyone can walk in on you?"

Yeah, Draco silently agreed. Anyone. Please?

"Piss off, Zabini. No one comes down here, but us Slytherins, and they don't give a shit. In fact, they'd probably applaud me." They would, too, Draco thought, his brain going muzzy due to the lack of oxygen, not noticing as Nott's hand released his hair.

He noticed it, though, when it connected with his stomach. Unable to curl up in a protective ball, Draco spluttered and coughed in pain, they cried out as Nott's knee connected with his unprotected nether regions. Oh, Merlin, that hurt.

"Nott!" Blaise's voice rang through the hallway as the arm pressing him against the wall removed itself and punched him in the stomach. Draco slid to the floor, pain ringing through his senses, clutching ineffectually at his groin, coughing and gagging as he tried to get the much-needed oxygen into his lungs. Nott completely ignored Blaise's outburst as she continued to scold him and Draco curled into himself as a foot connected with his left kidney.

"What, exactly, is going on here?"

Snape's acerbic voice broke through the shield of pain. Thank Merlin he was here.

"I was trying to stop them, sir. I came out here on my way to breakfast and found them at each others throats." Draco pulled in the oxygen he needed to think straight and forced back an indignant snort at Blaise's account of the events.

"Nott?" Snape's voice was calculated, quiet and full of threat. Draco pulled in another breath, his mind slowly clearing, the flashes of light beginning to recede. The only problem he had now was the blinding headache.

Nott stepped away and Draco uncurled a little, "It's true, sir. He was impugning my honor." Big word from such a small brain, Draco couldn't help thinking as he uncurled a little further, one hand wracking the back of his head, checking for any damage.

"Of course he was, Nott," Snape sounded as sarcastic as ever, "A week of detentions with Filch. Report to his office at fifteen hundred hours each evening. Fifty points removed for beating a fellow House Member senseless and getting caught in the act. Blaise, detention with me this evening, at the same time, for not using your brain and stunning the both of them. Ten points removed. Now go, both of you."

As the footsteps retreated up the hall, Draco uncurled entirely and tried to prop himself up on his elbows. Snape reached down and silently helped him to his feet. "What, precisely, was going on master Malfoy? Nott may be a loose cannon, but attacking someone, least of all you, in a public corridor is not normally in his repertoire."

Draco straightened himself, wincing at the pain in his stomach and groin – he felt like throwing up – and looked up at his House Master. "Just a friendly warning, sir. Apparently I'm on the loosing side."

Snape snorted and declined to reply to that, instead saying, "Follow me. I have a potion or two that will help with the pain."

Draco was grateful that Snape did not offer him an arm for support. It was enough that Nott had just bettered him, that he had been too off his guard to react quickly enough to get his wand. If Snape had offered an arm, it would have completed the beating his pride had just taken. Clutching his stomach, he slowly followed the Potions Master to his private workroom, thankful that the man had discreetly decided to keep his pace slower than his usual stalk.

Draco stepped into the familiar room and sat down on the nearest bench, absently rubbing the back of his head. Was it him, or had he taken a little more beating this year than all the previous? First the muggle thugs, then Voldemort and his Death Eaters, now Nott. He was beginning to rue the choice of openly choosing Harry Potter rather than Voldemort.

He shook his head, surprised. Now where had that come from? That was one of the most ridiculous thoughts he had entertained since his father had been incarcerated. Must be the mugginess from lack of oxygen and pain.

He silently watched Snape going through the numerous jars, bottles and pots lined along the shelves taking up the entire left-hand wall, running the length of the room. Finally, after a few moments, he seemed to find what he was looking for and paced across to the opposite wall, which was lined with a workbench. There were already two potions on the boil, but he cleared a space in the least used part and set up some new equipment. Draco continued to watch, again marveling at the precise, careful, slightly flamboyant manner in which Snape conducted himself during actual potions making.

Since the summer after fifth year, Draco had spent a lot of his free time in this room, and the living room next door, silently watching his House Master as he prepared potions and remedies for classes and the hospital wing. Watching the older man work was soothing, as Snape truly was a master of his art.

The scent that slowly filled the room was slightly spicy and a little too sweet, leaving a sickening, too much chocolate, sensation in his stomach as he breathed it in. Snape took a step back and poured a small measure of the concoction. He held it up at eye level, clearly inspecting it, then, apparently satisfied, he turned toward Draco. Snape reached him in only a few strides, "Here, drink this."

Draco took the small, clear glass beaker, glancing at the potion within – it was a nearly transparent red color – at the range, the sweet spicy smell was much stronger. He swallowed it all in one go and handed the beaker back. Snape nodded, the tiny upturn of his mouth indicating one of his rare smiles.

After a moment Draco began to feel the potion working within him. The pain began to recede and his headache lifted. He stretched; his joints clicking a little and felt much better, though the R.S.I. he noticed had not disappeared. He rubbed the offending wrist and forearm, watching Snape as he bottled the rest of the potion and began cleaning away the instruments.

"I hear the Dark Lord has freed your father," Snape said eventually, breaking the comfortable silence, "I take it that is what instigated the argument between yourself and master Nott." A statement rather than a question. Professor Snape knew his students well, after all, he was a Slytherin himself.

Draco stretched again and nodded as Snape looked at him, "I can handle them. I was simply caught off guard this morning." Though he wasn't about to tell him why. Snape nodded, putting the last of the equipment away.

"Would you like to read today's paper? It is mostly a lot of driveling speculation, but there is a goodly amount of true reporting peppered throughout."

Again Draco nodded and Snape handed him a copy of the Sunday Prophet. He took a moment to look at the front page, wondering at the enormity of the situation, trying to figure out why he was so decidedly apathetic about it and then turned to the second page.

Snape had been right. The article was over the top, bordering on hysterical, needlessly speculating on this, that and the other. But interspersed throughout the writing was the occasional bit of real reporting. In all it appeared fifty people had been found dead on the scene, including all the guards and some of the inmates. But the numbers were expected to rise as the remaining inmates appeared to have been hit with debilitating new hexes. Some of which seemed to have been purposefully designed to deliver a slow and painful death. Avada Kedavra appeared not to have been used, not even once. His earlier comment about Voldemort's having a messy approach came back to haunt him as he looked at the many photographs of remains scattered about the shattered building.

He shivered involuntarily. Voldemort had planned this, had chosen to use this break out as a means of showing the world his new play things, show the world that he really did mean business. He shivered again at the thought that Voldemort had obviously had at least one person specifically in mind when he had created these new curses.

Harry.

He jumped when there was a nock on the door. He followed Snape with his eyes as the man stalked to the door, to see who it was. "Ah, Master Potter. I had wondered how long it would take you," he said quietly, glancing back at Draco.

Draco put the paper back, flat on the table and pushed it away from himself, standing up as Snape stepped backwards away from the door, allowing Harry the room to enter.

"Professor Snape, have you seen - " Harry was cut off as his eyes lit on Draco, who smiled at him. Harry looked worried, his hair more mussed than usual. He had obviously been running his hands through it in concern. His face lit up when he caught sight of Draco, the worry disappearing.

Draco sat back down again as Harry came further into the room, Snape closing the door behind him, wondering at the boys obvious capacity to worry himself sick over everyone but himself. After all, it was Harry Voldemort had it in for, Harry whom had been on his mind when he created the new curses, Harry who had been thwarting him at every turn, first when he was only a baby, and then again at eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen and sixteen.

So why was Harry so unconcerned for his own well being? His own life?

* * * * * * * *

Sorry this one has taken so long guys, my computer literally blew up and I lost half the chapter. Had to re-write a lot of it and then patch it all together when I got the hard drive from my dead computer back again.

But anyway – here it is, and I hope you all enjoy what I've given you so far ^^ This chapter is actually a couple of pages longer than I had intended, but I'm not complaining!

Feel free to ask questions, and depending on what they are, I may or may not answer you ^^

Hannah