A/N: I'm baaaaaaack! Sorry this took so long to get out; I was at the beach! I had limited internet access and every time I sat down and tried to write something, I'd zone out. Sososo sorry! I'm going back to the beach tomorrow, so I'll have limited internet access once again. I'm not sure when I'll get back, but I'm going to try to update sometime within the week.

This chapter is dedicated to Lady Draculea, who typed out a loooong review, only to have it die and had to type it out again AND WhatSrName for caring enough about this story to track me down on ff becuase my account on aff died... lol, you guys rock.

This chapter was beta'd by the lovely MysticSilverAngel! Props!

Lastly, thanks to all my reviewers! Your encouragement has kept me writing this story and given me the inspiration to continue. I'm amazed that my story has been so well-recieved! Thanks, guys!

Chapter 3:

Harry stared at Dumbledore, an angry snarl making its way onto his face. "Mistake? What do you mean, you made a mistake?" His voice, though normal in volume, was laced with fury.

"It seems that I have mistakenly interpreted the prophecy." The old man's voice was slow and deliberate, as if he were choosing his words very carefully.

"Harry… please don't be angry with Albus," the Dark Lord fixed his dark eyes on Harry. The green eyes boy felt his anger dampen immediately. "None of us could have known until very recently."

Harry closed his eyes in frustration and took a deep breath. "What, exactly, is wrong with the interpretation of the prophecy? It made enough sense to me the way it was!"

Dumbledore hesitated, then stood from his chair and slowly walked over to an ornate black wooden cabinet. The door opened with a creak, and Dumbledore reached into it. When his hands came back out, they held a shallow stone basin. It had magical runes and symbols carved along the outside and cast a weak white light on the headmaster's wizened face. The old man's wrinkled hands gently cradled the bowl until he placed it on the table in front of Harry. Harry leaned forward, looking into the bowl, and was met with a white, swirling substance. It could be described as neither liquid nor air and occasionally pictures floated to the surface of the basin. After a moment, Harry realized that he was looking at Dumbledore's pensieve.

The headmaster tapped the side of the stone container with his wand and a translucent figure slowly emerged from the swirling depths. The figure was blurred at first, but eventually formed into the shape of Harry's Divination teacher, Professor Trelawney. Dozens of rattling strings of beads hung from her pale neck. Her overly large glasses made her eyes seem huge and round, and she was shrouded in the multiple shawls which hung off of her thin, spindly frame. Harry realized that he had seen this memory only months before, after the Department of Mysteries fiasco. The younger Trelawney's body shook, as if she were heading into a seizure; she opened her mouth, her soft, misty voice floating out into Dumbledore's office. "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord Approaches…. Born to those who have thrice defied him, bored 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…" The memory dissolved into clear air once again, leaving the round office in silence.

"I don't understand why the prophecy is any different now. It's just the same as it was the last time you showed it to me." Harry's flat voice seemed almost defiant.

"Ah, Harry, but the meaning is different now!" Dumbledore urged; he almost seemed excited. His blue eyes twinkled with a hidden knowledge that irritated Harry to no end.

"I don't understand. It says 'neither can live while the other survives!' Doesn't that mean that we still have to kill each other?" Harry's face reflected his bewilderment.

"Potter, what makes you so sure that 'the other' is me and you? What if it was referring to someone else?" Riddle's questioning voice butted in.

Harry glanced at the Dark Lord, feeling heat rise up in his cheeks; his name rolled smoothly off the dark man's tongue. "I… I… why would it be someone else? The whole damned prophecy is about you and me!" Harry inwardly cursed himself for stuttering.

The two older man ignored Harry's foul language. "Perhaps 'the other' is referring to a bigger threat? The Bulgarians, maybe?" Dumbledore hinted.

"But it said that I have the power to vanquish the Dark Lord! Why would it be talking about the Bulgarians then?" Harry's frustration leaked out into his voice.

"The prophecy says that you have the power to destroy me, not that you will. Harry, the prophecy is urging us to team up against the Bulgarians." Suddenly, Harry's anger was back. "If we don't, this war might be lost before it even begins." Riddle's voice had the same commanding tone that it had held in the Great Hall; still, Harry's anger boiled.

"Harry, you still don't have to fight. As I said before, the Bulgarians will be particularly eager to kill you before you have the chance to seriously damage their forces. You can still back out now. Tom (Voldemort's eye twitched) will be training and fighting on our side, so there is no reason for you to be fighting if you do not want to. All I ask is that you do not intentionally hinder him." Dumbledore said.

All of a sudden, Harry's anger reached the boiling point. "So, you're basically telling me that his (Harry jabbed a finger in Voldemort's direction) attempts on my life were all for nothing? You expect me to just nod my head and say 'okay'? I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU! I'VE BEEN LIVING IN HELL FOR SIXTEEN YEARS BECAUSE YOU MISINTERPRETED A FEW WORDS FROM A CRAZY OLD COW? MY PARENTS DIED BECAUSE OF THAT PROPHECY!" Sometime in the middle of his tirade, Harry had stood up from his chair, knocking it over backwards. His verdant eyes filled with angry tears and he shot the headmaster an incredulous look, before turning around and bolting from the circular office.

HPTRHPTRHPTRHPTRHPTRHPTR

Harry flew through the air at an alarming speed, barely noticing the rate at which the ground of the Quidditch Pitch below him whizzed by. He made several aggressive barrel rolls, before swiftly plunging the nose of his broomstick towards the ground and shooting straight down through the air. He pulled his stick up at the last second, barely missing certain death by way of collision. Harry shot straight up into the air again, soaring higher and higher with each passing second. He leveled off again and plunged into a series of short, quick turns, gripping his broomstick tightly with both hands. His face was slick with sweat, bangs sticking to his forehead. Harry's glasses slid down to the bottom of his nose, precariously hanging on, but he couldn't find it in himself to care.

After leaving the headmaster's office, Harry had run to his dormitory and grabbed his beloved Firebolt. He hadn't even bothered to take the stairs outside, preferring instead to jump out of the dormitory window, free-falling for a few seconds before gaining control of his broom and shooting off to the pitch. Hermione would have had a heart attack, but Harry had been too upset to do anything different. He had needed some form of emotional release after talking with Dumbledore and the Dark Lord… flying had seemed to be the obvious choice.

Draco Malfoy wandered onto the pitch, Nimbus 2001 in hand. He noticed a speck in the air, flying around at what looked like the speed of light, and inconspicuously hid behind the bleachers until he could tell who the aforementioned speck was. He watched as it plummeted to the ground and then pulled up sharply, zooming his direction. Draco watched as the figure got closer and closer and realized that it was Potter. Thankfully, the boy seemed too distracted by his flying to notice that he had a hidden spectator.

Draco decided that now would be a good time to get on good footing with Potter, as no one was around. He had decided in the dark of his bedroom the night before, after he had found out that the dark and the light would be cooperating, that it would be a good chance to get close to Potter. After all, he had always been drawn to the boy for reasons unknown.

Draco stepped out onto the pitch and mounted his Nimbus 2001, before joining Potter in the air. He glided through the air and stopped a good 30 feet away from the dark haired boy.

"Oi! Potter!" Harry startled and turned around when he heard someone call his name.

He saw Draco Mafloy casually sitting on his broom a few yards away and mentally groaned his annoyance. He just wanted to be alone right now.

"Want to play a little Quidditch? One-on-one?" The Malfoy boy asked.

Harry thought it over for a second, before nodding his consent. He needed to be on friendlier terms with the Death Eaters; after all, they would be sharing a home for an indefinite period of time. Also, chasing the snitch with tough competition could be just what he needed to work off stress.

The blonde grinned and reached his hand into the pocket of his trousers, his hand returning with a small golden ball clasped in it. He unclenched his fingers and the ball jumped in his palm, before two small wings materialized and fluttered a few times, before it flew off into the distance.

The boys waited in silence for a few seconds before nodding to each other and circling around the pitch a few times, eyes trained for the little ball. Harry slowly floated towards the goal posts and surveyed the entire pitch, before zooming higher and resuming his search.

The two boys continued like this for about twenty minutes, until Harry's eye caught a flash of Gold just about the ground near the opposite goal post. Harry glanced over to Malfoy, who was positioned closer to the speedy little ball. Seeing that the other boy had spotted it too, he rushed off towards the ball at breakneck speed, just behind Malfoy. Harry quickly caught up with his blonde haired counterpart and the two were neck and neck as they sped towards the golden snitch.

They were only at the half mark of the pitch, when Malfoy surprised Harry by speaking. "I'm going to win this time, Potter! Run, run as fast as you can! You can't catch me; I'm the ginger bread man!"

Harry's eyes widened comically, before he burst out in laughter at the blonde's statement. He faltered in his speed for a moment, giving Draco a small lead. Harry quickly realized his mistake and urged his broom fast, still giggling uncontrollably.

The two were now closing in on the snitch, two horizontal blurs on the pitch. They were five feet away now- four, three, two, one. The two dove from their brooms in the direction of the snitch and the blonde's fingers curled around the little ball, before both of the teens slammed to the ground- hard. Even through the impact, Harry sat on the sand below the goal posts, giggling his head off. Malfoy sat there next to him, snitch in hand. Harry stifled his giggles for a moment. He turned to Malfoy and held out his hand. "Great game, Malfoy."

Draco grinned and took the offered hand. "Not too bad, yourself." The two let go of each other's hands and sat in silence for a moment, before both of them collapsed in snorts of laughter.

"I- didn't know you- knew- muggle fairytales" Harry gasped through his laughter.

"Hey! Watch what you call muggle! Those fairytales were made by purebloods, thank-you-very-much!" Draco said mock-indignantly.

"Really? I never knew…" Harry trailed off

"Yep. They must have spread to muggles through mudbloods." Harry frowned at the other wizard's use of the word, but didn't say anything about it. The blonde had probably done it out of habit anyway.

"Maybe," he replied. Harry stood up, dusting his jeans off, and offered a hand to Malfoy. The blonde took Harry's hand and used it to hoist himself off of the ground. He let go of Harry's hand and picked his broom up from the ground. He turned towards the castle.

"I'm going to go inside now. It's almost time for lunch," Malfoy said over his shoulder. "Want to come?"

Harry grabbed his Firebolt from the ground and nodded, jogging to catch up with Malfoy. "So, why so friendly all of a sudden?" Harry was genuinely curious.

"Well, I figured that I should try to be civil with everyone else. After all, we're going to be fighting on the same side of the war. There's no point in fighting with each other anymore." The blonde wisely said.

Harry nodded his agreement. "Yeah, I think so too. I'm not so sure the others share our view though."

"They'll come around eventually. I don't know about Dumbledore, but the Dark Lord won't tolerate anymore fighting amongst us. Father's dead scared about his punishment." It almost seemed as if Draco thought it amusing that his high and mighty father was scared about his punishment, as if he were a four year old waiting to be sentenced to time-out.

"I sure hope they'll come around," Harry muttered, thinking of Ron.

The two reached the doors of the Great Hall and parted ways, exchanging short goodbyes.

HPTRHPTRHPTRHPTRHPTRHPTR

Harry wandered inside the Great Hall after taking a shower. He sat down at the end of the Gryffindor table, next to Hermione and, surprisingly, Seamus and Dean. "When did you two get here?" Harry asked.

"Me Mum decided tha' Dumbledore'd do a better job o' fightin' this war than the Minister, so we just got here 'bout an hour ago" Seamus said, his Irish accent thick.

"Me too. I talked to Neville earlier through the floo; he said he'd be coming sometime this week." Dean added.

Harry nodded to the two of them and grabbed a ham sandwich off of the pile in the middle of the table. He had just bitten into it, when suddenly a scroll appeared in front of him. Looking to his two companions, Harry noticed that scrolls had also appeared in front of them.

Harry sat his sandwich down and took the scroll in his hands. He carefully broke the Hogwarts seal and unrolled it. It seemed to be a list of classes.

The list read as follows:

Defense Against the Dark Arts: R. Lupin

Dark Arts: L. Malfoy and B. Lestrange

Physical Combat: T. Riddle and B. Weasley

Potions: S. Snape

Archery/Swordsmanship: T. Riddle and C. Weasley

Charms: F. Flitwick

Transfiguration: M. McGonagall

Harry looked up from his list to find Seamus and Dean glaring down at their parchments. Hermione, though, looked rather excited to be able to learn in the summer.

"We have even more classes than normal!" Dean groaned, slamming his head down on the table.

"Why are we learning the Dark Arts?" Harry wondered aloud.

"I suppose it will help in battle. And it can't be that bad, as long as we don't learn any unforgivables." Hermione's answer was timid and pondering, as if she was trying to convince herself instead of Harry.

Harry nodded his agreement. "We have to be taught by Malfoy's dad though. Not to mention Snape and Voldemort." Harry was definitely not looking forward to his classes.

"Yes, that is rather unfortunate. But look on the bright side! We also get to have Lupin and Bill and Charlie as teachers!" Harry brightened at Hermione's comment. He had always thought Ron's older brothers were nice. And Lupin had been a great teacher when they had had him in third year.

"Yeah, I don't suppose it'll be too bad then." He murmured. He just hoped he'd be able to survive two classes with the Dark Lord.

A/N: Sorry if you guys hated the ginger bread man thing. I HAD to do it. giggles