Hey everyone! Once again, sorry for the length of wait for this chapter. I will try to update sooner, but I can't promise anything. I've got a lot going on and trying to get these chapters out at the same time is rough. I am determined to finish this story and start working on the sequel. There is going to be a sequel! I don't know how long after I finish RC that the sequel will be out, but I will try my hardest to get it out soon after. But, since I'm such a bad author with updates, I will give you a hint of what is to come. In a few chapters - I'm not telling which one - Harry and Draco's secret will come out. They are soon to be discovered as self-mutilators. I have the chapter written up and will begin typing it soon. Chapters 24 and 25 are already typed up, I just need to go over them for any errors or mistakes. So, hold tight. I promise I will finish this story. I haven't put my blood, sweat and tears - and possible a body part or two - into this, to not finish it. Just keep the reviews coming! shameless begging And now onto the chapter.

Does anyone even read these author's notes?

Chapter 23: Pranks, An Old Man's Musings, and Saying Goodbye

April 4, 1997

I know something's wrong with Draco. I noticed it when he entered the Great Hall yesterday. I also knew that asking him would probably get me nowhere. I had to try though. We're close, yeah, but there are times when certain subjects make us get defensive, and we'll close up. That's the reason I dropped it after awhile. It's better to let him cool down and get himself together. He knows I'll listen if he wants to talk about it.

So, to take his mind off of his problems, I gave him a blow job. I'm not THAT experienced with it, but Draco seemed to enjoy it just fine. And if I know him at all, then he wasn't lying. Draco tells you how it is and doesn't sugarcoat anything. If I was truly horrible he would have told me, and then "volunteered" himself as my teacher. That's just how the prat is! I'm a bit kinder about it until people start getting on my nerves, and then I snap at them. We're alike and different in some ways. Sometimes I'm kinder where he's harsher. Then, sometimes, it's the opposite way around, and I'm harsher.

We keep each other sane, he told me once, though we're both a bit unstable ourselves. I had laughed because it was true mostly. We ARE unstable. I'M unstable. I know I am. Don't know how long I've been that way, though, but the paper's got it all wrong. I'm not delusional – pretty sure on that. I'm just a torn up, confused teenager trying to make sense of things, trying to get by. I have become more open-minded, more mature I think.

For example, I finally understand why Draco is the way he is, and why he was the way he was when we first met – not saying he's completely changed, because he's not. But I do understand something. If you're raised in an environment that holds muggles and muggle-borns as inferior, and taught to believe you can have anything you want from an early age, than that's what you're going to believe. Draco was raised like this, and, wanting his parents to be proud of him, he would – of course – act like they taught him to. Another, different example is Ron. He was raised with parents who were supporters of the Light, and loving with their children. If living styles would have been switched…well, I think they may have been different – Ron and Draco. But that's just theory.

April 7

Draco wasn't what to expect that morning as he headed for the Great Hall, especially not, after Harry's statement that morning before he left.

"Have a good breakfast, Draco," he had said with a slightly unnerving smile on his face. The same one he had seen just before he humiliated Pansy in potions that day. And now Draco was feeling both apprehensive and curious about what to expect. He walked with Crabbe and Goyle silently on either side of him, as he thought about what Harry could have planned.

Things had been pretty quiet since he'd come back, and though he hadn't really made a move towards doing his 'mission' he was feeling a bit better about things. He didn't feel quite as off-center as before, but he wasn't completely feeling better with the situation either. Pushing thought aside, Draco stopped and looked at the Great Hall doors – that were closed. He furrowed his brow in confusion. Normally, the doors would be opened by now, and allowing students into the room to eat, but they weren't. He could hear the disgruntled murmurings of the students around him, and sighed. What Harry had done now, he wondered.

"Stand aside please," the voice of the Headmaster said after a few minutes, and then the man himself was cutting through the students and heading for the doors. Dumbledore stood there a moment looking at the door, before pulling his wand from his pocket and flicking it at the doors, muttering something under his breath. The doors sprung open, and Draco looked on in concealed amazement as hundreds of bubbles began floating out of the Great Hall.

A first year girl Draco didn't recognize walked up to the doors, and poked a bubble. It popped, and then the most bizarre thing occurred. With the bursting of the bubble, the loud whinnying of horses rang out through the Entrance Hall. All was silent, before someone else popped another bubble. This time giggles were heard, loud and tinkling. And then bubbles were being popped everywhere, and all manners of sounds and phrases were being broadcasted.

Draco shook his head and wondered just what Harry was thinking with this little prank. He glanced around through the bubbles and people to find that mess of black hair, and saw him standing off to the side with his friends. Draco shook his head again, amused beyond belief. Next to him he saw Crabbe reach out and pop a bubble, but what came from this one was unexpected, though no less amusing.

My name is Cho

I am a hoe, and I spread my legs for fun.

Just ask me to bend over, and I'll take it from anyone!

The Entrance Hall erupted into gales of laughter, and Draco looked around. He knew Chang had stayed for the break, and he looked for her, wanting to see her reaction. She looked furious, embarrassed, and about ready to cry as people pointed and laughed at her, some even spitting crude sexual comments. Draco smirked to himself, and laughed along with everyone else. That little rhyme was hilarious, and the embarrassment in caused Cho Chang was even better. He felt even better than before. The crowd fell silent as another rhyme was spoken.

Gryffindors are great; full of passion,

Slytherins are sly; grand for shagging.

Ravenclaws are resourceful; full of unnecessary knowledge,

And Hufflepuffs are humble; full of friendly homage!

Draco scowled at that though inside he found it incredibly funny. He wondered just who came up with that one, Harry or one of his friends.

Spank me!

Lick me!

Dumbledore's barmy!

When Snape sneers…a first year pisses their pants!

Wet cat's are testy…just look at McGonagall!

The phrases came and went, over lapping as each bubble spouted its words. Draco was clutching his sides and laughing so hard that it hurt. He glanced at his godfather, who was scowling as he stood beside Dumbledore. The Headmaster just looked amused with it all. He looked over towards Harry who was laughing with his friends. Draco definitely felt much better after this spectacle, and he had to make sure to thank Harry for cheering him up.

April 9

Harry had spent as much time as he could to train. Between spending time with Ron, Hermione and Ginny, and then with Draco, he somehow found time to continue his self-training. And the effects of his determination on himself were even more interesting. He felt proud of himself for one thing, and he also felt a bit lighter. Like somehow a bit of his depression had been lifted off his shoulders. He wasn't so sure if that was possible, but it was what it had felt like.

As it was, Harry had succeeded in being able to cast a number of spells wandlessly, all through practice, and trials and errors. He was infinitely proud of himself for these accomplishments. He had also taken to writing down the spells he had succeeded in casting and his progress with his training, determined as he was to train himself for his fight against Voldemort. He was so used to doing this on his own, that this didn't bother him in the least. Also, through practice, he'd found the some spells either couldn't be done wandlessly, or he just couldn't figure out how to do them. For example, Incarcerous he couldn't figure out how to do. It frustrated him, and he that he'd have to break down and ask about it sooner or later, and he also figured Dumbledore was his best option. But for now he wanted to enjoy the feeling of pride he had for doing so much on his own.

Right then, Harry was sitting on the floor of his training room, breathing calmly. But he wasn't calm. He had been trying to cast the Patronus Charm for half an hour now without much success, and that frustrated him to no end. He was comforted by the thought that it was possible, as he had succeeded in producing wisps of white from his palm, but never the full stag. It irked him that when he had first learned to do it in third year, he had been able to cast it much more quickly, but could do so now.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself up, and stood tall, squaring his shoulders. Closing his eyes, he thought of a happy memory, keeping a clear picture of it in his mind. Taking another deep breath, he opened his eyes, only seeing the room around him vaguely.

"Expecto Patronum!" he watched as a white mist-like substance rose from his upturned palm and into the air a bit. It began taking shape, and Harry tried to restrain the excitement ready to burst from him. When it finally formed a stag and began prancing around, Harry let out a loud sound of happiness. He had done it! After so many failed attempts he had done it. He had cast a Patronus wandlessly. Harry threw his head back and laughed, not caring that the stag began to fade away – because he had done it! He felt exhilarated and alive like never before. He had succeeded in casting a spell wandlessly that many people – even others in his year – had trouble casting with a wand. He began dancing around the room, singing 'I did it! I did it!" as he did so, and glad no one was around to witness it.

He finally calmed down, though his goofy smile still remained. Spreading his arms out to his sides, Harry leant his head back and sighed, a long, drawn out sigh of contentment. He looked back up and gazed around him. He wiped a hand across his sweaty forehead, pushing his hair back, and sighed again, shorter this time. Almost like a huff, really. He decided that maybe that was enough for tonight. He was exhausted; he had been working on other spells before he had decided to try and tackle the Patronus Charm. And now he was more tired than ever before, and he had to make his way back to Gryffindor Tower.

Sitting down on the floor, Harry pulled out a spiral-bound notebook he had and opened it to the last page he had written on. It was half used with previous training notes already written down. Snatching up a pen, he quickly jotted down his progress for that night, along with a note to look up more spells he could try. That done, he put everything back into his bag, grabbed up his invisibility cloak, and made his way from the room. Once he made sure the entrance to the room was securely closed, he made his way back to the Tower. It was early morning by the time he got to sleep.

Draco sighed heavily and pulled gently on his hair with one hand. Taking a deep breath in through his mouth, and then letting it out through his nose, the blond tried to relax and focus on the book in front of his once more. He was sitting in the library and trying to finish up the last of work before the end of break. He hadn't done it during his time at the manor, though he had had the materials with him to do so. There just hadn't been anytime to do it with everything else that had been going on.

So, now, he sat at a table by himself, brow furrowed, and a hand pulling at his hair in frustration. He was having a hard time focusing, though, and that only added to his problems. Since coming back from the manor, except for that first day, he had been avoiding thinking too much about his 'mission,' which was hard considering that whenever he looked at Severus he thought about it. He shook his head and tried to focus on his charms works again, but couldn't, and tossed his quill down in disgust. Breathing evenly for a few moments, Draco finally picked his quill back up and looked to the book determinedly.

They had been studying the different types of Sleeping Charms, and he was supposed to be writing a report on them. Starting at the top of the page, Draco began to read it over again and take the appropriate notes. As he wrote something in comparison with a potion, an image of Severus lying on a floor bleeding and shaking passed through his mind. Draco's hand twitched involuntarily, and the quill almost slipped from his grasp before he clutched it tighter. He glared at his hand through narrowed eyes. This was just ridiculous! Even thinking about bloody potions made him agitated. He clutched the hand without the quill into a fist, nails digging into the flesh of his palm. This just wasn't on, Draco mused, half angrily and half tiredly. Life was just making things difficult. Unfurling his hand, he rubbed at his temple with his fingertips.

He could do this, he knew he could. He was a Malfoy, after all, and therefore should be able to detach himself from the situation so he could focus on other things, like his schoolwork. Only, Draco had never been put in this type of situation before, and his father usually handled any major scrapes he got into as the man had always insisted that he, Draco, was too incompetent to do so himself. And that thought made the blond scowl fiercely. Then, he sighed and began gathering his things together. It was obviously a lost cause to try and finish. The paper was almost done anyway, and he could finish the last up tomorrow. He ran a hand through his hair as he returned the books he had been using to the shelves, and then shouldered his bag, leaving the library at a leisurely pace.

He was headed back to his room, which wasn't unusual since he had been avoiding too much contact with either his godfather or any fellow Slytherins besides Crabbe and Goyle since his return. The only other person he had much contact with was Harry, and the Gryffindor had seemed preoccupied lately, as if he had a lot on his mind. Draco had wondered what it could be, but hadn't asked. Between his own problems and wanting to give Harry the respect the other had given him by not pressing further for answer, Draco had found himself very much distracted at times.

Reaching his rooms he muttered the password and stepped inside. He decided to go, and rest a little before dinner time, hopefully ridding himself of some of the tension in the meantime.

The view from his office had always been a beautiful sight, no matter what the season was, and as long as he's occupied this room over the years, he's never tired of it. Staring out the window now and absently petting the rather lackluster looking phoenix, Albus Dumbledore was thinking. That wasn't an unusual thing for him, really, and neither was the person his thoughts revolved around. But the subject was one that was slightly strange for him to think about so much, though lately he had been thinking about it frequently. He gave Fawkes a last pat before he went and sat down in the chair at his desk.

Albus had done many things in his long years of living, many things he would consider for the greater good, while others may not find his actions to get the end result justifiable. He would agree with those people in some of those cases, especially with the recent doubts he was having concerning Harry Potter, and the decisions he had made regarding the boy.

It had all started with that prophecy Sybil Trelawney had made all those years ago, in a pub one night. He had gone hoping to find a Divination's professor, and found more than he had bargained for. Initially, he hadn't been too impressed with the woman, but when she fell into a trance and began speaking, he had changed his mind. Spoken in that hollow, hoarse tone; the prophecy that would one day change so many lives was born.

It wasn't until Voldemort had gone after the Potter's that Halloween night that Albus knew for sure, that Harry was the one the prophecy spoke of, and not Neville Longbottom. And from then on, he had focused on making sure Harry was safe. His first decision had been sending the boy to live with his aunt, and Albus still couldn't decide on whether it was really for the best or not. When he saw Harry again for the first time since leaving him at Privet Drive, he was shocked and saddened by what he had seen. It had been obvious the boy was a bit small for his age, underfed and malnourished, but there hadn't seemed to be anything worse. As long as the boy was safe and alive, it couldn't have been too bad.

Then there were the brief flashes of things he and Severus had seen in Harry's mind. Things that could possibly hint towards abuse, but they never actually saw evidence of it. And, to add to that, Harry seemed to have an almost subconscious control to block someone from his mind. His childhood, for one, even before he had begun to learn Occlumency was almost always inaccessible. The brief glimpses had worried him, but as far as Albus could tell the abuse didn't go further than neglect, and while that was horrible enough, he believed it was something that the boy could learn and grow from. Besides, he had protection from Death Eaters and others who wished to do him harm at the Dursley's.

That had been one the many decisions he had made concerning Harry Potter, and, while some may not have been entirely wise, they had been necessary in protecting the boy. Albus had been sure that whatever happened, Harry could handle it. Even, the old man mused, feeling a tight coil of guilt in his chest, a magical block put on his magic. Glancing towards the window and looking at the soft, blue sky, Albus wondered, not for the first time – especially lately – if that decision had really been a wise idea.

He remembered James and Lily's words before their demise. Even at one year old, Harry had been displaying large and almost frequent bouts of magic. Something that was not wholly uncommon, but not strictly rare either, especially for powerful children who were going to grow into even more powerful adults. So, after careful consideration, he had placed a less powerful, but still efficient, magical block on the boy's magic. It would suppress the magic enough that Harry's magic wouldn't have been constantly out of control, without hindering him or his magical growth any. But the incident that happened that February morning had made him begin to think about his decision more closely.

Harry could have been seriously hurt that day. The risks of a magical block, no matter how diminutive in power, were great and dangerous. Because of the backlash and blockage, Harry could have easily slipped into a coma that day. Unconsciousness was better by far, but there was still that thread of worry in him that was concerned that before Harry's seventeenth birthday, the boy would slip into a coma. The block wasn't set to dissolve until Harry turned seventeen.

Albus also thought that Severus may have figured it out. The man was smart, and Albus knew he read up on many things. Magical blocks, considered on the cusp between Light and Dark magic's were well-known, if not widely used. The Ministry hadn't labeled the use of them as Dark, per say, but as there have been incidents of death due to a magical block they are somewhat illegal. That was the reason he had used the lesser version of the blocks on Harry. There was less of a chance of it being dangerous enough to cause death. But that didn't relieve the guilt and worry he felt.

With a weary sigh, eyes devoid of the usual twinkle, Albus Dumbledore sat back and thought about Voldemort, the war, Harry Potter, and the decisions he has made in his long years of living.

Harry had decided to wait until the last day of break to do what he had been contemplating doing for the last week. In between everything else he was doing, he decided that maybe it was time to try and settle a few things. He didn't feel as confident about it as he tried to convince himself, though.

The students had returned early evening just before dinner. Harry and his friends had spent the time from dinner until everyone went to bed telling about the pranks they pulled. But Harry had been too preoccupied with what he had to do, to really get into retelling it all again. And now he was heading down to the lake under his invisibility cloak, feeling a mixture of emotions churning in his belly. He was almost there, and with each step his legs felt more like lead; heavy and unresponsive. He felt his chest tightening and the uncomfortably tense sensation made him slightly short of breath, and a bit dizzy. But he continued to his destination, determined, even if a bit hesitant to proceed with his plans. He had to though; he felt that it was time to do this.

He reached the edge of the lake sooner than he would have liked, but only took a deep breath as he pulled the cloak from around himself. He clutched it in a loose grip in his left hand and stared out over the glittering water. He breathed in sharply, sucking in a gulp of early spring night air. He glance at his watch, and, with a smile twisting his lips, he saw that it was half an hour until midnight. He looked back out over the lake, gazing at the moon's reflection in its surface.

"Sirius," Harry breathed the name, keeping his eyes on the same spot. "I'm sorry, Sirius, so sorry. If I hadn't fallen so easily into Voldemort's trap, you'd still be here." He continued to speak quietly, voice choked with sadness and anger; anger towards Voldemort, the Death Eaters, and himself.

"I know if you were still here you'd probably tell me it wasn't my fault, but it was! Gryffindor bravery and courage are all well and good, but by letting my emotions consume me I made a bad decision. And now you're gone. No, not gone, but d-dead, and I have to accept that," he said thickly. He could feel his eyes prickling with tears, and blinked rapidly. "Its not bad having emotions like that and wanting to protect the people you care about. That's what makes us human. But it could have been more organized, or I could have trusted that Dumbledore would something. But I didn't, and I ended up leading my friends into danger and getting you killed."

He stopped talking and closed his eyes as pain lanced through his chest. This was hard, but it was Harry's first step to letting Sirius go and healing himself. He had to do this for himself, he knew if he wanted to be able to defeat Voldemort. It could be used as a weakness against him, and Harry knew that couldn't happen. Opening his eyes again, Harry sat on the ground crossed-legged and sighed heavily.

"I haven't been doing so good since losing you, but I'm coping in my own way," he continued, rubbing a hand absentmindedly over his right forearm. "Its time I began to let you go," he murmured. Harry remained silent for a long time, just staring out over the lake at the moon's reflection, or at nothing at all. The lightest of winds blew around him like a caress, as he sat near the lake's edge.

He sighed, and rose to his feet after a lengthy silence. He hadn't more to say to Sirius anyway. Tilting his head to the sky, he gazed at the moon directly – intensely – with sadness welling up in him, but on the edge of that sadness he could feel something he couldn't quite identify. "Goodbye Sirius," he said quietly, almost reverently, and swept his cloak around him, turning from the lake and walking back towards the castle. His watch, if he had looked at it, would have shown it was midnight exactly.

But, he didn't. He just kept walking, feeling the tightness in his chest as if it was contracting; loosening and tightening rhythmically, and seeming to hurt more with each one. He clutched the cloak tightly, his fingers beginning to hurt from the pressure. He swallowed back the urge to cry, shout, and scream or anything else to relieve the immense pressure trying to consume him.

Saying goodbye had been the hardest thing.