Author's note: Hey everyone, thanks for reading, I really appreciate the comments and appraisals. I honestly don't know if everything contained within this chapter makes sense, I'll leave it to you to let me know if it did in the comments. This was probably the hardest chapter to write yet. Let's see if it all came together. Enjoy

P.S. As a side-note, someone commented about why turning vinegar to wine was taught by Flitwick when it's clearly a Transfiguration spell. Good question and ask JK because I lifted the basis of that scene from HBP. There's a page about it on HP wiki.

Chapter 16 - The Throes Of War

'It strikes me as necessary to warn of the frailty of character exposed during the harshness of war. Those who seek leadership, often become the bane of their own folly. For hidden underneath their desires are a weakness for power and control. One can pinpoint these vulnerabilities in characters whose actions are conditional to certain criteria. Command is conditional to an acknowledgement of superiority. Responsibility is tacit upon recompense. Within these individuals lies the potential for the extreme, a position made darker once power is granted.

And make no mistake, this potential lies in all of us. In the end, it's not the choices but the sacrifices that separate a true hero from a conditional leader.

Written in the 20th century by historian, Agatha Carmichael, who chose to document the Second and First World Muggle Wars for Magical audiences.

5:06 pm. Barely any time left. The great chug of the Hogwart's Express barged through the open window to the tune of its own harmony. Harry barely heard it over the drum of his heart. London Kingscross was stealing the horizon and he still hadn't regained his cloak. If the train reached the terminal, it would be too late and he'd lose it forever.

Every single second, therefore, became as precious as anxious. And all Harry could do, no matter how much it shattered his nerves, was wait. Wait and trust his plan: his plan to interrogate the culprit, his plan to take back what was rightfully his, his plan to willingly use an Unforgivable Curse…

The countryside became fleeting as trees and their winter jackets gave way to buildings increasingly on stilts.

If Harry was honest with himself, the thought of using an Unforgivable made his skin squirm. And that wasn't even the spell that truly worried him. It was the one that could rip a person apart, steal their sense of self and leave them forever damaged - all without a mark - that made his insides consider a new direction. But he had to get his father's cloak back. He had no choice. Hadn't he?

Harry brushed aside the question. Right now, all that mattered, all he could think about was retrieving what was taken from him. He gripped his wand tighter, thinking he was willing to do whatever it took to make that happen…

Fifteen hours earlier.

It was past late by the time Harry lay down. The night was almost at its zenith, but the darkness within was only just beginning to simmer.

Ron, Neville, Seamus, Dean and he were all moved to the empty dorm room in Gryffindor Tower for the night; usually it was reserved for the Head Girl or Boy's accommodation should they wish to have their own. As it turned out, there hadn't been a Head Boy or Girl in Gryffindor since Percy and he had declined the benefit - for some reason that baffled Ron. This meant the room was covered in dust and none of them knew the spell to remove it, so each just set up their camp beds for the night and tried to sleep amongst it.

A spell crossed Harry's mind but he couldn't find it in him to tell the others. Nor even cast it himself. He simply lay as a stone and tried to sleep, numb to the world. Numb on the outside but on the inside a well of emotion deeper than he ever knew existed was seething to the surface and threatening to drag him under.

The boys talked for a while. Harry didn't have the heart to hear them. Once silence fell and candles were extinguished everyone slipped into a fitful sleep, ready to put this chapter of lives behind them. Everyone except Harry. Hours passed in wakeful restlessness, all the while he stirred deeper and deeper into a fever dream. A dream where waking up was the nightmare; where Harry's fears became reality, where his hopes burnt to regret and his choices corrupted the reflection in the mirror.

"Harry. Harry!" His mother's pleading voice jolted him out of sleep. Sitting bolt upright, Harry struggled to catch a fleeting breath. After a few dispiritingly reorienting moments, he realised it was sometime around dawn. Sleep, he knew, would not haunt him again - for better or worse. Careful not to disturb his dorm mates slumber, Harry shook off his dreams, dressed on autopilot and left. Instead of going outside for his morning run, however, he beelined for the Room of Requirement. The castle was hollow at this early hour; not even the portraits stirred and the fresh winter air had turned stale and hollow as if Hogwarts were winding down for hibernation over the holidays.

Three walks in front of the room produced exactly what Harry was after. Opening the door, he saw a bleak and barren space filled with only two objects: training dummies and punching bags.

He stepped into the room, quietly, calmly, coldly. His trainers barely gave the acoustics of the room anything to talk about and the sounds they did make as he moved forward, were swallowed by a heavy atmosphere. A hollowness greeted Harry's advance, as much as it did his catapulting thoughts. In his ears he heard his heart thumping, marching the same march it had done since last night. It was a march of sorrow, a march of shame, a march of despair…

Out of the emptiness, Harry struck; launching himself at the punch bag.

Caring little for how or why or what he was doing, he simply attacked: a feral beast letting loose its anger. Pushing past the point of feeling, Harry continued punching. He was so numb he barely noticed the sweat pouring off his body, the blood blossoming on his knuckles or the tears streaming from his eyes. He kept striking and striking, blind to anything else. Thoughts of last night flashed before him as he hit. Thoughts of Daphne and rejection. Of the Founder's book and his carelessness. Of cherishing his friends and their friendship. But what consumed him the most was thoughts of the father he never knew and the cloak he'd lost: the only link they had ever shared severed like the last limb from his lonely body.

Through rasping breaths and from somewhere within a terrible rage blazed to the forefront. A feeling that was fire burst through his veins and into his fist. The next thing he knew the punch bag flew off the chains with a horrible crack and shot across the room before exploding in a sorry shower of grain and sand.

Looking down, he saw his hand shaking; the energy within released to the world. Collapsing to the floor, Harry couldn't even comprehend what had happened. He simply cradled over and wept: yearning so desperately, so recklessly, so innately for the love of lost parents and letting exhaustion carry him to places unknown.

Time must have passed. Some point later the sun splashed its way through high-arching windows. Harry croaked into awareness to a tapping on the glass. Taking several orienting breathes he regained focus in his eyes long enough to see Hedwig perched like a staunch sentinel on the window sill. She was staring, piercing Harry with her gaze as though trying to convey some lost emotion through her deep yellow eyes.

Tentatively, as though testing to see if the weight of the world was still on his shoulders, Harry rose from the floor. Opening the window, Hedwig practically bounced inside, out of the cold and onto Harry's shoulder.

"Hello girl," Harry croaked, "How long have you been there?"

Her response was summed up in a long stare. She turned and glanced around the room. Following her gaze and reclaiming his bearings, Harry checked the clock on the wall: breakfast lurked around the corner.

"I'm glad you're still here to look out for me, Hedwig."

She nipped his ear playfully and relished Harry's fingers as they stroked her pristine snowy feathers. This simple act brought Harry a little bit more towards reality and a little bit further away from grieving.

"Thanks, girl. I owe you a box of very expensive treats." She cooed, which Harry interpreted as, 'I should think so.'

The weight was still there, it would always be, Harry reflected. But in place of sorrow, he felt a determination strike a match within him and in his mind, a plan started to form.

Harry shelved the thoughts of the sordid remains of the punchbag for later. For now, he had other priorities: a target that demanded his attention. He didn't know how, but he'd get it back. No matter what he had to do, he'd reclaim his father's cloak.

"I'm telling you guys, it was Malfoy. The slimy prick." Ron said, between bites of breakfast an hour later.

"Honestly Ron," Hermione said reprimandingly, momentarily breaking her study of the Daily Prophet.

"Change the record, mate," Seamus added. "I'm telling you I saw Malfoy plenty of times with my own eyes during the feast. So, how'd he manage to be in two places at once, let alone get into Gryffindor Tower."

Despite looking as though he'd tripped over a hurdle Ron pushed on, "Alright, I don't have all the answer, I'll admit that-"

"Always the first step," Ginny mumbled, which lightened Harry's face.

"-But as well as we know Malfoy, surely you can tell he's acting weird over there. He has been all year. I'm telling you, this is all just part of his act."

"I don't think so." A firm voice said. To everyone's surprise, it was Neville's.

"What d'ya mean?" Ron replied in between mouthfuls, everyone now diverted their attention to Neville. Something in his voice suggested certainty and Harry, for one, was interested in his quiet friend's opinion.

"Malfoy has been like this all year, that's true. But it's not been an act. He's afraid. You can see it in his eyes…" Neville said, staring at the teen across the room who more closely resembled a haunted figure from a ghost novel than the pompous prick Ron had called him in years passed. "It makes sense when you think about it. After what happened with his father last year, Voldemort is looking to punish the Malfoy's. So, it explains his overcast mood, his lack of taunting, his attitude in class and even towards Snape. He's afraid. Afraid of something bigger…of Voldemort." Neville seemed to be overcoming his own fears of the name as he spoke and his back became straighter and his expression hardened. Harry edged a smile, perhaps himself finding strength in his friend's bravery.

"An astute theory, Neville," Hermione concluded, sounding similar to McGonagall bestowing praise. Harry caught Neville trying not to flush.

"Actually, it's mostly Harry's," He added, "I just built on it a little."

"Still," Ron fired back, "that doesn't mean he didn't do it."

"It doesn't mean he did either." Ginny put in. "And if he did, I have to say he's hiding it well. As Neville said, he looks no different than normal." Glancing over to the other table, Harry had to admit it was hard not to agree with Ginny's assessment. With sunken eyes, gaunt features and a sullen expression, Malfoy was as far removed from last year as was possible. Neville was right. Malfoy was afraid. But instead of asking why he did it, Harry was forced to ask himself another question: What would that fear make him do? And from that came answers Harry knew were biased but pointed straight to Malfoy as the culprit.

'But Harry,' Hermione's voice inside Harry's head exclaimed. 'You don't have any proof. How could you possibly know.' Such reasoning Harry couldn't deny. However, there was something Hermione didn't know that gave Malfoy away. The cloak wasn't the target, the book was. Of that Harry was sure because no one who had knowledge of his cloak would go to such great lengths to steal it. Even if they did, they surely wouldn't have gone for the book as well. And that was the giveaway. Only someone who wanted to hurt Harry would take the cloak. That reduced the suspects to a small handful. And when you ruled out people who had access to Hogwarts, it narrowed the list down to an even smaller few. Yes, it was easy to point directly at Malfoy but, in all honesty, the simplest explanation was often the most accurate.

As he took in Malfoy's appearance, Harry's gaze was stolen momentarily by Daphne. She was in the middle of an argument with a put-out-looking Tracy far along the table from the other Slytherin's. Together they were talking in harsh whispers and sitting off to themselves. Tracy looked annoyed at Daphne and Harry wondered whether it was because rumour of their dance was making the rounds. Certainly, he had received a new amount of not-so-surreptitious eyes during breakfast. Whether those were due to the break-in last night, his and Daphne's dance or whatever Chosen One drama the prophet had recently drummed up, he didn't know. At this point, guessing was just as much folly as playing along. Usually, you had to wait until things calmed down to find out the true source, Harry knew and realising he was stretching the word true farther than Fang's jowls.

His eyes were about to leave the Slytherin's when he caught the ashen eyes of his prime suspect glaring at him. As if Harry needed another reason to convict Malfoy, one came in the form of his smug sallow face hidden behind a cowl of concocted indifference. If anything, underneath Malfoy appeared elated. Not that this would be gleaned by a mere look. At face value Neville was right. But look a little deeper, know your enemy as Harry did, and you would catch the vindictive glint in his eyes and with it the unmistakable hint of victory brandished beneath: A look one only gets when they've humiliated their deserving opponent.

An almost imperceptible crack of a smile from Malfoy was all it took for the beast inside Harry to rage. He gripped his fork so tightly it almost bent. The rush of magic from before charged to his hand and it took all of Harry's might to beat it back. Seeing him breathing harshly all of a sudden, Hermione elbowed him and asked if he was okay.

Save it for later, Harry!

"Fine." He said, very much in the vein of his last year's brooding self.

While his Friends carried on, Harry ignored their discussion: Something about a lack of deaths in the Daily Prophet and Minister Scrimgeour's phoney proclamation of victory. It went over Harry's head as if it were written on one of the ministry's interdepartmental aeroplanes; which it probably had between Scrimgeour and his desperate Department of Magical Law 'Enforcement'.

Instead, Harry began to form a plan. If he was right, he only had one shot at taking his belongings back. And it would require a helping hand.

They packed their belongings - what was left of them for Harry and Ron - and boarded the train in a blur. His silence was starting to draw the concerned stares of his friends by the time the train heaved into gear. He nodded and shook off questions. A book on transfiguration lay unread in his lap. Instead, he focused on what he would need to do and when.

For the next few hours, the blur continued, conversations distorted, until finally, he could take no more. Excusing himself from the growingly agitated looks of his friends, Harry headed towards the Slytherin carriages.

Harry didn't like to leave anything to chance, but he felt he had little choice. Armed with just his plan and his wand, Harry prepared himself for a battle.

Before he knew it, someone had grabbed the back of his robes and was yanking him into a bathroom. A combination of fury, indignation and aggression burst out of him. With lightning speed, Harry's Holly wand was in his hand and stabbing at the neck of his assailant.

Until his eyes bulged in surprise. "Daphne?"

"Potter," she gargled, the wand sticking deeply into her neck. Harry removed it.

"Sorry," and he was. Then he realised the position they were in. She chocked through her next breath. "Wait, why did you-." He started to ask but she placed a hand over his mouth and shut the door. Waving her wand over it, Harry recognised the silencing spell she had taught him fall over the small cabin they now found themselves in. Harry was grateful he was used to small spaces from living under the stairs for so long, otherwise, this might be more awkward than it already was.

"Okay, now we can talk," She said, tucking her hair behind her ear and rubbing her throat.

Any other time and Harry would have done somersaults at the thought of Daphne dragging him somewhere secluded. But right now it couldn't have been further from his mind. "Fine, let's start with what the hell?"

"Listen, Potter." She said rather shortly, "We don't have much time. I think I know who broke into your dorm room yesterday. And I think I know how."

"Malfoy," Harry said before he could help himself. Real tactful, Harry.

Daphne was taken aback. "What would make you think that?" She asked eyeing his response as though she were a detective searching for clues in his face.

This time Harry was wise enough to keep tight-lipped. "I have my reasons."

"Well, it wasn't…exactly." She stated steadfastly.

"What? Then who?"

"I think…I think Tracy did it." All of a sudden Harry's lip was no longer tight.

"What! Tracy Davis? Why would she do something like that? I thought she was your friend."

"Listen, Potter!" Daphne all but snapped through gritted jaws; Harry clenched his own. "Before I left for Slughorn's party, Tracy started to feel sick. She was about to go to the feast and then suddenly couldn't go. I didn't think anything of it and she said it wasn't worth bothering Madam Pomfrey over so I left her like that. Well, when I came back later that night she was shaking like a leaf. She said she couldn't remember anything about the past few hours and that she had a bad feeling she'd done something horrible. I thought it might be a fever talking, but she begged me not to tell anyone, especially any of the teachers. I asked why and she showed me her hands. They were black with soot and small burns all over them." Daphne indicated on her own hands where this was.

"I had no idea what she was talking about so I cleaned her up and put her to bed. I didn't think much of it until I heard about someone breaking into your dorm this morning. Suddenly when she said she didn't remember anything, that she felt hazy and sick, I thought it must be-"

"The Imperius Curse." Harry filled in.

"-Exactly," Daphne confirmed.

"And who cast it?" Harry asked eagerly. Here Daphne hesitated. "Daphne?" He reached his arm out to comfort her shoulder. It was just a natural reaction, but he stopped his hand mid-stretch thinking better of it.

"I, umm…I think it was Blaise." That made Harry pause. Why the hell would Blaise want Tracy to break into my room, Harry thought. He also thought he should have punched Blaise when he had the chance last night.

"Blaise was the only one who came to our dorm room last night when I wasn't there. He came when I was getting ready to give me a corsage. I wasn't interested so Tracy made him wait in the hall. I didn't think anything of it. Tracy then started to feel ill and by the time I left she was half-sleeping."

"So, you think Blaise was the only one who could have placed the curse on her?"

"No one else came or went during that time."

"But then-" Someone knocked on the bathroom door. Harry reached out an instinctive hand and clutched Daphne's arm.

She placed a placating hand on his chest. "They can't hear us, Potter. But we can hear them as normal." The cramped quarters of the toilet bathroom felt suddenly more apparent. Harry dropped his arm, trying to focus on his anger rather than present company.

He dropped his voice, not wanting to tempt anyone with keen ears. "What if they don't leave?"

"Then I'll tell you the rest quickly." Daphne continued on in the same volume regardless, although her voice took on some ice that wasn't there before. "Blaise was acting really weird last night." Harry raised an eyebrow as if to say 'no duh.'

"-No," Daphne continued, "I mean, weird for Blaise. Usually, he's less cocky, more reserved. He's arrogant, don't get me wrong, but I've never seen him act like that before: the way he was behaving, chatting up girls, drinking lots, cosying up to Slughorn-"

"-Showing you off," Harry supplied. Thinking back to how he had thought Blaise was buffing up his chest and giving him the invisible finger as he coveted Daphne on his arm made Harry's stomach churn.

"Something like that," Daphne said.

"I mean, it felt like he wanted to rub the fact that you were with him in my face yesterday when we met in front of Slughorn."

"I agree. Yet, he's never usually stoked with so much bravado," she spoke the last word as though it disgusted her.

"Are you sure he wasn't just happy to show you off?" Harry said, trying to find the simple logic to the Slytherin's actions.

"I'm sure it was more than that. I mean why show off to you at all. He doesn't know about us…well,- that we're talking to each other," she said, hopping over her words. Was it Harry or were the cabin walls closing in around the two of them?

"Right, of course. But that wouldn't stop him showing off…," Harry paused before abandoning his hesitance. There was no need to be coy right now, "-I mean…showing off the prettiest girl in school in front of Slytherin's biggest enemy in school." Harry found it hard to look at Daphne as he said that. He didn't know why but he shuffled his feet.

Daphne held his gaze for a long moment: nothing was said but the intensity she bore made her rejection last night echo round his heart solidifying the bitterness into the wall of resentment.

"Well…even so," Daphne said after a small cough, "Blaise wouldn't normally do that. He only asked me in the first place because it meant less hassle for either of us. He didn't even really want to go. Then all of a sudden he's Mr Hubris. I don't think so."

"So, what are you saying?" Harry asked.

Daphne collected her thoughts before speaking, as though she were checking her calculations in her mind before repeating her answer. "I know Blaise….and he wasn't acting like himself last night. In fact, if he was acting like anyone it was…well…"

"Malfoy?" Harry supplied, his brow creasing as he too tried to work out her conclusion.

"Sort of, yeah. Except, the way Malfoy used to act: Like a stuck up asshole. And this morning, Blaise was back to his normal self: sullen, abrasive and if anything, more reserved than usual. He also looked a little sickly."

Harry took a moment to absorb everything she'd said. Thankfully, the person on the other side of the door had abandoned hope of using this bathroom by now. "So, just to be clear, you're saying-."

"That, maybe, Malfoy," Daphne picked up, "used the imperious on Blaise, who then used it on Tracy to break into Gryffindor Tower and steal something from you, all the while Malfoy sat pretending to eat at the feast."

"Is that even possible?" Harry asked, "To have a person under the influence of imperious perform The Imperius?"

Daphne half shrugged. "I've never heard of it before, but that doesn't mean it can't be done. And I know it sounds farfetched, but it's more plausible than Tracy and Blaise doing it. They're hardly the biggest fans of the chosen one, but up to now they weren't exactly in Malfoy's boyband either…"

"I guess…" Harry was a little too stunned to think. In his mind, he'd thought Malfoy had either given someone Polyjuice so they could sit at the feast in his place, or found a way to slip out unnoticed for a short time. Placing the curse, not once but twice, so if anything went wrong the second person could be blamed was either very clever or very desperate of Malfoy. Meanwhile, Daphne bit her lip as if debating on whether to say her next words out loud. "What is it?" Harry prompted.

"Well, there's something else too. Something that makes me certain Blaise wasn't Blaise last night."

"Oh?" Harry was curious why she seemed afraid to tell him.

"He tried it on with me…on the way back to the dorm."

"What?" Annoyance burst out of him.

"Listen, Potter." She said, placating him with her hands. "He accosted me after we danced together and wanted to know what it was all about. I told him it was nothing and played it off as politeness. It was none of his business I said and that even if it was I would never do anything with Gryffindor's Golden Boy." She appeared to realise what she'd said, but it was too late, the words had already sent what was left of Harry's heart tumbling from its perch, crashing through his body until finally his entire insides were laid bare on the bathroom floor.

"Anyway," Daphne seemed to want to move on. For that, at least, Harry was grateful, "Malfoy/Blaise then tried coming onto me. I was having none of it, of course, and kneed him where it hurts."

"Did he…you know, get rough with you?" Even the thought of Malfoy doing that made Harry want to tear him apart all the more.

"No. Not that I gave him the chance." Daphne replied emphatically. Harry breathed a sigh of relief, he wouldn't show Malfoy any mercy anyway.

"Okay, so… what's your point?" Harry said, finding it impossible to keep his voice uncompromised.

"Don't you see? Blaise would never do that! But Malfoy, he's tried it a few times in years past, but I've always sent him packing. This was sort of like before. It was then I knew something was really wrong with Blaise and that Tracy's fever and burn's might be connected. When I heard about your dorm this morning it was the final piece of the puzzle."

"That's probably why Blaise or Malfoy was so cocky," Harry concluded piecing his own together. "He'd probably already conducted the break-in and was flaunting his success as much as he was…well, you."

Daphne shivered, the mere thought of allowing someone Malfoy was possessing that close to her made her cringe. Harry couldn't blame her there: it was beyond creepy.

"Wait a minute," Harry continued, "How did Malfoy, Blaise, or Tracy, whatever, know the password to Gryffindor Tower?" But as soon as he asked he already knew. "He Imperiorised someone in Gryffindor to tell him."

"That was my best guess. Remember when Snape held us back a few weeks ago and I barely made it to our training session. That was because someone from Slytherin was after the Gryffindor password. If it was Malfoy, then he failed spectacularly that time. He must have figured out how to do it without drawing attention since."

"And you have no idea what she, -Malfoy stole?" Harry asked.

"No. Tracy had nothing with her when I got back."

Harry took her in for a second, checking over the logic of the argument in his head and wondering what he could do with the information. He was going after Malfoy anyway, and if anything this just washed away any reservations about using an Unforgivable.

"I'm not lying to you Potter," Daphne interrupted, mistaking his stare for scepticism.

"That's not what I was wondering."

"Then what were you wondering?"

"I was wondering why you're telling me," Harry replied heatedly.

Daphne exhaled with force. "Look I don't have much time, I just saw you at breakfast today and you looked so…angry. Like you were about to do something drastic, or worse…"

"Stupid." Harry filled in, letting judgement slip into his voice.

"I didn't say that. I just…I just…urgh." She crossed her hands over her chest and tried for a calming breath. "I wanted you to know who did it and that it wasn't Tracy's fault." Well, at least her true intentions are revealed, Harry thought bitterly.

"I don't blame her." The words came out colder than Harry intended. "I already knew it was Malfoy."

"How could you have?"

"I have my own reasons." Harry thought back to the look he'd received at breakfast. "Malfoy is many things, but subtle is not one of them."

After a pause in which Daphne searched his eyes, as if it doing so would gain her a glimpse into his soul, she said. "You're going to go after him, aren't you? That's why you're here in the Slytherin carriage." Harry simply stared back by way of a response. "And what will you do to him?"

"Whatever I have to." He replied bluntly and he meant it. Daphne's account had only confirmed what Harry already knew and now the target on Malfoy's back had grown even larger.

"Far be it for me to judge but be careful, Harry…" She said as a shadow fell over her brow, "Revenge can consume you…"

She moved to leave but stopped halfway to the door, which considering their close quarters meant she was basically brushing by his chest. "I'm sorry about your room." She said without looking. "I know it's a stupid question, but did she, -Malfoy, take anything of value?"

Harry simply nodded, not wanting to relive it. He turned away to look out at the countryside flashing by the window. The wind had flattened any trace of hills or trees to make way for the flat fields in the home stretch before London. Out of nowhere, Tingles erupted up his arm. For a fleeting second, Daphne grazed her hand against his. Fingertips met fingertips. Their eyes stole a gaze. A moment after and she had slipped out of the bathroom cabin without another word, leaving Harry to deal with the emotional pileup she'd caused.

The next hour passed in a whirl of anxiety. Would his plan work? Could he trust his accomplice? What if they reached Kinscross and nothing happened? How would he get his cloak back then? Had Daphne meant everything she'd said? Was she concerned about him or just watching out for her friends?

Harry swallowed his apprehending mind and summoned his attention to the now. Casting disillusionment on himself, he made sure to disable the other two toilets on the carriage by locking the doors with an advanced version of Colloportus called Muras Ostia. After that, all he could do was wait.

Finally and with only ten minutes left, Harry heard a figure moving down the hallway to him. It was huffing and strutting in unconcealed annoyance. Harry leant against the inner wall of the cabin, cast a disillusionment charm on himself and stood stock still. A sensation that felt like a pot of honey was being tipped over him spread from the top of his head down his body.

With force, the person yanked the door open and walked in. Harry dared not breathe. Malfoy was fuming.

"Stupid bloody drinks lady," he rambled but didn't notice Harry. Snatching a towel, he tried to get the drink off his dripping head.

Well done, Dobby! He would have to thank the ever eager Elf for his help. Figuring Malfoy would be on his absolute guard around Harry or any of his friends, Harry thought his best bet would be to trick Malfoy into isolating himself. So, he'd incurred the help of Dobby to wait underneath the drink's lady's trolley until she went to Draco's compartment. Once there, and hidden, Dobby would enchant one of the drinks to spill over everyone, but mostly Malfoy. It would have to be a lot, in order to get him to come to the bathroom, otherwise, he could just use the Scouring Charm.

Dobby, it seemed, had taken this challenge to heart and spilt half the drinks available over Malfoy, who was attempting to dry off what smelled like a mixture of Butterbear, month-old Gillywater and some of Trelawney's lost cherry. Now, it was up to Harry.

Wand already in hand and pointing at Malfoy's back, all Harry had to do was utter the curse. The same one Malfoy had mercilessly used on Blaise and Tracy. The same one that made Daphne recoil. The same one Voldemort used on helpless families….To fight the fire, the words rang around Harry's mind.

Just as the spell was on the tip of his tongue, Malfoy cursed in annoyance, threw the towel against the mirror and collapsed on the sink. Harry was stunned but didn't move. Malfoy was wheezing as though the air was being sucked from the room. Harry looked out the open window. The buildings were now so high they were obscuring the sky. Kinscross was nigh.

But Malfoy continued to struggle with his breathing and when he reared his head once more, Harry noticed the gaunt Slytherin, his nemesis since their first day of school, the bully that tormented any who crossed his path, was crying. Tears flattened his cheeks in sporadic waves. Almost as if he was afraid to look at himself, Malfoy peaked a glance in the mirror: A look of pure anguish had overtaken him.

And in that moment Harry knew without a doubt that Malfoy wasn't simply afraid, he was terrified beyond any measure he'd ever seen. A dawning realisation struck Harry, like a blow to the head.

"Imperio", he said without thinking.

A look of utter bliss fell over Malfoy, relieving the white-knuckled teen from the sink and with it his worries.

He then cast Muffliato over the door, silencing him and Draco within the room just as Daphne had done. Knowing he had to hurry, Harry brought all his knowledge of the next spell to the forefront. He was sure what he would find when he looked, but he had to perform it anyway.

"Ligilimens." Words Harry took no pleasure in uttering but knew he had to do it regardless.

Images invaded his mind, except they weren't his own; images of the Slytherin common room, Malfoy in classes, Moaning Murtle's bathroom and her comforting him, surreptitious glances at Hogwarts girls, Susan Bones, Pansy Parkinson, then ogling glances at Daphne… Harry fought his own irritation at them and pushed through.

This wasn't like being in a pensive with Dumbledore. These memories flung themselves by in a tornado of control.

In the chaos, Harry thought the word Imperio, and suddenly he found a distorted reel of Malfoy casting the curse. He practised on Crabbe and Goyle, then on unsuspecting first years. The depth of control he wielded with the curse, the same control that Harry now possessed, almost made him rethink his own actions. Finally, images of Blaise manifested. Things became hazier as somehow Tracy was involved. He saw Malfoy sipping on a potion of some kind. Then, almost through a veil of flashes, he saw fire, his dorm room and images of his trunk bursting under the pressure of dark curses, uttered from Tracy's tongue but with Malfoy's voice.

These confirmed Daphne's theory. Yet, now that he was here, a new thought materialised and with it new memories.

Even though Malfoy was under the imperious, his mind was still flinching and resisting the images as Harry tumbled through. Recalling his Occlumency training, Harry calmed himself and tried to steady his mind within Mafloy's. But it didn't help much, the two disciplines were at opposite ends of a spectrum: If Occlumency was a slow reinforcement, then Legilimency was a reckless battering ram: One Harry had no practice in harnessing.

Absently, as though he wasn't even in his own body but rather in Malfoy's mind, Harry felt, from afar, beads of sweat falling down his head. He gritted his teeth, or at least he thought he did and forced a word to the forefront. A word Malfoy didn't want to contemplate.

Voldemort… Out of the flashing images, a few lodged to the forefront. Here, Malfoy winced at their very thought, as though his fear was so strong he couldn't bear to relive them even subconsciously.

"I have two tasks for you, Draco." Voldemort serpentine voice said through the fog, though Harry could not get the image to stabilise.

"It is clear a student possesses something which is beyond them…Something which belongs to me. Bring it back to me…The second…" Here the memory distorted as Malfoy practically clawed at the images begging beyond the pale of his consciousness not to witness it again. Harry tried to calm the swell of Malfoy's terror to no avail.

"Your father has his own mission." Voldemort's words flooded through. "One where he can finally redeem himself." A disgusting grin materialised on Voldemort's face, barely any trace left of the handsome features Harry had seen in the Pensieve; the ruthless memory of Voldemort's porcelain and infernal face was seared into Malfoy's mind forever.

"-Succeed and I shall consider a punishment less harsh…" and with this Voldemort brandished his wand. Malfoy cowered, turning his cheek as if to hide behind a mother that could not help him - paralysed along with all the other Death Eater's as she was on the sidelines.

"-Fail me…and I shall make you beg for such a sweet punishment as they will receive."

Out of nowhere, Malfoy's memory exploded in pain. Bullets like red hot knives stabbed at his every existence and Harry was forced to relive the nightmare of the Cruicatus through Malfoy's mind.

Before he knew what was happening Harry had slunk back against the wall of the bathroom cabin. It took him a strangled moment to realise where he was and that Malfoy was coming to his senses. The Imperius must have broken. So too, had the disillusionment spell, for Malfoy locked eyes with Harry in the mirror. Rage devoured his eyes.

"Potter!" He choked, "Avad-

"Obliviate!" Harry shouted. The spell leaping out before he could think it. A clumsy confused look overtook Malfoy. Harry choked in a breath.

The spell's curtain would last barely a minute. Hastily, Harry searched Malfoy. As he thought, his rival would trust no other with the safe-keeping of the two items that would redeem his family in Voldemort's eyes. Both the book and Harry's cloak were in the banner of his waistband. Grasping the cloak as if it were the cliff's edge he was dangling from, Harry understood just how much it meant to him: A soft, comforting and wholesome reminder of who he was and why he had set himself down this path.

His eyes then caught on something, the same something from Malfoy's memory, that was tucked in his waistband. All of a sudden, Harry realised what had been the cause of Malfoy's manic elation this term. Sitting there, almost completely used up, was the golden syrupy potion of Felix Felicis. Like dominoes falling or snow in a storm, his next realisation came tumbling only a moment later: Malfoy was saving the last of the lucky potion for his encounter with Voldemort. Harry knew it without knowing. Even though Malfoy had retrieved the Founders Book, that was still only half of his mission. Whatever the other part was, it was clear that Voldemort was looking for any excuse to make an example out of the Malfoy's.

Catching himself in the mirror, the gravity of his actions came startlingly to the forefront. If he took the cloak and book from Malfoy now, then he was essentially dooming him and his parents to death.

Outside the train started to slow and the belly of London loomed. Harry had to make a decision and fast. On the one hand, he couldn't let Voldemort get the book. After all, Voldemort wanted it for a reason and whatever it was must be important. But he couldn't let his father's cloak go…could he?

On the other hand was the lives of the Malfoy's. The family that had done nothing except attempt to put his life in danger since he'd entered Hogwarts…

A banging on the door broke Harry's concentration. "Draco? We're here." It was Goyle.

Pulling out his wand, Harry quickly cast the double charm on the Founder's book, as he had done with his eastern Magic book he gave Daphne. He placed the copy back in Malfoy's waistband and then with regret that pulled at his heartstrings, he placed his father's cloak back there as well.

Malfoy would not know the difference between the fake Founder's book and the real one. So to his knowledge, he was only doing what Voldemort had told him. Especially with a wiped memory. But Harry couldn't simply charm another invisibility cloak into existence. So, despite an ache that tore at him from inside, he chose to leave his cloak in the hope it would save Malfoy's life.

Another loud knock. "Draco?"

With one last chug, the Hogwarts Express lurched to a stop. They had reached Platform 9 and 3/4. Flicking his wand at the door, Harry lifted the privacy spell. He then cast disillusionment on himself and stood stone still in the corner just in time for the glazed look on Malfoy's face to lift.

Did it work? Harry was hardly gifted at the spell. He had no choice but to wait and see as his nerves crashed round his body.

Comprehension seemed to find its way onto Draco's face once more as a third knock hounded the small cabin. Malfoy looked around mysteriously for a second. Harry's heart was in his throat. Catching his own reflection in the mirror, Malfoy huffed in annoyance.

"Draco!" This time the knock was more of a bang that shook the cabin.

Malfoy whirled round and yanked the door open, "What?"

Goyle flinched, "We're here." Harry held his breath and clutched the book to his chest.

"Oh. Whatever." Malfoy replied and they left the bathroom and its final occupant to exhale. Harry waited half a minute for Malfoy to get out of sight before he cast finite on himself and dismounted the train as well.

Malfoy was nowhere to be seen on the Platform. His friends were waiting for him a little way up the train. They wore a combination of expressions on a scale between plain worry and nervous wreck.

"Harry, where in Merlin's name have you been?" Hermione said as soon as he was within earshot; she was at the highest end of the scale, looking like she'd just ridden a rollercoaster for seven hours instead of the Hogwarts Express. Neville, Ron, Ginny and Luna followed with a series of similar questions.

"-There you are! are you alright mate?"

"We looked everywhere for you."

"We're you gone, Harry?" Luna coupled the last question with a melodious air; she represented the other end of the scale to Hermione.

Harry didn't know what to say. So much had happened. And after everything, he'd come away without his father's cloak. He took solace in the fact that The Founder's Book was, at least, cradled safely in his pocket and his friends were here to help him through the loss.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he managed to say. "Sorry I worried you. I was er…-Well it doesn't matter. I'll tell you later. Oh, look ." Before they knew it the Weasley matriarch had descended on them and enveloped everyone in her traditional bone-crushing hug. The twins arrived with her as well as a ministry contingent of stern faces and hardened emotions ready to take them back to The Burrow.

It was obvious his friends wanted an explanation - desperately in Hermione's case - but with everyone surrounding them, there was no safe place to tell it. Hermione gave him a pointed look as though she would ask repeatedly later and Neville gave him a secretive nod as though asking whether Harry was really alright. He managed a smile and hugged both gratefully, promising answers.

As they left the station and were taken to The Burrow in three expanded ministry cars, Harry soaked in the view from the window. The streets of London were filled to the brim with people; the muggles living in blissful ignorance; the families living unblemished by the shadow of war; the teenagers his own age who were so close yet so far from knowing what it meant to have their lives snatched away. Ron and Ginny were in the same boat. Mrs Weasley made sure to cradle both of them into blushing embarrassment on the car journey back. Almost as an out of body experience, yet somehow feeling more real than most other things could, Harry felt like he held all of their lives in his hands. Even the Aurors, who kept sending not so furtive glances in his direction through the rearview mirror, had no idea what walking on a knife's edge felt like. Tingles flushed his hand that had nothing to do with his wand, magic or winter's chill. Truly speaking, he was the chosen one and if he was going to win the war for his friends, he was going to have to make more decisions that let what he wanted slip through his fingers in favour of the need to save lives.

The sky opened up as they traded the roaring metropolis of London for the mossy moors of Dartmoor. The waning sun cracked its head through the clouds only once on the journey. It was enough to remind Harry that even in his darkest hour, his love for his parents and friends would still shine through.

'This is for you now.'

The vow to his parents in the summer echoed in his mind. It had changed his life. Now, taking in the lives of his friends, adoptive family, witches and wizards he didn't know and even the muggles passing by the window, he extended it to them. 'This is for all you.' The sun was setting, but Harry's vow was only just beginning.