Harry Potter and the Year of the One

by Ash9

Sequel to HP and the Bloody Summer- 6th yr. Did Harry survive attempt after attempt on his life only to die in the end? Complete! Epilogue now posted.

26. Naked Soul

Chapter Twenty-Four: Naked Soul

Cho remained unconscious as Hermione and Harry looked her over. She had scrapes and bruises, but no serious injuries. Ginny knelt beside Harry and he turned to put his arms around her. In a small, melancholy voice, she whispered, "If Cho hadn't had the coin . . ."

Harry nodded, his jaw clenched tight. A small, burning nugget of anger formed in his gut.

Hermione sniffed and stood. "We have to get her to the Infirmary. And Dean, too, until we're sure the Imperius Curse has been overcome. Ron, can you get Cho?"

Ron ducked down, met Harry's eyes briefly, and then scooped Cho into his arms.

With a muttered "Mobilicorpus!" Hermione lifted Dean's frozen body with an imperious sniff at Ron's show of macho power. "Harry, I really need to talk to you."

Harry paused. "About what?"

"About how you're going to kill Voldemort," she said matter-of-factly. Everyone stopped moving and stared at Hermione, who took this as a chance not to be wasted. "Well, now that it looks as if you've made it past the SDSes, minus one attempt, it's time to start thinking about dealing with Voldemort."

Irritation made Harry's voice sharp. "I haven't stopped thinking about Tom for one minute. You know that."

Hermione, clearly flustered but determined, went on. "Of course, but have you come with a plan yet?"

"Procclumency . . . and . . ." Harry looked away. "I dunno, maybe my shield will come in handy."

"Harry, that's not nearly good enough. You need a solid plan that won't fall through no matter what happens!"

"Why are we talking about this now? There's still at least one Slytherin walking around with my name at the top of the 'To-be-killed List.'"

Ginny slid a hand into his, making it very hard to stay angry. "Remember, Harry. Hermione was put in charge of researching ways for you to kill Tom by the Headmaster. It won't hurt to listen."

Harry stared at the floor and took a deep breath, before locking eyes with Hermione. "What have you got?"

"Well. This was a big problem to tackle. At first it seemed nearly impossible, especially given that the entire library was now open to me and—"

Ron groaned.

"Perhaps you should skip to the part where you found something," Ginny suggested.

"Oh, all right," Hermione snapped. "Summarily, I was led to an older copy of Moste Potente Potions, which includes several dark magic potions in the text. Aldous Puddlearia, the author, maintained that it was necessary for all wizards to know which dark potions which might be used—"

Ron groaned again. "It's like an avalanche of useless information, all while I'm standing here with a bleeding girl in my arms!"

"All right! All right!" Hermione exploded.

"Do you need me to carry her, Ron?" Ginny asked sweetly. "Is the ickle girly Ronniepoo not strong enough to carry the—"

"No, but can we at least walk while we listen?"

"There are spies everywhere, Ron! This office is one of the few safe places!"

As if to underscore her point, the ghostly form of Dobby appeared before them in Dumbledore's office.

"Mister Harry Potter, sir, Dobby has news, sir—bad news! Dobby doesn't know what to do!"

"Where have you been?"

"Watching Duffy, Mister Harry Potter, sir. But the bad House Elf is gone!"

"Gone?" Harry felt dread creep down his spine.

"Dobby was watching him, sir, hiding and watching him, when the bad House Elf turned into Binky!"

"Binky!" Ron interrupted. "Who the bloody hell is Binky?"

"Oh, Binky is a good House Elf, but now she was Polyjuiced to be Duffy and now Dobby isn't knowing where Duffy is!" The great greenish-gray eyes grew shiny and wet-looking, though still ghostly.

"Wait!" Hermione interrupted. "Are you saying that there is no Duffy, and that he was just Binky Polyjuiced and Imperiused all along?"

"Oh, no, no, Binky and Duffy were often there together, so we know there was a Duffy. But we don't know when he left or where he went."

"Is it just me, or is there an awful lot of Polyjuice Potion going around these days?" Harry said tersely.

Hermione caught his eye. "Of course, you know what that means."

"Snape."

"Bloody hell." Ron muttered again.

"Dobby, I need you to go check on the Headmaster. Report back to me after you make sure that he's all right."

"Yes sir, Harry Potter, sir." With that, the House Elf was gone.

"You think the slimy git's going to go after Dumbledore?" Ron asked as they all stared at each other.

"Of course," Hermione answered with sudden vehemence. "If he's switched sides, or never been on our side to begin with, then he'll have to get rid of Dumbledore first."

"Snape couldn't kill Dumbledore!" Ginny interjected. "Dumbledore could out-duel anyone!"

"Maybe not if he's caught unexpectedly, and by someone he trusts," Harry said slowly.

"How awful," Ginny whispered.

"Let's get out there and see what's going on," Harry said, springing his wand out of its holster. He tensed the muscle on his left bicep and felt the familiar binding of his poison antidote. But wait—Snape had made that antidote. Harry shook his head, deciding then and there not to trust it.

With Ginny in the lead, giving Harry a whispered, "Shove off," when he complained, the group headed warily down the spiral staircase, very unsure of what they would find in the hallways. At first glance, however, everything seemed normal.

"So . . . will the SDSes just give up if the anger bit doesn't go off well, either?" Ron asked as he maneuvered Cho out of the door, glancing right and left several times.

"They'll have to," Ginny said grimly, "since they'll mostly be dead."

Harry glanced at her in surprise. "I forgot about that. Do you think they'll all be killed for this? For failing?"

"Yes," Hermione broke in. "They all knew what the price was going to be before they began this and did it anyway. Poor Dean was simply—"

"Harry!"

They all spun around.

"Professor Lupin?" Harry watched his former teacher charge down the hallway to him. "What's going on?"

"Harry, Ron—is everyone all right?" When he stopped and bent over slightly to get his breath, Harry noticed that the Marauder's Map was clutched in his hand.

"Yes, sir. Could I see the map?"

"What?"

Harry jerked his hand and his wand was suddenly there, pointed at his former Professor. "Map, please."

Remus froze, then sighed. "We don't have time for this, Harry, but yes—here, you can see that I am me." He stretched it out and Harry moved close enough to see "Lupin, Remus" listed in the hallway beside "Potter, Harry." There was also a figure moving quickly up the stairs toward them—"Tonks, Nymphadora."

"How is Miss Chang?"

Harry turned to look at the girl in Ron's arms, bleeding and unconscious. "She seems to be all right. They didn't have her very long, I . . ."

Remus straightened up and started to speak, then froze. "Why has Dean been Petrified?" His gaze settled on Harry, who really didn't feel like answering the question at the moment.

"He was under the Imperius Professor Lupin," Ginny spoke up. "He tried to kill Harry."

Remus stared and shook his head, putting a heavy on Harry's shoulder. "You need to come with me. Obviously, it's not safe for you to be wandering the halls."

Harry started to ask about Dumbledore, but the sound of footfalls came from around the corner and Tonks shot into view. "I'm here," she called out to them. "Go on. Remus, I'll take the girls!"

Remus glanced at her and nodded, before fixing his eyes on the group before him. "All right, you have to split up. Harry, Ron—come with me. Hermione, Ginny, you take Cho and Dean to the Infirmary. Tonks will accompany you, and—could you carry Cho?" he asked Tonks briefly. "Good. Professor Dumbledore will be there shortly to catch you up."

"So he's all right, then?"

Remus frowned, "Why wouldn't he be?"

Harry quickly explained what Dobby had told them, and Remus' face grew grim. "No, the Headmaster is fine. I'm afraid 'Duffy' is after other game. Let's get you some place safe, Harry. Now."

Harry mumbled a good-bye to Hermione as she hugged him, somehow managing to feel oppressed by all the protection even as he told himself it was for his good, which made it for everyone's good. Ginny kissed him on the cheek, and he put an arm around her waist to pull her close, suddenly not wanting to let go. He reached his other arm around to hold her, fighting the brief panic that wanted to take hold. He looked down into her brown velvet eyes.

"Be careful," he whispered.

"I will," she said softly, "unless I see a few certain Slytherins, at which time I simply cannot be held responsible for my actions. I'm sure you understand." She gave him a sweet smile and a kiss on the cheek.

Harry's jaw clenched involuntarily. "Oh I understand," he said through gritted teeth.

Then Ginny's eyes softened and the first hint of doubt settled in them. "Please be careful. I love you, Harry."

Harry's throat closed at those words, words he had gone so long without hearing. They burrowed deep in his heart, leaving an electrified path that cut clear to his core. He worked to say something, but couldn't. Ginny smiled again.

"Come on, Harry," Remus prodded, studying the Marauder's Map, "We have to move now!"

Harry glanced over to where Ron was kissing Hermione. "Are you sure they'll be safe?"

"Yes, the path is clear to the Infirmary. Let's go."

Harry sighed and let Ginny go, holding her hand until her fingers slipped from his own.

"Stay safe," she told him. He nodded and watched them walk away until Ron tugged him backwards.

"Come on, Dashing Dick, you'll have plenty of time to catch up on snogging later," Ron goaded him as they followed Professor Lupin.

"Dashing Dick?" Harry groused. "How old are you?"

Ron just grinned. "Mum used to have a book with that bloke in it. Honest. Dashing Dick and Glinda Golightly. Taught us how to read and all that. Horrid book."

Harry was noticing the tense set of Remus' shoulders. "Where are we going, Professor Lupin?"

"Room of Requirement. Need a safe place to tuck you in for a while."

"Why?" Harry exchanged looks with Ron. "What's going on?"

"Lucius Malfoy." Remus didn't break a stride as he shot the words over his shoulder, "He's in the castle."

Harry stopped dead still.

Couldn't move.

Couldn't breathe.

Cold flooded his body, followed by a feverish flush that left him shaking—

"Harry?"

—shaking and remembering—hate-filled eyes, echoes of red-hot pain and a cold, pale whisper in his ear, 'Have you ever imagined what revenge feels like?'"

"Harry—breathe, mate!" Someone hit him on the back—hard—several times. Ron. "Come on!"

Harry blinked. Tried to breathe. Tried to speak. Couldn't.

"What the bloody hell . . ."

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and finally forced a shallow breath in, then another. Another hand forced him to bend over.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I shouldn't have thrown that at you, but we haven't a second to spare. The entire castle has to be shut-down, all students accounted for, and getting you safe first is a priority." Remus paused. Harry felt childish, fighting for breath in the middle of the hallway for no reason. But his stomach would persist in heaving horribly.

"Are you all right now?"

Harry forced himself up and found Ron staring at him, mouth agape. Harry nodded and started walking again, his body weak but functioning now. The others followed and caught him up, one on each side.

"Tell us if you feel weak again."

Ron was staring across Harry at Remus. Then he pulled something out of his pocket and stared at it. Harry glanced across and saw the stone in Ron's hand, looking oddly blank.

Ron pocketed it again, muttering an oath against totally useless magically-enhanced objects. After a moment, he turned to look at Remus again. "D'you think that the House Elf was Lucius?"

"No," Remus replied quickly. "Definitely not. Lucius apparently arrived just before the Quidditch Match. We'll have more time to explain later. Let's move."

The walk to the Room of Requirement was speedy and quiet, and oddly strengthening for Harry. The first spasm of whatever it was he'd felt at the mention of Lucius' name had faded now, much like the initial pain of pulling a scab off a wound passes quickly. In its place were severe agitation and an overwhelming desire to punch somebody. Harry forced this down and tried to stay calm. He could fight this. In fact, why was he even going to hide?

"Wait—" he stopped, but they were already there. Remus had begun his pacing in front of the room, a frown on his face. Harry looked at Ron.

"Why are we hiding instead of helping them hunt the wizard down?"

"Just a guess, but how about because you threw a wobbly when you heard the wizard's name?"

Harry glared at him.

"All right, then, how about because you just survived three death attempts in a row and we don't want to try the odds on a fourth?"

Harry shook his head disgustedly.

Ron narrowed his eyes. "Then how about this one: because if Lucius-the-bastard-son-of-Satan gets to you, then there's going to be a huge row and you'll kick his arse, but you'll get hurt on the way and then the bloody Fraterdum Singletus spell is going to kick in and you'll be sucking me magically dry again—and maybe Ginny this time, too. Which will make you feel like a right wanker." He shrugged. "I'd like to skip the drama for once, how about you?"

Harry blinked, but couldn't find an appropriate response. Finally, he shook his head, in defeat this time, and paced away from Ron. His mind was disturbingly blank.

Remus called over to him. "Harry. Help me. My mind is too distracted to think clearly about what we need from the Room of Requirement. Pace with me." Harry felt into step reluctantly. "Remember, we want a room where you will be safe from Lucius Malfoy or any Slytherins running amuck. Got it? Good."

Harry focused as well as he could on the task, but his thoughts were infringed by a vague, disquieting desperation. Their third trip pacing was interrupted by the voice of Charlie Weasley.

"Remus! Here he is."

Ron didn't even hesitate. "Oh, what the bloody hell—"

Harry quite agreed with Ron's muttering. The pale, wide-eyed boy Charlie was escorting was none other than Draco, ex-Malfoy.

Remus looked relieved. "Just in time."

"Harry. Glad you made it, mate," Charlie said grimly. "That was some flying."

Harry gave him a slight nod, and a "you as well," then turned to stare at Draco, who looked back over his shoulder with wild eyes.

"Can we continue this inside, please?" he said nervously.

"Of course," Remus agreed.

Ron didn't move. "Why is he here?"

Draco gave him a venomous look. "Because without me, your precious Potter would be dead. Again. And my father doesn't—"

"Let's get inside, shall we?" interrupted Remus, opening the door. He glanced inside and turned back to smile at Harry. "Nice choice. Inside, everyone."

Charlie peeked in. "Blimey."

"Draco, all the way in."

The boy looked around and drawled, "Never though I'd be back here again."

"It's the closest you'll ever get to the real thing again," Ron snapped in the pale boy's face. "Thanks, Harry. It's nice."

Harry was standing just inside the door, breathing in the sights and smells of the familiar living room in the Weasley home. It was just like the original and the same as Harry had last seen it. The furniture was mismatched and patched, the curtains were faded and overworked, but everything was clean and homey and positively reeked of glorious, all-encompassing love—the kind Harry had never known before meeting the Weasleys.

"Nice is overrated," Draco stated in Ron's general direction. "But in your case, since tasteful is obviously far out of reach—"

"One more word and you'll find the business end of my wand up your—"

"Ron!" barked Charlie. He pushed in past Draco and yanked Ron over to the side. Though he was quiet, everyone heard his words. "Pull it together. You're Harry's guard, not just some bloke right now. Get serious and do—your—job."

Harry averted his eyes, but managed to catch Ron's defiant and but determined nod.

"Remus, let's go," Charlie said, backing out and rapping the door with his fist. "It's crazy out there. Hell in a handbasket."

Remus turned to them. "We're trusting the three of you to stay together, protect each other and do not go out of this room. It should remain hidden and locked to anyone but Dumbledore and myself."

"Wait, wait a minute," Ron interrupted, pointing to Draco. "What about him? Are we just supposed to trust him with Harry's life? Dean was just Imperioed—"

"Yes, Ron, you should trust him with Harry's life. He's proved himself. He'll explain. I don't have time to go into detail. Do you understand?"

"Yeah."

Harry nodded when Remus looked his way. Remus and Charlie exchanged a frown, but reluctantly turned to go. "Don't leave this room until you hear word. We will find a way no matter what happens."

The door closed with a quiet snick and the three boys eyed each other thoroughly. Draco was the first to move. He slouched over to the couch and collapsed on it. Ron seemed to be too irritated by Draco's existence to keep silent.

"Why did they lock you in here with us?"

Draco bent forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands clutched in the sheath of pale, blond hair hanging untidily over his face.

"Leave me alone."

"Oh, come off it!" Ron stalked closer. "Harry just had three attempts on his life, one a back-stabbing betrayal by a best mate, and he's not sitting there moaning and groaning."

"Of course not, you moronic imbecile," Draco looked up venomously. "Harry doesn't moan and groan like a normal person. Everyone knows that. He goes dead silent, which is what he's doing right now and with very good reason. So why don't you be a good sidekick and imitate him?"

Ron stared over at Harry, stunned realization in his eyes. Harry had only half-heard the conversation, misery and something else making his throat tight. He was trying not to think.

"What do you mean, 'very good reason'?"

Draco just snorted in reply, head back in his hands, so Ron continued in a louder voice. "Why did they put you in here with Harry? Is your Daddy still stalking you? Or—" and here Ron's voice quickened with excitement—"was one of the failed attempts yours? Yeah, and now the Death Eaters are after you. That's it, isn't it?"

Draco uncurled his fingers from his hair and slowly looked up, eyes blazing furiously. "No, you miserable clump of no-talent, I am not trying to kill Potter, as I've pointed out to you, as Potter has surely pointed out to you, and as Professor Lupin just underscored for you yet again." He stood and walked until he was toe to toe with Ron. "How do you think Hermione knew the damn Snitch was a Portkey? Divine intervention?" Ron's glance darted to Harry, who looked at Draco with sudden interest.

"Try Draconic intervention and you'd be more correct," Draco drawled as he walked around the furniture. "I waited until as late as I possibly could before giving the Twitchtie girl the message to give to the blond Gryffindork first year. How was I to know it was going to be a record-tying early Snitch sighting?"

"Sure. You waited until the last minute hoping that it would be too late," Ron accused, jabbing a finger in the air.

Draco turned and slowly circled the furniture, eyes burning into Ron's. "No. I waited because I was trying to save my own miserable hide. Very difficult to do when your every move is being watched and reported to your father by the bloody Head Auror installed in the castle. Even more difficult to do when the slightest hint of a tip-off to Harry would prove to the Slytherins and the Death Eaters that I was the traitor all along."

"Fornier was reporting to your father?" Harry jumped in.

"Yes."

"I knew something was going on. So . . ." Harry began slowly, "you told Zimmy to tell Tobias about the Portkey and he told Hermione to stop me."

"I wanted to get word to you sooner, but it would have been the end of me. This way at least I had a shot at escaping."

Harry swallowed. His mouth was suddenly dry. "Did your father come to . . . to kill you or me?"

"He was multi-tasking—giving support to the Seven Deadly Slytherins in their attempts, but here to kill them in the event they failed, here to kill me in the event you were warned, and to go after you if all attempts failed."

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered.

"He's a very busy bastard of a wizard, isn't he?" Draco drawled.

"But how did he get here," Harry finally thought to ask. "Didn't they see him on the Marauder's Map?"

Draco smiled. "Is that what they call it? Well, I know that Fornier was in charge of the security for the Quidditch match. Professor Lupin only got the map a short time ago, so one of Fornier's men must have had charge of it before now. As for my father, he and Wormtail did some hijacking to get here."

"What did they hijack, a bloody broom?" Ron half-laughed.

"No, actually, Wormtail hijacked your father."

Ron went pale. "What?"

"In rat form. At the Ministry. Rode him home, transformed, took your mother hostage and Polyjuiced your father."

"What?" Harry jumped forward, his fears forgotten. "Are they all right?"

"I don't know about Mr. Weasley. I . . . heard everything third-hand in the rush to come up here. But that was not your father at the game with your mother. That was my father the bastard, holding his wand on your mother the whole time. She helped him get into the Gryffindor side of the stadium where he could overhear any warnings given to you. As soon as he heard Hermione screaming, he left your mother with a warning not to tell a soul or . . . well, Wormtail left someone with your father. Waiting."

"Oh, god," Ron collapsed on the couch. "And there's nothing I can do. I have to stay here. Did Charlie know?"

"Of course. There's a plan. I believe your brothers are in on it."

Ron groaned and hid his face in his hands. Harry felt just as horrible. He paced to the long space behind the couch, mind spinning. He'd done it again. He'd brought danger to the family he loved. And now here he was, holed up like a rat while they went out and tried to protect him. He gritted his teeth.

"There's got to be something we can do." He strode over to the door and tried the handle. Locked. Of course. His wand sprung out of its wrist holster and he aimed it at the door.

"Alohamora!"

"Oh, stop being so heroic—" "Stop it, Harry—" Ron and Draco said simultaneously, then stared at each other.

Harry whirled around. "You don't expect me to stay here, do you? I may the only one who can—"

"Harry!" Ron scoffed. "You're not the only bloke who can use a wand, you know. Fred and George can handle it."

Draco raised an eyebrow and faced Ron. "You think just any bloke with a wand can take my father down? You are far too naive."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ron faced him angrily. "I get top marks in Defense class. Better than you, for sure."

"Top marks? Try screaming that at my father next time you face him. He'll be very impressed." Draco smiled grimly. "Lucius will use anything and everything against you—the things you love, the things you hate. Lord Voldemort taught him well."

Harry turned back toward the door. His stomach was feeling queasy and his wand arm had started shaking. He shoved the feeling down and tried to focus. "Would you two stop arguing? It doesn't matter. I just have to get out and go help."

"No way, mate," Ron rounded the couch and stood in front of him. "You heard Charlie. I'm your guard and you're staying right here. We'll leave it up to them to help Dad."

"Besides, exactly what do you intend on doing when you do meet up with my father?"

Harry turned to face Draco, dread creeping uncomfortably into the pit of his stomach. "Whatever it takes."

"Really," Draco's gaze traveled over him, sizing him up. "So you plan to stare him down, whip out your wand and tremble so violently that you intimidate him into giving up? Is that your plan?"

"Hey!" Ron shouted.

"Are you calling me a coward?" Harry asked with a very dry mouth.

"Of course not, don't be ridiculous," Draco said, turning away. "Only a fool wouldn't be afraid of my father after what he did to you."

"What he—" Harry's voice choked off.

"Yes, what he did to you. You do remember, don't you? The Portkey, the torture, Malfoy Manor—"

Ron jumped forward, snarling. "Of course he does, you bastard! He doesn't want to talk about it!"

"Then let him tell me himself. Or can he?" Draco raised his eyebrows and gestured for Harry to speak. "Go ahead, Harry. Tell us what happened that night. Or, what didn't happen." His voice grew softer, more intense. "What's it going to be? You know you can't ignore it anymore. This the closest you've gotten to talking about it since that night, isn't it? I understand. But you can't ignore it. No one gets to ignore it, Harry. No one."

Ron shifted uncomfortably next to Harry, obviously unsure of whether he should attack or not.

Harry just stood there in horrified, razor-sharp silence.

"It comes with the word abuse, lovely little thing that it is," Draco went on, crossing to the window and staring out at the false landscape around the house. "Packed with neuroses, phobias and nightmares ready-made to order. The stuff Death Eaters live on. So, let's get it out, then." He turned and crossed his arms, leaning back against the window sill. "Let's pull the bloody, worm-ridden boogey-man out of the closet and vivisect him. Are you ready, Harry?"

Harry turned and paced away, his mind opening up to the confusing hurricane of memories despite himself. "I don't . . . I don't . . ."

"He doesn't want to talk about it, all right? Lay off, you sodding bastard!"

Draco made a rude hand gesture. "He has to talk about it and he knows it. Face it, Weasley. He hasn't even told you, his supposed best friend, what happened that night."

"Yeah he has. He just doesn't like going into detail. But you—you want to hear every gory detail, you sick bastard."

"No, that's my father, and I'll thank you to remember the difference. I didn't do it to him."

"Do what??"

Draco glanced at Harry and softened his voice. "You won't be telling me anything new, Potter . . . I've lived with him."

Suddenly Harry remembered using Occlumency on Draco the first time Draco had asked for his trust, and how the spell had shown a memory of Lucius standing with a riding crop in his hand, a young Draco with a bloodied back sobbing before him. Draco did know. He'd been there. Had he—?

Draco went on. "Weasley, on the other hand, has only the smallest of ideas why the name of my father brings more fear into your limbs than the name of Voldemort. That doesn't seem fair, does it, given that he's your best mate?"

Ron wasn't looking at him, but Harry felt the pressure building. He deflected. "I don't remember everything. I—I can't."

"Oh. Well, isn't that just a perfect excuse?"

"If he says he doesn't remember, he doesn't remember, all right?" Ron said threateningly, taking two steps nearer Draco.

"Does. Idiot," Draco bit out sharply. "If he doesn't remember, then why is he upset?"

"I'm not upset," Harry snapped.

"Oh, obviously not. Soooo, if you're not upset, then why don't you just tell us what you do remember about that night?" Draco smiled at him, and Harry had the distinct impression he'd just been outmaneuvered.

The silence grew. Harry waited for Ron to intervene, but he didn't.

Don't answer, he told himself. You don't have to talk about it.

He wasn't going to, and he turned away with determination. But he couldn't stop his mind from picking at the idea, puzzling over the question of what did he remember after all of that effort he spent on trying to forget. What had happened that night?

The story started simply enough, with Death Eaters outside of Number Four, Privet Drive, Draco in tow. He had vivid memories of the sight of Draco, and how even though bruised and bloodied, he hadn't seemed like a real person back then. He was a bully who'd finally been out-bullied, and Harry had just felt sorry for the boy, as well as deeply shocked at the callousness of his treatment.

Death Eaters outside Privet Drive. He'd fought them, hadn't he? Put his wand down like they'd demanded, then rolled and come up fighting. It had worked. He'd thought he'd won, except for that one curse, the Concidus that had ripped his arm in a jagged line. He'd been bloody. And somehow, Lucius had known, had known that if Harry had gotten hit by that one curse, Draco would offer Harry his handkerchief to mop up the blood—the Portkey handkerchief.

"You really didn't know it was a Portkey, did you?" Harry asked Draco, turning slightly. Draco shook his head. "I wasn't sure. It seemed so . . . you."

"It wasn't. It was him." And the chilled whisper in Draco's voice, the naked horror in it sucked Harry in deeper. He remembered how it felt to be Portkeyed—the shock, the desperation.

The silence stretched, but Harry was only half-aware of it now. Words were coming, building inside of him like rapids behind a dam. And for some reason, the dam began to leak.

"The Cruciatus Curse." He saw Ron start at the words. "I didn't want to feel that again. It came back to me in a flash, like lightning, what it was like being tied to that gravestone, surrounded by Death Eaters and feeling that curse for the first time. Anything rather than that." Harry licked his lips. He wasn't looking at Ron, but could tell from the absolute stillness of his body that Ron was listening. Draco nodded slowly.

"Anything," Harry repeated. "But . . . there was nothing I could do. It was too fast." He felt as if he needed suddenly for someone to understand, to know why it all happened that way. The dam broke. "Before I could even draw my wand, I was there and he was waiting for me. And he hit me with the Cruciatus before I could even take a breath. It was all over then.

"I remember thinking that Tom must not be there, because my scar wasn't burning worse than anything else. Then the pain took . . . everything. At some point he stopped. Eventually. And I was pulled to my feet. They had to hold me up." Harry found his memory improving by the second. He remembered now quite clearly how his legs trembled and how roughly they'd held him. And Lucius . . .

"He taunted me, and I—I—decided to fight. I threw my head back and smashed it into one Death Eater's face. Then I had a go at the other guy, trying to Accio my wand at the same time."

Harry swallowed. "But before I could grab it, the first guy was back and . . . yes—that was when I got the bloody nose and the black eye. Both punches nearly laid me out, and they were holding me up again when I came back to. Draco's dad . . . he was smiling in that . . . awful way of his . . ."

Again, Harry had to swallow, only this time, he felt like he swallowed words as well and they got stuck. He cleared his throat like mad, but when the words finally came back out, his voice sounded huskier. "I think he threw the Cruciatus on me three or four more times then, I . . . I passed out once. Maybe twice. I thought I might go mad before he stopped."

He glanced over at Ron and saw his friend holding his head in his hands. Harry looked away. In his mind, he was still on the floor, screaming. He had to get past that. "After that, I found myself up again and . . . I'd thrashed off my shirt I guess. Blood from my arm had run all over me; my stomach was covered." Harry paused. "Only, I didn't realize it was from my arm. I was just staring at my stomach, trying to find where all this blood was coming from and when I looked up, he was there in front of me—smiling that smile." Harry's voice had dropped to a raspy whisper, "And he said . . . he said . . . 'Have you ever imagined what revenge feels like, Harry?'" And then, struggle as he might against his frozen vocal chords, words failed Harry completely.

Silence enclosed about the room like a velvet shroud, unbroken except for Harry's suddenly harsh breathing. Draco, of course, couldn't leave it alone.

"That wasn't all, was it, Harry?"

Though no one was looking at him, Harry felt a hot flush of shame stain his cheeks. His mind would work no further, but his body trembled as the boy went on.

"I know what happened," Draco's voice had sunk to a whisper. "I know exactly what happened." He stood. "You were weak and helpless and he took advantage of it." Harry was already shaking his head, even as Draco moved closer. "He fed off of it. He used your weakness and he humiliated you. Humiliated you!"

"No!" And Harry was on his feet, shaking his head, pointing a finger at Malfoy, shouting words of denial that seemed to bypass his brain. "No—no, shut it! I didn't—wait—"

Draco's cheeked were stained red with emotion, his eyes bright and piercing. "He saw how weak you were and finally unable to fight back. And he moved even closer to you, didn't he?"

"No. No, he didn't." And before he knew what he was dong, Harry was turning to the door. "I don't have to—I—" The locked door. "Damn."

"Yes, he did, Harry," Draco went on relentlessly, but in a gentle, hypnotic voice. Harry found himself listening with bated breath. "He moved so close to you that you could smell the vodka on his breath, so close that you had to lean away in order not to touch him, didn't you?"

Harry whirled around, wand out. "Shut it!"

But Draco wasn't even looking at him. His voice droned on as if reciting from memory. "He moved even closer. He was going to touch you and there was a horrible moment when you knew that and you knew there was nothing you could do about it. A horrible . . . horrible moment. And then he reached out and slid his hand down your stomach and into your pants—"

"NO!" Harry turned back around and aimed his wand at the coffee table, sending Ron scuttling out of the way. "REDUCTO!" The table blew backwards, crashing loudly as it flew over the couch and splintered into the wall.

Draco continued on even louder. "—down your stomach and into your pants and started stroking you, didn't he?"

Harry froze, his wand arm raised, a spell stuck to his lips. A strangled sound that might have been meant to be a denial came out. He found that he could not move a muscle.

"He does that to show how out-of-control of the situation you really are, and how much mastery he has over you. And he's patient and he waits until you can't help but respond—"

Harry whipped his wand over to Draco, his jaw so tight that he could barely get the words out. "Shut . . . it."

Draco ignored the wand, locked eyes with Harry and did not shut up. "—and then, when you're ready, he stops. And he stands there, breathing in your face, watching your helpless tears and waiting for you to beg, which you didn't do. And he asks you if you know what real pain is, or I guess, for you, he asks if you know what revenge feels like. And then he takes what he's made of you and he crushes it in his hand ruthlessly, and the pain . . . is beyond . . . endurance."

And Harry was there in his mind, back in the mirrored room, seeing the superior, intoxicated smile on Lucius' face, smelling the tang of his own blood and the odor of Lucius' breath, and feeling confusion, excruciating pain and shame that flooded him until he passed out.

Harry's wand clattered to the floor and his knees gave way.

He heard Draco speaking. "There, Weasley. Now you know more than you ever possibly wanted to know. . . I expect you to keep this all to yourself."

Ron didn't answer, but Harry found his friend reaching down to him, his appearance a blurred wash of red hair and freckles. Harry allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, and found Ron's steadying hands on his shoulders. Try as he might, Harry couldn't look him full in the face.

"It's a good thing for that bastard I'm locked up in here. When I catch up with him . . ." Ron shook his head and clapped Harry on the shoulder once, hard. Harry, looking up, found such a blinding mix of sympathy, pain, anger and loyalty in the blue eyes that he had to look back down again.

"That bastard's mine," Ron whispered. He squeezed Harry's shoulders once and turned away to punch the wall with a surprisingly spongy thwock.

"Hmmm. They must have seen that one coming," Draco pointed out, rather unnecessarily. "And, Weasley—the only way you're getting my father is if you beat me to him."

And me, Harry thought rather hollowly, feeling as if someone had carved out his emotions like the innards of a jack-o-lantern. He sat on the couch and leaned over, elbows on his knees. The story of what had happened to him was palpable in the air, hanging over his head like a cloud of poisonous perfume. Never had he felt less like a saviour, less like The One.

As he buried his face in his hands, the sudden memory of Ginny came to him as she she'd looked at him only moments before, slight worry in her velvety brown eyes, firmness in her voice as she'd said softly, "I love you, Harry."

Buried emotions suddenly rolled over him, shook him, and he gripped that moment like a lifeline. His face was wet, his body trembling, but he was loved and he knew it.

He was loved.