Chapter One: Two to Tango.

Malfoy,

I would like to speak to you. If interested, meet me at neutral territory, Hogsmeade, there's in a cave near the Shrieking Shack on the grounds that lead to the Forbidden Forest. 7 this Saturday. Don't respond to this owl. – Harry Potter

The letter was aimed to the last house down Spinner's End, Appleton, Great Britain, where Draco had been staying ever since his sixth and last year at Hogwarts. The place was untraceable but in moments like these, one could not help paranoia. Why? Why now? The tone of Potter's letter was firm but not unwittingly persuasive. If it had been Draco, it only meant one thing: Potter was attempting to negotiate. And if he thought to have the terms to allow bargaining, it could only mean Potter had something on him.

Hence Malfoy's sudden panic. The one thing Potter could blackmail him for were his current whereabouts, so, panic, it meant Potter knew where he and his mother were hiding. Which meant, palpitations, he was in Potter's mercy while we speak, right under the surveillance of whoever was informing Potter if not Potter himself, ready with his own private elite army.

Of course, at this point, Draco Malfoy had to make a double-take, breathe and make a more critic consideration of his position. The house was under a Fidelius Charm and the address in the owl only meant, well, that the owl system was as reliable as always. So, unless Professor Snape had bluntly revealed to Potter from all people just his private house address, he was being irrational.

At least, this comforted his fluttering heart… leave panic for when Potter and his army burst though the door.

Still, with that odd feeling partially blocking his throat, he re-read the letter a couple of times. It was as bare and uninformative as it had been the first twenty or so times he had been skimming though it in panic.

He was not what you would call "calm" but he was managing to return to a state in which he would be closer to stable – though also kept glancing over his shoulder at the door, as if afraid of being caught in-fraganti reading this absurd proposition. No real risk of finding the Dark Lord at the door, not when professor Snape had been refusing all this time to let them meet. He could calm down--- until somebody did indeed burst though the door.

"Draco!" came stranger voice pronounced in a hasty manner, as the face of a stranger slowly melted into his mother's, Narcissa Malfoy.

"Mother!" Draco felt his heart skip a few beats, and his hand moved half consciously to hide the letter behind his back,

"Don't just appear like that to me!" he said, having satisfactorily managed to turn such a childish whine to sound like an adult's command.

"I'm sorry, Draco dear, but look here what I could make my hands on at Knockturn Alley –" she extracted silvery fabric from a paper bag. "Do you know what this is? An Invisibility Cloak, I'm sure you haven't seen one before. This will help us, Draco. You may be able to walk down Diagon Alley now."

Despite his mother's uncharacteristic, hopeful-sounding behavior, Draco was overall unimpressed. He had seen these in action: cloaked men crashing into cloaked man, meeting the ground exposed and making a fool of them selves. You could hear the thud sounds when they bumped shoulders, even knocked heads together occasionally, coming out from nowhere. If you were lucky, you could hear an over-edgy woman scream coming by your apparently-empty side or feel something that wasn't there.

Besides, what was the use of hanging in Diagon Alley if you could neither shop nor talk, nor draw the appreciative glances of the knowing crowd?

"Thank you, Mother," said Draco though, picking the cloak between two fingers. "But couldn't we have asked Professor Snape for invisibility potions?"

"Severus has been very kind to provide us with polyjuice potion. I'd not want to abuse his hospitality. He's done so much for us already..."

As she was done keeping the cloak back in the bag and talking, she took her son by surprise flinging her arms around him in a hug. Draco took this gesture with shock and apprehension. How was he to keep it cool when his mother displayed such demonstration of anxiety and lack of self-control?

"It's alright, Mother," he said, uneasy under her embrace. Narcissa let go, returning some easiness on Draco's physical functions, and spoke before Draco could say any further. "I'm going out again."

Draco spun his head around fast. "Again?!"

"I'm not done shopping," she said, bussing-looking and going for the door, taking a potion from the stool with her. She stopped by the door and said, "When I come back, we can share that cloak and go outside for a walk."

She hesitated but said nothing further and left, almost apologetically.

Draco did not care about the trips to Diagon Alley. But he was trapped and useless inside the house. And, though he would like nothing more than having his mother at a safe distance, so would he have preferred that she would stay, and that she kept still.

Draco stared at the cloak and pulled the letter he had almost forgotten about from behind his back.

--

The weather was between template and cold, the trees smelled of rain. Malfoy searched the grounds thoughtfully for possible caves. Found only one. That though he was late when arriving, and he stayed outside hesitant even 10 minutes after the arranged time. He saw nobody coming in or out and was only starting to consider this all could be a trap. The idea of his ex-professors and Potter's group jumping out from the bushes assaulted his mind, comically but dreadful. But what he had most learned to fear was to expect the Dark Lord's allies and not his enemies on the other side. Of course, finding Potter in these or whatever circumstances was hardly enjoyable.

Draco took his first tentative steps into the cave at last. The walls cast shadows that threatened to conceal hostile things, from beasts to a body of MoM aurors. But instead, the cave was empty. Draco stayed and searched inside enough to be sure of this. Very sure of this. Two hours and half from the arranged time he left the cave and apparated back to Spinner's End. He threw the invisibility cloak moodily to the side.

After all the trouble sneaking out of the house and making up excuses…. That prick Potter didn't even show up! He was made fool showing up. He knew not to expect anything from the likes of Potter… Or he certainly did now.

--

"He didn't show up!" said Harry upon entering the entrance hall, throwing the invisibility cloak moodily on a couch. "After all the trouble I went though, I don't know what I was thinking…"

"Who didn't show up?"

"Mal –"

He caught sight of Tonks's odd expression but not of her moving her lips, and coming to think of it, it didn't sound like Tonk's voice at all. But barely registering the owner or the source, another voice spoke from the door to the kitchen, "is everything alright, Harry?"

Hermione was standing there, holding a tea set. And coming from under the cloak, Harry was only starting to it pull off the first voice's owner, was a distinctive and known red-head.

"What are you blabbering on about?" added a frowning Ron from the couch.

Tonks had an apologetic smile from the opposite couch.

"I was… nothing, it's not important," said Harry quickly, at the same time Tonks jabbered, "It was my idea!"

Now with Hermione's current look it seemed obvious he had no escape from the subject, "What is it that it was your idea, Tonks?"

Another apologetic smile which was more of a grimace… "Ah, that him, I, eh, we and Harry – I mean, me and him, had his idea. Well, no, I did tell Harry to do it –"

"Bugger it, Tonks," Harry said bluntly and turned to the two. "I sent a letter to Draco Malfoy two days ago asking him to meet me," he said seriously, "We wanted to help him."

"Yes and turn him to our side!" Tonks added. Harry displayed a pained grimace. From all things, he wasn't planning to appear like he had any need for Draco Mafloy: "No, only help him."

Ron was soon upright, still in the couch, with outrage enough to add to his one-word speech the word 'bloody' many times: "Malfoy?!"

"I know it was not him who murdered Dumbledore," said Harry in a steady tone.

"But he sure made it possible!" Touché. How had he allowed Tonks to convince him of going through with this?

"We wanted to give him an opportunity to say in what team he's playing, but not that it matters now, it was just to talk, had he shown up, I don't know why I tried helping that prick." Harry said all this in one go and walked back and forwards and became progressively flustered. Ron was opening his mouth but Hermione had fast left the tea and came to put a hand in Ron's shoulder, enough to silence protests.

"But why didn't you tell us?" she said, trying hard to find the words. "You went alone to meet with Malfoy?" Harry got the impression she was trying to make up her mind if to say that was very brave or very stupid. As per usual with her.

She opened her mouth much before any sound came out. "Maybe he got scared, and you, Harry –" here it came… "– should have been more prudent as well. Malfoy could have easily used this opportunity to ambush you. Somebody could have intercepted the owl. And why would he trust you or anyone – oh, don't tell me you signed out with your name!"

Harry glanced at Tonks from the corner of his eyes and found, with some frustration, the latter was watching Harry with the same curious expression Hermione had. For the love of— "If Malfoy got an unsigned letter he would probably think it was a joke."

"Are you just out from your bloody mind?!" It was Ron who had climbed the couch on his knees to be at level with Harry.

At times like these Harry wished Grimauld Place had no wards and he could apparate right out of that place.

"Okay, I know! I was a fool and should have known better than to even try to help that scum. Believe me, it won't happen again." Before more retorts, Harry left the hall putting an end to the conversation. He felt enough of an idiot, as if he needed reminding any more of his blunder by those three.

Why had he even tried something like that? He should not have listened to Tonks…

--

It was hardly a week since Draco's exile from civilized wizarding society when he was let for the first time to have a brief meeting with his schoolmates at a secluded pub Narcissa Malfoy had made sure to have absolute exclusivity for. (Spoiled brat, I know.) Hence making it possible to resume an almost normal life. That had been his mother's plan, and to be quite honest she had insisted in this meeting more than Draco cared to assist to.

As it is, said schoolmates were the sons and daughters of Death Eaters no less. And they launched to speak of Death Eater matters, theme which, from the bottom of Draco's heart he could swear it not to be his first choice of conversation. The talk strayed once or twice to Draco's good work in the last assignment (the quietest of Draco's boastful behavior), and more usually to similar matters which didn't ease Draco's mood.

"I do not understand why this need of talking of Potter is about?" Malfoy spat, defensive though unintended. But it was plain unnerving. They had been talking hasty and retook the same subject with no meaningful inputs once and over again.

"We were only discussing our possibilities Draco," Pansy reflected, taking a diplomatic stance between two sides.

"I don't see what you get so jittery about, Mafloy," Millicent Bulstrode said, sneered in her scary smile. "You talk about Potter all the time and we never said a word. Is Potter your private subject of conversation?"

"I say," Malfoy interrupted and started over, slowly with a dangerous tone, "He's neither as good as the muggle-lovers think he is, nor the menace you make him appear to be."

"Funny, the way you previously talked, you would think Potter alone would be leading a revolution," retorted Theodore Nott, not helping his own nasty retort.

Though right, the statement had no resonance. Bless Draco's luck Nott was so low on the food chain. Grunts echoed on the moment there was silence. It was a palpable feeling the Slytherins were edgy, prompt to take each other's head of like a cranky Runespoor.

Meanwhile, Malfoy leaned back on his seat at the small table, dropping the whispering that had been issuing between the secluded, elite group.

"I am more aware than all of you just what menace Harry Potter represents to our families and pureblood status. If I say this talk is unnecessary, then it is."

Malfoy's little diplomatic sentence produced more grunts and murmuring than it received acceptation.

"And I am aware we are running out of time," spat Zabini. "While we are still inside of Hogwarts, it's the best time for any action we would wish to partake in. Malfoy –"

"Under the very nose of McGonagall's? What a brilliant plan, Zabini!" Malfoy crossed his arms and rolled his eyes, all in smug fashion.

"McGongall has me unconcerned," Nott resumed, "Dumbledore is – not – at – Hogwarts."

"Don't you think I know that!" Malfoy spat back. "Try your little plans if you're all so eager."

He pushed the seat back, stood and walked out of the back door without sparing them a second glance. He had been known to act like a petulant child and yet cause admiration with displays like these. In all that immature acting resided the fashionable, calculating adulthood, per see. (Others just might perceive he acted oddly alike his father.)

Of course, Draco Malfoy was rooting for admiration. He craved for that kind of attention. Or otherwise, deluded over it. As of now, he was walking down the streets with nothing but a hood, momentarily pushing aside the fact that he was absolutely right (he knew well the eyes would be on them more than ever), and self-proudly retiring to dwell over different matters.

Thus later he had decided Potter's letter was no other thing but one of those same Slytherins trying to pull his leg. It was that much more probable than it was for Potter to contact him. Having them all talk of Potter had only aroused his irritation. He hadn't been thinking back then, and he needn't any of Potter's help.

"I'm home."

Draco opened the door to his new home at Professor Snape's place. He thought he had heard a man's voice from the kitchen ("It's my pleasure with such delicious homemade meals –"), and then her mother came from the kitchen door.

"Oh Draco, it is you," Narcissa said and added a bit more than curious, "Have you come here under the Invisibility cloak?"

"Yes, mother," Draco lied. Behind mother, effectively, Snape's form appeared nodding a greeting. "Afternoon, Draco."

"Had you a good time?" his mother further asked.

"Terrific," Draco did not bother to hide his drawl. "I'm going to my room, I'm tired," he said as he retired.

He didn't fancy being questioned or bothered. Thinking that he needed such recreational activities was a scandal – he was an adult. Yet his mother talked as if he needed babysitting to the park.

As he left, however, he heard professor Snape's deep voice – he mentioned Draco being requested to meet with the Dark Lord. A shiver ran down his spine. He lay on his bed uneasily, adrenaline not letting him be at rest.

He had many nights lain like this only before the last two months. Some times, he pondered on his next step once he was through with the Dumbledore assignment. He had decided he wanted the Harry Potter assignment, as it was sure to be one. Nobody desired most to get Potter in his own game and, for once, defeat him on it. He had gone as far as think his lord incompetent and that he would be able to succeed where the Dark Lord had failed.

Boastful and proud, in desperation these comforting thoughts were what now scared him the most. His mind kept casting shapes in shadows, the curtains bellowed like a wizard cloak. Maybe it was because of these facts and the early conversation that his dreams wouldn't let him feel at peace either as a figure of Harry Potter zoomed into his mind...

--

The Hogwarts Great Hall, a flock of birds make circles across the ceiling like a cloud. Draco Malfoy just sent him an owl, the envelope says: "Read when in private."

Harry Potter looks up from the letter and Malfoy immediately drop his gaze. The letter reads: "Somebody you dislike needs your help. Come alone to the grounds by the castle wall, south tower for more information if this interests you."

It was a recurrent dream, they usually ended just afterwards with Malfoy not showing up, or Harry being too late, or being ambushed by a hang of Death Eaters. Remorse and making him a fool were bad, but the empty feeling wouldn't leave all day.

However, that night, Harry comes holding the letter in his hand. He waits and is alert, though not tense. A hooded figure comes from behind him. "Over here," it whispers.

Potter points his wand at it. "What's this, your idea of a joke?"

The figure remains silent though oddly familiar to Harry. "So you have agreed to help this person if you are here," it finally says.

"It depends on who is this person," Harry replies.

"Does it matter? It's been already stated it's somebody who you despise."

Harry turns from narrowing his eyes to raising an eyebrow. "Despise is it now? I thought it was only dislike."

"Then this is useless."

The figure turns around and starts to leave, all too readily.

"Wait," Harry calls. He pauses and seriously, "While it's not Voldemort or Snape, I'm willing to listen."

The figure, staying in that spot, turned around to face Harry, then pulled the hood down...

"Anybody but Snape and the Dark Lord, Potter. Your offer still stands," Malfoy sentenced, chin raised.

Harry pushed the wand back into his robes. "Depends, don't flatter yourself. I'm not killing anybody –" nor will you, "or betraying my friends, outside that..."

Malfoy looks anxious, hard as he tries to hide it.

"Last year, Dumbledore – Headmaster Dumbledore offered me refuge while I... became your ally."

"And you want to turn to our side?" Potter said.

"No," Malfoy says uneasily. "But circumstances are different. I committed a deadly mistake, my choices are limited. And I need a hide."

Harry frowns. "To tell you the truth I already knew of Dumbledore's intention towards you. And I'm not sure if I want to help you."

"You won't." Though sentenced, it was a question. Harry looked into Malfoy's cold eyes, something telling him like a Felix Felicis that it was not time to consent yet.

Almost childishly, he hn-ed with a shrug, "What was it that you did wrong? Did you fell for a muggleborn?"

"It is like that," – the confession took Harry off guard – "You saw me that day and know I have been maintaining contact with a... dead muggleborn, but a muggleborn nonetheless. The strength of our love cannot be concealed—"

--

Draco choked, badly, when he waked up coughing at the same time his mother's face came into view.