AN: I know everyone is wanting updates to Saving Harry and my other stories but I need to remind everyone that I am a really SLOW writer (as if you couldn't tell by my lack of updates.) I am hoping that I will finish writing a chapter before Spring quarter but I promise their will be updates during the summer. Thank you for your patience.

Chapter Two

Draco Malfoy contemplated the bowl of soup in front of him. The last six months had been the hardest and strangest of his life. He had been raised on the idea that while his father was indeed a Death Eater, and mostly agreed with the ideals behind the Dark Lord's war, he had been serving him and committing various atrocities under the Imperious Curse. He was taught that the Dark Lord had the right idea, but that Malfoys didn't get their hands dirty, and certainly didn't serve.

He saw in his fourth year exactly what the Imperious Curse was like, and experienced how it felt. He hadn't been able to fight it off like Potter had, but he knew, he knew somewhere deep down inside that his father would be able to... unless he wanted to be a Death Eater and do all those things he was accused of years ago.

Draco did not remember the trial, or the defeat of Voldemort, only a vague sense of tension and fear, of uncertainty. He knew that when he was young he used to wake from nightmares calling for his father, never knowing if he was actually there or not. Lucius Malfoy was not a warm man, or affectionate, but he always came to Draco's room on those nights and comforted him.

When his father was captured at the Ministry he had been furious. He was furious with his father for lying to him, as it was rather obvious at that point, to Draco anyway, that Lucius Malfoy was not under Imperious. He was furious with himself for believing his father's lies. He was furious with Potter for making him discover that his father was not the man Draco had always seen him as.

At the beginning of the term Draco was still mad. His mother had told him that not only was Sirius Black her cousin, but he was innocent of all charges. Then his Aunt Bellatrix had come to stay with them for a short time, along with her husband Rodolphus and his brother Rabastan. None of them were pleasant people. Draco had spent most of the summer avoiding his aunt and uncles, seeing them only at meals.

He held in his anger and kept an impassive mask all summer long. Once term started Draco had been only too glad to take out his frustrations on Potter. On the train he discovered that Potter was already at Hogwarts and he felt a surge of jealousy. He would have given nearly anything to spend the summer anywhere but at Malfoy Manor. Then when he actually managed to come face-to-face with Potter the dumb Gryffindor had the temerity to ignore him.

After talking with Snape, and getting the surprise of his life, Draco started to think. He realized that for the first time he could remember he was questioning what he had always been told and forming his own opinions. He came to a few conclusions:

1. Not all mudbloods were weak. Case in point was Granger, the top of their class in everything except Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts, where Draco and Potter were at the top.

2. At fifteen years old Potter had faced the Dark Lord in battle three times that Draco knew of and walked away each time. If he could accomplish that much while that young what would he be capable of once he passed his power threshold in a few years?

3. While not perfect, the current wizard government was not that bad. They kept their world secret from the muggles and Draco was just fine with that. He had no wish for the wizarding world to be exposed, or even to eliminate all the muggles. Draco had never interacted with any and saw no reason he would ever have to. What did he care if they went about their lives with no idea that he existed?

After analyzing all this and much more Draco came to the conclusion that he wanted nothing to do with the Dark Lord. He had heard of the Dark Lord's real name in a confrontation with Weasley and looked it up in the old school yearbooks in the library. That was when he discovered that the Dark Lord's father was a muggle, pure muggle. He had no wish to serve a half-blood hypocrite. Potter had more wizard blood than Riddle did.

The thought had terrified him, and Draco had started extending his prefect walks around the castle past the time he was supposed to be in bed. When he encountered Potter out one night on the quidditch pitch he was tempted to give him detention, or at least threaten him. Then he saw one of the last things he ever expected.

Potter was crying.

The-Boy-Who-Lived was sitting on a rock under the stands, his shoulders shaking and tears silently pouring down his face. The sight had Draco transfixed. He didn't approach Potter, but just watched him from the shadows. The famous glasses were nowhere in sight and the green of Potter's eyes was brilliant, brightened by tears that fell down his cheeks unheeded, like liquid diamonds.

It was no mystery why Potter was crying all alone. Draco had known for years that Black was Potter's godfather and the two were in touch. He had been sickened at first that Potter was communicating with the man who had betrayed his parents. Then he had discovered the fact conveniently left out by his father, that Black was innocent. Draco had shuddered to think of spending twelve years locked up with the dementors for a crime he didn't commit. Not even Potter or Dumbledore deserved that.

That was the night Draco decided he no longer hated Potter. He realized with a twinge of what he later decided was guilt exactly what he had been teasing Potter about all those years. Being an orphan hadn't really meant anything to him. After all, Potter still had a family.

Draco went back to the Slytherin dorms very late that night, leaving after Potter did so he wouldn't attract attention to his movement. The next night he went out to the quidditch pitch earlier, wondering if he would see Potter again. It was getting towards late September and the nights were getting chilly. Potter was there again, but wasn't crying, and Draco decided to approach him.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

He walked across the pitch in clear sight of the spot where Potter sat, his destination obvious by the time he got close to the Gryffindor, "Potter."

"Malfoy," the response was quiet and a bit impatient. No doubt Potter was angry that Draco had invaded his solitude.

Draco just sat down next to him and didn't say anything more. He wondered why he had done this, and what exactly he would say to Potter, 'Sorry for teasing you about your dead parents for five years? I understand now that my dad's in jail?' Draco didn't think that was the best idea.

"What do you want Malfoy?" Potter had asked without looking at him.

"Nothing Potter," Draco answered, almost completely honest. He wanted his old life back, before the Dark Lord came back, when he trusted his father and knew exactly what life had in store for him. "I don't want anything from you."

That was when Potter had turned to look at him, "Then why are you here?"

Draco shrugged and let the gesture suffice as an answer for a few minutes, "I miss my father, you know. I used to think he was this incredible, powerful, handsome ideal of exactly what a wizard should be. Now I don't know what to think."

"You're not the only one," Potter snorted and Draco was surprised at the disgust in his voice. "My father wasn't exactly the sparkling hero everyone claims he was. I hated him when I found out, and everyone who told me how wonderful he was and how much I was like him."

Draco blinked in shock, "He was a rising star in the Auror Division and Head Boy here. What did he do that was so horrible?"

Potter had looked at Draco carefully, as if weighing his choices, "I haven't told anyone, not anyone who didn't already know anyway. I'm not sure why but...," Potter paused and took a deep breath. "He was a bully."

"But...," none of the stories Draco had been raised on painted James Potter as a bully. If he had been, Draco's parents certainly would have included that in their condescending stories. "I don't know where you got your information Potter, but I doubt you're right. My parents didn't like him, and they told me all sorts of stories about the golden boy James Potter, but they never said he was a bully."

"I saw it... in a pensieve." Potter seemed to pull inward, to get a little smaller. "My cousin is a bully. I know them when I see them."

Draco thought about it for a moment, and wondered exactly why he was arguing, why he trying to change Potter's opinion of his father. Having been disillusioned himself, he knew that he would give just about anything to get his old beliefs back, to make them true. He supposed he would feel a little better to do the same for someone else, even if that someone was Potter.

"Pensieves show only one point of view Potter," Draco said firmly. "Whatever you saw, you saw it from the mind of the person using the pensieve."

"They as much as admitted it," Potter looked very upset and Draco wondered who 'they' were. "Re- Professor Lupin said that Dad grew up, but..."

"Yes?"

Potter shook his head, his hair moving with him and the messy locks falling into a new messy pattern, "I can't..."

"Then don't," Draco shrugged. He thought for a long moment before speaking again, "Look Potter... I'm sorry for everything."

Potter just waved a hand, "Don't think on it. I've got bigger things to worry about than detentions or house points or quidditch."

"Yeah," Draco felt the words resonate within him, "I know." There was a long silence. "I'm not my father Potter... and I don't think I want to be."

"I'm not my father either Malfoy," Potter responded.

Draco held out a hand, "Draco."

"Harry," they shook.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

That was the first of many late night discussions. Draco told no one in Slytherin and he guessed Potter told no one in Gryffindor as Weasley still glared at him and they traded barbs and insults frequently. Nearly every night Draco found Harry out on the quidditch pitch, even when it started getting very cold. Harry would be using warming charms, and Draco would do the same.

Normally they just talked about everyday stuff, classes and school gossip. Draco was tempted to tell Harry about his summer, thinking that maybe he would understand if anyone would. They never got to that point though. Draco remembered the first time he had gone outside and Potter wasn't there. He had sat there for over an hour before giving up and going back inside. Once there he realized how disappointed he was... and the thought terrified him. Was he actually friends with Harry Potter? The next night Potter was there again, with no excuse for or even mention of the previous night.

"Come on Draco," Pansy whined. "We have to get to Potions."

Draco rolled his eyes, "We have over ten minutes."

He stood though, and motioned for Greg and Vince to follow. The Gryffindors were already gone, not daring to risk the wrath of the Slytherin Head of House. Potions started the same as always. The assigned partners, a pretty ingenious move on Snape's part though Draco would never say so aloud, reluctantly sat at their desks, sitting as far apart as possible. Draco always placed his notes where Potter could read them, and Potter did the majority of the work. It was expected of Draco to treat Potter like a servant, and of Potter to be the noble Gryffindor and do the work while shooting icy glares at Draco.

He knew about Potter's scar and the connection to the Dark Lord that was formed by the failed killing curse. Knowing and seeing were two very different things he discovered that day. Draco sent Potter off to get more pixie wings out of the supply cupboard when he discovered they didn't have enough. When it took him too long to return Draco twisted on his stool, ready with a scathing remark. He wasn't prepared to see Potter in silent pain, with Granger and Weasley comforting him.

Draco immediately began watching Goyle's cauldron, abandoned by Granger with her friend in need. He made small adjustments to his own so it could wait for the pixie wings and remain stable. His eyes went back and forth, his cauldron, Potter, Goyle's cauldron, Potter, his cauldron, Potter, Potter...

Potter had torn off his robes and uniform shirt, revealing an undershirt clinging to a sweat soaked body. The body in mention had, at some point in the past few years, developed an amazing musculature. At Hogwarts the changes that most students went through were hidden under voluminous robes. Sure, the girls grew breasts and hips and the robes hung differently, but the boys remained a mystery to all but their roommates, quidditch teams, and girlfriends. Potter would never be tall, Draco had long since bypassed him there, but he more than made up for it with ropy muscle, the muscles of a runner rather than a weight-lifter.

His mouth went dry at the sight and Draco began to wonder if he wanted more than just a casual hidden friendship out of the Gryffindor Seeker. He was tempted to abandon his cauldron and join Granger and Weasley in making sure Potter was okay. His cauldron...

Draco remembered after a brief moment that he was keeping an eye on Goyle. He winced when he saw the flame hadn't been lowered as it should have been, but that could be fixed. Potter had recovered and Granger would be returning to her table. Draco just began to look away when his eye caught...

"Goyle, NO," Draco yelled, but knowing it was already too late.

He immediately ducked under his desk, expecting an explosion at any time. There was a buzz in the air as wards went up in the room. Draco looked out from under the desk and saw Potter standing dangerously close to the unstable cauldron, casting spells more advanced than any they had been taught. He then knew why Potter had been at Hogwarts for the summer, or least what he had been doing while he was there.

Damn self-sacrificing Gryffindor, Draco thought as he attempted to stand up and pull Potter out of harms way. The students were all protected, so why was the idiot still there? Whatever ward had been cast prevented Draco from going anywhere and for a moment he just appreciated the magic before remembering why it was there.

The explosion of the cauldron was loud, much louder than anything Longbottom had ever produced. Goyle and Crabbe did not belong in that class, but chances were their fathers had pulled some strings and there they were. In years past one of the competent Slytherins had always been there to protect them from themselves and Snape ignored it. In that sense, house favoritism worked against the two clods. Draco just hoped that whatever jobs they were hired for didn't require anything beyond rudimentary potions skills.

When all was safe the class crawled out from under their desks. Draco watched, indifference masking his horror, as Potter convulsed and began to shrink. The pixie wings and the extra heat made the potion stronger and longer lasting, Draco instantly thought to himself. From the look on his face Snape figured the same thing. The odd thing was that Snape actually seemed concerned about the student he claimed to despise.

If Granger and Weasley noticed they didn't react. The rest of the class was either staring in shock at Potter or complying with Snape's orders.

Damn, he was a cute kid, Draco said to himself as Potter's big green eyes looked his way.

There was a gnawing feeling in the pit of Draco's stomach. Suppose the effects of the potion couldn't be reversed. Not only would the wizarding world not have Potter to save them from Voldemort again, but Draco would lose his nighttime talks with Harry. Until that moment he hadn't realized how much he had come to rely on them, how much they meant, how they held him together as the world was crumbling around him.

Fuck, was the only word sufficient to describe how he felt just then.

Professor Lupin carried Potter away, tears in both of their eyes. The significance of the nickname 'Moony' occurred instantly to Draco and he wondered who had the gall to give such a nickname to a werewolf. It was probably Potter Sr. and his friends, the infamous Marauders that Harry had mentioned on more than one occasion.

Draco stayed after class. Professor Snape was going to need help finding an antidote and Draco was probably the best person to help him. It would just be a matter of convincing the professor of that.

"Professor?" Draco stepped to the front of the classroom. They were the only ones left in the room and Snape was not looking in the best of moods.

"If you have something to say Mr. Malfoy, say it quickly and leave," Snape glared at him like he had never glared at his Slytherins before.

"I want to help sir," Draco tried to look humble, something that Malfoys didn't really do well. Snape just continued to glare and Draco started to lose his composure. He was worried about Harry, about himself if he didn't get Harry back. "Potter... he... we... Harry..."

Snape lifted a single eyebrow without moving any other muscle in his body and Draco just stared, awed at the control the man had over his face, "I am well aware of your nocturnal habits Mr. Malfoy."

"How...?" Draco was taken aback for the third time that morning.

"There is not a thing that occurs on the grounds of this castle that the headmaster is unaware of," Snape said harshly.

Draco snorted and caught Snape off-guard, "Sure, that's why Harry's almost died at least three times on the grounds, because Dumbledore knew he had hired Death Eaters and there was a basilisk cruising the pipes."

Snape smirked, "I do not trust you, and neither will the headmaster."

"Harry does," Draco said with a touch of sadness. "If that's not enough, then which will it be? Veritaserum or Legilimency? You have both at your disposal."

Snape looked him over carefully and Draco stood as tall as he could before his Head of House with his head held high. He still had the pride and arrogance he was raised with and he'd be damned if Snape found him wanting.

"You submit willingly?" Snape asked in a hiss.

Draco gave a short nod and felt a tingle as the room was warded against intrusions of any type, including eavesdroppers. He had been subjected to many types of magic before but was not expecting the assault on his mind to feel as it did. It was like a bludger to the head, the impact sudden and strong. Images flashed through his mind... his father comforting him after nightmares... the stories about the Imperious Curse... his realization that it had all been lies... Harry crying... moments from their conversations all blending together... Harry's eyes in the dark of the pitch, filled with pain... Harry appearing from under that blasted cloak... Harry...

Draco was on the floor gasping. He felt like his head would split open, "He said it was bad... but I never thought," he looked up at his Head of House. "You bastard! You did that to him all last year? How in hell was that supposed to teach him anything?"

Snape just looked down at him, amused, "If you still wish to assist me I would not recommend disparaging comments on my parentage, Mr. Malfoy."

"Yes, Professor," Draco almost flushed when he realized he had mouthed off to the man who was probably the only professor he could turn to.

"You may leave Mr. Malfoy," Snape said coolly. "I expect you here tomorrow morning immediately following breakfast. I trust you will not regret missing the trip into Hogsmeade."

"No sir," Draco responded honestly. It would be a relief not to go and listen to Pansy's annoying voice simper on and on. "The novelty wore off long ago."

Snape just nodded and waved to dismiss him. Draco turned and gathered his things together, noting that Potter's bag was already gone. The rest of the Gryffindors must have taken it with them.

He heard as he left the room, "Should you find yourself wandering tonight Mr. Malfoy, Lupin's quarters are connected to his office."

Draco turned sharply and gave his professor a piercing look, that got no response and from which he learned nothing.

His feet brought him out to the quidditch pitch that night, and it seemed empty and much bigger than normal. Professor Lupin's classes had been canceled for the day... and indefinitely as far as Draco knew. Neither he nor Harry had been at lunch or dinner in the great hall. The odd thing was that none of his fellow Slytherins were discussing what happened to Potter... and the Gryffindors were the same as always.

If Draco hadn't known what had happened for sure... or if Potter and Lupin hadn't been missing... he might have thought he was going crazy.

Lupin. Leaving the quidditch pitch, Draco's mind lingered on the werewolf and his newest charge. He was in the Defense Against the Dark Arts office almost before he knew for certain he was headed there.

"Mr. Malfoy," a soft voice startled him out of his thoughts, "Severus told me you might come by."

Draco looked at the professor and nodded, not entirely comfortable around someone he had been taught was a dangerous beast his whole life. Of course, many of the things he had been taught were wrong.

The way his voice came out, almost pleading, was not very Malfoy-like, "Can... Can I see Harry?"

Lupin smiled and motioned towards the open door behind him, "It's a bit late for a four year old, so Harry's asleep. You can see him, but don't wake him."

"He's sleeping?" Draco was astonished. Harry told him he almost never slept.

"The Harry in there now is not the Harry we know," Lupin looked pained, a little lost. "He's truly his four year old self. If nothing else this little break will catch him up on all the sleep he misses."

Draco nodded. He went through the door that Lupin pointed out and saw a room that must have been an almost exact duplicate of a Gryffindor dorm room. It was all red and gold, every bit of it. Sickening, really. He crept quietly towards the bed, which had all but one curtain closed. The open curtain allowed someone to look in on the sleeping toddler.

Harry looked so peaceful, sleeping all curled up in a ball with his thumb in his mouth. He looked so tiny in that bed, though it was only a twin. Harry had made vague references to his muggle relatives, casually mentioning 'his cupboard' among other disturbing things. Draco wondered how this Harry was adapting to the castle.

"Has he mentioned the Dursleys at all?" Draco asked Lupin quietly.

The werewolf stood next to Draco's chair as they both watched Harry sleep,

"Not directly. He just asked me once not to make him go home."

"Has he ever told you...?" Draco couldn't complete the question without giving away Harry's secrets.

Lupin shook his head and looked pained, "We haven't talked, not really... not since your third year. He had..."

"...Sirius," Draco finished. "I know."

"From what Molly," Lupin paused, "that's Mrs. Weasley, has told us, Harry faired little better than a house elf in that house."

"Why am I the only student who knows what happened to him?" Draco had to ask.

"You didn't leave class with the others," Lupin responded, "so the headmaster didn't have a chance to make you forget."

Draco's eyes rounded. The headmaster casting a memory charm on a large group of students was probably enough to get him fired, even sent to Azkaban. The fact that he was left with his memory...

"You all trust me," Draco whispered.

Lupin gave him a small smile, "We've learned the hard way to trust Harry and Severus told us Harry trusts you."

Draco wasn't quite sure how to respond. Not even Weasley and Granger, Harry's best friends, were being trusted with this secret. He felt a surge of pride, greater than any he had ever felt from the rare compliments his father had bestowed on him. He had truly earned this... more so than any other thing in his life... and he was not going to let Harry down.