Yeah, thanks for reviewing, everyone. I'm really feeling the support here.

Just because it's hard to tell in writing and out of context, I'm going to tell you something. That was sarcasm.

This is for Issy, because she actually reviewed the last one. It's only been a week this time, so you can't get mad at me.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Duh. Actually, it's not all JK Rowling's, either. I stole something from Dickens' Tale of Two Cities. Excellent book, by the way. If you know what it is I stole, tell me, or try to guess.

Here we go again. I present to you… Harry Potter and the Lord of Darkness!

Chapter 18

Monumental Moments

Headlong, mad, and dangerous footsteps to force their way into anybody's life, footsteps not easily made clean again if once stained red, the footsteps raging in the prison cell that would not release its almost inhuman captive.

"Harry!" came the call from the corridor above him. "Harry, where are you? Answer me!"

Much as Harry would've liked to have answered Lupin's plea, he couldn't. The Death Eaters hadn't lifted their curse before they had gone, and he couldn't budge an inch. He heard figures at the top of the stairs, saw the glow from their wands, and heard a simultaneous gasp from three people—presumably Ron, Hermione, and Lupin—as the scene met their eyes.

Harry heard Lupin mutter the counter-curse as he took the stairs down two at a time and crouched next to him. Harry sat up stiffly.

Lupin put a shaking, pale hand on his shoulder for a brief instant, then pulled him into a rough embrace. "Thank goodness," he muttered quietly.

"Harry, what happened?" Ron asked, bewildered.

Taking a deep breath, Harry launched into his tale. The headlong, mad, and dangerous footsteps in the cell stopped as he spoke, listening quietly.

When Harry was done, Hermione raised her wand apprehensively, and the glowing tip cast its light further down the corridor, revealing the crumpled black heap that was the lifeless form of Narcissa Malfoy. Lupin crossed to her and checked her pulse, but shook his head slowly. "You remain, Harry, the only one to have survived the Killing Curse."

The footsteps resumed.

"How did they get in?" Hermione asked fearfully. "The castle was supposed to be impregnable."

"We need to tell Professor McGonagall," Harry said urgently, standing up and retrieving his wand from where it had clattered to the ground.

"She's not here," Lupin said, shaking his head and swallowing hard. "We can't get to her."

"Who's the assistant headmistress, then?" Harry demanded.

Lupin looked at Hermione, who shrugged and glanced at Ron, who stared back at her. "You don't know?" he said, shocked. "Hermione Granger doesn't know?"

"Be quiet, Ron," the ignorant one in question snapped. "You're not helping."

Harry, his own pacing footsteps echoing the ones that emanated from the cell down the corridor, made a decision. "I have to talk to him."

Before any of them could stop him, he crossed to the cell door, unlocked it, and went inside.

Silver moonlight cast the room into an eerie glow, making the figure that paced up and down, up and down, appear far more sinister. Harry shut the door behind him. Malfoy didn't even glance up.

"You said you had information on one of the Weasleys," Harry said quietly.

He said nothing.

"I'm willing to offer you something for it."

The footsteps stopped.

"They killed my mother, Potter," Malfoy said softly.

He seemed more quiet and pensive—less insane—than he had earlier. This surprised Harry.

"I know," he replied quietly. "I watched them."

Malfoy glanced sharply at Harry. "But it wasn't just them," he said, gazing at him with eyes blazing in anger. But for once, the anger was not directed at him. His voice was hoarse, and it was filled with a harsh, utter loathing. "It was him. My father."

Harry hesitated. "I'm sorry," he told him.

"I don't need your pity, Potter." He paused. "I looked up to him. My whole life, I looked up to him. He was noble, honorable, strong, and powerful, and I… I revered him. I wanted nothing more than to be like him. I thought that he would die for what he believed, die for me, die for… die for my mother." His voice broke, and Harry could see the moonlight reflecting off the thin lines of wet tears that traced his face. "He's not who I thought he was."

Harry was silent. He knew what Malfoy was feeling, and it tore at his heart. His own parents had been betrayed by one whom they had thought to be a friend.

"We are not so different, you and I," Malfoy said softly, not looking at Harry. "Not anymore."

There was silence for a long moment, each absorbed in his own thoughts, each of whom a seventeen-year-old boy who had faced more than any seventeen-year-old should have had to, each of whom had lost his parents, each of whom was at that moment no more than a child, lost and unsure where to turn.

"Potter," Malfoy said hoarsely. "I know where Bill Weasley is."

"What do you want in return?"

There was silence for a moment, and then: "Only your trust."

Harry gazed at him intently, and, as much as he had always despised Malfoy, he knew that he was sincere. "You have it," Harry said quietly, extending his hand.

Hesitantly, Malfoy took it.