All rights to the world of Harry Potter belong to J.K. Rowling and a number of very large corporations, none of which is me, and I do not intend to make any money whatsoever from this endeavour.

Particular thanks must be given to the lovely Phoenix Writing for taking time out of her insanely chaotic schedule to help make this a much better story in both style and content. Any mistakes which remain are, indubitably, my own - particularly since this chapter is unbeta'd.

Additional notes are available before the prologue.

A reminder before we start - I plotted this before OotP came out, though I'm including elements of it and later books where I can. Also, I'm trusting JKR's comments more than her self-professed poor math skills.

Further to that, Sirius, being Sirius, would have emphasized the relationship to Harry if they'd been cousins, I think, so I'm going with the family tree Potters not being James's parents.

Finally, I'm using a variation of Buffy's werewolf rules because when the actual full moon is during the day, it makes sense that the werewolf would come out to play on both nights.

Constructive criticism is always very much appreciated.

Once again, please accept my *profound* apologies for the ridiculously long delay; I hope you enjoy.

Originally posted 10 Nov. '15

On the Road to Confrontation

Dawn found Remus in the Forbidden Forest, his companion a silent shadow teasing though the frost and fog.

He was still simmering, Remus knew, from the knowledge that Hagrid had been aware of wolf tracks on the edge of the Forest for several weeks and hadn't said anything. He did so only inadvertently when Dumbledore was asking if he'd seen evidence of the creature described in an anonymous note, a creature that sounded far too much like a feldrake. With no other signs of a pack, Hagrid hadn't thought to mention it.

Only their agreement to move silently kept Severus from continuing to berate Hagrid until he left them to ask the centaurs what they knew about the wolf or the unknown creature. The were-, the magical beast that was neither man nor wolf, may have been suppressed by the wolfsbane, but that brought the wolf all the closer. This close to the moon, it mattered little: both were predators to the Centaurs.

No one suggested Severus, in the temper he was, be the one to speak with the centaurs.

The two of them examined the clearing silently and methodically, beginning at the outer edge and working slowly toward the centre. When they finished, Remus saw that Severus was as concerned as Remus himself felt.

"Well, that raised more questions than it answered."

Severus grunted in agreement.

They agreed the creature was, however improbably, a feldrake, but that was the only part of their investigation that was straightforward.

There was evidence of two additional beings in the clearing with the feldrake: a wolf – likely, but not certainly, the one Hagrid had been aware of near the school – and a human, probably magical given the quantity of spell residue.

It appeared as though the feldrake had been chasing the wolf when they arrived, and there'd been a fight in the clearing. The primary combatants, however, had been the human and the feldrake, but there was no trace, physical or magical, of the human arriving or departing.

Severus was obviously trying not to bite out his words. "An animagus."

"Perhaps," Remus agreed.

One unusual creature wasn't unusual in the Forbidden Forest; two was definitely cause for concern. Especially when one was a creature far from its natural habitat and well out of season, and the other was an unknown entity or defended by one.

"The feldrake must have been brought to the area." Remus reasoned aloud. "There's no way it could have made the journey in winter. But by whom? And why? And if we assume the sender of the note was the human, that person is also theoretically aware that a wolf, again, theoretically this one, has been in the vicinity of the castle-"

"Doing what? Hunting? Hagrid said no animals were missing. Scouting? Spying? For whom?"

With the little verifiable information they had, there was no way to tell which, if either, was friend and which was foe.

Remus had caught a elusively familiar scent, but given his inability to place it, he chose not to mention that fact to Severus at this time, as he'd already moved on to a more pressing problem.

"There's no evidence of corpses. Where are they now?"

Draco entered his room to find Harry exactly as he'd expected: standing out of sight of the Prefect's room, nearly vibrating with fury, with Debrett's Wizardage open on the bed. Draco closed the door.

Harry spoke quietly, but his tone and expression were as cold as the bond. "You knew."

Draco's regret that the professors' staff meeting and his own astronomy class had kept him from speaking with Severus the previous evening grew tenfold, and his reluctance to speak with Harry before doing so was suddenly so obviously a betrayal of the still fragile trust they were carefully building. Draco felt sympathy for Remus and resented the man who'd put them each in awkward positions. Because it was obvious Harry hadn't known.

"Yes." Draco would have preferred to equivocate, but he knew Harry would hear it as a lie.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"At first, I didn't realize it was necessary; we all learned-"

"We?" Harry interrupted. "Who else?"

Draco shrugged awkwardly. "Most of the old families – the Parkinsons, the Flints .… the Blacks..." The list petered into a silence that was severed by Harry's voice.

"The Longbottoms?"

Draco swallowed hard. "Probably," he replied, and the bond flared.

"The Weasleys?" The tone was dangerously even.

"I don't know." Harry's expression darkened, and Draco found himself speaking quickly and raising his hands in an instinctively defensive gesture. "They don't follow all the traditions. I don't know."

Harry brought his hands to his face then ran them through his hair, breathing deeply as he did so. "You said 'at first.'" His words were softer.

"I started to suspect a few days ago."

"Why didn't you say anything then?" Harry was exasperated and disappointed, and that struck Draco even deeper than the anger had.

"I wanted to talk to Severus first." Harry's scowl deepened again, and Draco hurried to explain. "It just seemed... impossible that you wouldn't know."

Harry laughed, but it was a dry and bitter sound. "Didn't it?'

"I'm sorry—" Draco began, but Harry raised a hand and shook his head. He stared at Draco for a moment.

"I asked if he knew them, James' cousins. He…." His words trailed off as he focussed on the open page of the book on the bed. Draco knew without looking that it was Potter lineage: the page that showed James Potter's cousins, Morgana and Eleanor; their father, Frederick Potter; his wife, Eileen; and the thin line that connected her to the son of her first marriage, Severus Snape.

If Ron had known, he would have said something, if only out of disgust.

Hermione was studious, yes, and she might well have discovered the relationship, but she, too, would have said something if she had.

Harry had to believe that.

He paced in a short hallway that was near the Potions classroom but not on a direct route to it. He'd been unable to stay in Draco's room and had convinced the other boy to lead Harry, hidden under his cloak, through the door that connected Draco's room to Slytherin and out of the dorm. He'd returned to his own room long enough to change and collect his books, and it had taken a great deal of restraint not to wake Ron immediately and demand answers. He'd managed, then found his current hiding place. He didn't want to talk to anyone – not his friends, not Draco, and especially not Snape – not until he had a better understanding of his thoughts and emotions.

He waited until the last possible moment to enter the classroom, sliding into his seat as the expected quiz appeared. The expected remark about his near tardiness did not.

As ever, Severus watched.

He watched who settled at a reasonable distance to the person sharing the table and who perched as far from the other as possible. He watched who panicked at the sight of the quiz and who began writing confidently. Mostly, though, he watched Harry and Draco. There was tension there, new and worrisome. Given that neither had seemed surprised by the quiz or its content, it was unlikely that it was related to the test, but at least a portion of it was directed at himself.

As the end of the class period approached, he knew he needed answers, and there was no doubt which of the boys would be the better source of information. In his current mood, Harry would be sullen and uncommunicative – if he didn't bolt.

Any student publically challenging a professor would have to be punished; Harry Potter challenging Severus Snape would require a punishment that was both severe and public. That would cause unnecessary tension and could be hazardous to the establishment of the bond.

"Time." At this level, the students knew better than to continue writing, and any students who hadn't yet finished quickly lifted quills clear of the parchment that rolled and sealed at Severus's command. "Mr. Malfoy, Ms. Granger, remain."

Harry looked up in surprise, his face awash with gratitude.

Draco fought to hold back a sigh. After yet another night of little sleep and disturbing dreams – even if they weren't his own – his temper was near to frayed.

He feigned the occasional (satisfying) outburst or (humiliating) failed spell so the Dark Lord wouldn't have cause to suspect that Draco had already pledged, but he was grateful that his magic was mostly under his control. If it hadn't been, he had no doubt that, given his recent erratic emotions, there would have been a magical contretemps that would eclipse even his disastrous ninth birthday party, the first Severus had not attended.

After a few questions about the schedule for Prefect rounds on the holiday train – questions that were in no way important enough to justify asking them to stay behind – Professor Snape dismissed them. Granger left quickly, almost certainly hoping to catch Harry. Draco didn't bother. He knew a pretence when he saw one, and he knew that Professor Snape was looking for answers in an entirely different subject: Harry. Of course.

Snape ignored him, depositing the quizzes the class had written into a drawer of the desk and casting a Locking Charm. He then sorted through the class notes on his desk, though they both knew full well that the notes for his next class would be on the bottom of the stack.

Finally, the older man looked up. "What happened?"

"I tried to talk to you last night—" Draco began.

"Yes, I got your message." He interrupted. "What did you do to Harry?"

What did I do?! Professor Snape had ignored his message, but this was hisfault?

"It. Wasn't. Me!" Draco bit out the words. "If it was anyone, it was Dumbledore, his so-called friends, and you!" He was pleased in a distant part of his mind to see Snape drop his notes, but he didn't speak, and Draco was able to continue. "Harry was in the library trying to identify his Potter relatives."

His teacher closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. When he dropped his hands and caught Draco with piercing eyes, and Draco understood Neville Longbottom in a way he hand never wished to do.

"Explain."

"He didn't know." Draco replied. "I found him with a pile of research and several students in the vicinity. He was determined to pursue it, so I offered to lend him my copy of Debrett's."

"Without consulting me?"

"As his vectigal, it's my duty." Draco said flatly. "But I told him I'd look for it and tried to find you." He glared at his professor. "He arrived at my room before you replied to my message." Draco quashed the fleeting thought that continuing would be dangerous; he'd been imagining saying variations of it for days. "And you had years to make sure he knew."

Professor Snape inhaled deeply, but his tone was carefully bland. "The situations are not as similar as you suppose." He raised a hand to stop Draco's response. "But this is not the time to debate. You are late for lunch." He gestured toward the door. "Go."

Draco did not slam the door. But it was a near thing.

Harry desperately wanted to be by himself, but he was nearly as desperate not to be alone. Leaving the Potions classroom quickly, he headed for the only place within the confines of the castle that he thought he might be able to manage both. When the door to the Room of Requirement appeared, he opened it gratefully, though he had no idea what to expect.

In his haste to close the door before he was seen, Harry nearly stumbled over a long table. The side closest to him was empty, but, at first glance, that was the only unusual thing. A number of his housemates were finding places on the other side, and the other house tables were filling as usual.

He wondered if he was seeing what was what was currently happening in the Great Hall when a burst of laughter drew his attention and his question was answered: about a third of the table down, looking as they had in Harry's third or fourth year, the Weasley twins were laughing at a moulting Percy and his clucking Head Boy badge. Harry's eyes darted back to the Hufflepuff table where current-aged Colin sat with Cadwaller and a group of other current sixth-years.

The usual cacophony of lunch drowned out individual conversations.

No one called to him or waved or moved to make room for him. Harry thought about speaking, just to see, but what if doing so enabled them to interact with him?

Instead, he chose to sit silently, and a bit of tension left his shoulders. Food appeared on the table, though the plate in front of him remained empty. He was grateful – not only was he not hungry in the slightest, but something in the smell made him queasy. As soon as he had the thought, the smell began to fade until he couldn't identify it, even when he tried.

Harry wished all his troubles could be fixed so easily.

He'd had so many chances at being part of a proper family: that was the part that stung the most – the common denominator was Harry himself. He knew that was self-pity. The deaths of his parents and Sirius hadn't been his fault, he recognized that, logically, no matter how hard it was to accept. He certainly couldn't be responsible for Remus being a werewolf or the wizarding world's prejudice. He didn't know what had happened to the other Potters – he hadn't read that far in Debrett's and in his hurry to leave, he had forgotten the book in Draco's room. But what did it matter, really? They were dead.

He tried to imagine what his would have been like – this time, the room did not accommodate him – if Snape had wanted guardianship of him then. He might have had a chance to convince the man that he wasn't James, that he didn't even want to be James, no matter how much Harry wished he'd known the man as a father.

Instead, Snape would be Draco's guardian rather than Harry's.

The room chilled a bit, and the lights flickered, drawing Harry out of his thoughts.

But what matters is now, he told himself firmly. The family they were choosing to make together, however unusual it might be. Did the others see it like that? Would they, eventually? Even if they did, Harry wasn't sure any of them knew what a proper family was let alone how to be part of one.

Staring blankly at the image of the Great Hall before him, Harry thought about what that meant to him. There wasn't much he could take from the Dursleys' example, even when he excluded the way he himself had been treated. Petunia and Vernon's nicknames and indulgence of their son were well-intentioned and done out of love, but they weren't what Harry wanted from a family.

Laughter from down the table drew his attention, and Harry smiled. Fred had his arm wrapped his arm around Ron's neck in a hug or headlock; George reached to do the same to Ginny until she moved to sit in Dean's lap, or near enough.

The joyful noise and magic weren't the primary reasons why Harry loved the Weasleys – their selfless and willing aid and their general acceptance of Harry himself held that honour – but they were qualities that defined them as much as their red hair and tempers. But he'd rather do without the howlers and over-protectiveness. He needed protection, yes – he was Harry Potter after all – but he wanted a parent who would also recognize his need to protect himself and help him to do it better. What he did like was how comfortable the Weasleys were with each other, able to tease and trust it was done without malice. Most of the time, anyway: Percy was the obvious exception. While he'd never fit in as easily as the others, once he'd started working at the Ministry, the jabs were more pointed and without the physical affection from anyone but Molly.

Harry thought then that maybe he understood the point of the lecture about touch.

Professor Snape had told him that Draco's family was not any more affectionate or open in private then they were in public.

What little Harry had seen in Snape's memories hadn't suggested a happy childhood; what if the man tormenting the boy his professor had been was Harry's great uncle? They'd looked to be blood kin, but Lucius Malfoy and Mr. Lovegood looked more alike than Narcissa Malfoy did her sisters. Either way, it didn't bode well.

Remus didn't talk about his family at all.

Harry scanned the room in front of him. Cadwaller and Colin sat close, holding hands; Seamus had all but draped himself around Natalie's shoulders. The couples were dating, so it wasn't unexpected, but similar examples could be seen with pairs or groups of students who weren't romantically linked. One of the third-form boys rested his elbow on a mate's shoulder as they shared a copy of Quidditch Weekly . The Patel twins huddled close with Lavender, whispering intently.

The Slytherins and Ravenclaws seemed to be more reserved than the Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors, though there were counterexamples: Percy, of course, but Neville wasn't particularly comfortable with physical expressions of affection either. Was that by choice or was the concept as foreign to Nev as it had been to Harry when he'd arrived at school? He was considering when – why – he himself had ceased to be uncomfortable with that sort of casual contact when the scene melted until only a large clock remained, a pointed admonishment that Harry was in danger of being late.

Draco returned to the Prefect's room after class, wishing a run weren't out of the question. It had helped him, running, to deal with the chaos of emotions he'd been dealing with when he'd been preparing to speak with Professor Snape about the possibility of the Fidelious Charm and what that would entail.

He'd been so happy when he'd realized he'd been presented with an opportunity to ask Severus back into his life as more than a teacher, and so terrified that he was too blinded by hope to see that he'd misjudged Severus's loyalties. Not to the Dark Lord – the idea that Severus was in fact Dumbledore's spy had been inconceivable – but that he was more Lucius's vassal than Narcissa's friend or Draco's godfather. The Blacks has been decimated politically after the war, but the Malfoys had lost little and recovered quickly. Lucius's influence and power were not trifles to be thrown away in exchange for an alliance of dubious value and less trust.

He'd known Harry would make his decision on criteria that Draco wouldn't understand or appreciate – he'd hoped desperately it wasn't to be done out of pity – but if Harry agreed, Draco had thought Dumbledore might permit it because Draco had skills Harry could use and brought with him a formidable Death Eater.

Instead, they'd lost a spy and gained short- and long-term complications. Just now, Draco wasn't entirely sure they'd made the right decision for themselves or their allies. He wasn't certain it was the best decision for Draco himself.

Until Harry returned, Draco allowed himself to believe the lie.

As expected, Harry had disappeared at lunch. Draco had known better than to follow him, but he'd expected the bond to tell him where Harry was. Instead, Draco has felt as though Harry were everywhere and nowhere. Draco would have panicked and run to a teacher – Pomfrey, probably – if he hadn't been able to feel Harry's emotions. They were mostly improving, and Draco had an odd certainty that if Harry truly needed him, Draco would be able to find him.

He would ask later, he decided, when Harry wouldn't consider it as stalking or intrusive. When he himself had a better grasp on the myriad of emotions he felt about Harry consciously manipulating the bond – pride, satisfaction, jealousy, resignation, fear… so many emotions he couldn't even identify.

By the time Harry arrived for their study session, his temper had settled, the majority of it anyway. Draco couldn't help feeling that he ought to be able to do that, rather than continually making Harry feel worse. He thought about leaving aside their morning conversation – it was very tempting – but he recognized the importance, the necessity, of addressing the issue of Draco's loyalty.

He hadn't intended to make Harry doubt his trustworthiness, but having done so would influence the bond, could have lasting effects on Draco's future position. He couldn't bear the thought of being suspected and leashed – metaphorically or literally – for the rest of his life. It was bad enough it was a possibility because of their history, when Draco had intended insult.

As Severus chose Harry over Draco, so Draco would choose Harry over Severus. Not the first difficult decision, nor the last, Draco thought bitterly. He wondered, fleetingly, when – whom – Harry would have to choose, then buried the thought. He was certain he didn't want to know the answer.

"I want to apologize. I didn't mean to make it seem…. I didn't meant to betray your trust. You."

"Thank you." Draco was gratified to feel Harry was more relieved than surprised. Harry would let him leave it at that, Draco know, but he continued, "I always get things wrong with you."

"It's not your fault. We're complicated. All of us" Harry flashed a crooked grin. "Just… talk to me next time."

"If I had someone else—"

Harry shook his head. "It's my problem, but it's not – I can guess why he didn't…. I just—I'm tired of being a pawn." He closed his eyes and shook his head again, to clear it this time, then looked back to Draco. "I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have called you to the door last night, or to the library, either, but that was an accident."

Draco gaped. "You didn't do it intentionally?"

Harry shook his head. "I was looking through the books, getting frustrated. Wishing Hermione was doing it. Then I realized I needed you, and you appeared."

"But you did it deliberately last night?"

Harry nodded, shamefaced, and his tone was defensive. "Only because I thought you might be in trouble, and I remembered what you said about summoning. I wouldn't have thought to try, otherwise."

If it had happened when he hadn't been trying deliberately, and Harry taught himself so quickly, without instruction…. The bond – or Harry – had to be even stronger than Draco had suspected. The flare of hope nearly eclipse the fear he felt at the thought, and the consternation at what Harry didn't know. He needs a keeper. Or three. "We have to tell them. Remus and Severus."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, but he didn't move. Draco waited. "Later." Harry, added finally. "They'll want to spend hours testing and experimenting, and we have homework."

"One more question?" Draco asked tentatively. " It might be related."

Harry nodded.

"During lunch the bond felt odd – as though you were everywhere and nowhere at the same time."

"I don't think that was me. But that's a story for another day, I think." Harry gestured to the seating area. "We should start."

The Prefect lounge had four sofas arranged around a low table. They were exactly the same but for the colour of the fabric; each was woven in the colours of one of the Hogwarts Houses. Draco had yet to learn who had chosen them – Dumbledore or a house elf.

Draco sat on the green and silver one and expected Harry to sit on the red and gold. It was a bit of a shock when he picked up a book then sat down next to Draco.

In response to Draco's inquiring look, Harry shrugged. "We need to share," he said and waved at the rest of the books Draco had set on the table.

The books were in a pile on the center of the table between the sofas. Besides– "we have to share the books, not read them simultaneously."

"I'm comfortable; you can move if it bothers you." Determination overpowered other emotions Draco couldn't identify, and with a sidelong look at Harry, Draco slowly reached for a text of his own and settled on his side of the sofa. Only a few moments later, he felt Harry tuck his toes under Draco's thigh.

Draco turned to stare incredulously at Harry.

"They're cold," Harry explained without looking up.

The emotions he felt through the bond now – nervousness and daring and sincerity —were not the same as truth, but they held no malice or glee, so Draco decided to allow it.

Assuming he was being given a choice.

They worked on their assignments for a while and made actual progress. Eventually, however, Harry began fidgeting, and Draco allowed that a break would not be unwelcome. They passed a few minutes in a silence that was neither fully comfortable nor entirely awkward before Draco spoke.

"I knew you were a favourite of Professor Lupin's, but I didn't realize you were so close. I rather expected your Muggle relatives, if not the Weasleys or Grangers."

Harry must have caught his actual emotion – fear not expectation – through the bond or assumed it, given their history. He gave Draco a complicated look that held both warning and approval before he replied. "Not much chance of that." He paused for long enough that Draco though that might be all he was going to say, then added, "Remus was friends with my Dad – my parents. They were in the same year at Hogwarts."

More emotions flowed through the bond, too many, too complicated for Draco to identify. Given all involved were in some way participants in the adoption and the bonding, Draco decided not to risk pressing for details. Could nothing between them be easy! Casting about for another, safer topic, he was surprised when Harry continued to speak.

"There were four boys in Gryffindor that year, and they were all very close friends and notorious pranksters; Filch or McGonagall can go on for ages about their exploits! Most of their pranks were planned against a common enemy — Snape, actually, who was also in their year. As though our situation weren't complicated enough!" Harry grinned wryly. Nothing in him or the bond suggested blame, and Draco tried to quash the guilt. "The other three even learned to become animagi when they found out Remus was a werewolf."

Shock overwhelmed every other emotion. "They managed it?" Draco gasped. "Three of them?"

"Not until their fifth year, but, yeah, they did." It was said a bit smugly, but Draco admired his restraint. If he had known that not one but three students had accomplished the Animagus transformation by fifth year, he'd have started working on it in third year himself, when his conversations with Professor Lupin—Remus— were fresh. "So that's why…."

Harry looked inquiringly, but Draco waved his interruption aside. "Never mind. You said there were four; who were the other two?"

"Peter Pettigrew." Draco flinched, recognizing the name, and Harry grimaced. "Yeah. And the fourth was my godfather, Sirius Black. When he died, Remus sort of took over. That's what godfathers do, right? Assume the duties of a father when he can't?" The wry smile flickered again. "Especially true in our case."

Draco didn't want to return to heavier matters yet. "Do you think you'll ever become an Animagus yourself?"

Harry shook his head and shifted on the sofa. "I can't."

Draco resisted a sigh. Of course someone like Harry Potter would give up as soon as he tried something that didn't come easily. He thought about how long it had taken him, the setbacks, the effort to overcome them, and a credible source of assistance. "Remus would help, I'm sure. He—"

"I can't," Harry repeated flatly, leaving little room for argument, but he was Draco Malfoy.

"But—"

"Drop it, Draco." He spoke in a hard, cold voice, and the bond's reaction was palpable, to Draco at least: he found himself unable to do anything else, unable to communicate to Harry, verbally or otherwise. If Harry noticed, he gave no indication; he'd picked up his book and was looking down at it intently. Draco did the same.

He was permitted that, at least.

Harry was grateful when the other boy didn't press further. As his temper settled and Draco continued to study in silence, he began to suspect Draco had been offended, either by Harry's tone, the dismissal of his ideas, or, more likely, the both together.

It wasn't Draco's fault Harry was in a bad mood, any more than Harry's inability to become an animagus was.

Harry was almost ready to admit that he needed to be the one to speak when the door opposite the library opened, and Hermione entered. Harry pulled out Sirius's old pocket watch and was surprised to see that it was so close to dinner. Draco was watching him, looking surprised, and, Harry noticed guiltily, hurt.

Moving slowly – he didn't want to draw her attention – Harry took his feet off the couch, where they had been against Draco's leg; he'd been careful not to move them, not when he'd fidgeted, nor when he told Draco to shut it. He had just put his feet to the floor when she looked up from the book she held. "Harry? What are you—" She saw the books on the table and interrupted herself. "Malfoy, you're clearly a good influence. I can't get Harry or Ron to begin an assignment until nearly the due date. " Harry coughed, and Hermione glared at him before turning back to Draco. "Pansy Parkinson asked me to remind you to meet her at the statue of the hooded vampire?" She ended the sentence with a bit of a question, which Harry understood: the statue she'd mentioned was not on anything resembling a direct path to the Great Hall, not from anywhere in the castle.

Draco nodded, though, and replied, "Thank you," before his own expression also transformed into one of confusion.

Wondering why he had been able to reply to Granger when he hadn't been able to speak at all to Harry kept Draco distracted for a while, but the closer he came to the meeting place, the more trepidation he felt at Pansy's summons. For summons it was: they'd had no plans to meet. Draco approached the end of the hall at a normal pace, no matter how much he wanted to drag his feet or, preferably, walk in the opposite direction. He turned the corner and, as expected, found Pansy positioned in arabesque while Gene, the hooded vampire, critiqued her form. Knowing better than to interrupt, Draco leaned against the wall to wait.

"I didn't think you'd be here," Pansy said finally. She spoke evenly, but Draco heard the bruised pride.

"Pansy." He didn't bother to check that they were alone – he'd recognized the wards she'd set – but he wasn't going to speak if there was even a chance anyone was near.

She accepted that, gesturing for him to move closer. "Gene would like us to demonstrate the Lindy hop."

Draco nodded. When his mother had insisted he learn what felt like every dance known in the history of mankind, he hadn't expected he'd be performing them to persuade a statue to grant him entrance to a secret chamber at school. He wondered if his mother had.

It had been a couple of months since he'd danced at all, but his body remembered, and the Lindy was one of his favourites, so he was soon able to lose himself in the familiarity and comfort of dancing with his best friend. They danced until, with a flourish as was as dramatic and graceful as stone could be, Gene revealed the entrance. Draco bowed, Pansy curtseyed, and Gene clapped until the door closed behind them.

Draco sat in his usual chair without a word. Pansy was clearly in a flap – she wouldn't have summoned him otherwise – and there was no point in talking until she'd delivered her rant. He did wish he'd thought to bring a butterbeer.

Silence.

Draco looked up, confused. He saw Pansy, not pacing and preparing to lecture but seated in the chair opposite, staring at him with concern.

He suddenly remembered that this wasn't one of their usual repining retreats.

When she saw that she had his attention, she spoke. "Tell me."

"Tell you what?' He knew Pansy wouldn't believe he didn't know what she was talking about, but frustration might distract her.

She didn't look impressed. "You've been secretive since the beginning of term, and I let it go, but you've been worrying me for days now. Is it time? Is that what your mother wanted in Hogsmeade?"

Draco shook his head, once and almost imperceptibly, but Pansy sat back.

"Then what have you been up to?"

Phrased that way, Draco had a secret he could confess without lying or endangering the rituals, and he relaxed into his chair. "Let me tell you about my personal project this term." His eyes twinkled, letting her know that it was a worthy story.

Pany rolled her eyes. "This isn't another plan to make a laughing stock of Potter, is it? Because we've talked about that, and you agreed that those never—"

"No, it's not." Draco grinned. "It's infinitely more interesting."

The Darkness wasn't friendly, but knowing that the voice was there, there and not hostile, made him less fearful.

Harry approached the next opening with trepidation, though he didn't know what exactly he feared. Like the last, there was no door, but this one was covered in a misty curtain that moved continuously in no pattern that he could detect. Thick enough that it was mostly opaque, but whispers of transparency offered tantalizing glimpses of what was beyond, but they were moving too quickly to be sure of what he saw.

He reached out cautiously, as though to touch, but he hesitated with his hand a hair's breadth away when he heard a rough and ragged croak.

"Harry?"

He froze, his heart in his throat. He could hear Sirius, but not see him, even in the places where the fog thinned briefly as it swirled. When he could speak it was a whisper carried equal amounts of hope and pain. "Sirius?"

"Harry!"

He extended his hand and found not a smooth pane, but numerous shards mixed together – long, jagged, sharp ones that pierced and sliced mixed with tiny, glittering dust that burrowed into his skin. There was resistance, but eventually it gave enough that Harry could work his hands in. Ignoring the pain, he fought to make a hole large enough for him or Sirius to see each other, ideally to pass through.

Dark streaks ran through the fog now, spreading and filling until nothing else was visible. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how much Sirius encouraged in his ever-fading rasp, the barrier wouldn't clear.

He had no concept of time, but he was certain it had been a long while since he'd last heard Sirius – longer still if he discounted the last whispers, the ones he was trying desperately to believe he hadn't imagined – when he finally pulled his hands free. He slammed his palms against the solid wall next to the opening.

He stood there for a moment, clenching his fists and breathing heavily as he absorbed the grief that came from losing Sirius… again.

"Harry."

Wondering that he hadn't recognized the voice until now, he turned to see Draco, hands ripped and dripping red.

"Our blood is the same."

Harry spent Thursday sulking, obviously enough that Ron, who hadn't fully forgiven him and Hermione, after the second time he snapped at her, chose to avoid him. He, in turn, spent most of his efforts in avoiding Snape and Remus. The day dragged, but somehow it still wasn't long enough. Before he was entirely ready, Harry found himself at the door to Snape's office and knocked.

His teacher must have been standing behind it waiting for him because it opened almost immediately. When the door closed, Snape's features began to melt and shift until Tonks appeared.

Harry wasn't sure that was better: all his carefully planned words had disappeared.

"How are you holding up, Harry?" Tonks smiled encouragingly, but Harry jumped at the broken silence.

She laughed without malice. "That well, is it?"

Harry tried to smile. "It's fine."

"Right you are." It was obvious she didn't believe him, but she let it be, for which Harry was grateful. "I'm told you wanted a word."

"Yeah." He tried to remember what he'd been intending to say. "I know—I mean It's too—" He took a deep breath. "I know I should have asked to talk to you earlier, but I need to know—to make certain that you're all right with this."

She looked at him for a long moment, then nodded, but not in a way that seemed to be a reply. "Have you met my mother?"

Harry shook his head.

"She's very elegant, very composed. Everything a properly raised Pureblood witch should be. Also looks like her sister Bellatrix, which makes chasing that mad cow disconcerting." She pulled a face, and it was almost enough to make Harry smile.

"I'd had a particularly difficult time of it one day when I was about your age. Typical teenager stuff, you know—well, maybe you wouldn't," Tonks amended with a grin, "but, bad decisions and such – and I remember asking Mum, when do you become an adult? When do you know what you're doing, that you're making the right choices?"

Harry waited impatiently for the reply.

"She let out this little, uncontrolled laugh - not a sound I'd ever heard from her before - and told me she'd let me know when it happened." She grinned again. "Hasn't happened yet."

He didn't find that as comforting as Tonks seemed to think he should, and he didn't understand how that answered his question. He said as much.

"I always remember that when I think about how difficult it is for me to get through my life. People assume that being an Auror is challenging, and it is. But most of the time, the job is straight-forward; we do a lot of training and simulations, and a lot of it's instinct. It's the personal stuff that's hard, and I don't have a partner or child to worry about. I can't imagine anything more difficult that being responsible for another human being. Especially if it's you." She tilted her head, considering. "Or, if the stories are true, the Weasley twins."

Tonks looked back at Harry, a different person with her expression devoid of mirth. "But there's probably even more risk to those you'd be responsible for."

"Does that mean you're not willing?"

"I wouldn't be here if I weren't," she said seriously.

"But why, then? I mean, I guess I understand Remus and Professor Snape, but the Malfoys and the Blacks have been horrible to you and your family; why would you want to help Draco?"

"First, they've been pretty horrible to Draco, as well, so that puts him on our side of the family. But that aside, Harry…." She stared at him intently. "You don't want this, and that's a good thing; I wouldn't want to pledge to someone who wanted it. But you're doing it anyway, and that tells me you're a good person. You certainly don't deserve the stuff you've had to deal with. And this? Is crazy. But if you're willing, I can hardly be less. And it turns out that my cousin's not that bad when he's not trying to smell the clouds. You might be able to help each other." Tonks paused a moment then added. "And the opportunity for revenge… well, I must confess that doesn't hurt."

Harry managed to leave without exchanging serious words with anyone outside those required by the ritual. He still wasn't ready to speak with Remus, Snape, or Dumbledore, nor did he want to apologize to Draco in front of them. He was grateful to discover Morag McDougall already waiting outside the door to the Theory of the Dark Arts classroom, so he wouldn't be forced into a conversation before class began.

He needn't have worried: the entire class had assembled by the time the professor and Draco arrived.

The class itself was as engaging as usual, and it reminded Harry that the professor had become someone Harry could respect, even admire. Perhaps he could at least listen to his explanation, even if it was simply that he hadn't wanted the care of Harry. If he was willing to participate in the ritual, he too, must have felt their relationship had improved over the past year. Harry dawdled in packing up his things, hoping to be the last student to leave. He was, but the conversation wasn't possible.

The mark flared.

Harry clasped his hand to his scar and whimpered. The close proximity to the mark always made the pain stronger. He strengthened his shields until the pain faded. He felt Draco's panic then, and Harry tried to send reassurance in return. He wasn't sure he was successful, but since Draco didn't come running back to the classroom, he assumed he did well enough.

"Quickly, Potter." Professor Snape gestured to Harry's things. "I must go."

Harry swallowed a gulp. "Are you sure? What if he knows?" Fear caught him. Regardless of his temper at discovering the knowledge that had been kept from him, the idea that their plan could be destroyed, that this man could be so easily destroyed, so close to the end was terrifying.

Black eyes bored into his own. "Have you had any indication that he is upset?"

Harry had to admit he hadn't. He was able to keep Voldemort out of his mind, but he still felt strong surges of emotion. And if he'd discovered betrayal on the scale they were planning….

Snape nodded. "And we've come too far to look suspicious now." He gestured at Harry's bag again. "Quickly."

Barely identifiable in the dimly lit room, James, Sirius, Remus, and Severus stood around him, looking down at him. They argued, and he watched their faces, where the moonlight was chasing shadows, highlighting the contours and crevices, sculpting monsters from the faces of the men he loved. He shivered, betrayed by the fear that invaded his place of comfort. Their words increased in volume and rancour, and though he couldn't understand what they were saying, he knew that it wasn't good and that they were fighting because of him. The cradle was rocked harder, and harder still as they pounded on the bars in emphasis, and he cried, but there was no response or respite.

When the bottom of the cradle eventually broke, he fell to the floor, and there was no interruption in the argument or the rocking.

It was much darker on the floor: there, the absence of light was thick and isolating, smothering in its completeness. Everything was black, everything except the eyes that glowed red as they stared at him from the corner of the room. The eyes that belonged to the rat.

Harry woke with a start, calming when he recognized the red he saw was the curtains of his bed and knew that he was safe at Hogwarts. And too big for a crib, he thought incongruously as he worked to get his breathing under control.

He stared at the ceiling for a long while, trying to relax enough to sleep, but each time he closed his own eyes he saw the rat from his dream staring back at him.

Unable to relax, Harry finally got out of bed and headed down to the common room. It was unlikely he`d be able to return to sleep, so he might as well take advantage of the quiet and solitude. He curled up in a chair in front of the fire with his adoption questionnaire.

Form 9545125HLE8552-B-252, Issued by the Ministry of Magic, Request for Adoption

Date of last revision: August 10, 1991

Harry read the very long disclaimer, and winced. He acknowledged the warnings – which included, amongst others, the possibility of disfigurement, disease, and death – then selected the type of adoption he was requesting and his status in the proceeding, and the length of the scroll grew and additional text appeared.

He'd filled in his name and age before stopping suddenly.

Have you, the applicant, been adopted previously? If so, how many times?

Harry was reasonably certain he hadn't but he couldn't be positive: he would have to ask for yet another basic fact about his own life. He skipped the question, swallowing bile and bitterness, deciding to read through them all in case there were more unpleasant surprises.

Why do you want to be adopted?

List three qualities you need in parent.

If you could Accio only three things before your home was destroyed, what would they be, and why?

The final question in the long answer portion – Which Ministry official do you most admire, and why? – made Harry roll his eyes, and he returned to the beginning to fill in his answers.