Disclaimer: I does not own. I does not want to. Would be shite if I owned. XD

//This is Parseltongue.//

Paraselenic

Obdurate // stubbornly resistant to moral influence; persistently impenitent

Ron stared at the familiar crimson canopy, the same he had stared at for years. He could hear his roommates moving around slowly as they woke, and for once his reluctance to get out of his dark bed had little to do with laziness. Ron was thinking, something he generally tried to avoid but seemed necessary in that moment, and he had been thinking for over an hour since he was awoken from a jarring dream.

He couldn't remember his dream, only flashes of foreboding that accompanied it. The strange niggling sensation of bad that had been hovering over him since before Halloween seemed to be culminating before him now, and Ron had no wish to get out of bed and face whatever had changed to bring the powerful feeling of apprehension to the fore. Something deep within him, something he couldn't put a name on, told him that everything, everything was coming to a head.

When Harry and Hermione had returned the night before as if nothing was wrong, he had forced himself to smile and nod as if he didn't see the dark circles under their eyes or the vacant expression on Hermione's face. He pretended he didn't need an explanation for Hermione's sudden strange behavior, for why Harry looked as if he hadn't slept in days. When they didn't offer an explanation, he pretended he didn't need to know.

Because that same something that was now screaming in the back of his head told him he didn't want to know.

Ron had been awake for hours staring at the ceiling, fingers twitching at his sides as he tried to puzzle out what he would do now. On one hand, he could ignore the night before entirely, pretend nothing had happened and that his two best friends weren't obviously hiding a world of secrets from him. It was contrary to his nature to let things go, but in this case he seriously considered it. After all, if he was making a habit of trusting this inner voice, he should really try his damnedest not to know what he was missing.

But the foreboding pit in his chest said that he wouldn't have a choice. And having that choice taken away from him scared him more than he cared to examine.

Harry was different. More studious, less prone to just sitting and talking about Quidditch. More likely to have a conversation with Hermione on some magical theory or another than play chess. He had attributed the changes to Sirus's death, but the more that weeks turned into months, the less he saw mourning and the more he saw a chilled standoffishness. Had they really grown so far apart? What had happened to wrench apart their seemingly unshakable bond?

It seemed all he had done was blink and suddenly everything had changed. He could have sworn that it was not so long ago that he had met a small, quiet boy on the Hogwarts Express and gone on adventures with him. So why did he suddenly feel as if he had missed out on huge events in Harry's life?

Ron might have contemplated more, but a gut-wrenching scream broke his reverie and sent him automatically dashing from his bed towards Harry's, knowing that scream for what it was. Harry had often awoken this way the previous year, though generally not this late in the morning, after a vision sent by You-Know-Who. This year had been quiet, what with the pain Harry had managed to inflict on the villain at the Ministry, but the scream told him that it had managed to happen once more.

Harry was thrashing, back bowed off the bed as he screamed and writhed, sheets tangled around his legs. Apparently he had suffered in silence for a while, as sweat clung to his skin and stuck his clothing to him. Ron automatically gripped the sides of Harry's face and began calling his name, trying to avoid the thrashing limbs while watching his friend go through unimaginable pain.

No matter his current misgivings, no matter his confusion and indecisiveness, this was more important. Harry was his best friend, and not even the world falling down around them would change that.

It hurt. Gods it hurt. It was like being under a hundred simultaneous Cruciatus curses, his nerves and cells alight with hellfire. He was sure he was screaming, he had to be, but the pain was so great that he couldn't even hear himself let alone try to differentiate sounds from one another.

And then it stopped as if the fire had been doused in one fell swoop, replaced by an exaggerated cold that made him curl in on himself despite the lingering effects of the pain. He was shaking now, and he felt like his insides had been covered in ice. Vaguely, he was aware that someone was calling his name loudly, but he couldn't bring himself to care. And as blackness encroached over his awareness, he let it come and surrendered to the blessed call of nothingness.

Severus tapped his fingers against the potions vial in annoyance, staring down at the sleeping features of Harry Potter. Minerva had come banging on his door an hour before demanding he bring several different potions for the boy, the stern witch steadily losing her composure as she listed off the things remedies were needed for. Severus had eyed her warily; she was an intelligent and strong woman, but she became no less than a panicked mother when one of her Gryffindors were seriously injured, even if most would not be able to see the change in her demeanor. It was the severity of her loss of control that had given him pause and made him not argue as he gathered the necessary vials. It would not do to incur the Dark Lord's wrath by tarrying as his cohort was in danger of being found out. He had merely gathered potions that would not have a detrimental effect on the boy's vampirism and set off after the frantic Minerva.

Now here he was, holding several potions in his hands ready to administer them to the boy in magically-induced slumber. He was glad Minerva had left already to escort the Weasley boy to the Headmaster's office, but now he was faced with Poppy Pomfrey standing over Potter, ready to run more tests. Severus surreptitiously pulled his wand into his hand, watching the Mediwitch warily. As she dipped her wand in the motions to give her a full patient readout, Severus set down the potions on the bedside table and pulled his wand into the open, rapidly casting silencing and locking charms on the room as Poppy's eyes grew wider and wider over the invisible diagnosis sheet.

When she finally pulled her rounded eyes away from the words only she could see, she was met with his wand pointed directly at her, and he was aware of the grim and nearly apologetic look on his face. "It is an oath of your profession to keep clients' secrets, is it not?"

"Not when the patient is a minor! I have an obligation to tell the Headmaster…"

"Look again at your sheet, Poppy." Severus sneered. "He is no minor, and if you believe that you must tell the Headmaster, I will remove this information from your memory."

Poppy's brown eyes narrowed, shoulders straightening in a defensive posture. "I am compelled by my position at this school to give any information on possible dangers to the students to the Headmaster! I have no idea what Mr. Potter has gotten himself into, but he is a danger…!"

Severus had placed his wand to her forehead, her shock that her colleague would actually act on his threat silencing her. "Far be it from me to actually help Potter with anything, but it is my duty to be sure his secrets remain sound. Obliviate."

Severus sighed as her eyes glossed over pulling his wand back and putting it in his pocket. He turned and scooped up the potions vials, beginning the task of slowly administering each to the unconscious boy. One for the dangerously high temperature, another usually reserved for victims of prolonged Cruciatus exposure. A half dose of healing potion to help soothe muscle damage and joint strain. A slipped in artificial blood potion to be sure they wouldn't have to contend with a raging vampire when he woke. By the time Poppy broke out of her stupor, Severus was pocketing the various vials and casting some diagnostic spells of his own to be sure the potions were having effect.

"Severus?" the Mediwitch asked groggily. "What happened?"

"Hmm?" Severus intoned coolly. "You ran the tests and gave me the dosage information. Then you supervised as I administered the potions."

He peered at her out of the corner of his eye as she nodded vacantly, the spell's effects including a high amount of suggestibility in the first minute or so after casting. Severus straightened and opened his mouth to ask if he was needed for anything when he felt his locking charms crumble. Severus has his hand on his wand again immediately.

"What happened to him?" The question was asked before Severus even understood who had so easily crashed through his protective measures, a sneer forming on his lips as he looked at the vampire who was obviously attempting to look composed.

"Poppy, don't you need to finish that paperwork for your monthly potions supply?" Severus cut out, glaring black eyes not leaving Pierce.

"Yes, yes, thank you Severus. I'll have that for you by lunch." Poppy was looking much more herself as she pulled a blanket over Potter's inert form and bustled away, hardly sparing the two professors a second glance.

"You moron," Severus hissed, glaring at the much calmed Vampire. "You are hardly known here, and your proximity to Potter would be horribly suspicious. What if anyone else had been here other than a recently Obliviated old witch? Are you really so obtuse, Pierce?"

Dante stared at him with his usual blank look, only the darkened state of his eyes giving away anything beyond cool composure. "Mylläkkä's wellbeing trumps any mission he may have. Now what happened to him?"

Severus glared silently at the blond, lip curling in disdain. He hated this man, this blasted honor-ridden Vampire with his superiority and his blank expressions. He hated his seemingly infallible loyalty and his smug countenance… and he hated how the looks the man gave him made him feel like he was in the wrong every time. Only one other had had that ability in his life, to actually make him question himself with only a look. And he hated it. Most of all, he hated the respect he was forced to have for the man for all those qualities he hated.

He would have retorted if only to spite the arrogant blond, but at that moment Potter groaned, having shaken off the spell keeping him in sleep sooner than expected. Pierce immediately was at his side, staring down at the boy as bright green eyes fluttered open.

"What in the fuck was that?"

"Brilliant first words, Potter," Severus sneered down at the boy. "How do you expect anyone other than you to answer that?"

Potter shook his head, then immediately gripped his head with a groan. His gaze turned toward the silent vampire. "Dante! Do you have any idea?"

"What do you remember?"

Potter paused and grimaced. "Nothing. Just… pain. And…" his eyes closed, and his brow furrowed, hands still pressed to his temples. Severus pulled out a pain potion and held it above Potter's head for when those eyes opened again, and Severus ignored the grateful smile the boy gave. He downed it quickly and laid back, staring at the white ceiling. "I can't remember."

Severus caught the brief flash of concern the elder Vampire gave, but it was gone quickly as Pierce nodded. "We will figure something out, Mylläkkä. Now, are you well enough to attend classes?"

"Yes. Today is an important day, I don't have a choice in the matter." The boy paused suddenly and his eyes widened, "Wait, Madame Pomfrey! Did she…"

"I already took care of it, my lord," Severus said, inclining his head. "However, I would suggest vacating the area before she gets it into her head to check you over again. I won't be here to fix your problems next time, Potter."

Harry scowled a bit, but nodded. "Alright, then."

Severus nodded and swept away, leaving Potter with the Defense instructor and heading for his dungeons. He had classes to prepare for; he had already nearly missed breakfast, not that he ever had anything more than a cup of tea anyway. He would just summon an elf as he prepared for the fourth year Slytherins and Hufflepuffs he had first thing that morning. Immediately a scowl contorted his features. Albus was a fool to pair his Slytherins off with anyone but Ravenclaws; the Gryffindors were too annoying and brash and caused problems, the Hufflepuffs so timid that they were trounced upon.

He passed Granger as he traversed the halls, a frown on her face as she didn't even notice his existence. Severus wondered on her presence; he had expected the Dark Lord to kill her. Perhaps they had wiped her memory? What had caused her to attack Potter and Malfoy in the first place? He shrugged, it wasn't his concern and he was sure he would find out soon enough, anyway.

Thoughts of the Dark Lord nearly served to halt him, but Severus pressed on and attempted to disregard the thoughts that he had been putting off since the night before. He ignored the contemplations on the sight of Potter's legs around the Dark Lord's hips, the sight of his Master looking nearly as human as any of them. A chill went down his spine and he knew conclusively that he wasn't ignoring the thoughts well enough.

The Dark Lord and human had never been synonymous in his mind. Even in his younger years when he had joined the Dark sect willingly and eagerly, his Master had been something of a god, ready to smite all those who stood against them and bring about a new era. After he had set his sights on the Potters, his notion of the man had changed jarringly into that of a malevolent fiend, snakelike visage a reflection of a dark heart and evil mind. Severus had hardly ever gone in for the pureblood supremacy to begin with, being a half-blood himself, and the targeting of his childhood friend had only yanked him away farther.

But to see the Dark Lord with tousled dark hair, graying at the temples as he aged as any human did, looking hardly older than Severus himself and entwined passionately with Potter of all people… it was disturbing. In the moments before Draco had gasped they had all witnessed the very real intimacy and passion between the two, even if few had recognized it for what it was. But Severus did. The chemistry was nearly visible between the two powerful wizards, and though Severus could not bring himself to actually believe the Dark Lord had any capability for feelings for another living being, the two were certainly suited to one another. And that was frightening.

He could imagine several might think their lord weak now. Macnair, especially, with his delusions of strength in extrication, and Bellatrix was sure to see this as Potter weakening her lord. But Severus… Severus knew that the newly glimpsed humanity of the Dark Lord was anything but weakness. Before, their lord could be predicted. He was strong and angry, cast the Cruciatus without thought when displeased, ordered the deaths of those who angered him. When happy, he was even more frightening, cowing all those around him with ease. It was what he had been for all the years Severus had been in his service, and all of them were used to the manner with which he conducted himself.

But this humanity was… unsettling. Emotion and humanity caused things to be unpredictable and wild, and to combine the fearsome leader they had known with someone capable of emotions beyond anger was frightening to the extreme. Severus shuddered as he entered his classroom, forcing himself not to think of it any longer. They would all see where this took them, and hopefully the world would not come crashing down.

Mayhem at the Ministry!

By Rita Skeeter

It is this reporter's solemn duty to report to you a tragedy within our very own Ministry of Magic, readers. Last night, cloaked and masked, a Death Eater came to this reporter's dwelling exposing a terrible calamity: a raid by You-Know-Who in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Now, do not fear for this reporter, dear readers, as the unnamed Death Eater seemed only to want the story told without cover-ups, something any reporter can appreciate.

At approximately ten o'clock last night, the full power of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's Inner Circle, the name referring to his elite soldiers, stormed an Auror meeting and slaughtered those fine men and women in attendance. This is a tragedy spanning all of Wizarding Britain, and I hope you will all join me in a moment of silence for those fallen this morning as you eat your morning meal. At least three dozen lives were lost, possibly more, of our finest Aurors.

However, readers, this brings about many important questions. How, exactly, did You-Know-Who and his partner Lord Mylläkkä manage to infiltrate the Ministry without any alarm being raised? How did less than a dozen wizards manage to taken down the cream of our defensive crop? What does this say for the future of our world?

The Dark Lord and his partner are very powerful, indeed, and it is a frightening thought to consider the doubts now plaguing all of our minds. Can anyone oppose You-Know-Who?

(For a list of Aurors confirmed dead, see page seven.)

(For reactions, see page ten.)

(For information on our Savior and reports from those close to him, see page three)

By the time Harry slid into the Defense classroom, the students had whipped themselves into a frenzy. The Daily Prophet article had been passed around from the few people who got a daily subscription, and fear was the dominant emotion swirling around the room. Being surrounded by terror make Harry's instincts claw at him, wishing to give the mortals something to fear, wishing to cash in on the panic that was seizing the masses. Harry ignored the feelings, watching the room.

Ron wasn't present, and Harry was glad for that. He was sure he and Ginny would have been pulled out of classes for the day with their father presumed dead. He saw several other people missing as well, and assumed they had had parents there the night before. It bothered him that he didn't feel remorse for breaking apart these families. He had been feeling less and less emotion when it came to death, and though he doubted he could ever take real pleasure in random mortality, it troubled him that he so rarely felt badly about it anymore. Harry frowned and shoved the thoughts away, eyes looking over the classroom.

This was, as all NEWT classes were, a class comprised of all four houses in their year. Padma and Parvati Patil looked more confident than he had seen them since the year had started, faces less pale and chins upraised. No one seemed to notice this in their own grief and fear, but Harry did. He wondered why the two looked nearly vindicated, holding an air of great justice having been done. He still needed to speak with them about their reasons for signing up to follow Voldemort. But that could wait.

Draco and his cronies looked unconcerned as usual, though Harry was glad they were not being gloating or loud. That would compound the misgivings of the students and quite possibly ruin all they were striving for with this raid. Fear was one thing, but when fear turned to a righteous vengeance as Dumbledore would surely attempt, it would only work against them. Let them be fearful, let them doubt their leaders. That could only help them.

The Gryffindors looked wary, lips pursed and glaring towards the blank Slytherins. Ron's absence was starkly obvious amongst the others of their year, and it left them all shifting. Hermione sat by Harry's side, vacant expression turned down towards the table and Harry fought off his concern. Questioning her would have to wait until later. He knew the potions Tom had given her would make a difference in her demeanor, but the strange vacuous stare had yet to diminish. He had had to use the Rheostat Potion three times that morning to keep others from being suspicious. Neville had helped a lot in that, and Harry was thankful for him.

The Ravenclaws looked thoughtful, discussing the turn of events amongst themselves quietly. They too kept shooting furtive glances towards the Slytherins. Lisa Turpin had narrowed eyes trained on Harry, however, and when he met her gaze she covertly spelled a small piece of parchment to fold into a square and slide towards him.

'I have news to inform you of, my lord. Please meet with me as soon as possible.'

Harry gave a surreptitious nod to the Ravenclaw, slipping the note into his pocket as he let his eyes trail over the Hufflepuffs who were talking rapidly amongst themselves. Zacharias was in the middle leading an obviously heated debate, the less timid of the group arguing right back. Harry knew the Hufflepuffs would be one of his hardest sells if only because of the loyalty they were famous for. No loyalty was infallible, as many people tended to forget when thinking of the badger house, but it would be a chore to convert them away from their beliefs. Zacharias could very well be a boon for this. He was quick with his overly loud mouth.

"I trust you all can find your seats."

Harry turned as Dante entered the room, voice monotone. Once ascertaining he was fine, the vampire had hurried off for whatever reason, giving Harry no time to try and apologize. He hated apologizing and was terrible at it, hence why it had been two weeks since his mistake and he had yet to really speak with his friend. He raised his hand and traced a line over his left ear as Dante's eyes fell over him, and the vampire have a barely perceptible nod to acknowledge he'd gotten the message. They needed to talk.

"Today we will be talking about the Killing Curse."

Harry tried not to snort; Dante was always directly down to business. There was no beating around the bush with him, and it was something that made many of the students uncomfortable with him. They all had stiffened, looking at their professor as if he had lost his mind. Slowly many of those gazes began flicking to Harry, who schooled his face into a small frown.

It was Wayne Hopkins, a Hufflepuff, who spoke up from the front. "Professor Moody taught us the Unforgivables in fourth year, sir…"

"I am not going to teach you what it is. You know that. I am going to teach you why it works. The only ways to avoid being hit with it. Practical things necessary for you to know in the real world, Mister Hopkins. If that is all?"

Nods came around the room, and Dante slipped easily into a lecturing mode, eyes trained on the far wall of the classroom.

"The Killing Curse, incantation Avada Kedavra." The room flinched as one, and Harry bit his tongue not to scoff out loud. "The spell originated in the 1400s from a witch embittered by her husband. It was, apparently, her life's work. When cast correctly, it renders the target dead on contact, stopping the function of the circulatory system, respiratory system, the heart, and the brain. It is said to be a painless death, though there is obviously no way to know if that is true or not.

"There is no shield that can protect you from the Killing Curse. There is no way of deflecting or blocking it, you simply move out of the way or you will die. However, there are several secondary ways to avoid being hit, incorporating Transfiguration or Potions into battle."

Harry yawned as Dante continued, though he pulled out his wand with everyone else when Dante had them demonstrate the quickest transfiguration they could manage. The lesson was actually mundane in comparison to many of Dante's classes, but by the pale shades of the students' faces, Harry thought it might be a good thing that Dante wasn't being like Moody and demonstrating the curse.

When the block was over, the students dashed for the door, obviously eager to put the class behind them. He nodded to Hermione and Neville, who had stayed behind. "I need to have a word with the professor, don't wait up. Can you escort her for me, Neville?"

The boy chewed on his lip but nodded. "Yeah, I've got Herbology next so I can afford to be a little late. She only has to go to Arithmancy, right?"

"Right."

"I'll see you later on tonight, Harry."

"Sure. You know I'm going to want answers soon, don't you?"

Neville paused and looked round the room before giving Harry a shy grin. "Yeah, I know."

"See you tonight, then."

Hermione nodded and followed Neville, who had her lightly by the elbow. Seeing that only Harry was left in the room, Dante shot a locking charm at the door and activated the privacy wards around his classroom. Blue eyes stared impassively up at green and Dante raised a brow. "Yes, Mylläkkä?"

Harry flopped down gracelessly, staring over the rims of his useless fake glasses at the blond before breaking propriety entirely and pouting. "Dante, stop being mad at me. I command you!"

The vampire snorted and raked his fingers slowly through his shoulder length golden hair, lips twitching in a way that few managed with Dante. "Command?"

"Well... Fine! Ask nicely, then. Come on, Dante…"

"I am not angry with you, merely annoyed." The blond was examining loose strands now, looking at the tips critically.

"But you know I didn't mean it!"

"Which is exactly why you still have your head," Dante pointed out with a small smirk.

Harry harrumphed and looked away, smiling a bit. "Yes, and I'm forever thankful for your benevolence."

"As you should be."

Harry quickly got down to business, telling Dante of the raid the night before. He had read of it in the Daily Prophet, obviously, but hearing a firsthand account was much more informative. Dante didn't press on the issue of Remus or Arthur, and for that Harry was glad. Even if he felt little remorse, he didn't wish to dwell on condemning to death two men who had once meant something to him. He hesitated as he came to the casting of the Patronus and the events after, but looked down at his hands and continued in a clipped voice, wishing to get it over with as quickly as possible.

"A panther?" Harry could practically hear the amusement dripping from Dante's voice behind the monotone. "What kind of a euphemism is that?"

Harry waved his hand impatiently, ignoring the snide commentary. "That is what you choose to focus on?"

"Well, I could focus on the fact that you were pinned to the wall and contemplating love like a girl… but I thought you might not appreciate it."

Harry sunk down in his chair, reminding himself again and again that having Dante's companionship was worth it. He hoped.

Draco was exhausted after the night before, and were it not for glamour charms everyone else would know as well. Perhaps it was an effeminate thing to do, but every pureblood worth their salt learned minor glamours like this, male or female, to cover bags under the eyes or other signs of weariness. It didn't do, after all, to walk around looking haggard after a long night of working for one's ideals. Presentation and appearance meant too much.

But regardless of his perfect appearance, Draco was achingly tired and even more exhausted mentally. Even once he was safely back in his bed he had had trouble falling asleep, stuck as he was on the events of the raid. He had seen death, watched real people die before his eyes. It had been nowhere near as glorious as he had thought it would be, though it had really opened his eyes. Truth had been a long time coming for him, and he felt as if he had aged years in one night.

"I don't see why you are doing this, Draco."

He glanced at Pansy through his lashes, a wry smirk making its way onto his lips. They were standing off to the side just within the Great Hall's doors, and Draco was waiting for his cue. Pansy was leaning beside him against the wall to the rest of the Great Hall appearing to be casually in whispered conversation with him and nothing more. Draco shrugged one shoulder elegantly. "It's simple, Pansy. Potter believes this is necessary, and I will obey."

"I don't like it," she hissed, lowering her voice to nearly silent. "I don't like the idea of that halfblood Gryffindor leading us. The Dark could do much better--"

"To underestimate your enemies is a folly, but to underestimate your allies is even worse, my dear. You have no idea what Potter is capable of, so I would shut your mouth now."

Pansy's light hazel eyes rounded, and she jerked back slightly. Draco knew it was unlike him to be so curt with her, but it had to be done. That he had survived so long with his attitude was something he now viewed as a miracle, and wasn't about to let those who listened to him make the same mistake. He didn't know why it was that Potter had given him so much leeway, whether it was his father's status or the strange relationship Potter had with him, but he didn't know that it would carry on to his friends as well. So he glared silently at the brunette, telling her with his eyes to drop the subject. And then Potter was in sight.

The play was on.

For all the world, Potter appeared to be not watching where he was going as he entered the hall, and Draco knew it was his cue. He walked lazily away from Pansy, appearing to be walking towards his seat just in time for Potter to slam into his shoulder. Those near them went quiet, their six years of rivalry promising a confrontation and perhaps a glimpse of Potter's famous temper. It had not shown much that year, and though Draco knew why, the others in the room did not.

"Excuse me, Potter, I didn't see you there," Draco said with an incline of his head. Silver eyes slid to Granger, who was by Potter's side, and she stared blankly back. He remembered the night before and was irritated, but she made no move to jump to Potter's defense so he filed thoughts of her away for later.

"No no, Malfoy, it was my fault entirely."

The hall had gone quiet already, and Draco was reluctantly amused. Teenagers were amusing with their ability to turn the smallest event into scandal, and Draco could practically feel the disbelief as cogs began turning in the spectator's eyes. "Well then, Potter," Draco said with a slow smirk, "we'll talk later, hm? I think recent events have turned the possibilities for amity in our favor."

Draco could see Potter stifling a snicker. The words hadn't been planned, but the idea was a good one and Draco knew it. It was ambiguous enough to throw off everyone watching, wondering in which direction the recent events were pulling the two. To those considering the Dark, hope would spring. To those firmly entrenched in the Light, they might see the possibility of converting a Malfoy to their side. Any suspicious could be put off easily because, after all, who would suspect the Golden Boy of being Dark?

"That we should."

Draco stuck out his hand, uncomfortably aware that he was once again making overtures to their first year. But this time he understood Potter much better than he had then, and Potter was no longer the naïve little boy he had been then. And Draco himself… well, he felt he was different as well. And as Potter took his hand before the entire Great Hall, Draco felt vindicated. Perhaps they were not friends, but he was publicly known as on good terms with Harry Potter-- THE Harry Potter. And the eleven year old in Draco smiled.

They separated and set the Great Hall into murmurs, both taking their respective seats. It wasn't until the attention had turned off of watching them and onto each other to discuss the turn of events that Draco looked down and opened the piece of paper Potter had slipped into his hand.

'Meet me in the Room of Requirement after dinner tonight. Bring a few of your Slytherins who you deem intelligent enough for sensible debate and research. Inform Turpin to come as well.'

Ron didn't return to afternoon classes, nor was he in the dorm when Harry and Hermione set out for the Room of Requirement. Harry grimaced, feeling the tug of guilt at his stomach for the pain he had surely caused to what he had once considered his surrogate family. But this was war, he told himself, and he couldn't afford to be wishy-washy now.

"Do you regret your actions, Harry?"

Hermione's voice was quiet, but Harry was at attention immediately. It was the first time since the night before that Hermione had attempted real conversation, and Harry forced himself to keep walking as he answered. "Why do you ask?"

"I remember now."

This time Harry did pause, long enough to meet pained brown eyes before they passed him, Hermione's steps not slowing as she made her way for a nearby staircase. Harry hurried to catch up, sighing. "You remember about your parents?"

"Yes. All of it."

"And you regret?"

"Of course I regret," she hissed, lip curling. "I killed them, my mother and father, because they pissed me off. How do you expect me to not regret?"

"I'm sorry if it seems callous, Hermione, but I had to ask."

He watched her calm herself, breathing deeply. "Yes, well, I regret. But that isn't what I asked. Do you?"

Harry was silent for a long minute, trying to decide how to answer. "No. I can't regret. Regret is a weakness. I refuse to regret anything I've done, because it cheapens the goals I have, the lives I've taken. If I regret, what does that say about about them? Saying I made a mistake is like saying they died in vain… and that makes their worth depreciated. I prefer to believe there is a reason for every death I have had to cause, because I refuse to kill without reason. Does that make any sense?"

"Not really," she said dryly, but he could hear the smile her thick hair was hiding from him. "But I think I understand."

He walked close enough to her for their shoulders to brush. "Don't worry so much, Hermione. Your thoughts will work themselves out, and as the memories settle things will make more sense. Do you remember anything about being Obliviated?"

"Obliviation by someone as powerful as Professor Dumbledore is permanent, Harry. You know that."

"I know." He did, but he sighed regardless.

Barnabas the Barmy's portrait came into view, and Harry was surprised to see the door present as they approached. Apparently, Draco had already arrived. They entered unnoticed in the midst of arguing, and Harry watched with a sardonic look.

"Potter is going to ruin us if we follow him!" Parkinson was saying.

"I don't like this any more than Pansy does, Draco." Zabini was leaned back in his chair in apparent relaxation, fingers pressed together in thought beneath his chin, but his tension was obvious.

Parkinson was on the edge of the couch by Draco's side, chewing her lower lip and watching the blond's blank expression. "Draco… I don't understand how your attitude could change so suddenly. A few weeks ago you were just as against Potter as we were, and you were annoyed with our new lord nearly as much. How could you do such an about-face? It is unlike you…"

"For one thing, Pansy, I am allowed to change my opinion. For another, I would not dare to anger the partner of our lord," he paused and shivered visibly. "And I mean that in more ways than you could imagine.

"Now Draco, that's personal," Harry purred, cocking his hip to the side and smirking as all three of the Slytherins jumped. "I don't go around discussing your love life, do I?"

"Yes, well," Malfoy said with a smirk, looking totally unperturbed by Harry's sudden appearance, "I normally don't snog powerful figures in places where groups of people can walk in on me."

"Yes, and I am quite sure I'll be holding a grudge for that as well. Horrible timing, the lot of you."

"I think you might have scarred a few of them for life. Dolohov tripped over his own feet to get away from the room and Aunt Bella looked like she was going to have an aneurysm."

"Good for her, it will save me the trouble of killing her."

"What's that, Potter? Is that jealousy I detect?"

"You've found the line, Draco. I would stop now if I were you."

"Yes, well, I apologize." He turned to glare at his friends. "I think some convincing is needed for these two, however."

Harry shrugged his shoulders and threw himself into a chair, making Hermione's silent presence obvious.

Parkinson hissed, eyes narrowed. "What is she doing here? Are we going to be overrun with Gryffindors now, Potter?"

"I don't much like your tone," Harry said cheerfully. "As for Hermione, she is here because I want her here. To address your concerns, however…" the fake smile was wiped off and Harry leaned forward in his chair, eyes flicking between the glaring black of Zabini and the pale brown eyes of Parkinson. "I cannot force you to follow me, nor can I make you understand that I am not the Harry Potter you thought you knew. But I think you should both consider believing in your proclaimed lord, and assume that Voldemort knows what he's doing. Do you honestly think he would consider creating an alliance with me if I was actually some snot-nosed sixteen year old hero? Have a bit of faith in your Dark Lord or back out now. As I said at the first meeting, if you cannot work with me you will not be Death Eaters for long."

Pansy sat back, suitably cowed and nodding her head. Zabini also relaxed a bit though his glare did not lessen. Harry raised an eyebrow and made to get it over with and just ask what the other boy's problem was when the door to the room opened and Lisa Turpin hurried in, Alec Selwyn behind her. The younger boy didn't have the confident air he had had at the last meeting, instead he was pale and drawn, reluctance written across his every movement.

"My lord," Lisa said respectfully, bowing to him. "We have a problem."

The girl waved to her companion, and Alec walked forward and bowed as well, fingers twisting around a piece of parchment. "It… it's about my father, my lord."

Harry held out his hand for the paper, and Alec slowly handed it over, cringing away immediately. Harry took a total of thirty seconds to scan the letter before handing it back nodding. "You were right to bring this to me, Alec. Thank you."

The boy deflated, obviously surprised he was not being tortured for bringing bad news. Harry was somewhat amused, but it was dampened by the news he had to give to Voldemort now. He sighed and raised a hand to rub it across his face. Apparently, Armand Selwyn had been involved with one of the Aurors killed the night before, a middle-aged woman whose name Harry didn't recognize. Her death had hit him hard, the hastily scrawled letter he had sent to his son saying he was considering running from the Dark because of the transgression against him. As if the Dark Lord was supposed to keep track of the lovers of his followers. Harry snorted mentally before rolling up his left sleeve to expose the metal snake wrapped around his forearm.

He ignored the curious looks and tapped it with his wand. //Tom, we have a bit of a problem. Apparently a… I've forgotten the name already, Jones or some common name like that… was killed last night, and was the lover of Selwyn. He was enamored with her quite a bit, and is now feeling on the outs with our cause. Do what you must but try not to kill him. His son brought me this information, and it would be good to reward the boy for his honesty by sparing the man if possible.//

A second tap and he sat back, raising an eyebrow at Draco who had walked up to him and was studying the metal with a fascinated look. "What's this? Did you make it like you did the gifts for my parents?"

"I did. And it is my way of keeping in contact with T--err, Voldemort while I'm in the school. Only being able to get away once a week is bothersome, and I tend to forget things if I don't tell him immediately."

He turned back to the Ravenclaws and nodded. "Do either of you need anything else?"

"No, my lord," Alec mumbled, still pale. Harry felt badly for him, not knowing what his father's fate would be.

"Nothing, my lord, though if you need anything…" Lisa said hesitantly.

Harry looked around at the others in the room and shrugged. "You can stay if you'd like. I'm sure your brains could be of use in what I need done."

Selwyn bowed and left the room, and Harry motioned for Lisa to take a seat. Harry stretched and kicked his legs out, sighing. She took a seat on the end of the couch next to Pansy, and Hermione had migrated to a pouf and was watching him vacantly. Harry grimaced and hoped she assimilated soon and got to have more than flashes of personality.

"Alright, I called you all here for a reason. Soon, Voldemort will be handing over to Rita Skeeter the things I have found that will tarnish Dumbledore's name. However, before he does, I want more eyes to make sure I didn't miss anything." Harry pulled out a copy of the scroll he had given to Tom and waved his wand over it, creating five duplicates and sending them to float in front of the room's occupants. "One area I was not able to find much information on was his early childhood and the truth behind his father, mother, and sister. Any information you can find that will help should be added to your scroll, and it will appear on mine and Voldemort's. Details can mean everything, so don't hesitate to add things."

"What about your childhood, Harry?"

Harry paused in his thoughts and grimaced at Hermione. "I'd rather not, thank you."

"You want him known as flawed, don't you?" Her eyes were already skimming over the scroll, taking in information. He was torn between being thankful for the coherency in her eyes and irritated at the subject. "Yes, his friendship with Grindewald would be interesting and cause doubts, and yes the suspicious circumstances of his sister's death would turn heads… but I think the abuse of their savior would floor them."

Harry rolled his eyes and ignored the shocked looks of the room's other occupants. "Don't overdramatize it, Hermione. I wasn't some sobbing, beaten urchin."

"They starved you!" she had looked away from the scroll now, eyes blazing. "Don't think I didn't notice how thin you were after every summer, how uncomfortable you used to be with physical contact. And that… that creature you called your uncle… I saw how he looked at you, how he spoke to you at the train station every year. I saw how much you didn't want to go home…!"

"Shut up any time now, Hermione," Harry said with a glare, employing the potion to send her back into calmness. It was an abuse, perhaps, but he didn't like her ranting at all. "Do you know what would happen if anyone got an inkling of my childhood? It would turn into a scandal and totally destroy everything I am trying to build about myself. I don't want to be the poster child for the raped and abused, because I was neither. But I know how the Wizarding world would react. Everything would be exponentially exaggerated and I would be the pitied child I have never wanted to be. I am a bloody Dark Lord, not an maltreated child, so knock that notion out of your head now."

His glare turned over to everyone else. "That goes for all of you, as well. If I hear this coming from anyone's mouth, I will hold you all under torture long enough that you'll be wishing for death."

He might have continued, but the metal around his arm heated and Harry ignored the room's occupants to once again pull up his sleeve and activate the snake. Its head lifted slightly as it spoke, Tom's voice resonating in the large room.

//Armand? I never thought I would see the day. I will take care of him and remind him of whom he serves. I am sure he was not entirely in his right mind when he told this to his son. In any case, I will take care of it. Now, Potter… I expect you here this evening, as I believe we have unfinished business to attend to. Employ my time-turner if you must, but you will be here. I await you.//

Harry fought not to blush. Unfinished business? Tonight would be interesting after all.

He turned back to the room and waved a hand. "If there is nothing else, then get to work."

Blooper:(Tsurai no Shi and I got bored…)

((Harry flopped down gracelessly, staring over the rims of his useless fake glasses at the blond before breaking propriety entirely and pouting. "Dante, stop being mad at me. I command you!"))

Dante: Noes. I is no listening. U suck.
Harry: Listen dammit! or i shall curse you with eternal stupidness
Dante: You mean the same thing you got hit with?
Harry: You is mean. i will go angsty-sulk now.
--goes into post-veil levels of uberangst--
--cries tears of emo blood and pain and dies and it's all Dante's fault--
▫ộ» Miscief Managed «ộ▫ End of Paraselenic. Oh, and Tom died of heartbreak. The end.

PS. Sev was happy.

Revised: 3/20/09 (Note: This blew. I had a mostly rewritten chapter saved in document manager, but it died and I can't for the life of me recall what I did. I know I expended on Hermione, made the interactions more believable, and just made everything more coherent, but when I tried to do it again it was shit. I ended up just adding a few sentences. Damnit. -sniff-)