Disclaimer in chapter 1.

Warning: This chapter, like many others, contains graphic depictions of violence. If you are uncomfortable reading graphic depictions of violence, I highly recommend reading a different story from a different author.

Chapter VIII: Phantasms and Promises

Ginny's eyes fluttered, but stayed closed. She just wasn't ready to get up yet, after last night. She had waited as long as she could, but he didn't show up. Her heart twisted as she remembered the biting wind and bitter cold, waiting on the pitch for a not-quite-date that never quite happened. Her self-esteem was dropping by the second. Oh, he would pay for standing her up like that.

She hugged her favorite pillow a little tighter, drifting in and out of consciousness. She was sprawled out in usual style: on her stomach but tilted a little so her legs could curl up around her body pillow in a fetal position. At least her dorm mates weren't up and pestering her yet, they always made fun of the way she slept. Wait, I didn't go up to the dorm last night. I slept in the Common Room, didn't I? Was the Common Room floor always this warm? And when did I get a blanket? She wondered idly, pulling the incredibly soft covering a little tighter around her and burying herself in the warmth of the silky pillow. No answers, but she was awfully comfortable at the moment. She seemed to be laying on something that propped her up a bit, keeping her upper body off of the cold granite floor. A warm reassuring weight rested lightly across her back. A few more minutes of sleep wouldn't hurt, and sleep this good was hard to come by. Worry about everything later, she deserved some rest.

When she woke again, she felt utterly refreshed. That was easily the best night's sleep she'd had since summer holiday. Her eyes still didn't want to open, and she didn't feel like making them. Twisting and contorting, she stretched and let out a strained squeak as she arched her back. Collapsing onto her back, she basked in the simple pleasure of being completely warm for a few minutes. Time washed over her in a wave of contented bliss before the questions from last night resurfaced. Well, everyone had to wake up eventually...

Blinking her eyes a few times with a muted sigh, she was met with a pair of deep green eyes. Strange, none of her dorm mates had green eyes... Her mind froze.

Harry?

Harry was once again unsure what protocol required of him. Ginny had fallen asleep on his lap and the Common Room was cold enough to cause her to shiver uncontrollably. For some reason, it felt like waking her up would be a bad thing. So he summoned a pillow from her dorm and transfigured a blanket for her. In Harry's experience, someone tearing the blankets off of your bed was punishment for not making it properly the first time.

One warming charm later, she stopped shivering. A small smile broke out on her sleeping face as she clutched the pillow tightly. Harry found himself captivated. She was just so ... cute. It was a term usually reserved for a small weapon, to denote it's ineffectiveness in a combat situation. The word seemed to fit her for other reasons entirely. She was small, and most likely ineffective in a combat situation, but something about the way she looked at the moment seemed so fragile and innocent. The Boy who Lived found himself wondering if combat effectiveness was truly the most important quality one could possess.

In the short time that he had known these noncoms at Hogwarts, several people had become important to Harry. Ginny among them. None of them had impressed him with their abilities in battle, yet he was strangely drawn to them anyway. He just felt good when he was around them, though there was no logical use for such a feeling. Warmth gathered in his torso when they laughed, smiled. The thought of leaving them left him feeling empty. It was a strong motivator, he couldn't deny that. Was this what Sirius meant by making friends? These people certainly fit the definition of the word. Harry Potter had friends.

Unwilling to move or disturb Ginny's sleep, he simply sat with his back against the wall. Truthfully, he was content to watch her sleep and think about this strange new sensation in his torso. He had just completed a mission; that sense of fulfillment was still lingering. This was a different feeling, but it had much in common with the fulfillment he got from doing his job. Just sitting here in the Gryffindor Common Room guarding Ginny as she slept on his lap, it made him feel good to know she trusted him enough to let down her defenses like this.

She was still somewhat unsettled in her sleep. He pulled the blanket tighter around her to conserve the warming charm's energy, and after a moments deliberation he hesitantly rested his arm on her back. It felt right, somehow. Her breathing slowed noticeably, she was fully relaxed now.

He didn't keep track of how long he sat there, just watching her. Even though he was exhausted right down to his bones, he couldn't fall asleep. He memorized every single facet of her face by the pale moonlight that filtered into the Common Room. He counted her freckles. He listened to her heartbeat and imagined what she was dreaming about. Were they troubled dreams? She had seen a lot of trauma in the last few weeks, most of it related to him.

She would be angry at him, he had no doubt. He had broken his word, something that never actually happened before. It was a new sensation, and particularly unpleasant. As if someone determined to use his intestines to tie a buntline hitch. Was this guilt?

The knotting sensation in his stomach only grew when he saw her eyes open.

To her credit, Ginny didn't scream. She was startled, of course, but she bit her lip and stared soundlessly back up at the Boy who Lived expectantly. Where was she?

"Good morning." He whispered quietly. His voice was hoarse and scratchy.

She looked down at the blanket covering her, pulling it up over her nose so that only her eyes were visible. Well, he finally showed up. He looked so haggard, so worn out that Ginny didn't have the heart to scream at him. Instead, she narrowed her eyes and said, "We're in a fight." She put on the best scowl she could muster, considering he couldn't see her mouth. Her mind was whirling with questions. Why was Harry in the Common Room, and why was she sleeping on his lap? More importantly, why did she have to enjoy it so much? She was supposed to be angry with him and he wasn't playing fair!

Harry peered down at the girl on his lap. She was in a completely indefensible position, and she wanted to fight? Perhaps she meant the kind of fight she'd seen Ron and Hermione get into once. It involved screaming and throwing things, and it ended abruptly when Ron pushed Hermione down onto the couch and kissed her soundly. It didn't sound like such a bad idea, actually, but screaming and throwing things was not something he wanted to experience right now. Well, he'd been thinking of what to say to her when she woke up and only one thing came to mind.

"I'm sorry, Ginny." He said it so softly that she wasn't even sure she heard him correctly.

Peering through her narrowed eyelids, she took in situation. She fell asleep at some point during the night, Harry crept in and sat down next to her. She slept on his lap, somehow he managed to get a hold of her pillow and a really soft blanket, then she woke up and he apologized. It didn't look like he'd gotten a wink of sleep in a week, judging by the way his head was bobbing uncertainly. He stood her up, and for that he earned her eternal burning rage, but he looked terribly ragged. Could she really be mad at someone who was that thoroughly exhausted? Merlin knew where he'd been the last few days. Pity won out over rage almost instantly. She let out a sigh.

"Damn. It's really hard to be mad at you when you look like you've been through hell. Give me a minute to stew, alright?" It wasn't a question. She didn't move from under the blanket, either. He just stared back at her, unmoving and unblinking.

After at least five minutes of her glaring spitefully up at the Boy who Lived, she let out an exasperated moan. "I give up. Don't let it happen again, alright?" Harry could see traces of pain in her eyes as she said that, but relief flooded him. Curiosity was eating her inside, but she knew he wouldn't tell her where he'd been. It was best to stick to safer questions that he would actually answer. "Did you sleep at all last night?"

"No." Harry was as verbose as always. She repressed the urge to kick him in the head. It would let the cold air into her blanket.

"Why not?" Ginny pried. She'd talk it out of him or she'd beat it out of him, and she didn't care which.

Harry hadn't looked away from her or even blinked in the time she'd been awake, it was starting to worry her. He looked a lot more out of it than he usually did. Whatever had happened, it must've been something to tire out the Boy who Lived.

"I don't know." He answered truthfully.

Well that's enough information for me. She cursed her inability to pry. Ginny never had been very good at interrogations, why start now? A sarcastic inner monologue this early in the morning? I must've slept like a rock.

Blinking again, Ginny looked around to get her bearings. They were against the wall next to the boy's dormitory staircase, and she had slept on Harry Potter's lap all night. She wanted to ask him why he stayed down here with her instead of just going up to sleep. She wanted to ask why he was so thoughtful, so nice to her. More than that, however, she wanted him to get some sleep.

"You should go up to your dorm and rest, Harry. I'll make sure your Professors know that you're not feeling well." She felt a great deal of sympathy for this boy, only a year apart from her. Sometimes he looked so much older, and now was one of those times.

Harry shut his eyes for the first time in half an hour. He didn't know if he'd be able to open them again, he was so incredibly tired. He wouldn't have made it up the stairs if he had wanted to. "I'm all right." Even as he said it, he felt himself shutting down.

Ginny stared up at the Boy who Lived in awe. He had fallen asleep sitting up! Suppressing a giggle, she settled back in and closed her eyes. Harry's hand was resting lightly on her stomach; she pulled his arm around her like an extra blanket. She was surprisingly comfortable with it, so she nestled against him and curled up again. I suppose I could stay here a while longer...

Lunch was complicated. Ron and Hermione hadn't stopped asking questions about Harry since she sat down. "Look, I'm sure he'll tell you all about it when he wakes up. Let him sleep in peace!" Ginny protested. He had staggered up to his side of the dormitories when she got up to go eat breakfast and get to class late.

Ron shook his head. "It's not natural for him to sleep this late, I'm just going to go up and check on him." Despite Ginny's insistence that he just needed time, he practically ran out of the Great Hall and up to the Gryffindor dormitories.

When he opened the door to his dorm, he saw Harry sitting in his normal sleeping position. The wave of heat that hit him wasn't very normal, however. Harry's eyelids were fluttering rapidly, his fists were clenched and the air around him seemed to spark with electricity. His bed was literally on fire from the amount of magical heat being discharged through his back.

"Harry, stop!" Ron shouted, his heart beating wildly. This is not good. Is he having a nightmare? "Wake up!" Nothing worked. Harry's head snapped back a little bit, a twitch from his nightmare, the stone wall behind the bed of the Boy who Lived began to blacken, some of the stones started to glow red hot. His four-poster bed was in cinders, collapsing inward as he convulsed in the throes of his dream. The air hitting Ron was incredibly dry and hot. Picking up a nearby pillow, Ron threw it as hard as he could at Harry's head. It exploded in a puff of feathers that quickly caught fire. Well shit. Ron thought, searching frantically for something that would wake the green-eyed Gryffindor up. Even as he searched a scorching blast of hot air hit him, knocking him back.

Reaching into his pocket, Ron pulled out his wand and shouted, "Aguamenti!" A jet of water sprung from his wand, he pointed it at Harry and hit him square in the face. The heat of the room dissipated almost instantly, leaving only the sizzling sound of nearly molten rock and his burning bed. Harry's body was smoking, but seemed unharmed. Ron shut off the water and looked at his friend through the thick steam filling the dormitory.

Harry turned silently and stared blankly at the red-haired boy. His eyes were distant, filled with an intense emotion that the youngest Weasley male recognized with a growing sense of dread. It made Ron's blood turn to ice in his veins. He'd seen a look like that once before on a man and it terrified him. Gathering up his courage, he asked in a slightly squeaky voice full of concern, "You alright, mate?"

The Boy who Lived was silent for a moment for a moment, then nodded. "I'm sorry you had to see that, Ron." Standing up suddenly, he turned around and surveyed the damage. It was the worst accidental discharge he'd ever had. They always got worse, every time it happened. He must've been so exhausted that he fell into too deep a sleep. That's why the nightmares came. He shuddered involuntarily, then straightened up and said, "I'll be fine."

Walking into the bathroom, the 16 year old soldier patted his face and shoulders with a towel to get the excess water off. Walking out again, he told Ron, "I am going to check myself in at the hospital wing. Let the stones cool down naturally or they'll crack." Putting a hand on Ron's shoulder momentarily, he slipped past and marched down the stairs.

What was that... Ron contemplated as he stared at the scorched stone wall. It hissed and popped, melting slowly down towards the ground.

Not even Defense Against the Dark Arts class with Professor Lupin could take Ron's mind off of his friend. What happened in there? He'd never seen anything like it before, never seen anything like Harry before. It was impressive and frightening all at once; he realized he'd have to be a lot stronger to be worthy of Harry's friendship. If Ron was anything, he was loyal to his friends. He'd skip barefoot into hell with a grin on his face for his friends, and this was no exception. Whatever it took, no matter how trivial it may seem. He would be there for Harry in any way he could.

Dinner was a rushed affair, and soon after he was dragging Hermione and Ginny with him towards the Hospital Wing.

"What happened to him?" Hermione asked, wondering what it took to put the Boy who Lived in the care of Madam Pomfrey.

The answer never came. "A little mudblood and two mudblood lovers. Christmas must have come early this year." The drawling voice came from the intersection ahead. Draco Malfoy was just standing there with his two goons, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. He was rarely seen without them, recently.

Ron opened his mouth to retort but Hermione beat him to it, "Are you on your way to the Hospital Wing as well? I don't think she has any potions for erectile dysfunction. I just thought I'd save you the trouble of walking all the way there." She had a cheery smile on her face.

Draco's face went red. "I don't need anything like that!" he spat.

Her eyes shifted between the two goons. "It's alright, Draco. When you don't have much contact with witches I hear it's perfectly natural to feel sexual urges towards your fellow wizard." With a condescending nod, she added, "Though it appears your breeding didn't account for taste..."

Draco's veins bulged on his neck. Crabbe clenched his fists and Goyle just stared at Hermione blankly.

"Wait!" Ron's voice rose above the din. Surprisingly, all involved parties stopped what they were doing to stare at him questioningly. With a cursory glance at each end of the corridor, he nodded. "Good, no teachers to break it up. 'Mione, just this once would you let me handle it? I feel like a failure as a man when I can't defend your honor!" He was practically begging. His puppy dog eyes had no effect on his sister, so he focused his efforts on the girl he'd been friends with since the first time he rode the Hogwarts Express.

With a sigh, she relented. "Oh all right. Do what you will, but if you get petrified I'm leaving you here." Hermione tugged on Ginny's sleeve, leading them behind a nearby suit of armor. "Carry on, gentlemen."

"Brilliant!" Ron had a huge grin on his face. By the time he turned back towards the three Slytherins they had identical predatory grins on their faces.

"Thanks for making this easier, Weasley. I guess it's true then, what they say about Gryffindors." Draco laughed, Crabbe and Goyle laughed with him. Ron was fairly certain that neither of his sidekicks had a clue what anyone said about Gryffindors.

"Yeah? And what's that, Malfoy?" Ron asked, his fingers already going for the wand holstered to his right forearm.

"They would rather-" whatever Gryffindors would rather do, Draco was rudely interrupted.

"Stupefy! Stupefy!" Ron shot stunners at both Crabbe and Goyle, incapacitating them instantly. They dropped like fallen trees. "Well, that was easier than I thought it'd be..."

Draco shot a conjunctivitis curse at Ronald, who barely managed to duck under it as it whizzed by his face. "Expelliarmus!" the Gryffindor shouted triumphantly, sending Draco's wand flying. Clapping was heard from behind the suit of armor.

The heir of the Malfoy name looked at his empty palm with a pained look on his face. Sweat broke out on his forehead as he glanced past Ron at his now-useless wand.

The keeper for the Gryffindor Quidditch team looked at his disarmed opponent, then down at his own wand. "Tell you what, Malfoy." With a casual flick, he threw his own wand behind him to join Draco's. "Let's do this the old-fashioned way." Cracking his knuckles menacingly, he advanced on the only Slytherin left standing.

Sometimes in life, people just need a good beating. For Draco Malfoy that time of need was now. He put up his fists in a decent defensive stance, but Ron had weight, height, reach and strength on him. Ron's first punch broke through his opponent's guard and smashed into the bridge of his nose, shattering the fragile cartilage that connected his sinuses to their sensitive capillaries. Tears flooded his vision as a spurt of warm blood erupted from his face.

"I've been waiting all year to do that, ferret boy!" Ron shouted as Malfoy brought his hands up to his face. Pulling back again, he punched Draco in the face once again for good measure and then crashed his knee into Malfoy's stomach. The blond Slytherin collapsed bonelessly on the ground, wheezing hard enough to cause concern if anyone present cared. Nobody did.

Three petrifying charms and several stomps later, Ron's size 11 shoes were once again on their merry way to the Hospital wing. Hermione cast a cleaning charm on them quietly. "Honestly, Ron, we could've handled that more... well less messily. What if he tells Professor Snape?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "I've told you too many times, his name is Snape or 'that slimy git'. The man shouldn't be within a mile of children. I don't care if he's nice to Harry, he hasn't shown one shred of decency to any of us. Bitter rivalries aside, Malfoy won't tell a soul." He had a small smile on his face, the kind he always got when he knew a secret that nobody else did.

"And how in Merlin's name would you know that?" Ginny asked, genuinely perplexed.

"Because." Ron talked slowly, as if addressing a first year. "Then people would know that all three of them got beaten by one person. With Harry in the Hospital Wing and in no condition to be fighting, there isn't an excuse for getting thrashed by a mudblood lover."

"Ron, you really shouldn't use that word." Hermione nagged, frowning in disproval.

The red-haired boy just swung his arm over Hermione's shoulder and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. "But 'Mione, you're my little mudblood." The bushy-haired Gryffindor blushed furiously. Ginny made gagging sounds.

Harry wiped at a gash above his left eye, trying to keep the blood from obscuring his field of vision. He grit his teeth in frustration. The cutting curse had been too close. He had two major gashes that even clotting charms couldn't stop. Countless small cuts from exploding rock and glass. It wasn't life-threatening, but it could very easily become so if he caught the wrong end of many more cutting curses.

He wouldn't die here because Voldemort wasn't here. It was his second in command that Harry was after tonight. More specifically, he was after an artifact that his second in command had in his possession. A dozen Aurors had set up a perimeter outside of Lucius Malfoy's estates, complete with anti-apparition and anti-portkey wards. The B&E, breaking and entering, was left to the Boy who Lived. He had volunteered for the job, seeing as nobody else present was even trained for this set of circumstances. So here he was, trudging through a dank hallway in the belly of Malfoy Manor, trying to anticipate when the next trap or Death Eater would appear in front of him while sticking to the shadows.

Pushing in a pair of gold-gilded mahogany doors, Harry met his opponent.

"Harry Potter. I've heard so much about you. Won't you come in?" The wall sconces and blazing fireplace cast flickering light onto the cold, calculating face of Lucius Malfoy. "I've been dying to meet you..." With a sinister grin, the Master of Malfoy Manor tipped his goblet back, draining the last of a dark red wine. His wand was on the table next to him.

"Where is it, Lucius." Harry said with a growl, his wand pointed straight at the man's heart. He was in no mood for 'small talk'. He had a very specific mission tonight, the culmination of a decade's worth of planning.

Flashing a smile that showed nearly all of his incredibly white teeth, Lucius chuckled. "Patience, Harry. I've been looking forward to this, let me enjoy it just a little longer." His long, thin fingers caressed his wand, but he didn't pick it up.

The blonde man continued, pacing back and forth as he spoke. "You know, I often catch myself staring at it. In wonder, I suppose. It is a terrifying thought, that there exists an emotion that would cause you to throw your own life away in such dramatic fashion. Simply terrifying." Digging into his pocket, Lucius withdrew a silver band that gleamed in the pale firelight. "Do you know what this is, Harry?"

Harry looked at the small silver ring in Lucius' hand, feeling a strange emotion building at the back of his skull. Like a sharp pressure was being applied. "My father's wedding ring. Place it on the table and step away slowly."

Lucius laughed darkly. He asked again, "Do you know what this IS, Harry Potter?" His grey eyes shone in the firelight.

Harry's heart was beating rapidly. His vision was clouding, his fists were subconsciously clenching. "Tom's last horcrux." He said softly. Hatred as he had never known broke inside of him. White-hot rage pulsed through his veins, igniting every nerve in his body. His breathing became ragged, each measured breath sucked in through gritted teeth.

With one last lingering look at the silver ring, Lucius placed the horcrux on the table next to him and picked up his wand. "I can feel your anger burning, Harry. Show me." The smirk on his face was decadent as he leveled his wand at the Boy who Lived.

One thing that Harry had learned while in the field is that every man had his price. Without exception there was an upper limit in every single person, a certain tolerance for something. The point at which they would sacrifice any and all loyalties to get that much money or be rid of that much pain. The point at which they ceased being human. The breaking point. It was a hard revelation to accept. How much could he himself take? What was Harry Potter's price, what would it take to break him? Thankfully, no one had yet found the answer.

This was the problem with trying to gather information from an unwilling source. You could use mind rips, taking recently accessed memories from a man's head without his consent. In the case of Malfoy, an accomplished occlumens, the mind rip would be worse than useless. An occlumens could systematically replace each of his recent memories with tampered, falsified versions. He could lead Harry into an ambush, for all he knew. Veritaserum was useless as well, as an occlumens could simply believe that he was telling the truth at the time. One did what one had to when in the service of a monster like Tom Riddle. No, the only way to get reliable information out of Lucius Malfoy was to beat it out of him. You had to break a man like him.

Lucius Malfoy was an incredibly hard man to break. He was bleeding so badly that a blood replenishing potion had to be forced down his throat to keep him from dying. His arms and legs were utterly and completely broken beyond repair. His skin was mottled blue and pale white, sickly bruises dented his body from head to toe. He would never run again, not with the best magical and muggle healing that the world could offer. He would never again sign his name, dance, drink wine from his own goblet, floss his teeth or make love to a woman in any position but supine. He would never again fly a broom, never lift himself off of the ground, never bathe himself completely without assistance. His fingernails and toenails had been ripped off, his ribs had been beaten repeatedly with iron bars. His hands had been tied behind his back and then used to suspend him from the ceiling. Hanging from dislocated shoulders put immense pressure on the muscle fibers, it was said to be indescribably painful.

Harry had run out of bones to break, if the man didn't start talking he'd have to move on to maiming, severing body parts and systematically destroying four of his five senses. You couldn't interrogate a deaf man. Lucius howled, spat, screamed and swore, but he still hadn't given up a single usable piece of information. He had only been under duress for about 3 hours, but Harry was already wondering if perhaps this man had no breaking point, or if he was already broken and merely good at hiding it.

"You are not being cooperative, Lucius. I can't help you if you don't cooperate." Harry went back to the script. "Just tell me where I can find Tom and I'll let you die quickly. Your other option isn't pleasant. I've got all day, you know. I have as long as I need to break you. You will break. Everyone does, eventually. It's just a matter of how much you want it to hurt before I get what I want. The next trick I have is one I invented myself." Never breaking eye contact from Malfoy, Harry reached towards the wall and transmuted what looked to be a large metal hand drill. The drill was two feet long and nearly an inch in diameter.

"In ten seconds I am going to lift your foot and stick it to the table in front of you. I will put a freezing charm on your leg so the nerve endings are more sensitive. Then I will place the tip of this hand drill on the bottom of your foot and begin drilling towards your kneecap. When I reach your kneecap I will leave the drill there and use another drill in your other leg. I will then use a heating charm on the drills to raise their temperatures to 450 degrees. You have three seconds to tell me something useful before I begin. Three." Harry met the tortured face of Lucius Malfoy blankly. A soldier shows no emotion. He had a dark lord to kill, and this man was in the way.

"Two. One." Harry grabbed Lucius' right ankle and slammed it down hard onto the table in front of him. He wandlessly performed a sticking charm and a freezing charm, feeling the foot grow cold under his hand, then picked up the drill and placed it under the sensitive arch of his foot. In 14 twists, the metal bit would carve through his foot, his ankle, his shin and calf, and finally into his knee. It would tear his anterior and posterior cruciate ligaments, his patellar tendon, his hamstring and quadriceps all at once when it reached the knee. The pain from that would render him unconscious again, in all probability. Lucius began to hyperventilate in his hanging position, his respiration increasing in the anticipation of agony. He would not be disappointed.

He pressed the drill into the tender underside of Lucius' foot and twisted the drill once. The bit cut through skin and flesh and bone with equal ease and embedded itself in the fine bones of his ankle. A small jet of blood squirted out onto the table, but most of the damage was taking place inside of his leg. Lucius did not have any strength left in his voice, but his entire body was contorting as he cried out hoarsely and as loud as he could. At the second twist, he passed out. Harry woke him up immediately. He was bleeding from the mouth where he'd bitten his tongue. From the looks of it, his tongue was bleeding rather profusely now. Several of his teeth fractured with audible cracks as he grit his teeth in agony and glowered at the Boy who Lived.

"I have 12 more twists to make on this leg, Lucius, and you've got another one. It's over, save yourself the pain. I don't enjoy this any more than you do, just tell me where to find Tom and this will all be over." Harry reasoned with him again, but before an answer could be made he twisted again. "11 more twists."

"G..." Harry immediately let go of the drill and looked piercingly at Lucius Malfoy. Tears were streaming down his face, blood and spittle were caked around his mouth from when he broke his own teeth, his right eye was swollen shut from a backhand early in the interrogation. His head was twitching to the left slightly, and his hair was damp and matted with sweat. His entire body was broken and hanging from the ceiling with only his pierced right foot to keep some of the weight off of his disjoined shoulders. The drill had gone through his ankle already, the bone fragments would be rubbing together painfully with each fading pulse of his heart.

"E-" Even though it was barely audible, the sound brought a fierce round of coughing to Lucius. His partially drilled leg was still stuck to the table, causing him to cry out in pain after each hacking sound. "Every midnight. Portkey. Second goblet from left. Back row. Cabinet." These words were issued with tremendous effort, each syllable a labor of its own. It was hard to breathe deep enough when doing so caused you indescribable pain. His tortured grey eyes looked pointedly over Harry's shoulder towards the kitchen, then back at him. "Please."

Never in his life had Lucius Malfoy asked nicely for anything. Not as a spoiled child, not as a student at Hogwarts, not as a savvy businessman and most certainly not as a Death Eater.

Harry looked into his eyes, searching, then nodded imperceptibly. "I believe you." He picked up his wand, which was resting next to his father's wedding ring, and leveled it at a man who only this morning was as feared as the Dark Lord himself.

Lucius spared one last glance at the Boy who Lived, then his eyes closed and he leaned his head back. "Do it." He croaked.

"Avada Kedavra."

Harry was pulled back to consciousness as the mercifully green light filled his vision. Another nightmare without an ounce of fiction. He'd been having these dreams all too frequently, of late. He heard quiet chatter from close by.

His eyes flickered open, blinking several times to clear the film of sleep from his eyes.

"He's awake. Shh!" Ron shushed the two girls and leaned over the hospital bed. He had a serious expression on his face, but forced a smile anyway. "Hey, mate. You looked just about dead there, glad to see you're still with us. How do you feel?"

Harry took a mental inventory of his current state. Other than a severe case of magical and physical exhaustion, several torn muscles and the usual sleep deprivation, he found nothing wrong. "I'll live." He replied in a monotone.

Ron's grin turned up a little more, he wasn't faking it anymore. "Good to hear it! Do you know how long Pomfrey's going to keep you here?"

Harry shook his head. All he knew was that Pomfrey had one more round of potions for him to take.

As if on cue, Madam Pomfrey threw open the linen privacy screen and strode purposefully up to the table next to Harry's bed. "Out." She looked pointedly at his three housemates.

Harry spoke up quietly. "They can stay." It was not a question. He looked at each of his friends, a lopsided smile fought its way onto the right side of his face.

She set her tray down a little harder than necessary, causing the myriad of potions to clink and clatter. Exhaling furiously, she popped the cork on the first one. "All right, Mr. Potter, drink up." She had a scowl on her face.

Harry didn't reply, only took the bottle from her and downed it in one go. He obediently handed her the bottle without bothering to look up at her. "I am perfectly capable of drinking these potions, Ma'am, there is no need for you to waste your valuable time watching me."

Pomfrey sighed. "I already told you, Mr. Potter, it's my job to make sure you drain these potions. What is Severus thinking, giving you something like this." She held up a square flask filled with a bright purple liquid that seemed to glow even in the waning daylight.

Harry glanced at the bottle and recognized it immediately. "I asked him to make it for me, Ma'am." He downed a vial filled with bright red liquid and took another two that had pearly white swirling fluid in them. He knocked them both back as if they were pumpkin juice, even though Ron could smell how horrid they were from his seat.

The Boy who Lived held out his hand expectantly. "Ma'am, please. I require that potion to minimize the risk of accidental discharge, it will not be safe for me to be unconscious without it. Please hand it to me."

The three Gryffindors seated around Harry all looked at him curiously, but kept their mouths shut. They could interrogate the medi-witch later.

Pomfrey handed the flask over with a defeated sigh. "Maybe if you only took half now, and half later?" she asked with no small bit of hope.

"Negative. I require a full dosage for it to be effective, and once exposed to the air it will spoil within the hour." He met Ginny's eyes. She had an unreadable expression on her face, as if watching a play unfold. He nodded, uncorked the flask and tipped it back, draining it in less than 5 seconds. No sooner had he finished than he collapsed onto his bed, his eyes still open but most definitely asleep. The flask shattered against the stone floor. With the color draining rapidly from his face and his eyes failing to close, it seemed like the Boy who Lived had just killed himself. Panic rose in Ron's chest, he jumped up from his chair and shouted, "What happened to him?!"

Madam Pomfrey reached over and closed Harry's eyes, then shut his mouth. "One three-meal potion, one muscle regenerator, two Draughts of Peace. One Draught of Living Death with twice the recommended dosage of valerian root. It's enough to kill fully grown wizards, but apparently it'll only keep him under for 24 hours. He's dead to the world until tomorrow evening, I suggest you head back to your dormitories." She pulled the clean white linens up around Harry's neck and tucked the corners in. The last vestiges of day were still flooding the room, casting an uneven and rapidly darkening light on the sleeping Gryffindor. It didn't even seem like he was breathing, the whole thing seemed surreal.

The walk back to the Gryffindor Common Room was somber. Ron just stared ahead, letting his feet lead him. Double valerian root? What sort of dreams did Harry have, that the strongest sleeping potion in the wizarding world only worked in extra-strength dosage?

He thought back to the incident in their dorm room, the look in his dark green eyes as he stared blankly out into nothingness. Shivering involuntarily, he reminded himself that he really didn't want to know anything about the dreams that Harry had.

Hermione was much more curious than he was. "What do you suppose he was dreaming about?" She asked innocently.

Ron shook his head. "You don't want to know, 'Mione. Trust me on that one."

"Do you know something about them, Ron?" She wouldn't let it go. It was one of the things he loved most about her, the sheer tenacity she showed in the face of an obstacle.

"You remember when I told you about when I was little, when I wanted to be an Auror? Well, I pestered my dad into taking me to Azkaban with him to check up on an inmate. I've never whined so hard in all my life." He chuckled a little, but quickly sobered up. "So we get there, I can feel the dementors around me, but I'm chewing on a chocolate bar so it doesn't affect me too much, yeah? We get to the room with this inmate, Dad says, "Hello, Peter."

This little squat of a man with a pointed nose and black, beady eyes turns his head and just looks at us... But he wasn't looking at us, you know? He was staring right through us, like we weren't even there. Like HE wasn't even there. I don't know how to describe it, but looking at this man gave me nightmares. The way he stared..."

Ron was staring determinedly ahead, Hermione was listening in rapt attention and Ginny was more than a little shocked. This was the first she'd ever heard of this trip, and he was her brother. It must have really affected him.

He continued as the turned a corner, thankful that nobody was out in the hallway. "It's like his nightmares were as real as me and Dad. Like death itself was standing behind us, waiting to claim him. There was nothing in those eyes at all, no hope or laughter, no anger, not even a hint of despair. Just nothing, like he was hollow inside. It was terrifying to imagine what could do that to a man."

Hermione reached up and put a hand on his shoulder gently. "But Ron, you're not making any sense. What does this have to do with Harry?"

Ron covered her hand with his own reassuringly. "Earlier today when I went up to find him, he was in the dorm sitting against his bed. He was asleep, but the bed and even the wall behind him were burning. The four-poster was in cinders! It was just like that day in transfiguration, when Harry made those spikes in the hallway and that heat hit us? Only this was way worse. The whole room felt like it was going to melt, the stones behind him were already glowing red hot. Stones, Hermione!

"I woke him up, and he looked at me..." his eyes were getting moist. "He had that same look, like whatever he was dreaming about wasn't a nightmare at all. I said his name and he looked at me and I decided that whatever was in his head, I didn't want to know about it. He's seen things, guys, terrible things. The sort of things that would make you want to curl up in a ball and never close your eyes again."

Ron stopped, turning to look seriously at his sister and his girlfriend. His eyes seemed haunted. "You might think differently, but please just trust me when I say that you don't want to know what he was dreaming about."

Hermione nodded silently, Ginny just looked at her older brother. Ron was usually so easygoing and happy, but right now he looked so old and tired. It was like seeing a totally different person. Was this what Harry looked like on a mission, so old and experienced; his bottomless green eyes containing unknown horrors? Perhaps she didn't know Harry as well as she had hoped. She promised to rectify that as soon as possible.

Later that night, a different kind of promise was made. Draco Malfoy was wrapped almost entirely in bandages, and his two goons had gotten off lucky in being stunned early on. His face and ribcage were brutally beaten, two of his fingers were broken, his jaw and shoulder were dislocated and his groin was swelling from repeated kicks. Staring up at the ceiling and unable to look anywhere else, the grey-eyed boy willed his fury to subside. This called for more than mere anger. This called for discipline and carefully-laid plans.

A Malfoy never forgets. The family motto. Any harm or help would be forever remembered. He didn't have his father's resources or connections, but he did have his inheritance: money and articles of political leverage. Every piece of potential blackmailing material that Lucius kept was still inside Malfoy Manor, hidden inside of a portrait of his grandmother. The mad old cow in the picture was obstinate, but Draco would find a way around her during Winter Holiday. It never paid to be rash when planning, never hurt to push the execution of a plan back a week for any reason at all.

He was never top of the class material, but he was cunning and intelligent in his own way. When he was 4, his Italian teacher taught him a phrase that he would find truth in. La vendetta รจ un piatto che va servito freddo. Revenge is a dish best served cold. Draco was many things, but above all he was patient. He would have revenge on Harry for humiliating him, on Ginny for spurning him, and on Ron for the most recent of his beatings. His eyes narrowed as he began to brainstorm a suitable revenge.

He was, after all, a Malfoy. It was time he started living up to the family name.