Harry kept hearing his name from far away, like someone yelling at him from the abyss. His body shook violently, and he was cold, freezing.

"Harry, wake up!"

He opened his eyes, and saw nothing but blurriness; he could barely make out the shapes around him. When he tried to take a deep breath, he realized he had been screaming. His forehead was throbbing with intense pain.

"Hey, it's okay, breathe!"

Who was yelling at him like this? After a few seconds, he understood he wasn't shaking from the cold but from the hands of the man shouting above him. He blinked a few times and squinted slightly until his vision cleared up. It was Draco, Draco was trying to wake him up.

Then everything hit him violently. Sirius.

Harry briskly sat up, making his friend recoil and fall backward on the low water. "Hey, slow down, it's okay!"

It felt cold, his entire body was soaking wet, but he didn't care; Sirius was in grave danger.

"Harry, are you okay?"

He ignored him. As he staggered awkwardly to his feet, his wet clothes stuck to his skin and drops falling from his hair, he noticed several scattered groups of students staring at him, some of them whispering in their friends ears, others wearing a concerned look on their faces. Draco stood up and grabbed his arm.

"Harry, what happened?" "You should lay down!"

"I'm okay." He lied.

"You're not; you just collapsed on the lake and woke up shouting your lungs up—and you're pale as hell!"

But Harry wasn't listening; he had to go; he had to do something now.

"Harry!" Draco called again, placing his body in front of him, his hand still gripping his arm firmly.

"I need to go!" He argued before removing his arm in a quick movement.

"Where?"

Harry pushed him slightly and rushed out of the water; he was walking briskly, almost running. Draco stared at his back for a moment, Harry's behavior seemed so odd, so unlike him. Then he started following him while calling his name over and over until he would stop.

"Harry, where do you have to go?" He repeated, although his friend continued to walk as if he didn't exist.

"Harry!"

Draco lost patience; he sprinted as fast as he could until his hand reached his shoulder and made him whirl around.

"Harry, talk to me!" He ordered.

"He has him!" Harry shouted, his eyes wide open.

"Who?"

"He's got Sirius! He's got my godfather! I have to save him!"

He was talking fast, and his limbs were shaking violently. Draco could hear the sound of his teeth chattering.

"Who are you talking about? Who took your godfather?"

"Voldemort!"

Draco gulped and nodded, then squeezed his hand on Harry's wet shoulder to make him focus on his eyes.

"Ok, breathe, just like me." Draco took a deep inhalation, expecting Harry to imitate him.

"I don't have time! You don't understand; he's going to kill him!"

"Yes, I understand, Harry!" "Listen," Draco glanced around them. Many teenagers were still peeking at Harry like an animal who had escaped from the zoo, but they were too far away to hear their discussion. "Are you sure it's real?" he asked when he refocused on his friend's face.

"What?"

"Are you sure what you saw is true?" He repeated,

Harry looked beside himself, offended. "Of course I'm sure—yes! It's like the dream I got from Mr. Weasley—Look, I have to go, now!"

He didn't spot Draco's sigh, as he was already back on his way to the castle. What could he do? How could he go to the ministry? He could take a broom—or perhaps the next train, hoping he hadn't missed the last one of the morning.

"Harry! Wait!"

What if he tried to use a chimney?

Harry, it's a trap!"

Draco's last shout made him stop dead. The blonde boy caught him up once again, but this time Harry looked calmer.

"What?" He asked with a frown.

Draco caught his breath and closed his eyes, as if trying to consider what he was about to share.

"It's a trap. It's not true." He tried to keep his voice as convincing as possible, however, Harry didn't seem to buy it.

"How can you know that?"

"I—I know, trust me! Your godfather is safe."

The entire situation didn't make any sense in Harry's brain; as much as Draco was trying to reason with him, his guts were pushing him to act, quickly. "Draco, I'm not sure you get it. Sirius is my only family left; I just can't take the risk of letting him die because you think it's not true!"

He went to get around him, but Draco grabbed his wrist.

"You need to believe me, Harry; it's not real; it's a trap!"When Harry started to push him away, he added in a desperate attempt:

"Do you have any way to get in contact with your godfather? To check by yourself?"

His question hit Harry's brain like a gust of wind blowing away all the fog that prevented him from thinking clearly: the mirror.

He freed himself from Draco's grip and dashed toward the castle, this time without letting anyone stop him in his tracks. He ran past many groups of teenagers, surely taking a walk after a hearty breakfast. Most of them were following him with their eyes, surprised to see Harry Potter totally soaked to the bones and racing faster than he had ever done through the long bridge leading to the castle.

"Harry?"

He ignored Ron's call as he rushed to the main door. His friend was sitting in the courtyard with Dean and Seamus; they seemed to practice spells required for the first O. text scheduled for the next Monday, but as soon as their friend appeared in their field of view, Ron immediately stood up, even though Harry didn't even glance at him before vanishing through the large door.

"What's going on with him?" Dean asked stupidly, although no one around him could possibly have the answer.

"I don't know—" Ron muttered. There was something strange, something odd enough to let Hermione know.

(***)

The common room was almost empty, which wasn't surprising with the bright sunshine outside that invited everyone to spend their day on the vast green spaces around the castle, playing, chatting, or studying, before heading for a Butterbeer in Hogsmead until the sunset. This is what Harry had hoped for his weekend with Draco—away from any responsibility, any fears, any nightmares.

He ran up the stairs without even panting, his adrenaline giving him enough energy to endure all the stairs of the castle combined. He flung the door of the dormitory open and dashed to his bed, where his robes lay with the small mirror concealed in the right pocket.

"Please be here—"

Harry retrieved Sirius's gift in a brisk motion, his hands shook as much as his legs, and when he saw his green eyes reflet on the mirror, he called:

"Sirius!"

Please, please, please

"Sirius!" He called again, this time louder, "Please, Sirius! Answer me, dammit!"

He was now yelling at the small object, tears of despair stinging his eyes. Draco had lied; he wasn't safe, and Harry was wasting time.

He was about to throw the mirror away when he glimpsed the shadow of a figure passing.

"Sirius?" He called again, loud enough to make sure the silhouette would hear him.

Only a few seconds later, a familiar face took shape in the mirror to replace his own reflection.

"Harry, is that you?" Remus said in a tone of surprise.

Harry had expected gray eyes instead of brown, but it was better than nothing.

"Professor Lupin!" He exclaimed,

"Call me Remus, Harry—" The man corrected him with a chuckle that didn't last long as his former student cut him off.

"Where is Sirius? Do you know where he is? Is he with you? Please!"

Remus immediately understood something was off. Without asking any questions, he stood up and put down the mirror before disappearing.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Harry kept whispering, his heart throbbing fiercely against his ribs. The wait was unbearable; Lupin had left without giving any reasons or any clue as to whether Sirius was actually safe with him or not. Then, a minute later—even though it had felt like an eternity—Harry saw his face appear in the mirror: Sirius's face.

"Harry? Were you looking for me? What's going on?"

"Oh god." Harry let out a breath of relief and let his tensed body fall on his bed loudly, his hand releasing the mirror, which bounced slightly on the mattress. He had been so worried about losing Sirius that he couldn't even find the strength to speak at the moment—something his godfather didn't quite understand.

"Harry! What is it? Are you okay?"

The insistent calling of Sirius made Harry eventually sit up again to take the mirror.

"I'm okay—I'm okay now." He said quietly, forcing a slight grin on his face. "I just needed to know you were safe."

Sirius frowned, which accentuated the dark circle under his gray eyes, as well as the thin wrinkles that looked more obvious than they used to.

"Of course I am safe, Harry. Why wouldn't I be?"

Harry shook his head and said, "Nothing; everything's fine; don't worry."

He heard noises approaching the room, like footsteps echoing in the staircase.

"I've to go. Please—Please don't leave your house; stay safe, both of you." He hurried to add, before concealing the small mirror in his nightstand's drawer. He heard his godfather protest but chose to ignore it.

The door opened as soon as he straightened from his bed, and he watched Draco approach him with hesitation. He seemed worried; Harry had rarely seen him with such a serious expression on his face; it was almost as if his gray eyes had turned two or three shades darker.

"Did you—"

Harry didn't let him talk, "How did you know?" He asked with a voice that didn't imply any gratitude.

He saw Draco gulp; his hands were absently rubbing against his black pants; he was definitely anxious.

"I—I just knew."

His voice wasn't convincing.

"How? How did you know? Why were you so certain it was a trap?" Harry asked again.

The long silence Draco plunged him into was uncomfortable, and the longer it lasted, the more he understood the truth Draco was hiding would be painful.

"How?" Harry asked one last time, his voice rising with impatience.

Then he understood. Draco had not even opened his mouth yet.

"Fuck—" He hated what was happening; he hated the sudden realization that had just struck him. He briskly turned around and walked to Draco's bed, where he started lifting his pillow and his sheets under the dumbfounded gaze of his friend.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Draco asked,

But he continued stripping his bed with violence, translating his current rage.

"Fuck, where are they?" He growled as he bent to grab Draco's trunk from under the bed.

"Harry—"

He threw open the brown trunk and removed all the perfectly ironed garments without any delicacy.

Nothing.

"Where the fuck did you hide them?" Harry bellowed;

However, he didn't wait for an answer before grabbing his wand that was lying on his bed. Draco watched him in complete silence, his eyes wide open, facing the chaotic scene occurring, so drastically different from the calm, beautiful day they had started by the lake.

Harry pointed his wand at the mess he had created around Draco's sleeping area and shouted: "Accio Draco's letters."

Draco's nightstand shook slightly as pieces of paper seemed to bump against the wood, attempting to find an exit to reach the spellcaster. Two envelopes eventually slipped through the top drawer's gap and flew toward Harry, who caught them nimbly with his left hand.

"Harry—" Draco squeezed his eyes shut with a sigh. It was too late.

He watched Harry read the letters in silence, standing still, helpless. Then, when he finished, Harry looked up at Draco with a faint smile on his lips. Draco's heart sank. It wasn't a smile of happiness or relief; it was a smile of strong bitterness.

"So that was it." Harry hissed. "You were part of all of this, you—" He turned his attention back to the letter so he could quote, "Made sure I felt isolated; gained my trust. You basically had to manipulate me so you could help him reach me?"

It sounded bad, even worse from his mouth than from his father's handwriting.

"Harry I—"

"And then what? Was kissing me in your plans? Did he ask you to fuck me? Did I miss a letter somewhere?" Harry shouted and pretended to look around for a third letter. He completely ignored Draco's reaction and continued:

"Oh, and also, you asked Blaise and the others to assault me so you could save me? That's how far you push your fucking plans? Well, it worked, well done!"

"No! No, I promise it's not true!" Draco exclaimed briskly as he took a step toward him, then stopped when he saw Harry recoil.

"I promise, I did not!" His eyes began to brim over with tears, but he had to talk; he had to explain.

"Look—yes, he asked me to make sure you felt alone; he asked me to gain your trust so you wouldn't feel the need to confide in your friends; and yes, he probably expected me to encourage you to find and save your godfather! All of this is true." His voice was trembling with a mix of sadness and guilt.

"And I followed his orders at first, yes, I did, because—because I was scared, for me, for my parents, and I'm a coward, you reminded me of that so many times, well, it's true!" He exclaimed,

"And also—I hated you, Harry—"

Harry tried not to wince. He refused to meet his gaze, his rage unable to accept Draco's despair.

"But then, I spent every single day living with you, discovering a whole new facet of you, and—I couldn't, I didn't want to do it anymore! And I promise you, Harry, I promise you that everything I told you, everything I did with you, everything was sincere."

Harry shook his head. It felt like no matter what Draco said, the damage had already been done, it was too late.

"Look," Draco eventually added in a last attempt, "I'm not asking you to forgive me, but please, you have to believe me—please."

The tremor in his voice finally made Harry look up. His gray eyes begged him to give him a chance as tears streamed down his cheeks.

"Believe you—" Harry parroted, "How can you ask me to believe you." His voice came out low, but it hurt more than if he had shouted.

"Please. You need to; I promise it's true—"

They were only a few feet apart; one bed separated their two bodies, and yet, Harry seemed so far away, unreachable. He was staring at the floor, the open letters hanging from his hand. Then, after a few seconds of stillness that felt like an eternity, he smirked, causing Draco to look up at him.

"You know what?" Harry said, with so much bitterness, like poison, in his voice, "He was right, Sirius; I can't trust any of you."

He threw the letters at the foot of Draco's bed before heading to the stairs.

"Wait—"

Draco tried to take his arm in his path, but Harry pushed him away.

"Get the fuck off me!" He shouted.

He must have yelled particularly loudly, as Theodore opened the door with a surprised expression on his face.

"What's going on here?"

He had an herbology book under his arm, straight out of the library where he had spent the whole morning.

"Why are you soaking wet, Harry?" He added when he glanced at the furious boy.

Draco watched Harry growl and dash to the door, passing right in front of Theo without exchanging a glance or a word.

The feeling of betrayal had never been so strong in Harry's heart; his blood was boiling in his veins so much that it felt like they could explode.

I'm so stupid. He kept repeating in his head as he ran down the stairs. Sirius' warnings sounded so vivid in his brain, he hadn't listened to him, he had trusted the wrong people, and here he was, alone and heartbroken.

But he warned you about Sirius.

He had; after having manipulated him for almost three months.

Everything felt so conflicted inside him, his deception engulfed every single other feeling in a gigantic wave. He was tired; he needed time.

(***)

The OWLs arrived like a sunburn you wouldn't have expected, even though you spent the entire day on the beach without sunscreen. All the fifth-years had been constantly warned about the upcoming exams, and yet everyone felt like it was too soon.

Harry spent the rest of the weekend ignoring Draco, hiding in the library or the common room, watching the sun arrogantly shine from outside the windows. Theodore seemed overly confused by the sudden change in their relationships, and Harry suspected him to have questioned Draco after the argument in the dormitory, but he couldn't tell whether Draco had shared anything. Harry chose to not care; he wasn't planning to talk to Theo anyway. The boy was also the son of a Death Eater; what if he was in the boat?

The first day of their tests had gone relatively well for Harry, if he didn't count the constant daydreaming he had been experiencing since his argument with Draco. Perhaps it came from his abuse of dreamless potions, which he had drank two nights in a row, or perhaps it was Draco's sudden absence in his life, leaving a hole nightmares had quickly filled.

He missed him. He missed him so much. He missed his arms, his smell, he missed sitting beside him every night on the couch, he missed his bad jokes as much as he missed his long, comforting silences. But he couldn't forgive what he had done, not after everything he had endured this year, not after all the betrayals and manipulations he had already been facing. He was sick of being the constant target and of being played with like a vulgar marionette. And coming from Draco, who had so gently kissed him, who had given him the most beautiful compliments, and who had told him he didn't want to be a danger to him, it hurt too much.

In addition to his lack of focus, his scar constantly hurt. He could sense the incoming danger; Voldemort's anger, him who had failed his trap; he could feel his rage gradually rising, his eagerness for revenge. And Harry was becoming impatient, angry, constantly on the verge of yelling at someone.

(***)

"Potter, may I have a word with you?"

Harry turned around to see Professor McGonagall standing next to the classroom they had just exited after the transfiguration test. She didn't look angry, but she was definitely not giving him a choice. Harry reluctantly walked back to the room entrance, his stomach hurting from hunger. All the students around him were heading to a well-deserved dinner after the long, hectic day they had just endured. He could feel the eyes drifting toward him and McGonagall, and the small groups of students slowing down so they could grasp a few more juicy pieces of information to fuel their dinner gossip.

"Granger, Weasley, you two!" She stopped the two friends, who had barely walked through the door, their bags on their shoulders.

Harry's heart stopped; he immediately looked down to avoid their gaze, the urge to flee far away gradually rising in his chest.

"Not here," she said with her usual strict tone. "Follow me in my office."

She seemed to have felt Harry's discomfort, as she quickly added, "Don't worry, you will be eating soon. It should be rather quick."

He wasn't even hungry, not anymore.

"Hum hum—may I ask why you wish to talk with Mr. Potter?"

Everyone averted their eyes from their transfiguration teacher, to look at Umbridge, who had just appeared from the classroom. She had unfortunately decided to supervise all the OWL tests, or at least to barge in for the last half hour and let everybody remember her existence.

McGonagall gave her a quick look of disdain and muttered, "Yes, I suppose you may ask," before refocusing on her student without answering the headmistress's question.

"May I remind you that Mr. Potter is not a Gryffindor student anymore? He is thus under Professor Snape's responsibility." Umbridge explained condescendingly.

"Oh, I speak to the students I want to, Dolores." She snapped back.

Calling Umbridge by her first name when she asked everyone to address her as Headmistress, offended the small woman, whose lips pursed and nostrils flared.

"I could get you fired overnight, Minerva." She threatened, her chubby finger pointed toward the tall woman.

McGonagall scoffed, "Then do it." She then turned to the three teenagers behind her and said, "You three, follow me."

Harry was glad to escape that place and situation, where he felt highly embarrassed in the middle of the two women's quarrel. He was still extremely impressed by McGonagall's ability to keep calm in front of Umbridge while finding the best ways to humiliate her in front of dozens of children. They all walked past Umbridge as if nothing had happened and headed to their teacher's office. Harry didn't say a word on their way; he followed the group with his mind wandering in different scenarios. What did she want to talk about? Did she know about his dream? Were Ron and Hermione about to blame him for his recent behavior?

They entered the small office, where McGonagall summoned two additional chairs before inviting them to sit in front of her desk.

"Please have a biscuit." She ordered by pointing at the small brass plate.

Harry knew he couldn't refuse and grabbed one before Ron and Hermione, who both looked more skeptical.

"Potter," Harry briskly looked up from his biscuit, McGonagall was observing him through her spectacles, her two hands joined on the table. "How are you feeling?"

Harry briefly glanced at the two other teenagers sitting to his left; their eyes were on him with furrowed brows and desolate gazes.

"I'm fine." He lied, although he knew they wouldn't buy it.

"Potter. Your friends reported to me what happened last weekend." He felt his blood freeze in his veins. What did they know?

"You've been seen running through the castle, soaking wet from head to toe, looking drastically confused. Would you please enlighten me about what made you end up in that state?"

"Oh—"

He had no recollection of having run into them on his way to the dorms, but as he thought about it, he had no recollection of anything. He gave them an accusing glare, and Ron's face turned scarlet, making his freckles pop even more.

"It was nothing." He muttered, as he tried to quickly come up with an excuse, "I—I fell on the lake, I tripped."

"And what put you in this panicked state?"

"I was not panicked."

He couldn't come up with anything. McGonagall raised her brow, making her forehead slightly wrinkled. "This is not what I heard from your classmates." And before Harry could blame his two friends, she added, "Many students saw you running, Potter."

Why did he always end up in those maternalistic interrogations? His hands contorted against his thighs as he let out a sigh;

"I'm fine, I promise." "It was nothing."

He made it obvious that he wouldn't linger on the subject, which McGonagall easily understood.

"Is there anything you want to share? It seems you haven't talked to your friends for a while." She asked softly—as soft as she could offer.

"No."

"What about the day you were absent?" Hermione asked timidly. Her voice made him turn his head toward her, unsure of what she wanted.

"I was sick." Harry answered curtly.

"We heard Blaise joke about you; it didn't sound like a simple flu." She argued, with Ron nodding behind her.

Harry was losing the little patience he had managed to nurture these past few days. He clenched his fists against his black pants, his angry eyes still fixed on Hermione.

"I was sick." He repeated slowly, spitting out each word very distinctly.

"You stopped talking to us after that day, mate; it's hard to believe you—" Ron came to Hermione's rescue.

Everything flooded at once in Harry's brain: his terrible experiences with Blaise, his occlumency sessions, his nightmares, Sirius, Draco—he knew his anger was showing on his body, especially his face, and he didn't try to conceal it.

"Then ask Blaise if you want to know! I said I was fine! Can the world leave me alone just for one bloody day?"

The room fell instantly silent, making Harry's panting louder than it actually was.

McGonagall stared at the boy longly; her strictness pushed her to call him to order, but Snape's words concerning Harry's strange dreams about his friends still ran through her head.

"Weasley, Granger," the two teenagers averted their shocked eyes from Harry and looked at their teacher, "you may go; I would like to discuss with Potter alone."

They acquiesced to her demand and got to their feet, when a thud echoed somewhere in the castle. It sounded like an explosion, or a loud gunshot if they had lived in the muggle world. Harry, Hermione, and Ron glanced at each other, completely forgetting about their current cleavage, as their trio instinct resurfaced as if it had never left.

"What was that?" Ron asked, while McGonagall headed to her office's door. She glanced at them promptly before a new explosion made them startle.

"You three, stay here." McGonagall ordered. She vanished through the door, leaving the trio behind. They obviously didn't obey, as they immediately followed her toward the source of the noise. It seemed to take place in the great hall, where the entire school was currently gathered for dinner. Harry felt a rush of panic come over him, and despite his animosity toward him, Draco was his main concern.

However, the cause of that bustle happened to be way different from their fears. The great hall looked chaotic; nobody could deny it, but there was no Death Eater in sight. Instead, two familiar ginger heads were flying on their broom above a standing ovation of cheering teenagers—and some teachers. They were throwing fireworks, as well as various merchandise from their shops. McGonagall looked astonished, and when she gasped, the three teenagers behind her followed her gaze, only to see Umbridge in the middle of the chaos, her entire body blackened with soot. Multiple dungbombs seemed to have exploded around her, leaving a heavy fog and a putrid smell throughout the room. It looked like a historical war painting that Harry craved to frame and admire every night before sleeping. It was grotesque, and the absence of support from the student or the teachers made Umbridge's distress even more epic.

Harry couldn't resist; he and his friends burst out in laughter, while their transfiguration teacher struggled to keep her composure—even though Harry was certain to have caught a glimpse of her lips curving slightly.

The twins eventually decided to finish the show by throwing their biggest and most impressive fireworks, then dashed for the exit. When they reached the door, the twins flew lower to give Harry and Ron a high five. "See you soon, guys!" "Take care, little brothers!"

And as soon as they disappeared, a massive W exploded above Umbridge. Harry felt impressed by their genius. Although they were known to be memorable, their last performance exceeded everyone's expectations. And for the first time this week, Harry felt lighthearted, until his eyes landed on Draco at the other end of the room. The boy smiled timidly at him, and Harry's heart sank once again.

McGonagall's interrogation got quickly forgotten, as the Gryffindor head of house became the main scapegoat for Umbridge after the twins' departure. The headmistress had decided to put the blame on her, which allowed Harry to escape to the common room. He felt bad for his teacher, knowing how much struggle the twins had caused her during these past six years; however, he couldn't help but feel grateful for Fred and George—even if their timing had most likely been a coincidence.

Their memorable departure remained the school's main attraction all evening and then the next day. They were on everyone's lips, including those of the Slytherins.

"I don't know much about them, but that was hilarious, let's be honest!" Blaise exclaimed while he was changing into his pajamas the same night. All his friends laughed for a few minutes when they remembered Umbridge's and Filch's faces.

"Harry knows them," Pike turned to Harry, who was sprawled on his bed, "you spend every summer with the Weasleys, don't you?" He asked him.

Harry was actually quite surprised to hear them mock the headmistress, when he had always thought they considered her the best thing that had happened to Hogwarts. Perhaps her new annoying decrees had gotten on the nerves of everybody, Slytherins included, or perhaps they simply loved mocking people in a vulnerable position, no matter who it was. He could feel all the gazes laying on him as Pike decided to include him in the conversation, when they usually ignored him. He didn't like it; in no world did he want to be part of their nightly talks, especially with Blaise. With a sigh, he put down his potion book on his nightstand and closed the curtains around his bed, taking care not to leave any gaps visible like he used to do before. He had gotten out of the habit of leaving his curtain slightly open on Draco's side, as he refused to let him watch him, and above all, he refused to be tempted to do the same with him.

(***)

Nagini was crawling between her master's legs on the cold tiles of the Malfoys' manor. Voldemort's dark, billowy robes floated above her scales, giving her a sense of protection and security. But her master was upset. He kept pacing the large room, his servants watching him with helpless eyes behind their masks. She could feel their fear; they were useless and weak, and none of them lived up to the power of their master.

"It seems like the young Malfoy has failed his task." Voldemort hissed.

His red eyes lay on the father. Nagini observed the blond man; his head faced the floor; he looked pathetic.

"From what I perceived, your son looks like he picked his side."

"I—I don't understand what happened, master." Lucius hurried to say.

Voldemort approached him, his feet making no sound, as if he floated above the floor.

"Let me explain to you then," he grinned, "your son may have taken his role a bit too seriously, and his feelings toward Harry Potter turned to be—" he pretended looking for the best word, "romantic."

Lucius shook his head briskly and said, "It's—it's impossible, master."

"Is it?"

His white face was now dangerously close to the death eater, and Nagini remained behind, admiring the show.

"Are you suggesting I am lying, Lucius?"

"No, no, of course not; I'm sorry." He babbled, losing all his means as Voldemort's rotting teeth threatened him right in front of his face.

"But here is the thing," Voldemort said to the entire room as he walked away from Lucius. "Draco Malfoy ruined a plan we had prepared meticulously for a long time. Potter now doubts his visions, making everything way more difficult."

He stopped and turned to Lucius. "What do you suggest, Lucius? What could your family do to make up your son's weakness?"

The man looked up and glanced at the other death eaters in the room. Bellatrix was glaring at him with her dark, crazy eyes, as if she were even more upset than her master.

"I—I don't know, master." He couldn't think; the room felt suddenly terribly hot, and he could feel the beads of sweat sliding down his forehead. His son had never disappointed him that way; he could not believe what he had done.

"Lucius?"

He lifted his head. "Yes, master."

"Who do you choose between me and your son?"

The seconds Lucius took to register the question were the biggest mistake of his life. A vivid green flash hit his head, and he fell to the floor like a vulgar rag.

All the Death Eaters flinched at this sudden, drastic decision. The murder of Lucius Malfoy, one of their master's closest servants, was definitely not trivial.

"Bellatrix, go fetch your sister." Voldemort ordered. The woman nodded and dashed to the door.

Nagini stirred beside her master, her attention drawn to a fresh corpse that looked delicious. "Not now, Nagini."

Voldemort held his arms open and spoke to his servants;

"So let this serve as a warning for all of you." "I will no longer tolerate my followers being driven by their emotions, or worse, by love."

Bellatrix soon reappeared, followed by Narcissa. The woman first looked at her master, before her eyes fell on her motionless husband. Her heart stopped, and the world collapsed around the young mother as Lucius empty eyes gazed into oblivion. However, she immediately felt the insistent stare of the Dark Lord, and she averted her eyes from her husband with coldness.

"Narcissa, as you might have noticed, I am deeply disappointed in your husband's loyalty, as much as I am disappointed in your son."

The woman didn't react, she didn't even wince as her eyes fixed on Voldemort with impressive composure.

"I'll ask you the same question," Voldemort declared through gritted teeth. He looked quite destabilized by the woman's impassivity at the mention of Draco.

"Your son? Or me?"

"You. Master."

Narcissa responded quickly, like it was an obvious choice. Voldemort observed her for some time, then his thin mouth split into a frightening smile. "I can hardly believe you, Narcissa. But I will give you a chance." "You will go fetch your son for me."

Narcissa attempted to keep a straight face, but her brows betrayed her.

"You will bring him back here; it's time for him to make up for his foolishness and show his loyalty to me."

"Are you going to hurt him?" She asked in a low voice.

Nagini tensed, her fangs ready to attack. Voldemort walked slowly behind his snake, his wand clamped between his long fingers. "You have guts, Narcissa." He recognized, despite his growing irritation.

"As long as the boy can prove his exemplarity and utility, he will be safe. I am not that cruel, Narcissa."

The lifeless body of her husband made Voldemort's words highly ironic.

"And I am not giving you a choice." He threatened her, "If you refuse to go, I will send someone else for you, and make sure you watch how your son's fate will be greatly different. And then, after I torture him to madness, I'll slaughter you in front of him."

Bellatrix smiled at the other end of the room, visibly willing to replace her sister on this task. Narcissa hadn't realized she had stopped breathing. She exhaled slowly through her nose and tried to suppress any tremors. It was difficult to keep her eyes dry, but she knew that Draco's life and hers were now on a thin line, and a single flick, a word, or a shiver could immediately kill them.

"I'll go." She declared.

Voldemort nodded. "And I'll make sure you come back."

(***)

Draco felt terrible. His guilt had never been so prominent, and never in his life had he thought he could miss Harry that much. The fact he was still seeing him every day, sleeping right next to him, when he knew Harry had nothing but disdain for him now; knowing that at the end of the day Harry didn't consider him a better person than Blaise, made him feel sick. The situation they had both ended up in was a living nightmare.

Even though he knew deep down how little effort he had made to help Voldemort, how quickly he had given up on the idea of being part of their plan, he couldn't blame Harry for not believing him. He would, in fact, not have believed that excuse either if he had been in Harry's place.

But now, he could only wait and hope time would help them, that Harry would eventually be willing to listen to him and give him a second chance—if only he deserved it.

After the OWLs, he tried to reassure himself by thinking the exams were preventing Harry from assessing the situation with a clear head. You will try again after the OWLs.

However, neither he nor Harry had expected what was about to happen on the last day of their tests.

Thursday was entirely dedicated to History or Magic, a test consisting of an endless quiz with utterly detailed questions nobody could guess without having learned their books by heart. It was difficult to concentrate when Harry was sitting right in his field of vision, a table in front of him on his diagonal. His attention kept shifting from his parchment to the boy's face; he didn't look much more focused, his feather tended to stay pointed toward the window instead of writing on the paper, and his green eyes were glued to a random spot between the large clock and the old man supervising the exam. He looked tired, and so did Draco. He attempted to focus on his quiz.

"What was the primary reason for the creation of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy?"

The endless question made him grimace. He had the answer somewhere in his brain; he was sure of it, but his mind kept rambling somewhere else—toward somebody else.

The main door behind the tables opened for the third time, At this point, no student bothered to turn their head and look who it was; Umbridge kept sneaking into their tests, and when it wasn't her, it was simply teachers passing notes between them. But when Professor Binns flew toward the entrance with the examiner and started talking fast, the level of concentration in the room began to decline. Draco recognized Snape's voice amidst the teachers, but he tried to ignore it, as his eyes had been glued to the same question for more than ten minutes.

Focus, focus, focus.

As steps approached between the tables, he pretended to write something on his parchment, as if to prove he was working hard, but when they stopped right beside his table, his hand froze. Draco looked up to see the examiner, whose name he could not remember, standing above him. It was a rather small and plump man with a white beard that grew along his jawline, from ear to ear, in the shape of a smile. The old man leaned forward at Draco's table and whispered:

"Your mother is waiting for you outside."

His whisper sounded more like a nasal twang, which everybody around them heard.

"What—?"

Draco's brows furrowed; the presence of his mother in the castle made no sense. "I haven't finished my test," he added, even though the questions waiting on his parchment seemed very insignificant compared to his mother.

The examiner cast him an apologetic look, and before he could open his mouth, Draco grabbed his bag from under the table.

"Sorry, I'm leaving." He hurried to say. The students around him couldn't help but take a peek at him, ignoring the examiner's attempt to dispel their curiosity by gesturing awkwardly as if he were fighting an invisible fly.

Draco met Harry's eyes, the boy was staring at him, his body almost entirely twisted on his chair. Harry seemed worried; his green pupils were full of emotions and told Draco way more than words could. Draco nodded to him furtively and felt his intense gaze follow him to the door, giving him an odd sense of support.

The examiner was right; his mother was standing in the hallway next to Snape and Binns. Draco's heart began to race as he scanned their faces, stopping at his mother's eyes. He knew her better than he knew himself; something was wrong.

"Draco," she said as she took a step toward her son. Her voice sounded relatively calm for foreign ears, but not for Draco—he could discern the subtle tremor she had when she felt anxious.

"We have to go," she added.

"Why?"

She cast a quick look at the two men behind her, then turned back to Draco. "Just come; you will be back to Hogwarts soon, I promise."

Draco frowned. He then looked at Snape, but the man didn't seem to know much more than him.

"What about my stuff?" "Do I need to pack?"

His mother briskly shook her head and said, "No, don't worry about that; just come with me."

"Narcissa, are you sure everything is okay?" Snape asked suddenly. She nodded and smiled slightly.

Something was definitely far from okay.

"Come on, let's go."

She took Draco's hand and began walking in silence, slowly at first, then at a brisk pace when they both vanished from the teacher's sight.

Draco first remained quiet; he occasionally glanced at his mother, who still wore her usual mask of a cold and confident woman.

"You will obey everything the master says; you will never hesitate in front of him; forget about Potter; forget about your life at school; don't let any emotion stand out; don't do anything stupid, and I promise, everything will be okay." She was talking fast, as if she had rehearsed her speech many times before coming to Hogwarts.

Draco stared in front of him; his breathing became rapidly uneven as chills went through his body.

"What happened?" He eventually asked timidly.

He felt his mother's hand squeeze his palm tightly as they walked outside the castle. Then, all of a sudden, he saw a tear rolling down her pointy cheek, finally breaking her mask. She took a deep, shaky breath and whispered,

"He killed your father."