A/N: A fairly short chapter for y'all, but I think I found a good place to end it. For all of you readers who wanted to see more of Orochimaru's conniving schemes: is this really what you wanted?! Because honestly, writing this is breaking my heart. Viktor Krum and Poliakoff are already two of my best buddies, and they're definitely not enjoying life right now. On the plus side, the Draco angst is pretty much over by the end of this chapter.

Next chapter is the Hogwarts Express, and then we're back at Hogwarts! We'll also continue with events at Durmstrang, so that you can see what kinds of trouble Orochimaru is cooking up. I welcome all kinds of feedback! For example, what do you think of Orochimaru? Is he making smart choices? What should be his first target after Durmstrang? As for the upcoming Hogwarts year, is there anything you'd particularly like to see? How do you picture Draco interacting with the Slytherins after his life-changing experiences? Are there any adventures you think Sarutobi and Lupin should have?

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Naruto

Chapter 21: Hard Truths

Two weeks into his training, Draco had a good idea what hell must feel like. His body was only now beginning to adjust to the grueling pace set by Sarutobi, and still every waking hour was measured in pain. His muscles ached abominably, and every night his lungs burned from hours of running, dodging spells, and fighting.

At least he didn't have to ask Dobby to fill the tub with ice water every night – he had graduated to every other night. But no matter what Sarutobi demanded of him, Draco didn't complain. He tackled each new task with single-minded intensity, the memory of Orochimaru's burned face spurring him forward whenever he began to falter.

And Draco was certainly improving, though never as fast as he would have liked. Draco could hit targets from distances that would have seemed impossible only months ago, and track multiple targets in motion. His Diffindo could sever a thick tree branch from thirty yards, and only a few days ago Draco had produced a Reducto curse that had demolished a large boulder, leaving nothing more than a pile of fine gravel. His spells seemed to be growing more powerful, fueled by his determination and the deep reservoir of his hate.

Draco's days fell into a familiar rhythm that removed the need for thought. His world contracted until there was nothing but the next assignment, the next spell, the next challenge. He worked his body far beyond its limits, and his body responded more quickly than he could have imagined.

The only other souls that Draco saw were Professor Sarutobi and Dobby. His teacher ate every meal with Draco, talking very little, but always there to answer any questions that Draco had about his training. The house-elf who was Draco's last link to his former life was also a constant presence, never intruding but constantly available with anything that Draco might need. He tended the numerous injuries that Draco suffered during his training, and he kept the cottage spotless and the two wizards well fed.

That evening, during dinner, Sarutobi seemed to watch Draco more carefully than usual. Draco could often feel the old man's eyes upon him, but his teacher didn't say anything. They often ate together in comfortable silence, but tonight whatever it was Sarutobi wasn't saying weighed down the atmosphere. Finally, Draco couldn't stand it any more.

"What is it?" Draco snapped, disconcerted. "Do I have something on my face, or are you just trying to annoy me?"

He didn't make much of an effort to speak politely to Professor Sarutobi anymore. As long as Draco didn't complain and followed orders without question, Sarutobi didn't care if he was abrasive or sarcastic. If Draco was honest with himself, it was sometimes refreshing to be able to say what he felt, when he felt, without covering up his emotions. Nothing could be more different from the Pureblood world in which he had been raised, where nothing was ever said straight out. It was all maneuvering for position, shadow wars fought with words coated in honey to hide the taste of poison.

Sarutobi took a bite of Dobby's signature stew, chewing slowly, maddeningly, before swallowing. "I was arguing with myself," he said at last. "There is some information you don't yet know, and I wasn't sure if you were ready to hear it. But others disagree, and in spite of myself I find their reasons persuasive."

"Do you enjoy being cryptic?" Draco demanded. "If there's something I need to know, just tell me. Don't beat around the bush and stare at me like I've sprouted another head."

"I can understand your impatience. However, the information is not mine to tell. Dobby, would you go outside and check if Harry has arrived yet?"

The house elf nodded so vigorously he almost fell over, beaming all the while. "Dobby will check right away, Professor." He disappeared with a sharp crack.

Draco was sure he had misheard. "Potter?! What could that waste of space possibly have to say to me?"

Sarutobi looked faintly amused. "You may not have noticed during the past year, but Harry and his friends have been training with me. Whatever you may have thought about them before, they are certainly not wasting space now. In fact, you have quite a ways to go if you hope to catch up to my other students."

That stopped Draco cold, for a moment. He hadn't realized that Professor Sarutobi had been teaching Potter, and he probably should have. There was that incident at the meeting of the Dueling Club last year, when Harry and his friends had beaten the Slytherins without much trouble. He should have guessed they were getting extra training.

But despite his spark of jealousy, Draco still didn't know why Harry would want to talk to him.

From outside came a high-pitched squeal that could only have come from Dobby. Then the house elf shouted, "Harry Potter! Dobby is so glad to see you!"

Sarutobi raised one eyebrow, watching Draco with an unreadable expression. "If I'm not mistaken, that would be the Boy Who Lived. Although to be fair, that title applies to you now as much as it ever did to him. I would advise you to rethink your animosity towards Harry Potter, Draco. You have more in common with him than you think, and he would make a much better ally than enemy. Think about that, while you listen to what he has to say."

Draco stood up from the table, not quite acknowledging Sarutobi's words. "When did Dobby meet Potter?" he muttered to himself as he left the cottage. Dobby was the Malfoy's house elf, and as far as Draco knew he had never set foot outside of Malfoy Manor.

Harry Potter, Draco's nemesis of his first two years at Hogwarts, was hopping around Dobby, throwing fake punches that the house elf returned with more enthusiasm than skill. When he saw Draco, Harry froze, his hands falling to his sides.

The sight of his house elf playing with Potter made Draco unaccountably angry, and he broke the silence with his best sneer. "Potter. What's the matter – did you get lost?"

A range of emotions flashed through Potter's green eyes, and Draco couldn't identify any of them. "I came to speak with you, Malfoy," he said, quiet and serious. "Professor Sarutobi recalibrated a Portkey so I could come tonight."

"What is it, then, Potter? I don't have all night." In spite of his harsh words, Draco was starting to feel a little uneasy. This was a different Harry Potter than the one he was familiar with – he wasn't reacting to any of Draco's jibes, and he wasn't offering any insults of his own.

Potter sighed, keeping his hands in his pockets. "I… I guess it starts the night your parents died. Do you… have you heard how your father died?"

Draco opened his mouth, but nothing came out. "Huh?" was all he could say, poleaxed.

"Your father," Potter repeated. "Did Professor Sarutobi tell you how he died?"

"Orochimaru killed him," Draco said instantly, but that wasn't quite what Sarutobi had said. Although Draco had been deep in the throes of grief when he'd heard of his father's death, Sarutobi's words were still clear in his mind. "Or… he said Orochimaru sent him to his death."

Draco had assumed, without thinking much about it, that this meant that Orochimaru had killed his father. But now he wasn't so sure.

"That's right," Harry replied, his tone wavering between hesitation and determination. "The night Orochimaru murdered your mother, he tried to kill me too. He sent your father to Hogwarts with orders to bring me to him, so he could steal my body and my magic and wear it like a cloak."

For a moment, the disgust that Draco felt mirrored the expression on Harry's face.

"Your father made sure to get you to safety first," Harry continued. "But once you left, he attacked the teachers when they wouldn't give me up."

Harry took a deep breath, and Draco stifled a sudden, inexplicable urge to cover his ears. "Malfoy, I'm so sorry," Harry said in a rush. "Your father activated some kind of magic that Orochimaru gave him, and it made him crazy. He wasn't satisfied with me anymore – he was going to hurt people. We had to fight him. The person who killed him… it was me."

Hate surged within Draco, raw and jagged, until it seemed like nothing else existed. His wand was in his hand before he knew it, and it swung forward as if of its own accord-

Crack!

Draco's wand went flying, torn from his grasp by a force he wasn't strong enough to resist. But Harry hadn't moved, not even to draw his own wand, so how…

Then everything became clear, when Draco saw Dobby standing before Harry Potter, like a floppy-eared guard dog, his finger pointing at Draco like a weapon.

"Dobby's heart breaks for poor Master," Dobby said, ears quivering violently, "but Master shall not harm Harry Potter!"

Draco was furious, but even more than that, he felt betrayed. "Dobby!" he shouted, convulsively tightening his grip on his wand. "Why are you protecting him? You work for me! I order you to stand aside."

The little house elf drew himself up to his full height. "Dobby is a free elf. Dobby received clothes weeks ago, when Dobby was responsible for changing and feeding Master."

Draco could only stare, the revelation momentarily distracting him from his anger. Sarutobi appeared next to him before he could regain control, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Do not blame Dobby for stopping you," Sarutobi said quietly, but firmly. "He just saved your life."

Draco shook off his teacher's hand, furious at Sarutobi's interference. "What? I wouldn't have lost!"

Sarutobi shook his head sadly. "And have you forgotten about your Vow so soon? Harry came to you in peace, and has neither attacked nor defended. If you had actually managed to land a curse, it would have meant your death. The Unbreakable Vow does not make allowances for your emotions."

Ice flooded Darco's veins as he realized what a close call that had been. In his anger, he had completely forgotten about the Unbreakable Vow he'd sworn. Never had he regretted his decision more. He glared bloody murder at Potter, who had the gall to look sorry for him, of all things!

"Just you wait, Potter," Draco snarled through gritted teeth. "This isn't over."

"Try to think clearly," Sarutobi interjected, moving to block Harry from Draco's view. "Your father's death is not Harry's fault. Lucius knew when he left that night that he had no chance of coming back alive. He went to his death knowingly, all so that he could protect you."

Draco shook his head, as if denying everything could bring his father back. He swiped the back of his hand hard across his face, drying the unshed tears that he refused to let fall. He couldn't stay here – he had to get away. One more second and he would lash out at Sautobi, who had trapped him; Dobby, who had abandoned him; or Harry, who had killed his father…

Draco choked back a sob and started running, to where he didn't know.

Harry's voice rang out behind him. "Malfoy!"

Draco could just make out Sarutobi's lower tones, before he passed out of hearing range. "Let him go, Harry. You can't help him right now."

Draco didn't stop running until his legs felt like lead weights and his lungs burned. He collapsed by a small stream, wide enough that he couldn't jump across it. There he sat, staring at the water and trying very hard not to think.

That was where Dobby found him several hours later, as the sun was disappearing behind the foothills far away to the west. The house elf approached slowly, Draco's wand held out like a peace offering.

"Dobby came to bring Master back, in case he was lost," Dobby said. "And to bring Master his wand."

Draco snatched his wand back, angry words bursting from his lips. "Why did you even come back? You said it yourself – you're free. I'm not your master anymore, so just go away! Why don't you serve your precious Potter, since you seem to like him so much!"

Dobby flinched as though Draco's words were stones. "Dobby will not abandon Master Draco! Dobby won't let him fight the snake man alone." The elf's ears vibrated with fear, but he sounded painfully earnest.

"Then why didn't you help before?" Draco demanded, the suppressed memories of that terrible night resurfacing. "When Orochimaru killed Mother, where were you? You've always hated us, haven't you? You stayed away on purpose."

Dobby drew himself to his full height, filled with a fragile but unshaken pride. "Maybe Dobby didn't like Master or Mistress, but Dobby would have fought for them. Mistress made Dobby iron his ears, so Dobby couldn't hear when the snake man came. If Dobby had heard, Dobby would have fought."

The irony wasn't lost on Draco. If his mother hadn't ordered Dobby punished, the house elf might have been able to distract Orochimaru long enough for Narcissa to escape with Draco. Suddenly the whole thing seemed so ridiculous that he just had to laugh.

He laughed and laughed, until his stomach hurt and his eyes stung. Dobby drew closer, his wide eyes concerned. Rising up and pushing past Draco's anger was another emotion: shame.

"Why did you stay with me?" Draco demanded. "Why, when you don't even like me? I mean, I ordered you to punish yourself more than Mother ever did."

Dobby cocked his head to one side, honestly puzzled, as if he didn't understand why Draco was even asking such a question. "Because Master Draco has no one else."

Draco had to look away, and the surge of gratitude he felt was almost enough to wash away his shame.

"Dobby can't promise he will follow Master Draco's every order," Dobby said, gulping loudly at his own daring. "But Dobby promises never to abandon Young Master."

Draco stared at the elf, whose ears quivered with a quiet dignity, and he felt very small indeed. "Thanks…" he whispered, so quietly it might have been the breeze ghosting along the riverbank. "And Dobby… please call me Draco."

oOoOo

It had barely been a day since Viktor's world had gone utterly insane, and already he wished for death to release him from the nightmare that his life had become. Orochimaru's first order was to gather the Fifth and Sixth Formers attending Durmstrang during the summer – they were the oldest students on campus, and the most skilled. Among them were the Head Boy, Mikhail Ardelean, and Viktor's best friend, Borislav Poliakoff.

Viktor could have warned them. Instead of bringing them to Karkaroff's office, he could have told them to run away. It would have meant his instant death, as the Vow he'd sworn would have killed him immediately. And even if they'd believed him, could they possibly escape someone as powerful as Orochimaru? If they ran, they would probably die as quickly as Viktor. The smart option, indeed, the only option if Viktor wanted to keep his friends and fellow students alive, was to do as Orochimaru ordered.

That didn't stop his heart from breaking, as he led seven of Durmstrang's best and brightest to their doom.

"Has Karkaroff found the children?" Mikhail asked gruffly as they ascended the staircase to the fourth floor. "Why hasn't he told me anything?" As Head Boy, Mikhail was jealous of his authority, and he especially resented the way that the Headmaster had favored Viktor because of his magical skill and celebrity status.

That won't be a problem anymore, Viktor thought wearily. Karkaroff wouldn't be guilty of favoritism ever again – or anything else for that matter.

"You'll hear it from the Headmaster directly," Viktor replied, ignoring the confused murmurs of the other boys.

Boris watched him shrewdly. "Viktor, is everything all right? You seem a little… tense."

Vikto steadfastly avoided his friend's gaze, knowing that he couldn't hide the despair in his eyes. Boris put a hand on his shoulder, prepared to shake the truth out of him if necessary, but by then the group had reached the Headmaster's outer office.

"Enter," came Karkaroff's voice, sounding for all the world as if this was just another casual meeting between a teacher and his pupils. Viktor shivered.

"I see you made it," Orochimaru said genially as they came in. "I wondered if Viktor would find all of you…" his appraising glance told Viktor that the Headmaster had known he might break his Vow to warn his friends.

Viktor flushed, hating the feeling of total helplessness that this… creature… induced in him.

With true Durmstrang discipline, the students lined up in single file in front of Orochimaru, their curiosity clear but restrained. There were seven of them, not including Viktor – four Fifth Formers and three Sixth Formers.

As he'd been instructed by Orochimaru, Viktor stood behind them and slightly to the side, out of the way.

"I have called you here today for a purpose," Orochimaru began, pacing up and down in the way that Karkaroff once had. "A grand purpose, the likes of which this world has not seen since the days of Voldemort or Grindelwald."

Several of the students gasped at the Dark Wizards' names.

"I aim to create a world that is safe for the practice of magic," Orochimaru continued, unperturbed. "The first step on this road is to turn the students of Durmstrang into a proper army. The eight of you, if you are willing, will be my lieutenants, my most trusted warriors and leaders. What do you say?"

Boris spoke first, the normally exuberant boy speaking slowly and deliberately. "I say that if you're forming an army, you must be planning a war. Against whom, Headmaster? The Ministry of Magic? The Muggles?"

"Certainly the Ministry," Orochimaru replied approvingly, as if Poliakoff had said something particularly clever. "Perhaps the Muggles in time, although they have lived in ignorance for so many centuries, I think we can leave them to their own devices for the time being. So what do you think?"

"I think you've gone mad," Boris replied, drawing his wand and twisting to face Viktor.
"Viktor, let's-"

But he had no time to finish the sentence, because Orochimaru appeared before him instantly and sent him flying into the wall with a backhanded blow. The six remaining Durmstrang students yelled in surprise, some reaching for their wands. They never had a chance.

Orochimaru flung out his left hand, and dozens of snakes erupted from the sleeve of his robe. They trapped each of the Durmstrang students, pinning their arms to their sides so that their wands dropped uselessly to the floor. With countless sharp fangs inches from their exposed necks, the students didn't make another sound.

"This is all very sudden, I know," said Orochimaru apologetically, as if he had just shown up unexpectedly to tea. "But I have no patience for fools. You must adjust to your new reality. And the nature of that reality is simply this: you will serve me, or you will die."

Then Orochimaru explained to the Durmstrang students what he had told Viktor the day before. The horror on their faces was almost comical as he told them how he had taken over Karkaroff's body. More than one looked about to vomit, but no one wanted any sudden motions to aggravate the snakes that kept them trapped.

Viktor only half listened to the speech, since he had heard it all before. Instead, he kept a firm hand on Boris, who was shaking with rage and looked like he wanted to make a grab for his wand. Viktor didn't want his friend to die, so he kept a strong grip on Boris' shoulder.

"Perhaps you need one more demonstration, to illustrate exactly how serious I am in pursuing my goal," Orochimaru said, after changing his pupils to the creepy diamond shapes of serpentine black and yellow. "Borislav… Poliakoff, is it? He was braver than the rest of you, willing to fight before he even knew what was at stake. For that he shall be rewarded, but he must also be punished for presuming to raise a hand against me. Viktor, if you would."

Viktor's head snapped around, and he stared at Orochimaru with growing horror. Was he really ordering him to… of course he was. This was a test for Viktor, as well as a demonstration for the rest of them. And Viktor had no choice. He only hoped that Boris could come to forgive him.

Viktor raised his wand and took a step forward, so that when he turned to Boris, Orochimaru couldn't see his expression. He mouthed the words, "I'm sorry," as Boris held his head high in defiance. Krum thought of Orochimaru, drawing on his hatred for the monster, and found it astonishingly easy to perform an Unforgivable Curse.

"Crucio."

Boris held out for a full minute before the screams ripped from his throat. His fingernails cut into his palms as he clenched his fists. The sounds hurt Viktor worse than any scourge, and his jaw ached from how hard his teeth were clenched.

Orochimaru drew out Boris' agony for two more minutes, before finally telling Viktor to stop. Boris slumped over, eyelids flickering wildly. Viktor raised him up, eyes silently begging for forgiveness.

His friend clasped his hands, fingers tightening convulsively. "You curse like a girl," he whispered hoarsely. There was understanding mingled with pain in his eyes. Viktor almost laughed. The men of Bulgaria did not break easily.

"This was a lesson more than a punishment," Orochimaru said calmly. "I am proud of you, Borislav, for you show much courage. But learn from Viktor's example, and cease your struggles. I am as far beyond your reach as are the stars – in fact, I have left humanity behind. Those who serve me will be rewarded, but my enemies will die without exception, without mercy, alongside their family and friends."

"We have no choice," Viktor said softly, looking from Boris to the other Durmstrang students and back. "He'll kill the orphans if we don't serve him. It's the only way to keep them alive."

"So what is it to be?" Orochimaru asked. "Do you want to be the ant? Or the boot?"

Mikhail was the first to promise his allegiance, the blond Romanian muddling his words in his haste to proclaim his willingness to serve. One by one, the rest followed his example. Boris was the last, watching Viktor instead of Orochimaru. But he could assess the situation just as well as Viktor. He too bowed his head, however reluctantly.

"Then I welcome you all," Orochimaru declared grandiosely, turning his snakes to smoke with a single flick of his hand. "The eight of you will be my lieutenants, the best and brightest of my forces. I have much to teach you all, but first I require a demonstration of your loyalty. Remember this moment in years to come, for you are the first to swear the Threefold Vow."

With Viktor guiding them like a sheepdog, Orochimaru's seven new recruits formed a loose circle. Orochimaru took out his wand and directed them all to place their right hands in the center of the circle.

"Now repeat after me," he declared, a reddish glow coming from his wand. "I will obey Orochimaru and those lieutenants he places above me swiftly and without delay."

Seven voices rose in unison, and a rope of fire flared bright around their conjoined hands before disappearing, signaling the successful application of the Unbreakable Vow.

"I will not aid Orochimaru's enemies unless ordered to do so by a superior officer."

Again the muted chorus, and the flash of light that Viktor couldn't bear to watch.

"And lastly… I will not divulge military or magical secrets to anyone not cleared to receive that information."

This time, the light from the spell was so bright that several students were forced to shield their eyes.

Orochimaru watched his new recruits with satisfaction. "And so it begins. Today you have joined a brotherhood that will shake the Wizarding World to its foundations. Surely such a group of warriors needs a name, so that the history books will know how to refer to you…"

Orochimaru raised an eyebrow, considering. Then he smiled like a fox, all teeth, his eyes lighting up. "I have it. You shall henceforth be known as the Eight Dragons. Collectively, you are Durmstrang's Dragon Corps. The first among you, who shall command you in my absence, is Viktor Krum. He is the First Dragon."

From his position off to the side, Viktor could see the expressions of all of his fellow students. And what he saw made his heart sink. Boris alone looked disgusted, as if Orochimaru had offered him a bag of dung that he had no choice but to accept. But some seemed curious, even a little proud, and Mikhail watched Orochimaru with a hungry light in his eyes. Viktor also noticed the angry looks Mikhail sent in his direction – it seemed as though the Head Boy resented having to obey Viktor in the new hierarchy.

In a sudden flash of insight, Viktor understood. This was Orochimaru's true plan. He wasn't going to enslave everyone with the Unbreakable Vow – no, that was just a preliminary measure. Already, by giving his oath a fancy name, the so-called "Threefold Vow," Orochimaru was turning it into a privilege. And this Dragon Corps nonsense was even more effective – already, some of the students were standing straighter, wanting to believe that they were as special as Orochimaru told them they could be.

Orochimaru was offering power and the promise of distinction, both extremely effective lures. Viktor had no doubt that Mikhail, for one, was well on his way to serving Orochimaru with all his heart. If things continued like this, Viktor and Boris might soon belong to a small minority of students who served Orochimaru unwillingly.

The real battle, Viktor felt certain, would be fought in the hearts and minds of Durmstrang's students. And with Orochimaru playing to their egos, giving them a taste of the kind of power they had only ever read about, Viktor had a sinking feeling that they were going to lose.

Orochimaru's voice broke through his bleak thoughts. "Attend me. There is much to be done, and little time in which to do it."

Orochimaru gestured to Viktor and Boris. "I have a special task for you two, since you've already demonstrated your bravery and ability to think on your feet. You're going on a weekend trip to the Ukraine, where you'll find the Council of Vampires. I have a message for you to deliver."

Viktor met Boris' eyes, and frowned. Vampires… that didn't sound good.

"As for the rest of you," Orochimaru said to the other students, "who can tell me the location of the nearest dragon colony?"

Mikhail almost fell over himself in his haste to speak first. "There's one in Romania, only a few hours from here by broom. I grew up in the nearest village - we could hear them roaring when the wind was from the east."

Orochimaru licked his lips with anticipation. "Full marks, Mr. Ardelean. You deserve a reward - how do you feel about a school field trip to Romania? You can show me exactly where this colony resides."

Mikhail smiled hesitantly, a sight that filled Viktor with fear. "Of course, Headmaster – I mean, Lord Orochimaru, sir."

"I'll leave the rest of your instructions with the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher," Orochimaru told them. With a jolt, Viktor realized this meant that Orochimaru must have already suborned the professors. The extent of his control over Durmstrang was becoming clearer with each passing second.

But Viktor couldn't spare much thought for worrying. He had to spend the rest of the night preparing in the library, if he wanted to bring Boris and himself alive out of vampire territory.

Orochimaru rubbed his hands together gleefully. "This concludes the first meeting of the Durmstrang Dragon Corps. Next time, I'll see about getting you some proper uniforms and symbols of rank. But that will have to wait until after I get back from Romania."

He grinned at Mikhail, whose excitement looked to be fast overpowering his fear.

"After all," Orochimaru chuckled, "what use is a Dragon Corps without dragons?"

oOoOo

The next morning, at Draco's request, Sarutobi used a Portkey to bring both of them to where Harry, Ron, and Hermione were training. Sarutobi led him through the twisting hallways of the manor house that belonged to the last of the Blacks, watching Draco with a knowing smile. Harry and his teammates were training with Sirius Black, but Draco didn't have time to worry about the supposed mass murderer. He had something to say to Potter.

As he walked towards the Boy Who Lived, he noticed Hermione and Ron move to take flanking positions, their wands ready to cast. The tactical awareness that Sarutobi had drilled into Draco for weeks approved of the decision, since it would be virtually impossible to take out all three of them before they could counter-attack.

Potter was the only one who didn't move, simply watching Draco approach.

"Potter," Draco said, when only a few feet separated them. "I'm only going to say this once. My father was a Malfoy, and that's more than just a name. Orochimaru forced him into servitude, which, for a Malfoy, is a fate worse than death. When you… when you killed him, you freed him of that burden. As the sole remaining scion of the House of Malfoy, I acknowledge the debt that is owed you. If it is ever in my power, I shall repay that debt."

Potter was dumbstruck, but recovered quickly. "The House of Potter humbly thanks you, and hopes that our alliance may be long and prosperous," he said, his slightly crooked smile giving his words an ironic twist that Malfoy couldn't help appreciating.

Malfoy wasn't sure what to say next, with everyone watching him and Harry so closely. But he wanted to move past this awkward moment as soon as possible, so he had to say something. "I, uh… see that you're training. I will join you."

A second later, he wondered if he shouldn't have asked instead. Then Ron Weasley stepped forward, and Draco was glad to see that there was no pity in those eyes. Only understanding, and perhaps a hint of respect.

"We don't have time to waste with pampered little princesses," Weasley said with mock sternness. "You'd better not hold us back, Malfoy!"

Draco didn't think he'd ever been so happy to be insulted. He mustered up his best sneer. "I believe that's my line, Weasel."

He was walking over to take his place in line, where presumably Sirius Black would give him his instructions, when Potter spoke once more.

"Ma- Draco," he said, stumbling over Draco's name. "We were all there when your father died, so we heard his last words. They were, 'Tell Draco I'm sorry.' All he wanted, all he ever wanted, was to protect you."

Draco's voice caught in his throat, but he fought to keep it steady. "Then he must be happy now, knowing that I can protect myself."

Weasley, bless his freckled little face, broke the tension with a disbelieving laugh. "I don't know, Malfoy - you're gonna have to back that up!"

Draco raised his wand, surprised by the smile he felt spreading across his face. "With pleasure."