Authors' Note:

Hewoo, it's us again!

Happy Halloween

This chapter got delivered quicker than anticipated, we thought you'd like that, so here it is!
If this is mainly a Draco POV, that's entirely his fault: he wanted too much to be a main character, so we gave him over half the chapter to shine under the spotlight. That won't happen again though.

We worked very hard to publish this chapter today for a very specific reason you'll understand sooner or later (hopefully sooner than later)! Enjoy!

PS: Forget everything you think you know about Hogwarts.

Disclaimer: The universe and characters of Harry Potter belong to J.K. Rowling.

Beta: Witchmeister and thepumat, thank you so much for correcting our chapter so quickly on such short notice!

Chapter 3

Draco was waiting in his godfather's office, still thinking about the odd reaction from the portraits on his way there. He was sure there had been nothing behind him—he had checked. Maybe someone had been following him? Someone with an invisibility cloak, perhaps… He'd have to ask his housecompanions if they saw anyone leaving the Great Hall after him.

Suspiciously, he glanced around the room, but to his utter surprise, there were no portraits in sight. He frowned. This office, as far as Draco was concerned, was the only one bare of any frames. Then again, Severus wasn't the most pleasant person to be around, so they would probably be fed up with him and leave anyway.

Sighing, he started drumming his fingers against the armchair. He knew he wasn't really in trouble. Severus was his godfather and surely he wouldn't do anything to anger his mother. Especially now that his father allowed the Snake to enter their family house—she didn't show it, but Draco just knew rage was boiling inside her, and seeing her like this made him rethink things he never bothered to question before. Was this really the right course of action to take? Were the Dark Lord's principles fundamentally correct? Taking part in a war was one thing. Being on the right side was another. Being on the victors' side…

Draco wasn't used to doubt. He was a Malfoy for Merlin's sake! A Malfoy never hesitated, or at least, never showed it. But he was a Black, also, and Blacks always found their way to the right side. They were cunning and opportunistic, and they weren't ashamed to show it.

But being a Black and a Malfoy had its flaws too. While being a Malfoy allowed him to use his name to reach his goals easily, he was merely riding in his father's coattails. And being a Black reminded him of that family's failure to bring about one child who could have accomplished great things had he only seized the opportunity. Draco closed his eyes, sighing. For as long as he could remember, he always had a grudge against Sirius, his mother's cousin, and it hadn't got any better when he learnt how he had behaved with others. If only he could—

His wandering thoughts were interrupted by a clattering noise outside the door and someone rushing past. Taking out his wand, he reached the door as silently as he could and readied himself. There was someone behind it and it could not be Severus—a man with the gift to walk so silently he even succeeded in frightening his mother once. Who but him would come this far into the dungeons? He took a deep breath and jumped outside Severus' office, wand first, ready to cast a nasty curse. However, the figure had already drifted away and all he saw were two big drooping ears turning at the corner.

What on earth was a house-elf doing here? And why was it there at all? If he recalled correctly, there was nothing but a dead-end this way. It didn't make any sense, but who said elves were smart enough to understand such cheap logic?

The clinking of whatever the elf was carrying abruptly stopped, as well as the sound of the creature's footsteps. He frowned. Something was off, he just knew it. He breathed out.

He was no Gryffindor. He was no Gryffindor. He was no—

Tightening his fist around his wand, Draco took one step towards the direction where the elf had run off to when a hand slumped onto his shoulder.

"I believe I told you to wait in my office Mr. Malfoy, not outside," Severus' voice echoed against the walls of the dungeons.

Draco startled and lowered his wand immediately, and turning towards Severus, he saw his glare settle on him. With no choice but to obey, he followed his godfather back into his office, but not before he glanced back one last time where the being had disappeared. He didn't think he had imagined it. He sat back on the chair in front of the desk and prepared to be lectured by the potions master. His godfather, turning his back to him, pinched his nose and sighed.

"Draco…" He started.

The blond-haired boy clicked his tongue and looked away.

"I know," he mumbled.

Severus sighed again and looked at Draco with a tired look but did not sit down. He crossed his arms instead.

"You should know better than to behave like you did in the past. You can't attract attention. Not now."

"I know, alright?" Draco repeated. "But it's just… Potter." He almost spat the last word.

"I thought you could control your temper. You cannot afford to pick fights like you used to anymore. Act like an adult, be responsible."

Clenching his fists, Draco kept his face stern.

"You seem… tired," he drawled.

Severus turned towards him, his eyes sharp. "Things… are moving quickly, too quickly I'd say."

"Good. I'm getting bored here. I hope I'll get to go on lots of—"

"Draco, I'm—" Severus started abruptly, then spoke in a calmer tone, "concerned for you. We don't know when the Dark Lord will be ready to strike, and we don't know when he'll give you your first order. Nor do we know what kind of order he'll give you. Don't be in such a rush to take up arms. Make sure you don't do anything careless, if you would be so kind." Snape sneered, a smirk on his lips. Then his face went back to its usual emotionlessness. "Nonetheless, Potter isn't worth it."

Draco smirked too, pleased to see his godfather still hated Potter as much, and nodded once. He then stood up from his armchair and made for the door.

He stopped there, with his hand on the handle and without turning, he said:

"Actually, there's something I wished to tell you. A word from my mother."

"Go on," Severus encouraged, a hint of curiosity in his voice.

He turned his head and smiled.

"If anything happens to my son, you'll regret it deeply."

Snape didn't react and after a few seconds, Draco left his professor alone. He erased the smile from his face and composed himself in a casual but graceful demeanour. Looking around him, he noticed the students rushing to their classes, breakfast having ended while he was with his godfather. Instead of turning left to go to Herbology, he turned right to try and find the house-elf he had seen earlier, disregarding Snape's advice.

He strolled the corridors, going deeper into the castle than he ever did. Severus' office was far behind him already. There, the hallways were poorly lit, but he carried on. An eerie silence surrounded the area.

Then, a soft breeze hurled around him, and the sound of quick footsteps walked past him. Frozen, he stared at the house-elf stunningly. The small creature stared back at him with his huge round eyes, looking baffled. The elf had come from the other direction, but when Draco looked up, he saw nothing but a bare wall at the end of the corridor. Just as he had thought; there was nothing here.

But the elf had gone this way, that he was sure of. He couldn't just have disappeared, right? Although, it was in his knowledge that elves had the ability to Apparate at will. But he was pretty sure no creature could do so inside of Hogwarts, not even a house-elf.

Could it be…?

Carefully, he raised his hand and patted the wall. His fingers started disappearing behind it when he heard a voice behind him.

"Mister Wizard?"

He turned back to the house-elf holding an empty tray in his tiny hands and raised an eyebrow at him. He pushed his hand further into the wall, examining the elf's expression turning to worry as he looked between the wall and Draco's face.

"What?" he snapped and the house-elf looked down.

"M-Mister i-isn't allowed—"

"I beg your pardon? I didn't quite understand your stuttering."

"M-Master told Peeky n-not to let a-anyone go through the w-wall."

"Master?" Draco stepped through, half his body already disappearing at the other side of the wall—wherever it led. The house-elf rushed to prevent him from going any further, dropping the tray, and clung to his arm.

"N-No, you are n-not allowed!"

Draco pulled, but the house-elf didn't seem to give up.

"Bloody creature! Let go of me this instant!" he cried, and he pulled so hard he lost his balance when the elf released him.

He closed his eyes in anticipation of an imminent shock and fell on his side right through the wall instead of leaning against it. The Slytherin winced in pain, pulling himself up on his behind and massaging his sore shoulder. He raised his wand to immediately block the passage with a spell he read about in one of the Blacks grimoires his mother gave him last summer. It was not permanent but it would hold for a few minutes, at least.

"Stupid elf," he muttered under his breath.

When he turned around, he found himself in a large hallway pierced by plenty of windows. The early morning light blinded him for a moment. He glanced left and right, but he was—thankfully—alone. He got to the nearest window and gazed at the lake below. It seemed he was on the first or second floor.

So it really was a secret passageway then. Strange. How would a house elf know of such hidden paths within Hogwarts? And why would such a creature feel the need to use it? Were they even allowed to do so? They sure weren't back home!

Draco recalled the metallic sounds he heard when the elf had passed in front of the office, and the empty tray he was carrying when he came back from this side… Perhaps that was how the elves were moving through the castle unseen? It did make sense. But something was amiss, and cursed his Gryffondor-ish curiosity, Draco needed to know what.

He trailed in the corridor for some time, pacing back and forth before he saw it: a small sort of crest engraved in the wall itself. A lion with a snake wrapped around one of his paws was designed and he wouldn't have seen it if he hadn't looked twice. He got close to touch it: it was warm under his fingers. He recoiled.

It kept on getting stranger…

"Mr. Malfoy," a squeaky voice called. "You cannot be here…"

Draco turned to face the elf—was it the same? He could never tell them apart—surprised to hear his name being called. The creature was looking at him with his big, watery eyes, but Draco ignored him. He turned back to the crest instead. Frowning, he took his wand and pointed it to the crest lookalike.

"Mr.—"

"Shut the hell up, scum!" He scowled.

Silence.

"I hope you're not behaving thus with Mrs. Sprout, Mr. Malfoy," said a voice and he turned abruptly.

Dumbledore stood there, eyeing him with the usual annoying sparks. Didn't he know how to be angry? His father would have already lectured him with a spell had he found Draco lurking about the castle instead of attending his classes.

"And may I know why you are not in class?" the headmaster asked when Draco didn't answer.

Draco glared at the wall, not saying anything, and the headmaster smiled a little.

"Well, you should hurry then. You wouldn't want to miss the lesson on the Chinese Chomping Cabbage, would you?" he told him.

The student clicked his tongue, and, after one last glance at the wall and a glare at the headmaster, went on his way.

He would need to investigate further later on.

.

.

Sal bit weakly into a pear, under Godric's watchful eyes. He really needed to eat, otherwise he wouldn't get any better. The man was sweaty and still very pale, well, more than usual anyway. Godric pressed a damp cloth against his friend's skin, his neck, down his arms, to cool him a bit. If he was more honest with himself, he'd admit that Sal's health was worsening. But he was weak and he wouldn't admit it to Sal. He just couldn't.

He put the cloth down and held out a glass of water but his companion shook his head and he put it down angrily, water splashing on the books. He quickly spelled it away.

He thought if he took care of Sal enough, he would get better, but that was obviously not the case. He brought his knees against his chest and took his head in his hands, pulling his hair. He was lost. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know what he would do if Sal… If he… He didn't want to think about it.

"You're thinking too much, it's hurting you, moron," Sal mumbled without his usual sharpness.

Godric hummed softly, distracted. Salazar sighed.

"How… do you think they're doing?" asked Godric.

Godric glanced towards Sal, seeking comfort in seeing him still alive. Salazar put his pear down, barely bitten into, and reached to grab Godric's hand.

"I think," he started, "they're doing just fine without us at the moment. Have faith."

Godric nodded and squeezed his companion's hand ever so gently. He met Sal's eyes and they stared at each other for a moment. He glanced away, taking in a breath.

Godric abruptly stood up and began pacing. He ran his hand into his bright red hair, feeling the knots catching into his rings, and he pulled annoyingly. Stopping, he released a deep breath and came back to the bed, lifting the blanket and lying down against Sal. He closed his eyes. Sal wrapped his arm around him, running his hand gently through his hair, softly untying the knots one by one. They stayed there for a while, in silence, just listening to each other's breath and heartbeat. By Myrddin, he had missed this.

In times of war, it was so difficult to settle down and just… enjoy what they had.

When was the last time they took their time?

With his eyes still closed, Godric remembered the first time he had met Sal. He couldn't explain it, but he had felt the other man's magic lick his when they shook hands. Now that he thought about it, he could swear he saw a hint of tease in his eyes. Their friendship came naturally, like flowers in spring, and exchanging even the simplest of mundanities just felt right. For the first time in his life, he had found someone who understood him, who shared his ideals.

They would often go to a lake, near Godric's family home, and sit under the shade of a willow tree. Sal would read a thick book, probably about spell weaving, while Ric would nap, taking in the birdsongs, the scent of the daisies and the sound of the wind rustling the tree branches. The occasional swan or goose would swim in the lake, coming close to them, lured by the threads of colourful magic escaping them.

Those were times of peace when the two of them would escape, together, the strict education and sometimes suffocating manners of their families.

But did they really have such time now? Now that so many things have changed…

Godric fell asleep first, soothed by Sal's hand in his hair, ignoring the slight coughs and wheezing of his companion.

.

.

"We need more bandages over here!" a voice shouted, the tone so commanding that even in the ruckus, people turned their heads towards it.

A woman not over twenty rushed to the one asking for them, tripping over her own feet in the process but steadying herself at the last moment.

"The bandages you asked for, L-Lady Helga," she babbled.

The Lady in question took them impatiently, unfolded them and tore them in two pieces with her teeth, her other hand busy pressing against a bloody wound.

"Help me get her up," she said to the woman awkwardly leaning next to her. She obliged, carefully lifting her upper body and placing a shaky hand on the injured child's chest. There was so much blood… "Get a grip!" Helga said, wrapping the bandage around the wound and tracing healing runes around it and on her heart.

"Y-Yes ma'am!" the younger woman said, repressing her tears. Around them, wounded were being treated with the same energy.

After she tied the knot tightly, she got up, followed by the young woman who helped her. Helga steadied her when she saw her swing and put her bloody thumb on her wrist, swiftly drawing a rune which would help her clear her thoughts. She never had been as good as Godric with the runic arts, but she knew enough.

She made sure the woman was going to take care of the child and walked across the room, gazing around to see if anyone needed her.

There were people everywhere, wounded or healthy. Some she knew, some she didn't. It wasn't her job to. It was Sal's. In his absence, a young man was doing his business. She met him a few times. A good lad, good on his feet. Sal had always been good at judging people.

A few men entered the Hall, looking tired and still in their fighting attires. The third squad had come back then. They walked—not ran, never ran, it was one of the first rules here—towards her.

"Lady Helga," the general addressed her, saluting politely, "we are back with some news."

The unharmed men went to help the wounded, while the lightly injured grabbed bandages for themselves, not making a fuss about their states, be them good or bad.

"I'm listening," Helga replied, walking towards an injured soldier to tighten his bandage properly. He winced slightly in pain but said nothing otherwise.

"Yes!" the general started. "Our enemies don't seem to be moving forward at the moment, our forces managed to keep them at bay. But I'm afraid we haven't received news of Sir Slytherin's team in quite a while…"

Helga nodded sharply. Trouble was brewing in the East. There weren't many villages this way but the countryside was having a hard time. She frowned. They would have to find some food elsewhere. And wasn't it bad! They already had trouble feeding everyone and with the last group of civilians arriving, they were already going to reduce the portion for everyone.

She turned her head and called out for a man rushing by.

"Erik, right? We're having a cutback on food. Make sure the cook and the stock supervisor are aware of it," she said and the man immediately changed direction after a slight nod. Helga turned back towards the general. There were lines on his face she wished she could erase.

She placed a firm hand on his arm. "Is something wrong, General?"

He quirked an eyebrow but smiled somewhat bitterly. "Other than the hundreds of injured and the war raging at our door?"

Her grip eased. "I know what our situation is. I want to make sure you are comfortable within the castle, too. How are you feeling, Charles?"

"I'm just very tired, Helga." He wiped his face with his hand and let out a long, deep sigh. "I know this is what I've been trained to do, what I've trained others to do. But none of us actually thought such a day would come."

"Come have some water," she said with a tiny smile, placing her hand in the small of his back. He followed her towards the back of the Hall, where water for the injured was kept. She filled a cup for him, and he downed it in one go, pouring himself another one right after. He downed it again, seeming uneasy, and she confiscated his cup before he could have a third helping. That water was for the injured after all.

"There is something I wish to talk to you about… Regarding Sir Slytherin and Sir Gryffindor's squad…"

She turned her eyes to him, filling her own glass of water.

The thunder was roaring outside and the rain hit the windows with force. She curled her lips. "What about them?" She asked, putting hastily a lock of her hair behind her ear.

"I fear it is worse than what I dared say just now. To speak the truth, we haven't received any signs of them since last Tuesday."

She frowned. Last Tuesday was five days ago.

"I already know that, General."

His eyes passed over her shoulder and he led them into an alcove. She let him without protesting.

"Nonetheless, I've got more information about your little… request."

Her pretty face froze.

"What's the connection? What am I missing?" Her voice rose and she took a few breaths to calm down.

Charles twisted his face in a pained expression before delivering the news. "We've been betrayed."