The golden afternoon light always suited the Gryffindor common room well. Harry held up the phial of felix fecilis so the light cast a rainbow onto the arm of the sofa, pondering over the decision that he'd come to at lunch. He had made no progress obtaining the true memory of Tom Riddle from Slughorn, and they were quickly approaching the end of term. Dumbledore had assured Harry to keep pace, but the situation had never felt right.

He needed luck.

And he had it here, bottled by an exceptional potioneer.

"I'm going to do it," Harry decided aloud, drawing Hermione's gaze over from her book.

"You could always try asking him outright for it."

"I've been doing this too long. He'll never give it to me without a push."

Harry rolled his shoulders to steady himself before removing the stopper. All he had to go on was Slughorn's word that the potion would bring him luck, and given the state of this year, he needed it now more than ever.

He raised it up to Hermione in mock cheers, then downed the full phial. He might should have started with half, but that seemed like taking an unnecessary chance. Certainly more of the brew would mean more luck.

Once it settled in his stomach, Harry set the empty phial on the table, and waited for anything to feel different. He flexed his hands, waiting, assuming every itch was an indication of budding luck.

"Well?" Hermione asked.

"Tell me you didn't just take that, mate," Ron said, coming up from the other side of the room, where he and Lavender had been cuddled together while she talked with Parvati.

"Can't do," Harry said. "Today's the day."

And saying so, he felt a profound acceptance of the idea. Today was a brilliant day to get the memory, or to do anything he set his mind on. His entire body radiated with energy and willpower. Sitting was no longer optional.

Harry stood.

"I'm going to find Malfoy."

He started to the door, barely making it around the couch before Ron cut him off. "Don't think that's why you took the potion."

"Ron's right, Harry," Hermione said, sounding as though the admission pained her. "You're meant to be finding Slughorn?"

"I remember, but I need to go find Malfoy."

Harry sidestepped Ron, only for Hermione to rush around to block the door.

"Harry, perhaps that wasn't actually liquid luck. It shouldn't be altering your behavior like this."

Holding up his hands, Harry looked at them, and then around the room. Nothing appeared out of place, and he felt entirely in control of himself. If anything, the potion had given him the willpower to act on his thoughts, even the thoughts he'd been trying to put behind.

"Nothing's altered," Harry assured her, bobbing his head as he spoke. "It's just, I need to find Malfoy. I can't explain it. Just feels right, you know?"

"No," Ron and Hermione said in unison.

"I can't explain it to you. I just know that I need to find him, and that you two need to stay here and talk honestly."

Harry wasn't sure where the last bit came from, but he nodded proudly, turned, and left the common room. He greeted the Fat Lady and complimented her attempts at singing before jumping onto the moving staircase just before it swung out.

"Hiya Dean, Ginny," he said as they passed, sliding out of their way so they could continue holding hands. They must have decided to skeeve off supper to catch Gryffindor Tower mostly empty, even if they were heading up a bit early. Ron wouldn't be pleased when he caught them coming up.

The thought faded quickly when he got to the main floor. He spotted Draco right off, just as he and a few others rounded the corner leading out from the dungeon entrance. Parkinson walked to his left, messing with her bangs with a pocket mirror, and on his other side, McGruder held a light hold on Draco's elbow. Crabbe and Goyle walked behind them, shouldering each other as they laughed.

It wasn't the easiest group to approach, but Harry did anyways.

"Malfoy!" Harry called out, halfway to him already.

They hadn't spoken since the incident in the apparition class two weeks before. Harry caught Draco looking his way several times, and Draco had caught Harry an equal amount. Harry stopped minding after the second time. Draco was thinking about him just as much.

"What?" Draco asked.

"Need to borrow you a bit."

The group of five stared at Harry as if he'd announced the growth of a second head. Draco lifted an eyebrow, and made no effort to leave his friends for Harry.

"No?" he said, then looked around, as if suspecting a prank approaching.

If Draco wouldn't come to him, Harry would just have to approach on his own. So he did, satisfied that it felt right, even if his scar did burn as it sometimes did when he neared Draco's mark.

"There's no help for it," Harry said. "I won't take up much time."

"You won't take up any," Draco said. "Are you ill?"

"Do people need to be ill to talk to you?"

Crabbe snorted.

Draco glared over his shoulder, and McGruder adjusted the grip on his arm, not letting go. Harry had a brief moment where he wondered if Draco liked his friends constantly hanging off of him. He must have if he chose not to say anything about it.

"Piss off," Draco said. "I'm still recovering from our last run in."

"Oh shite," Harry said, and stepped forwards again. "Your head still sore?"

"I meant mentally you twit."

"Well, speak more clearly," Harry said, only stopping when Pansy stepped between them. He huffed at her interference, as every cell in his body ached to convey the importance of this conversation to Draco. He could feel the necessity lighting his nerves, urging him forwards, his entire being desperate to tell Draco exactly what was to come.

"You really won't come with me?" Harry asked.

Draco's face frowned, from his brows to his lips, but confusion was the primary emotion that came out.

"Oh, you're well gone then," Draco said. "And before dark."

Harry again looked at his hands, like that might give the correct answer.

"No?"

"You've finally gone mental? Get me mistaken for Lovegood?"

Draco tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear as he rolled his eyes, and attempted to make his way into the Great Hall for supper. A nagging little voice reminded him that Draco didn't need to miss any more meals.

But he pushed back Parkinson to take Draco's arm, pulling him free from McGruder's hold.

"Come on. It's important."

"Would you stop dragging me off?" Draco said, stumbling a step before finding his wand. He attempted to cast a jinx, but Harry easily deflected it. He apologized to Sir Nicolas when it passed through him, and didn't let up his grip. Draco's wrist was bone thin. Harry needed to make it quick so he could get to supper.

But when they were alone in the adjacent corridor, he couldn't find the words to explain why they needed to talk so badly.

"You're taking advantage of certain information," Draco said, keeping his voice low. He tried to get his arm out of Harry's grip, but Harry knew with certainty that the moment Draco worked his way free, he would leave. The thought tightened around Harry's chest.

"Their opinion is important to you, innit?"

"Let go of me."

"You'll run back to them if I do."

"That's the intention, yes."

"You can't," Harry said. "You see, I've got this…this feeling. You and I are meant to do something together. Something important."

Draco snapped fingers in front of Harry's eyes. "You're certainly doused with something."

Harry considered grabbing his other hand, but knew Draco would lash out if Harry made any attempt to restrain him further. At the same time, he couldn't let Draco walk off on him, not when he knew there was something important waiting for the two of them.

"You aren't listening to me," Harry said.

"Did you take something? Were you hexed on the way down?"

"Draco—"

"Don't Draco me. Either you're intentionally trying to complicate and ruin my life, or you've been doused with some sort of potion. Even you aren't this much of a nutter."

When he released Draco's wrist, Harry quickly stepped around to block his return path to the Great Hall. The rage in Draco's jaw was overshadowed by the exhaustion in his eyes. Harry noticed the slight glimmer on his cheekbones where the lamplight hit him, and wondered for a moment whether his avoidance was the same reason for the glamor.

"You have to listen to me. We're meant to do something big."

"Right now?" Draco asked. He mockingly looked around them. "What grand quest will we embark on this Tuesday evening?"

"I'm being serious."

"You've been poisoned," Draco said. He sighed, then looked past Harry. "Professor!"

Draco raised a hand to someone down the hall, and Harry turned to see Slughorn lifting a hand in return. The confusion faded from his expression when he looked from Draco to Harry.

"Good evening, gents," Slughorn called out. He left his conversation with Professor Vector to answer Draco's call.

"Professor, I believe someone slipped Potter here a potion."

"Is that so?"

"I'm fine," Harry said. "Really. No one gave me anything."

Slughorn stepped up in front of Harry, and with a quick lumos, examined his face under the light. "I don't see any abscesses or boils. No purpling of the eyes or greening of the tongue."

"Perhaps you should see him to hospital?" Draco asked. "I'll leave him to you."

Harry caught Draco's arm when he tried to slip by, and Draco scowled at him. "Stop doing that."

"We aren't done yet."

"Certainly Professor, you've caught on that Potter and I aren't exactly friends." Draco paused to add an obscenely dramatic hand to his heart. "This behavior is concerning."

"Indeed," Slughorn said. "Come along, Harry. I have quite the store of anti-drafts to cure every ill."

"There's truly no need."

"Come along now. If there's no need, then taking a few additional potions won't be any harm. This way, lads."

"No," Draco said quickly, "I've got to get to supper."

"Nonsense. This won't take long, and should the effects on Harry worsen, I may need an able set of hands to take him over to hospital."

Satisfied with the outcome, Harry released Draco. They exchanged a resigned glare and a victorious smirk. Draco followed Slughorn, walking shoulder to shoulder with Harry in the direction of Slughorn's office. He drifted towards the Great Hall when they walked by it, and Harry took his hand to keep him from rushing off.

Draco initially resisted Harry holding his hand, but seeing the empty halls, he relaxed. Harry could too, once he was assured that Draco would stay with him. It calmed the crushing sense of urgency. Until Harry could answer why the luck potion whispered about the importance of staying close, Harry needed to obey the call.

"Now Harry," Slughorn said, "Think back carefully. Did you eat or drink anything out of the ordinary? Did anyone give you something?"

Technically you did, Professor.

"Is it truly so absurd for me to want a conversation with Malfoy?"

"Yes. In fact, I was told at the start of last term to be wary of you two."

"I can attest to his abnormal behavior," Draco said. "Perhaps one of his many admirers sent him something."

"You're just embarrassed that your friends are picking up," Harry said.

"There's nothing to pick up on."

"Now who's a dolt?"

"I'm not the one who can't focus to apparate."

"So you say, but you also haven't managed it."

Slughorn cut them off. "Don't think I haven't noticed you evading the question. Mr. Malfoy has little reason to search out help for you."

Draco began dragging, almost to the point of planting his feet. It gave Harry reason to strengthen his grip. With Slughorn nearby, Draco's only protest came in a heavy exhale. At the first sign of true protest, Harry would let Draco leave. Even with Draco's recent weight loss, Harry wasn't all that bigger. Draco could pull free if he truly wanted to.

Slughorn held open the door to his living suite, adjacent to his office. It led into a comfortable sitting room, with two plush couches angled into a roaring fire, a steaming tea pot on the center table, wide cabinets filled with phials of what Harry could only guess held ingredients, a large wine rack, an empty bird cage, and an obscene number of framed photographs. They waved at Slughorn's entrance, and he tipped an imaginary hat.

"Harry, sit, sit. I suppose you as well, Mr. Malfoy, as Harry's got a vice grip on your hand there."

When Harry pulled Draco down to sit beside him on the couch, their combined weight caused the cushions to dip in the middle, and their hips bumped together. Although reluctant to release Draco's hand, Harry did, knowing that to leave, Draco would have to mar his personal image. He'd make a scene if he stormed out.

"Several of my antidotes can be taken without any ill effects," Slughorn said, and began sorting through the phials. "Should you truly have no inclination as to the source—"

"I know the source."

"Oh, well then, please share."

Harry scrambled to think of an appropriate potion, thinking better of the truth. "A Befuddlement Draught. A small dosage."

Slughorn's relief wasn't as important as the clear disbelief in Draco's eye. A deep sense told Harry that Draco wouldn't call him on the blatant lie. Maybe it was lucky. Maybe Draco was finally coming around.

"There's no need for an antidote in that event," Slughorn said. "How about a brandy?"

"We're a bit young—"

"I'll have one," Draco said. "In celebration of Potter's health."

Slughorn didn't acknowledge Draco's mockery, but gladly poured. He gave Harry and Draco both a glass, and took a seat across from them. Slughorn took a healthy sip, but when Harry attempted to do the same, it burned his throat. He attempted a discrete cough. Draco raised an eyebrow and drank half his own glass.

"What possessed you to take such a draught?" Slughorn asked.

"Just wanted to try it, really. Didn't sound like any harm."

"Taking strange potions for the sake of it is incredibly unwise, Harry."

"Especially one without a positive effect," Draco piled on, then finished his drink. "A Befuddlement Draught, honestly."

Draco leaned forwards to set his glass on the table. For a moment, Harry considered reaching out to pull him back, like any distance would lead Draco to fully leave before Harry could convince him of the importance of remaining together. Harry laced his fingers to prevent reaching out, and his patience was rewarded when Draco settled back into his seat and crossed his legs.

"Must not've been a quality brew, since the worst I did was track you down."

"And pull me away from supper. And on pot roast night, of all nights."

"I'm surprised at you, Harry," Slughorn said. "The professors here constantly chinwag about you two's bickering."

"Even this year? I thought we'd been rather calm, all considered."

He didn't mention the calm had all been superficial, that Malfoy—Draco consumed so much of Harry's free time, even if only in thought alone. Reminding himself of Draco's past didn't dissuade him. Draco had changed this year, which had been evident even before Harry began making amends.

Draco wanted to accept.

As soon as he admitted it, then they could figure out what they were meant to do together.

"So Professor," Draco said, "You must've taught my grandfather, Abraxas Malfoy?"

"I certainly did. So sorry to hear about his passing. Dragon pox…nasty business."

"I hardly remember him. Given the potions lab he built in the Manor, he must have gotten great enjoyment from your classes."

"He was quite studious. Pity he didn't devote himself to learning, rather than hoarding any more wealth or land. I daresay if your brood got their way, there'd be nothing left for the rest of us!"

Draco smirked, clearly pleased with the response, but when he lifted a hand to bite at his thumbnail, his missing ring stood out prominently. For a family as proud as the Malfoys, Harry couldn't understand why they would give everything to a half-blood.

"That does seem to be a family trait," Draco said.

"Indeed. And then there's your father. He used to be remarkably different, eager to network, eager to make a name for himself, apart from his lineage."

"Is that right?" Draco asked, and despite the rigid line of his posture, he leaned forwards.

"He talked about it often during my dinners. It did sound as if he managed it, up until recent events, that is."

Draco leaned back, slightly deflating. "Yes. Some truly unfortunate events."

"The arrest or the breakout?" Harry asked.

He didn't know why he said it. Antagonizing Draco this year led to one outcome.

Draco stood. "If you'll excuse me, Professor. I'd rather not miss the entirety of supper."

Draco snarled down at Harry when he left. For the briefest moment, Harry prepared to stop him, but a wash of calm came over him. Whatever he and Draco were meant to do, it wasn't going to happen tonight. They had time.

For now, he felt right in asking, "Professor, could we talk about Tom Riddle?"

It took two days for Harry to get an opportunity to speak privately with Dumbledore. They met in his office between supper and curfew, with Dumbledore sitting behind his desk and Harry pacing. The true memory left them both speechless.

Horcrux.

Horcruxes.

Harry was expected to fight against a man who couldn't die.

Tom Riddle wanted to create six of them, and no prophecy would help Harry defeat Voldemort six times. Sure, Harry had the power to defeat the dark lord, but that didn't mean that he could.

How could he be expected to defeat a man who was hardly a man? A man who willingly fractured his soul six times to ensure victory?

"Have a seat, Harry."

"Can't," Harry said. He ran his fingers through his hair and continued the pacing. It was too much information to absorb at once. He paced to let out the over-spilling energy. Horcruxes.

"Then walk as you listen," Dumbledore said, and began to explain how two of the horcruxes had already been destroyed. The basilisk and the diary. Then the ring and the curse overtaking Dumbledore's hand. The locket. The cup. Ravenclaw or Gryffindor. The snake.

When Dumbledore finished the long explanation, Harry finally collapsed into the chair across from him. His leg bounced, and Harry wrung his hands, still trying to make all the pieces connect. Voldemort collected trophies and defiled them.

He thought back to Voldemort taking Draco's ring. Had it been merely a part of a desire to take what others found valuable, or did he seek to create infinite horcruxes? What all would follow? The headmaster's chair? The seat of the Minister of Magic? He hadn't gotten to the sword of Gryffindor. Was that at risk too?

"I admit, I expected a greater reaction from you."

"It's a lot to take in," Harry said. "He was building horcruxes before ever hearing the prophecy."

"Tom always aspired to become immortal. The prophecy has merely been an inconvenience for him."

"The power he knows not is love," Harry said, voice raising. "I can't actually be expected to defeat him four times with just love powering me forwards."

Dumbledore steepled his fingers and stared at Harry over the frame of his glasses. The scrutiny came with an air of judgment. Harry rolled his gaze over to the pensieve rather than acknowledge Dumbledore's silent lecture.

"Would you walk away, should you have the choice?" Dumbledore asked. "Were there no prophecy, could you remain on the sidelines?"

"No."

Voldemort had killed his parents, had killed Cedric. Voldemort spread hatred and discord everywhere he went, and although his goals were self-centered, he managed to convince a large population that he served their interests. Voldemort would lead people into believing muggles should be killed. Then muggle-borns would follow. When they went after the half-bloods, did he expect them to stop?

"There is no need to ponder over false realities when facing a troublesome one. Voldemort marked you as his equal, a fact he is aware of. Therefore, he will never stop searching for you."

"One of us will kill the other," Harry said. "Only, I have to kill him several times."

"Two of the horcruxes have been destroyed. Should you find the other four before facing him, he will be mortal."

"Should I find them," Harry said.

"I believe I might know where to find one," Dumbledore said. "Once I have gathered more information regarding the location, you and I can go in search of it."

"Actually?" Harry asked.

"As much as we have attempted to shield you from the worst of things, this is your fight, Harry."

His fight. His fight with one of the most powerful wizards in history. A wizard who was currently immortal. "When do you think you'll confirm the location?"

"Soon. Before the end of term, I'll call for you."

"Do I have to go back to the Dursley's then?" Harry asked.

"Voldemort will be coming after you, Harry. While staying with your relatives, you are untouchable."

"That isn't what he said in the graveyard."

Harry nearly stood again, simply to let out the ever-mounting energy. For Dumbledore's sake he remained seated, but his legs bounced in an unsteady rhythm. Returning to the Dursley's meant one final month under their roof, but it would be a month when they knew danger was coming, likely to their doorstep.

"And he's coming after me regardless," Harry went on. "Why should l lose a month looking for horcruxes?"

"While it is true killing you is one of Voldemort's goals, he has others. If his eye is on you for a month that you are untouchable, then it frees up the Order."

"l take it you're setting up a safe house? Come midnight on the 30th, the Dursleys will throw me out, assuming Voldemort doesn't get to me first."

"Naturally. Every precaution will be taken to ensure your safety."

"I don't believe it will just be me in need of a safe house, " Harry said. "Draco will likely come too."

Dumbledore pressed his fingers to his lips, remaining in a thoughtful silence for a moment. To his left, Fawkes ruffled and shifted on his perch, occasionally peering down at the licorice snaps fighting their way out of the bowl.

"You and Mr. Malfoy have been on unusual terms this year."

"Why does everyone say that like it's a bad thing?" Harry asked. "He and I got into a fist fight in front of the entire school last year. Shouldn't people be relieved we're getting on?"

"Have you found that Mr. Malfoy…reciprocates your intentions?"

The question caught Harry off guard, and he took a moment to try guessing where Dumbledore's question would lead. Of course Harry thought Draco felt the same, or else, why would he have been seeking him out?

"He doesn't want to follow Voldemort. He wants to go somewhere safe once he turns seventeen."

Dumbledore nodded in a clearly unbelieving way. It almost came across as patronizing, and Harry was tired of some supposed truth being dangled out in front him.

"Whatever you have to say, just tell me."

The breath Dumbledore let out echoed of a stall for time. It didn't last long, but left Harry with a deep pang of unease. Nothing that followed could have been anything any worse than learning about horcruxes and the lengths needed to destroy them. Dumbledore hadn't hesitated in revealing their true nature.

"It is my understanding that Mr. Malfoy was given an assignment from Voldemort, one he must carry out this school year."

"Yeah," Harry said. "He needed to get the prophecy. He told me."

"Oh?"

"What?" Harry snapped. "He told me. Without being prompted."

Dumbledore put his hands on the desk in front of him, and leaned forwards, only just.

"Harry, that was not Draco's assignment."

"I saw Voldemort give it to him," Harry said. "Over the holiday break."

"The assignment I'm referring to was given to him before the start of the school year. I have it on good authority."

Harry shook his head, then found that he couldn't stop. He kept shaking his head as he got to his feet and resumed pacing. Fawkes tracked his movements, and the clock on the wall seemed to tick erratically. Harry couldn't find a rhythm.

"What was it then?" Harry asked on an exhale.

"Draco was ordered to kill me before the end of the year."

Harry's ears filled with the sound of his heartbeat, a dull pulse blocking out everything else. Around him, everything must have stopped, because Harry stopped processing anything happening. He noticed the shadows being cast by the fireplace, and in his mind they grew and stretched across the room.

He took off his glasses to rub at his eyes.

There was no sense even contradicting Dumbledore's words. Why lie? Why make up a story about Draco?

"Malfoy could never kill you," Harry said.

"No," Dumbledore agreed with a nod. "Not alone. I have been told his plan is to bring the Death Eaters into the castle, and he's progressing well into that effort."

"There are charms protecting the school. You're telling me Malfoy can get by them?"

"I expect he will succeed."

Harry shook his head, although Dumbledore's sincerity was undeniable. The statement was too large to take in all at once: Dumbledore truly believed Draco Malfoy was capable of getting Death Eaters through Hogwarts' warding charms. Dumbledore was said to be the greatest wizard of a generation, maybe multiple generations. What could Draco Malfoy do against him?

"How can you think that?" Harry asked. "If you know what he's plotting, stop him. Expel him. Do something."

"There are more pieces in play than you recognize, Harry."

"Then tell me. Malfoy's been…I mean, he's told me things this year. I can't—"

"I'm certain he has been thoroughly coached on what to say and how to act this term," Dumbledore said. "It is noble how you search out the best in people, Harry. But I'm afraid you've been outfoxed."

Harry could barely keep himself still. He had wanted so badly to believe Malfoy had changed. They had spent too much time—

Harry gripped his hair and pulled, hoping the subtle pain would bring reality into focus. Dumbledore wouldn't lie about this, but Harry wanted so badly to trust in what he'd seen. Draco's posture on the bridge had been so genuine. Draco wasn't an actor; his emotions had always been so plain.

"Why would he have led me on then?" Harry asked. "What did he gain from that?"

"He obtained the prophecy."

"Not the important bit."

"More than Voldemort managed to learn after a full year's efforts."

Fawkes curled in on himself. Harry stared after him for a long, quiet moment, still trying to rationalize the conversations over the year with what he now knew. He thought back to their talk on the bridge, huddled against the cold, talking about things they never could have in years before.

Was that really only because Draco had been told to play Harry?

He thought back to Draco's uncontained fury when Harry confessed he hadn't given the full prophecy. He doesn't take oaths lightly. Could that be it? Could Draco have made an oath and gotten caught up in something beyond his control?

Harry nearly doubled over, resting his head between his knees, scouring his memory of the year in search of anything, a single moment that could make sense of everything. Draco wasn't brilliant. If something happened, if he was obligated to do something, then certainly something would have slipped through. This year had led to so much new information, his mind could hardly process it all.

How had he been so badly misled?

Beware of one who is beguiling you.

Harry straightened up.

You've been outfoxed.

When he met Dumbledore's gaze, the full understanding rushed over him. Malfoy had been deceiving him all year. He intentionally deceived him, intentionally misled Harry to put him off the scent. Harry had been right at the start of the year.

Malfoy even admitted to taking the mark.

Harry hadn't wanted to believe it, so he blocked it out. He ignored every sign. He called off Dobby and Kreacher. He ignored the burning in his scar that emerged when he crossed Malfoy's path.

Draco fucking lied to him.