II: Plans and Theories

Harry Potter woke up screaming. He shot straight up in bed and clasped his hands to his forehead as a blazing pain proceeded to split his skull in half. The dagger-like lightning bolt scar throbbed against his sweating palms. He blindly groped for his oversized glasses on the nightstand and closed a shaking hand around them. With eyes all but squeezed shut and a hand still pressed against his forehead, though the pressure did nothing for the tearing sensation beneath it, he staggered out the door of his meager room, tripping over broken toys along the way, and stumbled into the bathroom. He collapsed against the counter and flicked on the light switch with subconscious desperation. Attempting to steady his hands and failing, miserably, he slid his frames onto his face and pushed them up his nose. Hesitantly, afraid of what he might see, Harry lowered his hand from the thing that had made him famous.

He blanched.

The normally smooth, purple scar was now cracked against his skin, bearing an angry red that appeared to be trying to rip itself out from under his tender flesh. It was faintly glowing and made slick by revolting white pus, dotted with the deep crimson of his blood. Turning to the side, he dropped to his knees and retched into the toilet.

---

Draco Malfoy was writing in his journal when he felt it. His hand shot to clutch around his left arm and he gritted his teeth. Gathering his will power, he slowly uncovered the Dark Mark from underneath his Slytherin green robes. It pulsed as angrily as it had the day he had been initiated. That was a week ago, and he had not been called since.

Turning, he ignored the agony contorting his arm muscles and tapped his journal three times with his wand: once to lock it and twice to shrink it to pocket size. Ever since Lucius had read it and beaten him for his personal thoughts three years ago, Draco always kept it small and somewhere on his person. No sooner had he slipped it into his trouser pocket than his father burst into his room, a wildly excited look on his face.

"Come, my son. Our Master calls, and we mustn’t keep him waiting."

Draco merely mumbled a quick, "Yes, Father," and watched as the door shut so he could change in peace. Then his eyes flickered to his closet, grand and imposing with its intricately carved doors of rich mahogany wood. He pushed himself up to standing with is good arm and marched toward it with heavy steps. Slowly reaching for the door handle, as if it might scald him, he closed his hand around it in a solid grip: an attempt to ground himself. He took a deep breath, squeezed his eyes shut, and threw open the only thing barring him off from his Death Eater costume. Then he opened his eyes.

The dead slits on the cold, white steal mask ruthlessly stared back at him. He reached for the robe first. The fabric was soft to the touch, and flowed like shadows over his creamy skin. Draco pulled it over his head; its abundance nearly swallowed him up. Although it was light, for freedom of movement, it felt more similar to a lead coat hanging off of his body. He reached for the mask with weighted arms, his fingers brushing the arctic cold surface. It reminded him of Voldemort’s touch; he shivered.

Turning the mask to face away from him, he slipped it on.

---

The charred remains of Tom Riddle Senior’s old home stood out in the moonlight as starkly as would an old scar that refuses to meld back into place with the rest of the skin. Shortly after word of Voldemort’s resurrection had spread among the common people in the magical community, despite the Minister’s futile attempts to cover it up, those who lived nearest had unleashed their rage upon the vine-encrusted house. They had come in a mob, yelling and screaming like banshees and waving their flame-lit wands as they burned the house to the ground. The wards had long since fallen with its owner, and the dry foliage creeping around windows and banisters provided for excellent flammability, leaving the rickety old wood at the mercy of the fire. It licked up the sides and blazed with a deafening fury that complimented the cries of avenging witches and wizards, engulfing the dilapidated building so completely that, come morning, all the sun brought light to was a wasteland of smoldering ashes scarring the earth.

Those that had come the night before had fled at dawn’s first red and pink hints of morning. Afterwards, not a single person stepped foot on the old Riddle property, for fear of the evil still lurking there, though they had all convinced themselves that Voldemort would not be so foolish as to return to his rejected father’s home a second time.

That was what he was counting on.

"Welcome, my Death Eatersss." Draco had to repress the tremors that were snaking up his spine at the malicious hiss. He was sandwiched between Lucius on his right side and his Potions Professor on the other, his place of honor within the ring of black, robe-clad Death Eaters that encircled the corpse of the Riddle House. Had he been paying attention to anything else aside from his own fear, he would have noticed that the figure on his left was trembling, almost imperceptibly.

"Today isss the day we shall ssseize our glory," his eyes gleamed and flashed ominously, "for I have dissscovered the location of the only thing ssstanding between usss and the revolution of the Wizarding World – Harry Potter!" There was an audible gasp from the ring of black-cloaked figures.

"Hisss Sssecret Keeper wasss a tough one to crack, but my patienccce paid off in the end." He waved his hand airily to a prostrate body behind him. The person, whom Draco later learned to be Arabella Figg, was barely recognizable. A tattered blue robe, now tarnished by dried blood, was all that covered the bloody mass of burned and torn flesh. Draco felt bile rise in the back of his throat when he realized that a section of each limb was missing, leaving a bone-jagged stump in its place. He shut his eyes behind his mask and looked up at Voldemort again, barely swallowing an acidic lump before it would have burst forth.

"In a few nights, my faithful, I want all who ssstand before me to raid hisss home and take him. Do whatever it takesss – I care not who seesss you. Worry not about the wardsss – I have removed them. Now, Luciusss, come here."

The blond took the few long strides forwards, lifting off his faceless mask and kneeling gracefully as he kissed the hem of the Dark Lord’s robe. He acted as if doing so was the most honorable, respected thing in the world.

"Yes, my Lord?"

"You and your ssson are to lead the attack. He can Apparate, can he not?"

"Yes, my Lord. I taught him myself last summer."

"Very good. Onccce you have obtained the Potter boy, and I want him unharmed, Luciusss, you will hold him in your dungeon, until I come to collect him. He mussst be healthy there. I want hisss eyesss to sssee with utmossst clarity, ssso he fully underssstandsss hisss defeat. Here isss the adresss of hisss home." He handed Lucius a scrap of parchment drawn from deep within the folds of his robe. The latter fingered it with reverence, already committing the words to memory. Then Voldemort spoke again and the blond lifted his head up.

"Take up to three daysss to organize the attack. Thisss mussst be done carefully. I will not have my glory ssstolen by sssome ssstupid missstake."

"Of course, my Lord."

"Oh, and Luciusss?" A long, slim-boned hand shot out and clutched the man’s chin, violently jerking his head up and forcing their eyes to lock. Draco’s heart caught in his throat when the Dark Lord uttered his next words in a high-pitched, snake-like screech.

"Don’t messs this up."

"I – I won’t, my Lord."

Voldemort loosened his grip and Lucius dropped to the ground. "You are disssmisssed." And with that, he Apparated away.

---

While his father was busy with Ministry meetings and secretive collaborations with other Death Eaters, Draco was busy formulating a plan to sabotage Harry’s capture. He was brooding to himself in his favorite place, crouched in a corner under the glittering eyes of a dragon and a stag. He did not dare to speak out loud, afraid of shattering the fragile moment of peace that he had been granted.

There were so many of them, he marveled, there’s no possible way that I could help Harry escape the raid and make it look like it wasn’t me who let him get through – I‘d be as good as dead if I were discovered, and then Lucius would win. He had stopped referring to him as "father" the day he had been branded as Voldemort’s property. That means….

Oh. Oh.

He would have to steal Harry out from under his father’s nose, right after he had been caught.

Slowly, the beginnings of an idea began to compose themselves. It wove and twisted and strung itself together to create a tight, infallible net that wrapped around his mind and interwove into the crevices of his consciousness. Then it locked securely into place, leaving Draco with a perfect plan... in theory.

Well, he thought, we’ll just have to see how well it works out, won’t we?

---

Four days. Just four more days and I can go home.

It was midnight, and Harry Potter was sitting in his narrow bed finishing up the black cherry forest birthday cake that the Weasleys had sent to him three weeks ago. It had a preservation charm on it, so it was as good as if it had just been made. This fact led to another thought.

That was a week before my vision. I probably should have owled Professor Dumbledore – my scar’s never hurt quite like that before – but I can wait to tell him when I get to school. It would be better to speak with him face-to-face, anyway. And that way I’ll get my answer right away.

His vision had been a strange one. Normally, when he received images of a Death Eater attack through his scar, it felt as if he were there in his own body, helplessly watching in sickened fascination as Voldemort and his followers raped and tortured numerous muggles and muggle-borns. The hideous images often gave him nightmares that made him wake up in a cold sweat, shaking and wrapping his arms around his stomach until the nausea left and his breathing calmed.

That night, however, the images had been vague and blurred, as if he were seeing through someone else’s eyes, eyes that revealed a scene distorted by sweat. Voldemort had been there – of that he was sure – but that was all he could discern. There had been no sound other than that of a furiously pounding heart and jagged breath, though whether it had come from him or someone else he was not sure. His senses were bombarded in rabid succession by vicious emotions: fear, pain, disgust, loathing, anger, irritated, foreboding, sick, empty, fearfearcoldcoldcoldiceterrorcomprehension, pride, surprisedesperationfearfearPAIN!

It was then that he woke up with a shriek and somehow tripped and fell towards the bathroom where he proceeded to throw up. He was sure that he had fainted on the cold floor tiles soon after, only to slip back into the same vision yet again, as if there was some invisible pull towards it. His senses, were, for the most part, very much the same the second time around, and the emotions were just as intense to his battered mind, but were calmer towards the end: Sick, dirty, sullied, fear, rage, hatehatehate, safe, tired, sosotired, achy, pride, determination, accepting, relief.

When Harry had come to himself again, slightly shivering from the cold of the bathroom floor, the pain was gone. His first thoughts were how lucky he was that Uncle Vernon had not disturbed him. Surely he had woken them, for his screams had been loud enough to wake the dead. But this summer, he was not to be bothered. As soon as he had gotten home, his guardians had received a letter via muggle mail – a good thing, too, since they burned anything that came to them by owl – from the headmaster, describing in detail all that had occurred during the Tri-Wizard Tournament fiasco of the Third Task.

Needless to say, the Dursleys were terrified. Vernon had turned so purple Harry though he might suffocate, Petunia was shaking like a leaf, and Dudley clutched his bottom and squealed like a pig whenever his cousin walked into the room. They automatically assumed that Harry would kill them on sight should they so much as look at him the wrong way. So, they did the next best thing to treating him like a slave as they had for the past fourteen years. They ignored him completely.

Harry could not have been happier.

For the first time since he had started school at Hogwarts, he was allowed to keep his things in his room and do his homework over the summer rather than cram on the ride back to school. Nevertheless, he finished everything the first week, desperate for some time to relax. His schoolbooks were now neatly packed alongside his photo album and invisibility cloak, which he had originally hidden under his overly large shirt thinking that his uncle would make him keep his things in the cupboard. The trunk was safely locked as well, hiding his possessions from Dudley’s greedy hands. The next two and a half months were spent writing letters to his friends and his godfather, reading leisurely, and, most importantly, grieving. There were many nights were he allowed himself to break down and mourn, openly, cleaning the poison out of his system. It was the reason why he declined invitations from both Ron and Hermione’s families; he wanted to take as much time as possible to get over the death of Cedric Diggory, his friendly short time rival, and all else that had occurred that fateful night. His friends were understanding and sympathetic, and seemed to put extra thought into their letters and gifts when his birthday came around in July.

After almost three months, the tension around Harry’s eyes had loosened and relaxed, and his brilliant green eyes had regained their youthful vibrancy. There were times when he still felt the need to cry for his deceased friend, and there was an aged quality to his manner and his eyes that would never go away, but now when he remembered Cedric he would recall his more pleasant memories with joy.

He licked his fingers, savoring the sweet, sticky substance that was vanilla icing on his tongue before swallowing, feeling quite satisfied. That was when he heard it: the telltale "POP" of Apparation. Slowly, cautiously, he peeked out the window by his bed, and sure enough there was a black robed figure in the back yard. It was not until he saw a steel mask glint in the moonlight that he realized….

Death Eaters! But why doesn’t my scare hurt? Wouldn’t Voldemort be here to kill me?

They’re not here to kill you, a snide voice in the back of his mind whispered, they’re here to capture you.

Harry absently nodded to himself as he whispered a shrinking spell on his trunk and pocketed it. The Ministry would let him off for using his magic in self-defense during a Death Eater attack, despite his status as a minor. There was still the chance that Cornelius Fudge would refuse to acknowledge that Voldemort’s loyal followers had attacked the Boy Who Lived, but Harry had faith that his headmaster would find a way out and make sure that he was not expelled from Hogwarts. That is, if he lived long enough to be put up for expulsion. Suddenly there were fifty more "POPS", and he knew he would be outnumbered.

Well, he grimly thought, if I’m going to be taken, they’ll have to fight me, first. He was about to leave the room when....

Wait.

Wait.

Silently, as if in prayer, he dropped to his knees and opened the loose floor board where he had stored his food and an ample supply of the "Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes" practical jokes; Fred and George had given them to him as a "thank you" for his anonymous donation. He rummaged around hastily until he found what he was looking for. A trick wand. In their letter, it had said that this one sprayed whoever tried to use it with a Gryffindor red dye that lasted for a week. If he could hide his real wand somewhere on his body where the Death Eaters would not find it and make sure that they saw the fake one instead, he might have a chance of escaping from wherever they planned on taking him.

Quickly he reached under his bed after replacing the floorboard and pulled out the tape he used to repair his glasses, though he had not needed it in ages. He lifted up one leg of his overly baggy hand-me-down jeans and pressed his eleven inch long holly and phoenix feather wand to the side of his calf, wrapping the tape around several times in various places up its length. When he was done, he threw the tape back under the bed and stood up shakily, making sure that his leg was fully covered.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

They were downstairs in the living room now – a simple locked door was nothing to a skilled wizard. Squeezing himself for every drop of the Gryffindor courage he was so famed for, Harry walked stiffly toward the door of his room with the false wand clutched in his right hand. He could hear them ascending the stairs now, like a pack of ravaging wolves bearing glistening teeth and bristled black fur. He opened the door, turned the wooden trick towards the gleaming mask of the first Death Eater, merely a few feet from where he stood. He hesitated, giving his opponent just enough time to yell "Stupefy!" Harry dropped the wand at his feet, and then the world went black.

III: Meeting The Stag

"Ugghhh…" Harry moaned into the darkness as he opened his eyes. His head was sore from stress and a rather large lump that was forming on one side of his skull. He brought a weakened hand up to brush the wound, wincing at the acute pain. It was not wet, so no blood had been spilt, luckily.

I must have hit my head when the Death Eater stupefied me.

The thought brought him back to reality, and he jolted up to sitting, ignoring the way it aggravated his wound. Reflexively, he reached towards where he knew his calf was, and felt for his wand. He relaxed upon finding that it was still secured against his flesh. Then, as an afterthought, he reached into his pocket to finger the shrunken form of his school trunk.

Good. Now, to find a way out of this hell.

Feeling around, blindly, he reasoned that he was sitting on some sort of prison cot, not too different from his bed at the Dursley’s. He swung his legs around to rest them on the stone floor beneath. The movement made him dizzy again, and he had to rest his forehead in his hands as he tried to regain his sense of direction.

Wait. Even if I do find a way out of here, what if I’m seen? I hardly know my way around this place, let alone know where I actually am... unless – oh!

He lifted up his leg and uncovered his wand. Slowly, he unwrapped the tape around his leg, wincing as it tore at the fine black hairs on his skin. Wand freed, he muttered "Lumos!" and placed his miniature trunk on the floor within the ring of light. After a whispered "Engorgio!" and an "Alohamora!" his trunk was back to its normal size and unlocked. He pulled out his invisibility cloak, which had been laying neatly folded on the new school supplies he had bought in Diagon Alley nearly three weeks ago, the only time he had left the house over the summer to spend time with his friends. He stuffed the cloak under his billowing shirt, tucking the hems back into his pants. Harry re-locked his trunk, shrunk it again, and replaced it in his pocket. And then he looked up.

Oh shit.

The room was a medieval dungeon, absolutely littered with corpses in various stages of decomposition. Some were so completely clean and picked of flesh that they looked bleached, and a few appeared to be so old that the bone itself was beginning to crumble. Others did not look so pure; chunks of rotted skin and dried blood clung to tendons by mere threads, and single eyes glistened horribly from within their cavernous sockets. Harry did not want to even think of what hideous forms of torture were capable of this. Unfortunately, the large array of surgically clean metal spikes and whips with barbs that hung off the walls like some maniacal museum, combined with the intimidating contraptions that loomed about on all sides, were enough to provide him with a clear answer. Harry was sure he would have fainted from the spinning of his head and the cold lump where his stomach used to be had the dungeon door not began to creak at that moment.

He whispered a hasty "Nox!" and shoved his wand up his shirtsleeve. Darkness enveloped him again. For once he was glad.

The feeling did not last, however, for soon a crack of light shot into the room, cracking around a small figure. He squinted, but all he could make out was a long, pointed nose and a pair of particularly large eyes. Then the door opened fully to reveal...

…a house elf.

"You is Harry Potter, sir?"

"Yes?" It sounded forced.

"Minny is having orders from Master Lucius, sir. He is wanting Minny to be taking Harry Potter out of his cell, sir. Minny is following orders to do it quickly and quietly, sir."

"Oh... hold on, Lucius? As in Lucius Malfoy?"

The creature squeaked at his raised voice, then nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, Harry Potter, sir. You is in Malfoy Mansion, and is needing to come with Minny, Harry Potter, sir."

Harry contemplated for a moment. Should he follow the house elf? Wherever it – she – is taking me, it can’t possibly be worse than this. He shuddered at the thought of spending another night with the rotting corpses around him. That certainly could not be good for his health. Minny saw his motion and took it as a ‘yes’. She darted forward, pulled Harry up to standing with surprising strength, and proceeded to drag him out of the dungeon and up the stairs. The latter tried his best to hold onto the tiny hand without falling – he was still slightly disoriented.

After a series of unwieldy stone passageways and staircases that looked as if they would crumble underneath the slightest weight, the pair emerged into the main hallway of the mansion’s second lowest level, right above the dungeon. It was decorated with a plush emerald green carpet, expertly woven with delicate ivory flowers along a serpentine Celtic boarder. Magnificent chandeliers of the finest spun golden leaf and flawless crystal hung from the ceiling, each elaborately carved gem containing its own, separate flame to light it from within. The walls and ceiling were built of an old, well-polished dark wood that reflected the light coming from the chandeliers in a rusted yellow tone. Portraits of the Malfoy family, each with their cold, condescending gray eyes and surreally light blond hair framing pointed features lined the corridor every few feet on both sides. Harry shrunk away from them; they seemed to look down on him and all he stood for. A few sneered and turned away, causing heat to rise in his face from shame and anger for something he did wrong, though he knew not what.

Despite the hall’s impeccably tasteful decoration, and the warm tones that came from the bright flames, it still carried a distinctly cold feeling that made shivers run up Harry’s spine. He drew his shoulders closer to himself and shrunk away from the walls, making himself as small as possible. He was still following the house elf, but she had long since released his hand once she was satisfied that he was trailing behind at a steady pace. Then Minny turned a corner about ten steps in front of him and….

"YOU! What are you doing out of the kitchens?"

At the shout, Harry pulled his invisibility cloak out from under his shirt and wrapped it around himself snugly, making sure that his entire form was covered. Then he took his wand out from his sleeve, holding it at the ready as he listened to Lucius Malfoy scold the cowering house elf.

"Well? ANSWER ME!"

"Minny is just doing as Master Lucius ordered, sir," she squeaked. "Master was asking Minny to let out Harry Potter, sir. Minny is just following orders, Minny is doing nothing that is deserving of punishment, sir!"

"You let him out?" Lucius’ voice was dangerously low now. Harry shuddered and turned in the other direction. Many years of sneaking around Hogwarts after hours had made him skilled at being silent – he just hoped that it would pay off.

He could still hear hushed voices behind him, the terrified, high-pitched squeals of the house elf and her master’s hushed whispers, a tone that hinted at things to come. Harry closed his eyes briefly as he recalled the hooked barbs and gleaming metal contraptions in the dungeon.

Don’t think about that now, he reasoned, it won’t get you anywhere.

Looking up, he saw a door in the corridor that he had not noticed earlier. It was conspicuously hidden, next to a portrait of what looked like a much younger version of Lucius, bearing an expression of amusement beneath the haughty smirk he was known for. It was quite different from the deadly scowl and ice-cold glares he was known for in his older years – the superior, yet somehow lighthearted, look that the painting had made him look almost exactly like his son, though a bit more intense. Draco himself had a seeker’s body just as Harry did, but his well-toned muscles were still slender, his hands that of an aristocrat, and his skin was as pale as if the sun had never touched it. Draco could still tower over the other boy, though, being a full four inches taller than Harry was. His features had lost some of the ‘pointed devil’ look over the years as well, and had softened out into a distinctly beautiful delicacy.

Harry shook his head – he knew these thoughts would lead into dangerous territory, and he was not at all ready to go there yet – as he opened the neglected door as carefully as possible. From the appearance of the old wood, one would think that it would creak and moan in protest of being opened, but it was as silent as if it had just been put in. Harry allowed him a sigh of relief and slid inside, shutting the door behind him.

---

Draco was sitting in his favorite place, leaning against the cold stonewall as he inhaled the ancient musk of the room. He let his gaze sweep the room from where he crouched in the corner before it rested on the grand image in front of him. This was the only part of the house where he ever truly felt safe; he had discovered very young that his father could not open the door, let alone actually see it. Malfoy Mansion was, like all wizards’ homes, magical in its own right. Most of the rooms were available to the whim of the house’s master, namely Lucius Malfoy, but a few places were known to move around and only exist for those the mansion deemed worthy, as the Tapestry Room was for Draco. He had found this out when he was very young, running from his father’s anger after having dropped a vase, and he had happened to rush into this old, neglected sanctuary. He recalled listening to the older man as he raged about the house, opening every door in the building, yet somehow managed to completely overlook the very room that his son was in.

Draco smiled as he relaxed, stretching languidly, like a cat, and began to go over the steps of his plan in his mind. The basics had been fairly simple: sneak some of Lucius’ hair, make a Polyjuice Potion, and give a careful set of orders telling a house elf to free Harry, all the time using his father’s guise. The first part had been easier than he had expected. For a day he carried around a small, unbreakable glass vial in his pocket. Then, when he was called into Lucius’ office to discuss plans regarding Harry’s capture, Draco had purposefully said something that would make the older man angry enough to hit him. It did not take much, and soon he was clinging to a slick strand of platinum blond hair, not unlike his own, picked of the back of his father’s robe by his own hand. He walked out of the room in his usual proud demeanor, now boasting the most necessary ingredient for the Polyjuice Potion in addition to the dark bruise along his cheek.

It also helped that Draco had stopped gelling his hair back recently, in an effort to look less like the man that had betrayed him, so it was easier to distinguish from his own hair the greasy lock of gold bottled safely and hidden in his pocket. Making the potion itself had been a breeze for someone as naturally skilled in that particular art as the Malfoy heir was. Narcissa had taken him shopping for his school things a few days before he had received the Mark, as well as for some more, ahem, illegal potions and such that were not on the school list. That being said, he had more than enough of what he needed to make his concoction. He patiently waited for a time when Lucius had left for an hour to clear things up at the Ministry and Narcissa had locked herself in her wing of the mansion before he drank the potion and made his way up to the servants’ quarters. He had grimaced as he swallowed the potion; it tasted vaguely of vanilla in the beginning, but the aftertaste was sickeningly bitter and acrid.

It took quite a while to find the house elves’ rooms – after all, he had never been there before, and they were in the highest corner of the house, completely out of the way. Draco adopted his father’s gait as he walked, strutting into the low-ceilinged rooms with a confident air of ownership. Almost immediately the tiny creatures swarmed him, a flurry of anxious voices wanting to fulfill the wishes of their master. He asked for a house elf named Minny and shooed the rest of them away with threats of torture. It worked, beautifully. Soon the timid servant stood before him, head bowed and eyes wide.

"You is wanting to speak to Minny, Master Lucius, sir?"

Draco smiled; none of them could tell the difference. He had chosen Minny for one reason: she was known for being rebellious. Before Dobby had been freed, an incident that Lucius had raved about for a month and earned Draco many beatings for the slightest mishap, including the discovery of Draco’s journal, Dobby and Minny had been known for spreading ideas of freedom and mutiny among the servants. Nobody listened to the two, of course, as they could barely agree on a single thing between themselves. Though their morals were the same, the constantly disagreed in their escape methods and both claimed leadership of the house elf army that never existed. They were known for finding loopholes in their orders when they did not approve of what they were told to do, resulting in a very low placement among the house elf hierarchy. Thus, it would be completely realistic if Minny were the one to set Harry Potter free against her master’s wishes, and then claim that he had ordered her to do so in the first place. The only reason she was still working in Malfoy Mansion was because Lucius was afraid of what she might do to him should she escape; Dobby had certainly taken his revenge two years before.

Draco’s silence must have unnerved the elf, as she was now fidgeting with the hem of the potato sack that served as her only clothing. He knelt down to look her in the eyes and gave a sinister smirk; Minny would have no qualms about the orders he was about to give.

"Now listen carefully," he purred, "I’m going to ask you to do something very important, and I don’t want you to screw it up, understand?"

The elf nodded earnestly.

"Good. In a few days, a young boy named Harry Potter is going to be brought into this house by some people, including myself, and locked in the dungeon. What I want you to do is, when everybody leaves, wait until the boy is awake. Then you are to free him from his cell and get him as far away from this place as possible, and take him to Diagon Alley if you can. I don’t care how you do it, so long as you do it in absolute silence; I don’t want anyone finding out about this. Understood?"

"Yes, Master Lucius, sir. Minny is to be getting Harry Potter out quickly and quietly, sir. Minny is a good house elf, sir. Minny is getting the job done well, Master Lucius, sir."

"Perfect. Oh, and Minny," Draco lowered his voice as he had heard his father do so many times, "you know what will happen if you fail, don’t you?"

"Yes, Master Lucius, sir. Minny is not failing you, Master Lucius, sir." She was nodding so rapidly that Draco experienced a strange moment where he thought her head was about to bounce right off her shoulders.

He smirked, satisfied, and turned to leave the servants’ quarters without another word.

Draco, nesting in the Tapestry Room, shook his head. The plan should have worked, perfectly, and Harry should have been safe among his many worshippers in the Leaky Cauldron. It would have gone off without a hitch, as well, had Draco not overlooked one thing.

Lucius came home from work to check on his captive every day. After the Death Eater meeting when the assignment was given, Draco assumed that, because Harry was to be untouched, meaning no torture whatsoever, the elder Malfoy would lose interest and neglect his charge instead, leaving the house elves to feed him when needed. Instead, it seemed that the elder blond, ecstatic about his success, had made time during work at the Ministry to come home and taunt the boy about his defeat.

Yes, something had certainly gone wrong, because now, as Draco leaned into his corner and stared up at the entwined Northern Dragon and Great Stag, a boy with uncontrollable black hair, startlingly bright green eyes and endearingly childish glasses materialized right in front of him.

---

"Wow...."

It was all Harry could say when he entered the musty old storage room. Most of it was not very remarkable; a worn, threadbare carpet of muddled red-brown underneath his feet, and transparent, dusky drapes hung in random places from the ceiling’s old banisters. A large, royal blue couch that looked as if it had seen better days was pushed off to one side, and a single, circular window high up on the wall was the only source of dreamlike blue daylight. No, there was nothing special about the room itself. What was special was what was hanging on the wall to his left, towering twenty feet above Harry’s 5’ 7" frame. It was a grand tapestry, conveniently located so that the light from the window streamed across it, making it glitter and sparkle along its intricately woven gemstones and silken threads. But, despite the magnificence of the creation, it was the figure that took up the right side of the central design that caught Harry’s attention.

"Prongs...." he whispered, letting his cloak fall to the ground. He reached up one tentative hand to touch the creature’s haunches, as high as he could reach. It was the living image of his Patronus, of his father’s animagus form, right down to the shining brown coat and the golden hooves and antlers.

Draco watched from his corner as Harry touched the stag with reverence, thankful that he had not yet been seen. Over the years, he had often brushed his fingers over the dragon – it was his namesake, his right, to do so. And yet, its companion had been untouchable to him, as distant as the sun, to be admired from a far and never disturbed. He had been content with that, but now Harry waltzes in, claiming the stag as if....

As if he were the stag, his subconscious scolded. Draco sighed. He knew it. He was even surer of it now, looking at Harry’s form, back turned towards him. The dark haired boy would never be especially tall – malnutrition at a young age had seen to that. He was beginning to fill out, though, the payoff of Quidditch training, but his seeker’s form was also tempered by a rustic look, as if he were used to doing manual labor. His messy black hair looked silky and soft to the touch, and Draco knew that, should the boy turn around, he would be met with sparkling emerald eyes staring out from tanned skin. All in all, his beloved enemy was quite appealing.

With a start, Draco realized where his thoughts were leading. Quietly, so as not to disturb Harry, who was still quite absorbed with the tapestry, he pulled out his journal and enlarged it. He began to flip through the entries. Sure enough, there was a distinct pattern in his words in relation to the boy in front of him. It was subtle, and Draco could not distinguish, nor remember, when the words on the parchment had changed to reveal changing emotions. He could not recall when his feelings of rivalry had turned into grudging respect, then to admiration, and finally to... what, exactly? It certainly was not lust – no, he was familiar with that emotion. He put the book away as he thought. This sensation... it was different than lust, more tender, a feeling that twisted the edges of his dreams and lingered on the boundaries of his subconscious. It was not love, either; it was not strong enough, and Draco believed that he would know if it were. He also knew that, given the chance, it could develop into love. But for now, he was not completely sure what his current feelings were. All he knew was that he felt a sense of belonging around this green-eyed youth, a sense of need. At that moment, he knew that nothing else mattered, and that it was his infatuation that was tinged with hope.

Infatuation... hmm…. "It seems like Lucius was finally right about something…."

Draco did not realize that he had spoken out loud until Harry spun around to face him, and green met gray.

IV: Careful Intimacy

"Malfoy?" Harry was startled to see the blonde boy curled up in a corner, his chin resting on his knees. He responded the only way he knew how after years of pointless disputes. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, this is my home, Potter." His voice was soft, and carried none of its usual bite. Surprised, the dark haired youth looked closer at the other boy, and noticed that his eyes, while normally filled with childish malice, were now open to him, showing emotions that Harry thought had never been there before; understanding, acceptance, love….

"Do you like that?"

"Huh?"

Draco rolled his eyes. He’s as confused about this as I am, at least. "The tapestry. Like it?"

"Oh. Yes, I do. The stag, it... it reminds me of my father…." Why was he telling Malfoy this? It unnerved him that the sudden change in the other boy could make him vulnerable, bringing out admissions that he would never even think to tell his closest friends. "And you still haven’t answered my question, Malfoy."

"Which one?"

"What. Are. You. Doing. Here?"

Draco just smirked. He stood up and walked towards the other boy, then right by him. He ran his fingertips over the dragon’s scales. "This is my sanctuary," he said, reverently.

Harry looked at him with curiosity, and the Slytherin sighed. "Oh, fine. I was actually waiting to see if that stupid house elf got you out of here. I mean, I had this whole plan to get you out of here but then, as always, Lucius has to come and mess it up…."

"Wait... you mean that you were the one who ordered it to get me out?"

Snidely, "Ten points to Gryffindor."

"But the house elf said she was under Lucius’ orders…."

Draco stared at him. "Think, Potter."

Harry considered for a minute, his expressive brow furrowing, then, "Oh. Oh! Polyjuice Potion."

The other boy smiled, feeling very satisfied with himself at the moment. "Yup."

Harry had dropped all pretenses of anger and old school rivalry by now, and was looking at Draco with something akin to awe and gratitude. "Why? I always thought... everyone was just so sure that you would follow your father, that you would follow Voldemort, and get the Mark with Crabbe and Goyle. I mean, I thought... well, why?"

The young Malfoy steadily looked at him for a moment, as if trying to judge whether or not he was worthy enough to take part in some precious information. Harry prayed that he was. Then, very slowly, Draco turned to face him, and took a step forwards so that he was barely a foot away. His liquid silver eyes were cold and determined, with an anger that was, for once, not directed at Harry. Then he spoke.

"I. Am. Not. My. Father. I never will be. I will not grovel at the feet of some half dead psychopath bent on the destruction of a single boy. I’ll admit that, yes, I did used to look up to him, I wanted to be like him, but... but something changed."

Hesitantly, "So, so you’re not going to get the Mark? How will you avoid that?"

Draco laughed bitterly. "Oh, I can’t avoid that." In one swift motion, he lifted the left sleeve of his robe up to his elbow.

"Oh…."

The Mark starkly stood out on his pale skin, like some horrible black scar of corrupted flesh. It was dormant now, but nothing could sleep forever. Almost unconsciously, Harry reached out to touch it. Draco shuddered, and the dark haired boy inhaled sharply before snatching his hand back as if he had been burnt.

Draco hastily covered his arm and looked down at the floor, ashamed. "I didn’t want it," he whispered, enclosing his chest with his arms, protectively. Then he glanced up again, and, upon seeing Harry’s eyes, so bright and filled with sympathy and compassion, the dams broke. Tears glistened from beneath long lashes and spilled down his cheeks, leaving drying streams in their path.

A Malfoy shows no weakness, a Malfoy shows no weakness, a Malf-

The mantra was forgotten when Harry gathered the shaking blond in his arms, comforting him the only way he knew how. Slowly, gently, so as not to disturb his precious bundle, he led him over to the couch. Upon sitting down he realized that it was not dusty at all, and thought fleetingly, Draco must have cleaned it. He pulled the other boy into his lap and started, When did I start calling him ‘Draco’? But then he realized that it did not really matter. All that mattered was the child that was sobbing his heart out onto his chest, releasing fifteen years of bottled up emotions and frustrations. Harry held on for dear life, whispering every comforting line he could think of, until the tears quieted and a final shudder was expelled as his breathing went back to its normal, shallow pace. Though the crying was done with, neither boy wanted to let go.

---

A few hours later, Harry awoke to the sound of screaming that was not his own. He started, and found that the sleeping form of Draco Malfoy weighed him down. He smiled; the high-pitched shrieks in the distance worried him, but he did not wish to disturb the perfection of this moment. He reached down to tentatively brush a fine strand of hair back from Draco’s face. It looks so much better without being slicked back like that, he though. So much softer…. Apparently, the motion awoke the sleeping boy, and he shifted, slightly, against Harry’s chest.

"Mmmm…." he murmured. Then another scream rang through the room and Draco said something that sounded like, "There goes Minny."

"What?"

"Huh? Oh, nothing." He sat up and looked Harry in the eyes. "Listen, I…." This was going to be hard. "I want to... to thank you for earlier, so, thanks, Ha- Potter."

He did not know what possessed him to do it, but, "Harry."

"Come again?"

"Call me Harry. And you’re welcome."

Draco smiled, and for the first time, it reached his eyes, resulting in a glow that lit up his entire face. He should smile more often, Harry decided. Softly, "All right... Harry."

There was a thick silence for a moment, but this time it was reassuring. Then, a thought: "Where are we, anyway?"

Draco smirked playfully. "This is the only room in Malfoy Mansion that my father," he spat the word, "can’t enter. You’ll be safe here. I can bring you meals for the next two days until school starts. When the time comes, I can smuggle you onto the train, if you can use that... that invisibility power you’ve got."

Harry looked at him strangely. "What power?"

"I didn’t see you come in here – you just appeared in front of me out of thin air."

"Oh, that. Hold on a sec." The Gryffindor walked over to where he had stood near the tapestry. He looked around for a moment before bending down to pick up something silvery. Then he brought it over and sat down again, unfolding to object for Draco to see.

"An invisibility cloak! So that’s how you’ve been sneaking around school all of these years."

"Family heirloom," Harry said as he folded it back up.

"Good; you can use that, then. Be careful, though, and don’t leave this room. I can show you where the bathroom is, but that’s it. Don’t worry – it’s only for two days, after all, and I’ll try to sneak down so you don’t get bored."

Harry laughed. It was a strange moment when he realized how completely comfortable in the other boy’s company. Too bad it didn’t last.

"DRACO!"

Draco cringed. "I have to go. Lucius doesn’t like to be kept waiting. Stay here, okay?"

Harry nodded and watched as his new companion walked out the door.

---

Dinner was a tense affair. Draco knew something was wrong the moment he entered the room; unfortunately, he also knew what. Still, he kept up his façade of "the good little Malfoy heir" and ate his fill, trying his best to act oblivious to the rage that his father was emanating to no one in particular. It was especially hard to pull this off as he discreetly used a transportation charm to send bits of food to the room where Harry was. Even though his father was halfway down an incredibly long table and seemed to be staring at nothing in particular, he was still apprehensive that his actions would be noticed. At one point, his hand started shaking and he almost dropped the expensive crystal glass that he held.

His mother, however, remained in her own perfect world as she always did, prim and proper as a good wife should be. She ate with delicacy, taking small bites and extending her pinkie finger whenever she daintily sipped at her water. Down at the other side of the dining table, Lucius clutched his glass so hard that Draco was afraid that it might shatter in his grasp. Instead of trying to warn his father with a snide remark about cutting his hand open, Draco lowered his head to stare at his plate. It mattered not what he was eating; it was the finest cuisine, and that was all that was important to the pure blooded Malfoy family.

Suddenly Lucius slammed his glass down on the table. The old wood shook at the force, dishes and silverware rattled, and Draco dropped his utensils. Narcissa continued to eat.

"Father…?" It was barely whispered; the silence was so deafening that it was heard echoing throughout the room.

"Something... interesting happened this afternoon, Draco."

"Oh?" Draco hoped he sounded innocent.

"’Oh’, indeed. It seems that one of our house elves, Minny, I believe, released the Potter boy from the dungeons today."

"What?" He tried to sound surprised and disappointed at the same time. It was no easy task, considering that his hands were still shaking underneath the table. "I assume you dealt with her accordingly, Father."

"Yes, yes. I assure you, I did. Good riddance, if I do say so myself. She was always a tad... rebellious, that one." Draco didn’t even have time to let out a sigh of relief, because then came, "Of course, she would never have gone so far as to do something like that without orders. Dobby, perhaps, but she was still more subdued. She’d have needed... motivation." Here he looked at Draco pointedly.

His son widened his eyes in a disbelieving manner, "Father, surely you don’t think that it was me, do you? I have been in my room the whole day, you can even ask the house elves if they heard me give such an order at any time, because I assure you, I did not."

Lucius measured the boy down the table. He was about to give his answer when the Mark burned. Both men’s hands shot out, clutching at the scarred flesh through their exquisitely tailored robes. Draco hissed in pain. It was his second time, so he assumed that it would not be as bad as the first, but then he realized how incredibly wrong he was. It did not matter how many times that Mark would burn; each time would always be like the first, always twisting and turning a blazing dagger deep into his forearm.

"Narcissa, dear," Lucius said through gritted teeth, "Do us a favor and get our robes, will you? You know the ones." She said nothing, just wiped her perfect, Cupid’s bow mouth calmly with the corner of a silken napkin and left the room. Her husband watched her leave with a perfect poise that he envied before turning back to his heir.

"I do hope you’re telling the truth, Draco. For both our sakes."

---

"Welcome, Death Eatersss, to the night when I triumph over my foe."

Draco trembled; this was not going to be fun.

"You sssee, very sssoon I will have Harry Potter groveling at my feet and begging for mercccy. Now, Luciusss, Draco, come forth."

Draco swallowed hard behind his mask and followed his father as they left the protective ring of Death Eaters. He tried to keep his walk confident and not falter as he bent to kiss the hem of Voldemort’s robe. The icy sensation wafted off of him and the younger Malfoy had to do his best to keep from retching.

"Now," Voldemort purred, "where isss Potter? I cannot wait to sssee hisss eyesss when hisss death facccesss him."

Here we go, Draco thought. Luckily, Lucius answered for him.

"An... an un-unfortunate event o-occurred, my Lord. One of the h-house elves, M-M-Minny, I think, w-went against my wishes and f-freed him. I s-swear, my Lord, it w-was-wasn’t my f-fault…."

"Oh, Luciusss," the Dark Lord hissed, tiredly, "I cannot tell you how... disssappointed I am in you. But ssstill, it wasssn’t your doing, wasss it, my loyal ssservant?"

Gray eyes looked up with hope. "Of c-course not, my Lord."

"Although... I did warn you againssst failing, did I not? No, I shall not kill you, it’sss not your fault your houssse elf wasss mutinousss. However, it wasss your resssponsssibility, ssso you cannot go unpunished. In that cassse," he drew out his wand smoothly and whispered, "Crucio."

In all of his life, Draco had never seen his father cry or cower or show weakness of any kind. He had always thought of him as a stone, completely solid. Now, as he saw the man he used to admire crumble to the ground, his body contorted and his shrill screams sounding through the air, he understood that no person was truly invincible. Strangely enough, this gave him incentive to be stronger.

Voldemort watched with a bored expression on his face as Lucius twisted and writhed on the ground, curling up into a ball and clawing at nothing. He kept him under the curse for almost a full minute before he released it, and the blonde was finally still. Then he turned to Lucius’ son.

"Draco... am I correct in asssuming that you did nothing to ssstop Potter from essscaping?"

The boy looked up, fear apparent in his eyes. "I did not know, my Lord."

"That’sss too bad." He lazily twirled his wand with one skeletal hand, causing Draco to cringe. "You sssee, thisss wasss your firssst asssignment, and therefore your firssst chanccce. However, should I let you off without punishment, my followersss may think me weak, and that I do not take failure ssseriousssly." Draco swallowed hard. "Crucio."

---

PainpainpainohMerlinnopleasestophurtsCrucioCruciopainhelpmepleasepleasepleaseohMerlinhurtscan’t…. Harry shot up on the couch and immediately clamped one hand on his mouth to keep from screaming. The other hand went straight to his forehead where his scar was pulsing just as badly as it had almost three weeks ago. Shaking, he brought his hand back to see that it was slick with blood from his scar. Slowly, clamping his jaw down and gritting against the agony that was prying his skull open, he looked at his left wrist where he wore his muggle watch. Through squinted eyes he kept track of the second hand, desperately trying to breathe deeply, though it did nothing for the pain. Then, after nearly two long minutes, it ended. He exhaled and leaned back on the sofa, closing his eyes as he tried to recall his vision.

It had been similar to the other, as if he was seeing through someone else’s eyes, and although this time it was clearer, he still could not hear anything aside from the pounding heart of another. He could make out Voldemort, robed in black like some hideous grim reaper, and Lucius Malfoy, cowering in front of him. He saw as he was hit with the Crutiatus, as he fell to the ground and his body bent and warped, his mouth open in a silent scream. He felt the fear and terror and strange determination run through the person whose body he shared. And then he had felt the Crutiatus as it was cast on him. It was just as he had remembered from the night of Voldemort’s resurrection, so intense that it felt as if the pain was ripping at his very soul, tearing at him from within a thousand times at once.

Wearily, he rubbed his temples with his fingertips, taking off his glasses and resting them on the arm of the couch. He was just about to let his body sink into the comfortable folds of fabric when he heard uneven footsteps outside the door.

---

Draco was breathing hard. He stayed prone on the ground as Voldemort uttered a final threat of warning to his followers. How long the curse had lasted, he did not know. All that mattered was that it was over; his body was shaking and he could barely move, but for the moment, it was over. Behind him, the sensation of ice left with a "POP", signaling the Dark Lord’s exit. Then, after a few seconds, a collective number of "POPS" filled the air, and all that were left were himself and his father, who had begun to lift himself onto his feet.

"Let’s go home, Draco. And when we do, be sure that you stay out of my sight." With that, Lucius disappeared, abandoning his weakened son as he lay limp on the scorched grass among the remains of the Riddle House. Gathering his remaining strength, Draco followed.

---

Malfoy Mansion was, in a way, similar to Hogwarts. It was unplottable, and had anti-apparation wards up, though they were slightly tweaked so that anyone with Malfoy blood could pass through them and into a designated room in the main hall. Unfortunately, it was also impossible to Apparate within the building, no matter who a person’s ancestors were. Draco cursed this particular factor as he stumbled throughout the many corridors, stopping every few seconds to lean against the wall and take a few gasping breaths, visibly shaking. When he saw the door to the Tapestry Room, he practically slammed himself into the old wooden barrier. With great difficulty he twisted the crystal knob, tripping over his feet as he entered. The steel Death Eater mask fell to the ground with a heavy ‘clunk’ as he closed the door behind him. He looked up at the couch through blurred vision to see his reassurance, his savior sitting on it, looking even more wide-eyed without his glasses.

With a whimpered "Harry…." Draco lurched forwards, collapsing in the other boy’s arms. The latter had to stand up and jump forward to catch him, struggling as he half-carried, half-dragged him back to the broad sofa. Carefully Harry lifted Draco’s legs so that they were levitated on a spare pillow. Then he lowered his upper body into his lap, holding him as he trembled violently with the aftereffects of the Crutiatus. This time there were no tears, just pain. Harry whispered to him and clutched him, securely, almost afraid that he would disappear without warning. After a few minutes, however, the shaking subsided, and Draco’s breathing became deep and steady, though still somewhat strained.

"Draco?" Harry whispered.

"Ye-yes?" The answer was ragged and scratchy.

"What... what happened?"

Draco took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a minute. "There was a... a Death Eater meeting. You-Know-Who…."

"Voldemort," Harry corrected gently.

Draco smiled, wryly. "All right.... V-Voldmort, then. He... he found out that you had.... escaped. He found out that you escaped and... oh, Merlin, Harry, he used C-Crutiatus on Lucius... and then on m-me and, oh, it hurt so so much I thought I was going to die I…." He was rambling now.

"Shhh, Draco, it’s over now, shhh…." Draco quieted as Harry held him tighter. It was then that he noticed the other boy’s lower lip: it was crusted over and bleeding, as though it had been bitten. Harry gasped. So this is what he does to keep from screaming. It dawned on him what an incredibly strong person his former rival was.

He did not know what made him do it, but suddenly he was leaning forwards, and brushing his lips against Draco’s, ever so gently, the only warning being his hot breath as it flowed through his mouth a second before. The lips were soft, so soft, like the petals of a rose, and twice as delicate. He was almost afraid they would break if he put too much pressure on them, so the meeting was chaste and fragile. He flicked his tongue out, warm and moist, and tenderly licked that abused bottom lip, tasting the metallic blood as he coated it with a slick, healing film that glistened in the room’s pale lighting. Then he pulled back.

Harry felt heat rising in his face. "I’m sorry... I didn’t mean to, I…."

Draco was looking at him now, his beautiful silver-gray eyes dark and trusting. "Yes," he murmured, almost to himself, "yes you did." Slowly he reached up with one shaking hand and wrapped it around the back of Harry’s neck, forcing the dark head down and their lips to meet again. This kiss was steady and comforting, a reliable rhythm of flesh sliding together in a now achingly familiar greeting. It was not meant to arouse, just to give the warmth that both boys had always craved. There was no taking – merely an easy acceptance that at the moment, for once in their lives, everything was right.

Harry ran his hand down the side of Draco’s face, soothingly brushing aside flyaway strands of pale golden hair before it came to rest lightly on his pale-skinned cheek. Draco responded by running his tongue over Harry’s lips, smiling through the kiss when an eagerly parted mouth received the action. They began an easy exploration of each other, smoothing over gums and teeth and tongues with utter peace of mind. It was silky and pure, hauntingly sacred and untouchable by mind or voice. As the kiss ended, Harry drew back, brushing Draco’s sensitive, well-flushed lips once more in a farewell parting, before sitting back up.

Emerald green met molten silver and an unspoken agreement passed between them. Harry carefully lifted his legs out from under Draco’s still-weak body and pulled off his old shoes. Then he slid down in between Draco and the couch’s pillows. A blond head snuggled in the crook of his shoulder, lips and eyelashes brushing over an exposed collarbone, and Harry’s hand came to rest on the other boy’s slender hip. He lay his cheek on the fine tresses as he felt an aristocratic hand press lightly on his chest, not meant to push away, but more as a reassurance of the other’s existence. Harry deeply sighed and closed his eyes, relishing the careful intimacy and the warm body against his as he drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

They spent the next night like that.

V: The Same Color

Harry awoke to find that Draco had already left. He sighed, looking at his watch. Bright neon green numbers bearing 10:00 A.M. glared back at him. He sat up, lazily running a hand through his hair as he blinked the remaining weariness from his eyes. The door opened, revealing a familiar, if somewhat blurred, form. Harry slipped on his glasses and the image immediately cleared. In doing so, he noticed Draco’s intensely nervous posture. He was not fidgeting, as he had been taught against that, but there was a stiff motion to his gait that meant that he was preoccupied.

"We’re leaving. Make sure you have everything, put on that cloak of yours and follow me."

Harry was a bit hurt by his new lover’s sharp tone, but brushed it off as he donned his silvery camouflage. He’s probably under a lot of stress right now, he reasoned.

Harry had to rush to keep up with Draco’s brisk pace as the blond turned sharp corners and rushed up and down numerous staircases with practiced ease, his eyes straight ahead of him. By the time they reached the main hall, Harry was struggling to quiet his rushed panting; the mansion was a death trap to anyone who did not have the advantage of growing up within it’s walls. Draco, on the other hand, looked as pristine as ever, and had not even broken out into a sweat.

He sauntered up to his father with all the confidence of the Malfoy heir, adopting a look of reluctant obedience. Lucius stared down at him; although the past few days had given him time to relax his shot nerves, and the potion he had asked Severus to make for him to ease the effects of the Crutiatus had worked beautifully, as always, Lucius’ anger was still leaking out edgewise. Draco noticed with his peripheral vision that the taller man’s hands were curled up into fists, and that was enough to bear warning. Draco was grateful for Harry’s company throughout the past few days within his sanctuary, as it would have been very bad for his health had he stumbled into Lucius’ path.

Suddenly Lucius offered his hand and Draco accepted, signaling the end of the summer with a terse, business-like handshake. When Draco loosened his fingers, however, the other man held on, grasping much too tightly for Draco’s peace of mind. The blonde youth was suddenly aware of how small and fine-boned his hand was compared to his father’s; it seemed to disappear underneath the unnecessary pressure. He tried not to wince as the bones were forced together. Then Lucius leaned forward until he was speaking into the perfect shell of his son’s ear, delighting at the boy’s invisible tremor.

"I trust you will do your best in school this year, my son," there was a slight cracking sound on the word "son", "despite our... other engagements. There will be no excuses. Understand?"

"Yes, Father."

Lucius’ smile was feral as he drew back, releasing his iron grip. Draco’s hand limply dropped to his side.

"Very well," Lucius said, adopting the curt tone fitting for any pure blood parent. "Unfortunately, Draco, I have some... previous commitments to attend to, so I will not be able see you off to Hogwarts this year. Your mother shall escort you, instead. I look forward to seeing you again during the Christmas holidays."

Draco nodded and waited for his father to Apparate away before following Narcissa, who was already halfway out the door. He gave Harry ample time to slide through in front of him as he left, not sparing a second glance at Malfoy Mansion as he left. He walked down a long cobblestone pathway lined with flawless rows of rare flowers. Waiting in front of him was an elegant carriage painted with the darkest black lacquer. The Malfoy family crest, a powerful dragon with its two wings spread to their fullest extent, was engraved in platinum, gleaming in the late morning sun. When each elegant decoration, trim, and polish was scrutinized with a trained eye, it was clear that the magically drawn carriage was of the highest quality, a perfection that was unavailable to the common citizens of the Wizarding community. However, all in all, the thing had a distinctly dark aura about it that beckoned discreet second glances and unspoken apprehension from the crowd as it parted in a smooth serpent’s trail. It was then that the windows would be noticed; they were tinted with a deep red, providing mystery and suspicion as to the dark secrets contained beneath such a proper aristocratic image.

Narcissa stepped into the front compartment of the carriage as it was held open for her by a quaking house elf; Minny’s unfortunate demise had not yet been forgotten. The creature closed the door, taking special care not to catch the pearl-lined hem of his mistress’ many layered silk robes. Then the house elf scurried to open the other door, keeping his saucer-sized eyes lowered as Draco stepped ever closer. Then, so quiet that Harry had to strain his ears to hear, Draco whispered, "Go ahead of me and get inside. I’ll take my time; they wouldn’t dare to complain." Harry lightly touched the Slytherin’s shoulder to show that he had understood before getting into the rear compartment. He slid all the way to one side, to allow Draco as much room as possible, which was quite a lot. Like most magical vehicles, the carriage was larger on the inside than one would suspect. The Gryffindor briefly wondered where Draco’s trunk was, and reasoned that it was probably stored in yet another section of the coach; there was no telling how large the thing was. After all, mere camping tents could be spelled to contain entire households, as he had learned at the Quidditch World Cup a year before.

Narcissa was sitting in front with her back turned to him, a perfectly sculpted statuette of upper-class society. There was a window of the same red color as the outer ones that divided the compartments, though it was relatively easy to see through. The bench he sat on was more like a cozy couch, deep enough to sink into and covered with the softest of plush velvets. The fabric was a rich royal violet that shifted with blood reds to match the windows. Looking up, Harry noticed that there were curtains of the same material held back from the spun glass by Corinthian style platinum hooks. He was so caught up in the dark beauty of the area that he barely noticed when Draco sat beside him and the door shut.

As the carriage began to move, Harry saw that his lover was cradling his battered hand to his chest. Warily, just in case Narcissa should break out of her marble casing to cast a glance over her shoulder, he reached out from beneath his cloak and took Draco’s hand in his own. He marveled at the softness of his skin as he traced reverently over the delicate curve of knuckle, mapping out ghostly blue veins and lightly massaging the palm.

Draco exhaled and let his lids flicker over his eyes at the caress. Though it had been only for a mere few hours, the morning had been stressful for him. He had ordered for his food to be brought up to his room, not wishing to face his father too soon, and thus making the meal a much calmer affair than it otherwise would have been. His act of smuggling Harry out of the house, however, was another thing. Each step had only increased the sound of blood rushing through his ears and the perspiration soaking his palms. He was certain that Lucius had felt his fear; the man was a monster, after all, and all creatures of the devil could smell fear. There was even a moment when, as that thing that called himself his father had smothered his hand in a literally bone-crushing embrace, he thought that the older man was aware of the boy breathing hard and hidden just a few feet away. It had been a great liberation to find that he would just have his mother to deal with on the way to King’s Cross. She was, after all, empty and emotionless and fickle, simply a figurehead wife and mother for the Malfoy family. She would bear an heir, namely Draco, and then her meaning in life was over, and she was meant to spend the rest of her days absolutely content in her neglected environment. Even if she thought something was amiss, her worries would not be voiced; she was to be seen and not heard.

Draco leaned into his invisible companion, curling up into the warmth Harry offered as much as possible without looking conspicuous, as it would look strange should anyone see a boy leaning on air, wizard or not. After a thought, Draco stretched his arm across the other boy and unhooked the curtains. He did the same with the ones on his other side, as well as those that claimed the dividing window, smirking as Narcissa vanished from sight in a swish of fabric. The section she sat in was an area designated for Lucius’ more ‘innocent’ visitors. Usually those from the Ministry would be given a position in the front, with Lucius playing the great host and making it seem like a privilege, all the while trying to gain some privacy in the rear compartment with some of his more shadowy business associates.

The smooth glass’s properties were spelled so that they acted on the intent of the speakers in the back: should the covert group wish no one to hear them, a shrewd silence would blanket those in the front, leaving them blissfully ignorant of the conversation going on in the back. Also, if Lucius, as he had designed and activated the spells himself, thought it best for the Ministry workers and other government officials to hear at least a small part of what he discussed, a few well-meaning phrases could seep through, and the listener would categorize it as his or her own "selective hearing". The final addition was that those in the back were granted an unobstructed flow of reports from the people in front of them, leaving the speaker completely unaware that the enemy was listening to what he should not have been.

Although the magic used was simple and, surprisingly, quite legal, it was also incredibly useful. This filtered passing of words allowed Lucius and others of Voldemort’s followers to "accidentally" give incorrect information to the Ministry without sounding guilty themselves. There were many times when a few misheard snippets of sentences could lead fully trained Aurors down a tangent that would lead them into an unknown alley in some Muggle inner-city area. Lucius had had many laughs and given many toasts to his fellow Death Eaters as they watched Cornelius Fudge enthusiastically commit grand amounts of money to the tracking of falsely paved trails.

Though these cleverly engaged spells would allow Draco to scream at the top of his lungs without being heard, he preferred to keep his voice soft. Time spent with Harry was something to be cherished and handled with care. One wrong move, one carelessly spoken insult, and it would shatter. Keeping this in mind, he whispered, "You can talk now if you want, and take off the cloak. It’s pretty safe. Just keep it near you for when we reach King’s Cross."

Harry nodded and shrugged off his cover. Then he lifted one leg up, shifting in his seat, and pulled Draco against his chest, settling him in between his legs. He reached around the other boy to hold his broken hand, taking special care to avoid touching the angry purple bruise that had begun to form. Draco melted back into him, sighing as he felt a kiss pressed against the top of his head.

"Hey, Harry?"

A slight pause. "Yeah?"

"When... when we get to Hogwarts, I’ll need to let Dumbledore know about this," he moved his left arm. "I don’t exactly know the way to his office, or the password, for that matter... could you come with me?"

Harry smiled; admitting that he did not know something was not a common practice of the proud Draco Malfoy. "Of course. What do you plan on doing?"

"If I’m going to have this... this thing on my arm, the least I could do is put it to good use."

"A double agent?"

A sigh. "Yes, if I can manage it."

Harry pulled him closer. "Well, you won’t be alone. Spying, I mean."

Draco turned to face him, eyes wide. "Who else?"

Smirking, "Our esteemed Potions professor."

"That certainly explains a lot." The Slytherin was thoughtful as he shifted back into his original position.

"Oh?"

"During the meetings... both, actually," here Draco’s voice broke, and he fought to catch his thoughts. Harry knew it was best not to speak; he pressed his lips against the soft, white gold hair to compensate for his silence. "I remember that he was standing next to me, and... I think he was actually shaking. I mean, I could certainly understand his fear, Merlin, there were times I thought I would faint, but he’d had more experience before. It was especially strange the first time, when You-Kn-, Voldemort," he shivered, "was actually in a relatively good mood. He’d found your address…." Draco trailed off.

Harry nodded briefly. I thought I was going to die that night….

"Well," he continued, "it makes more sense now; he was obviously afraid of getting caught…."

A notion fluttered through Harry’s mind. What if he already was caught…? He pushed that idea aside. It would not do to make Draco more worried then he really was. He decided to tweak the conversation a bit.

"What do you think of him? Snape, I mean."

Unfortunately, Slytherins tended to have a natural alarm that flares when Gryffindors are trying to be sneaky, no matter how good their intentions are. It wasn’t half-bad for a Gryffie, though. I’ll let it slide... this time. Draco smirked, knowing that his lover could not see it.

"Well, I know originally that the only reason he favored me was because of Lucius... the Code of Villainous Honor, you know. He was obligated. But, I came to talk to him over the years; he is my Head of House, after all. It wasn’t much, just asking for a pass to the restricted section, a question about Potions, y’know, that sort of thing. Sometime ago, I think he must have realized that I would never become one of them of my own free will, long before I noticed it. I started to talk to him about more... personal things, I guess. It seems so... trivial now, but it helped. He’s become more of a father to me than Lucius ever was." Then Draco grinned devilishly. "He even lets me call him Severus – no, don’t look at me like that, and yes, I know you’re scowling – when we’re in private. I’ve abused that privilege a bit too much, though."

The blond laughed. Harry smiled, realizing that he had never heard his lover truly laugh before. He had snickered and mocked, teased and tricked, but he had never let this bell-like sound escape his lips before. He really should laugh more often.

"I guess he’s okay then, huh?"

"Yes."

Suddenly an engine sounded in the distance. Draco turned around, winced as he accidentally banged his right hand against the side of the couch, Good thing I’m left-handed, and looked out the window. He sat up.

"We’re about two minutes from King’s Cross."

"Draco? What are we going to do about, y’know... us, and the school, and your father and…."

Draco thought for a moment. Then, gradually, the corners of his mouth pulled up into a conniving smirk. "Well, I expect you will tell Weasel and Mudblo-"

"Ron and Hermione."

"Right. As I was saying, I expect you’ll tell Ron and Hermione, and I’ll definitely have to tell Severus…."

"And Dumbledore will figure it out on his own," Harry added.

"As for Lucius... well, Daddy Dearest wanted me to focus more on my studies and my, err, extracurricular activities this year, so of course I’ll have no time to spend tormenting my beloved enemy." He ruffled Harry’s already messy raven hair. The other boy grinned.

The carriage came to an efficient stop, smooth and almost unnoticeable except for the change in momentum, and Harry disappeared underneath his invisibility cloak.

---

"Harry!"

"Oof!" Harry’s glasses were knocked askew by the force of Hermione’s embrace.

"Hey, where were you, mate? We though you were late. Mum’s been worried sick, and the twins were getting restless," Ron said as he sat down across from his friend. It was lightly spoken, almost as if the youngest Weasley son were afraid that Harry might break at any sudden movement. Whatever it was, Harry decided that he did not care for it.

He considered his answer, though it was a bit hard to concentrate when his friends were watching him like birds of prey. "Well, I got here a bit early, actually, so you must not have seen me." At least it’s partly true. Of course Harry knew that his friends would assume that "a bit early" meant he was practically the first one there. What they did not know was that although Harry had arrived with plenty of time to spare, he had also crept onto the train, the storage car to be exact, while still covered by his invisibility cloak. It would not do for him to be seen in the company of Draco Malfoy, so they split up as soon as the carriage had pulled up. Once inside, Harry had enlarged his trunk and relieved himself of his father’s family heirloom, his logic for his safety at using magic this time being, If ‘Mione can fix my glasses without an uproar before the school year even starts, then I can certainly do this.

When he finished, it had been a simple matter to find his usual compartment and wait patiently. Now, as Hermione awkwardly fiddled with the year’s Charms textbook and it was becoming apparent that Ron was careful to look anywhere except his long-time best friend, a stark contrast to his earlier protective behavior, Harry almost wished he had stayed invisible. He sighed. "Is something wrong?"

Ron’s fiery head jerked back up and Hermione cut her finger while flipping a page in her book. Seeing Harry’s hurt look, Ron smiled. "No, nothing. We just weren’t sure if you wanted to talk after... y’know, what happened during the Tri-Wizard Tournament and all. I mean, you seemed a bit distant in your letters over the summer, and when you said you didn’t want to come visit like usual, well…." Ron hopelessly spread his hands and Hermione looked up from the large tomb.

Harry was touched. Whatever he had expected, it certainly was not this careful understanding, especially from the boisterous redhead. He had assumed that Ron would still be a bit touchy over their quarrel the year before, and that the only reason why Ron had acted civil during the past few months was because of Hermione’s insistence. Harry was pleased that this was not the case. He gave a weary, yet genuine, smile. "I was grieving, Ron, Mione. I needed time. The pain... it hasn’t completely gone away, and I don’t expect that it ever will, but I’m better now."

Hermione shot Ron a look that clearly said "I told you so" before twisting so that the silver badge on her shirt caught the light. Harry laughed internally. "I see you’ve been made Prefect this year, eh, ‘Mione?"

Ron groaned. "Please, don’t remind her. She’s been bragging about it all summer."

The brunet ignored him and put her book down, making sure to mark her place. "I was just reminding him that with all of the revising and preparation for our O.W.L.S., the advanced courses, the extra Political History and Magical Law classes I’ll be taking, and, of course, my responsibilities as a Prefect, I won’t have much time to go romping around the castle with you two like we did when we were children." Somewhere during her speech – which was miraculously spoken in one breath – Ron had taken to staring at the ceiling in a purposefully obvious manner. It took much of Harry’s willpower to keep from cracking up on the spot. Hermione noticed and rolled her eyes before burying her nose in the leather-bound volume again.

After that, conversation was considerably lighter, and by the time they had decided to get changed into their school robes their earlier worries had been forgotten. It feels good to be home, Harry mused.

---

Meanwhile, a few compartments down, Draco was not having as easy a time. It had been five minutes since he had sat down in blessed silence and turned to stare out the window when his bodyguards had shown up. Normally, they provided a sense of safety, and the knowledge that no one could touch him, at least not physically. Now, however, all they brought was uneasiness. He shifted uncomfortably in their presence, making it a point to acknowledge them with little more than a curt nod when they shuffled into the small space.

Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle had been instructed to guard their blond charge since birth, just as their fathers had for Lucius. They were to shadow him, intimidate his foes, and, if it was called for, deal with those who threatened him. But most importantly, they were to report to the older generations when it was demanded of them.

As Slytherins, they had their own ambitions, wishes for power and wealth, however simple-minded they were. Though they were not at all skilled in forming intricate plans, and their schoolwork was atrocious, they had a steel-set determination when it was needed. Give either one of them the plainest idea, the slightest inkling that there was more prestige to be gained elsewhere, and they were ruthless. There was an advantage to their hulking minds that was often overlooked, namely the ability to see from ‘A’ to point ‘B’, ignoring, or perhaps just not seeing, any inconveniences in between. And it was, perhaps, their particularly slow minds that made them twice as dangerous, for any regret would only be considered after an action was performed.

That is, if they regretted it at all.

Much of this ran through the back of Draco’s mind as he stared straight ahead, his expressions plastered into the dependable, emotionless portrait that he had adopted long ago. Now, after the stoic features had been chiseled into his natural habits after so many years, there were only three people in the world who ever saw beyond his mask.

The first two coaxed his passions and worries from his being with gentleness. It was Severus, and now Harry, for whom he would reveal the boy that was just "Draco", and no one else. The third, however…

"DRACO!"

…just got on his nerves.

"Ugh, get off me, Parkinson."

"But Draaaaco, I wanna see it." She reached for his left arm and he batted her away, cringing. She pouted, which only succeeded in emphasizing the unfortunate upturn of her nose.

"What’s wrong, Draco?"

Draco turned, very slowly, all the time protecting his left arm and wounded right hand from Pansy’s reach. He faced her and dropped his mask of cool compliance to show what he was truly feeling: rage. When he spoke, his voice was soft and low, though not the rumbling smoke and caramelized sugar that led to fire as Lucius always used. Draco’s voice was smooth and watery, so soft that Pansy had to lean in to hear it, despite the way it seemed to reverberate within the small cabin. It was like a sheet of the most delicate silk... encasing a dagger.

"Don’t. Touch. Me. You don’t have the right. You will only hear this once, so don’t make me repeat myself. Stay. Away. From me. I don’t care what you do, or whom you’re with, but I suggest you keep your distance. I have too many things to deal with this year, and I will not have you interfering. Understood?"

He did not wait for an answer. Instead, he took advantage of her terrified silence and swept out the compartment, momentarily glancing back to send a message to his ever-watchful henchmen. Dim as they were, they caught his unspoken order with perfect clarity: "Make sure she doesn’t follow."

Draco smirked as he left. At least they’re still good for something.

He made his way through the train, stopping once he reached the cabin right next to the one he knew Harry was in. A group of curious first years stared at him openly as he sat down and closed his eyes. He sighed as he heard to the voices drifting through the wall. If he could not sit with Harry, then at least he could still listen to him.

---

The horseless carriage ride had been relatively uneventful, with the exception that Neville had to run to catch one of the rickety old things as they had started to move. The boy was relatively quiet this year: not so much of a "nervous" quiet, but more of a "thoughtful" quiet. Harry sighed; it was probably due to Voldemort’s recent excursions. Another reason to feel guilty.

Upon disembarking, he caught a flash of pale gold in the crowd framing a set of liquid silver irises. Harry nodded meaningfully before turning towards his friends. He would, most likely, have to give some probable excuse for leaving, so why not be honest? After all, the best lie is always the truth.

He pulled them into a corner. Neither protested; they had seen the urgent look in his eyes. "Listen," he whispered, "I’m going to see the headmaster before the feast starts; I had some strange visions over the summer, Voldemort-," here Ron grimaced, "-visions."

Hermione suddenly looked very worried. "What do you think he’s doing? Is it really that serious? Were they bad?"

"They weren’t normal, that’s for sure. Well, at least as normal as they could be. Don’t wait up for me; it might take a while. If I end up missing the feast, that’s okay. I’ll be by later in the common room if that happens." That’ll give me time to spend with Draco afterwards.

Hermione nodded. "All right, Harry. We’ll see you later." With that, she dragged Ron off to meet with the rest of the Gryffindor fifth years.

---

Harry found Draco waiting in a shadowed corner near the entrance to the Great Hall. They embraced; Harry noticed that his lover’s heart was pounding. "You ready?" he asked.

"Yes."

They made their way through the ancient, winding corridors and trick staircases of Hogwarts until Harry stopped at a large stone gargoyle.

"Now this is the fun part." He started guessing random magical and muggle candies, ignoring the incredulous looks that Draco was shooting at him. The blond jumped slightly when the gargoyle suddenly came to life and moved to the side at an uttered "Sugar Quills", revealing a gaping mouth in the wall. Smirking, Harry led him up the stairs and knocked on the oak door once before it swung open.

For the first time in all his years at Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore looked surprised to see him. The peculiar glance faded after a moment, however, and Harry wondered if he had just imagined it.

"Harry, my boy, come in." The headmaster’s voice was soft. "And Mister Malfoy, this is a treat. Please, sit, sit. Would you like a lemon drop, or maybe some tea?"

Draco just stared, stunned slightly at the century and a half old man enthusiastically offering him sweets. Harry waved the dish away and sat down on the modest sofa across from Dumbledore’s chair, beckoning for Draco to follow his lead. "No thank you, Professor."

"Something tells me that this is not a social call."

Harry shifted slightly. "Well, Draco," a bushy white eyebrow shot up, "has something he needs to tell you."

The bright blue gaze shifted to the blonde. Deliberately, the Slytherin pulled back the sleeve of his robe, revealing the harsh skull and serpent of Voldemort’s legions. The headmaster appeared unfazed at first, but then an all-knowing smile peeked out from beneath his beard. He met Draco’s unwilling eyes, holding his gaze, seriously. "I’m very proud of you Mister Malfoy... Draco."

He reached back to his desk and lifted a small golden bell. He shook it once, but no sound came out. It must have had some effect, though, because out of nowhere a familiar person appeared.

"Dobby!"

"Harry Potter, sir!" Harry suddenly found himself with an armful of inadequately clothed house elf.

"Oof! How are you, Dobby?"

"Dobby is doing very well. Dobby is enjoying his paying job at Hogwarts, and…." He trailed off when he noticed Draco, who was staring at him in a mix of suspicion and awe.

"Young Master Malfoy!" The creature squeaked. Draco smiled, sadly, inclining his head. Had he really scared them that much?

"Excuse me, Dobby…."

"Is Headmaster Dumbledore wanting something from Dobby?"

"Yes. Could you please fetch Professor Snape? He should be in the dungeons." As if he’s ever anywhere else, Harry added.

The house elf vanished not a moment later, leaving the other three people to sit in an uncomfortable silence. Draco leaned towards Harry, almost imperceptibly, as they waited. Dumbledore was deep in thought; he even started when a terse knock sounded at the door.

"Come in, Severus."

The Potions master entered, his scowl deepening when he saw that Harry was there. He swept past in a flurry of black robes, gracefully sitting on the remaining chair, though he seemed to falter. The motion was ignored, but Harry noticed.

Without a word, Draco displayed his arm. Snape’s eyes widened, but then his attention was drawn to the boy’s other hand. It was starting to swell with vicious purples and reds around the fracture. He flicked his eyes back to Draco’s for an explanation.

"Lucius."

Snape nodded in understanding.

Dumbledore coughed to get everybody’s attention. "Well, young man," he said, "what are you planning to do?" It was obvious that he already knew the answer, but he preferred to hear it from the source.

Draco swallowed. "I... I don’t want to be Lucius’ puppet. Not anymore. If I could... I would like to spy, if that’s okay with you."

Severus intercepted before the headmaster could grant his acceptance to the request. "Think hard on this, Mister Malfoy. Spying... it’s a very dangerous business. The chances of being discovered are very high, and the prices higher. Do you think that you are ready to pay them?"

"Yes." It was spoken without hesitation.

The Head of Slytherin sighed. "Very well."

"Welcome to the Light, Draco." If Dumbledore’s smile were any bigger it would have split the sides of his face.

Suddenly Harry recalled something from deep within the recesses of his memories. "Professor Snape?" The glare focused on him again. "Last year... during Voldemort’s return... he said something about a ‘missing Death Eater’, one that ‘left him forever’, or something like that. He said he would be killed. Professor, I think that was you. What if... what if you’re caught?"

Albus coughed a second time. Something unidentifiable flickered through Snape’s onyx eyes. "I... I have already been discovered." Oh. So that explained the limp.

Sensing the man’s uneasiness, Harry tactfully changed the focus of the conversation. There were other things that needed to be dealt with, anyway.

"Um... Professor? I don’t know if you found out, but I had to use magic a few times at the end of the summer, and…." He trailed off. Dumbledore’s eyes had lost their familiar sparkle. Something’s wrong, he thought.

"I took care of that, Harry. The Ministry, or at least the main branch, which unfortunately controls all military aspects of the magical government, had a hard enough time covering up the attack on your home. That’s why no one knows about it: they had to be efficient if they were to hide your death from the public." Harry gaped. "Yes, Harry, that’s why I was so surprised to see you: I thought that you…." He did not bother to finish. There was no need to.

The headmaster suddenly felt all of his one hundred and forty plus years pile up on him at once. His body seemed very heavy, and old joints began to throb. "The Death Eaters... Harry, the Dursleys are dead. I’m sorry."

The room was still for a moment. Harry was shocked. He stared into the space ahead of him, green eyes blank and mortally dull. Draco reached over and touched the Gryffindor’s left hand with his unbroken one. "Harry…."

"No. No, that can’t be. Oh, no. No, no, no...." he broke off, his voice cracking, horribly. Fiery liquid rusted over his cheeks and he began to shake. Draco pulled the boy into a strong, protective embrace, not caring who saw. Harry curled up against his lover, freely sobbing into the strong chest. It was then that the blond understood how physically fragile The Boy Who Lived was. He’s so light, he marveled, no one should be this light. He brought a hand down Harry’s spine, feeling the curved ribs peeking out underneath his fingertips. Draco’s eyes widened. His family starved him... they starved him and he still grieves for them.

The tears were still coming. Wordlessly, Dumbledore stood up and gestured to the Malfoy heir, leading his two students into the rooms attached to his office, with Draco supporting the smaller boy the whole way. He collapsed gratefully onto a large bed that the headmaster had skillfully transfigured from a small coffee table. Then Albus held up a note for Draco to see. It read:

"I’ll send Madame Pomfrey up in a little while to fix your hand."

Draco nodded and turned back to his precious charge, not hearing as the door closed. Harry continued to cry until his lungs seemed to collapse from exhaustion, leaving him empty as the final tremors of the flood spilled out. He felt achy and raw as his mind began to shut down. He would have been very cold, as well, had it not been for the pair of warm arms securely wrapped around him and the second heart he felt beating through his back.

---

Lucius Malfoy stomped through his mansion, each heavy footstep shaking the building’s foundation. He was livid. A few years ago, when he noticed that his son was not in a predictable location during the day, he had cast a spell that would allow him to see the boy’s course through their home. He had used it many times, but, unfortunately, the trail never led to the same place. Often he would find himself at a dead end, or in the same place he had started from. There was, of course, only one explanation.

The house was playing with him.

It could not be helped, as magical buildings always did as they pleased, but he could certainly take out his anger on inanimate objects. Abruptly he kicked a door to his right. It swung open, hitting the wall on the inside of the room with an old, hollow sound. It echoed. Curious, Lucius stepped inside, only to find an old storage room. He was about to leave, when a flickering light caught his eye. He turned back, gasping at what he saw.

---

Strong arms circled around his chest. A moist breath tickled his neck. He leaned back, smiling, contentedly. "Hello, Love…."

A kiss, light and passionate, just below his ear. "I missed you…."

---

Lucius clenched his fists. The glittering eyes were mocking him. He turned his gaze to the floor, just to have it drawn back up again.

---

The blindfold was lifted. "Surprise! What do you think?"

A sharp inhalation. "Oh…."

The scent of rose petals clung to his nose. Silver and gold encrusted candles floated sparingly around the room, surrounding a magnificent four-poster bed with silk sheets in royal purple. His skin tingled. He shifted his gaze to see his lover’s dark brown eyes searching for his, hope and lust and love apparent in their endless depths. He drowned.

"It’s wonderful... thank you…."

---

The eyes were laughing, now. His nails were beginning to draw blood. It wove its way through the creases in his palms, falling to the red-brown floor covering inaudibly. Lucius ignored it. It would be the same color when it dried.

---

"You’re leaving me?"

A sigh. "Lucius, you know I can’t be with you if... if I have to share you. If you loved me, you wouldn’t be doing this. You wouldn’t be choosing your parents’ wishes over what we have... had. Listen, I’ve... I’ve found someone else, too. I think I love her... but it’s your choice."

"You know it’s not possible…."

Wearily, "I hope you have a nice life, love."

Then a parting kiss, so soft and tender and filled to the brim with bittersweet poison. A swirl of robes, a gust of wind, an eternity, and he was gone.

---

Lucius reached out to touch the soft fabric, but stopped short. No. It was not his right, not anymore. Brokenly, he turned and left the room, closing the door behind him.

He knew that, if he looked in the same place tomorrow, it would not be there.

"Damn you, James."

VI: Amber Gold

"Harry…."

He was floating, hovering between a world of sweet black nothingness and a world where gentle fingers ran through his hair.

"Harry... we missed the feast. You need to wake up."

No. Awake meant consciousness. Awake meant reality, where his back broke under unbearable weight like some sort of modern Atlas.

"Come on. Open your eyes, Harry."

Awake also meant that Draco would be there.

Bright green eyes fluttered open. Draco smiled, and Harry decided that it was worth the burden on his shoulders. "Hello."

"How are you feeling?"

Harry considered. "Better, I think. Tired, but better." He seized the hand that was absently stroking his hair. It looked considerably less swollen beneath the tan bandage that was now wrapped around the break. He held it to his chest like a security blanket. "What time is it?"

"Time for both of us to get back to our common rooms. Your friends will be worried, and mine will be suspicious."

Reluctantly they made their way back through the headmaster’s office, from which he was conspicuously absent. After a parting embrace and a meaningful glance at the base of the stairs, they went their separate ways.

---

Once Harry reached the entrance to his House, he realized that he did not know the Gryffindor password. Somewhat agitated, he convinced the Fat Lady in the portrait to get someone from the common room. A first year appeared and turned aside to let Harry in before scurrying back to a small group of other new students. Then he turned to look towards the fireplace and was not surprised to see that his friends had stayed awake for him. He raised an eyebrow when he noticed the way Hermione was leaning closer than necessary to Ron, and thought it best not to comment on it.

"Hey."

Immediately they spun to face him. Hermione’s breath caught when she saw his reddened face and puffy eyes. He had obviously been crying. "Oh, Harry, what’s wrong?"

The raven-haired boy gave a lopsided smile and sat down on the maroon couch next to them. He knew that he could not tell them everything, but some things needed to be shared among friends. "There was a... a Death Eater attack on my house. I escaped," Not a complete lie, he thought, "but Fudge covered it up." A collective gasp sounded. "There’s more. They... they killed the Dursleys."

Hermione got up from her place at Ron’s side and sat down next to Harry, squeezing him with all the strength she could muster without breaking his ribs. "I’m so sor-"

"Don’t apologize," he snapped, then, at her hurt look, instantly regretted it. He sighed. "Sorry. This hasn’t been the best day." She nodded knowingly, even though she barely grasped half of what had happened. Ron, however, was looking confused.

"But I thought you hated them, Harry. They treated you horribly. Wouldn’t you be glad they’re dead?"

Harry’s eyes flashed with fury for a moment, but then softened. Ron had a very close-knit family, and the idea that his best friend’s own blood had neglected him and treated him like a slave was frightening. It was hard for him to understand, but Harry patiently tried to explain anyway.

"I know they were cruel, Ron, but, despite all that, they were still my family. I wouldn’t wish death on anyone," he paused, "except maybe Voldemort."

The redhead chuckled. Harry was joking, and that was a good sign.

Hermione tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned to accept the modest off-white envelope she was holding out to him. "Professor McGonagall came by during the feast and told us to give this to you. It didn’t reach your house because of…." She trailed off. "Well, anyway, it might make you feel better." Hermione smiled, broadly, showing off her attractive set of white, and now perfectly sized, teeth.

Curiously, Harry opened the letter. He gaped when he read its contents.

"Dear Mister Harry Potter:

I am pleased to inform you that due to your exemplary confidence and natural ability as a leader, you have been selected to serve as one of the Hogwarts Prefects in your year. Should you decide not to accept this high honor and the responsibilities that come with it, please inform a member of the faculty, if not the headmaster himself, so that another student may be chosen to take your place in due time.

As a Prefect, you will have the ability to take and give points from those deserving, as well as the privilege to stay out an hour later past curfew, perhaps even longer, should an emergency occur. You will also be given free access to the Restricted Section of the library without need of a pass, so long as Madame Pince is well aware of your location. Also, you will be responsible for helping new students in adjusting to the curriculum and finding their way around the school.

Should you abuse these privileges in any way, or should your grades drop below average at any time (without good reason), the faculty will not hesitate to strip you of your badge and your rank as Prefect.

Meetings with your fellow Prefects, as well as the Head Boy and Head Girl, will be held to exchange passwords, deal with misdemeanors, and plan social events, in the drawing room near the teacher’s lounge. The password for this week, or until otherwise altered, is ‘peace’. Below is a list of the other fifth year Prefects, along with their Houses.

Gryffindor: Granger, Hermione
Potter, Harry

Hufflepuff: Abbot, Hannah
Finch-Fletchley, Justin

Ravenclaw: Boot, Terry
Turpin, Lisa

Slytherin: Malfoy, Draco
Zabini, Blaise

Lastly, the password to the Gryffindor common room is ‘fire sprite’. Good luck, and enjoy your year.

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry"

Harry reread the letter twice, three times, trying to memorize every word. He barely noticed when the gleaming Prefect’s badge slipped from the discarded envelope and fell at his feet with a muted "thump". Gradually, a broad grin began to light up his face. Sure, the position brought more things for him to deal with, but it also gave him an opportunity to see his lover after hours or during meetings, even if they could not openly express their affection during the latter. Hermione, seeing his smile, was quite pleased that she had helped him forget about the recent tragedies, at least for the time being. She was sure all of them would sleep easier that night.

---

It was cold, dark, and lonely, just the way he liked it.

Severus Snape’s long, thin hands held a long, white-feathered quill as he made notes on a piece of parchment in his elegant, dagger-like handwriting. His mind raced and looped around theories and possibilities as he flipped through endless tombs, just as he had been doing since his rather intense meeting with Albus. He spared an inky black glance at the clock. It was well past midnight, and he needed to get at least a halfway decent amount of sleep if he was to deal with his incompetent class of Gryffindor and Slytherin fifth years in the morning. Slowly he leaned back into the old, antique leather chair that had served him for so many years, wearily rubbing marble-white fingertips against his temples.

Severus’ thoughts drifted to the latest developments among the school population, particularly those of his young protégé, Draco Malfoy, and that Potter boy. Of all the important discoveries and confessions that had taken place in the headmaster’s office that night, it was the more romantic turn of events in the students’ relationship that worried him the most. It was also why he was sorting through dusty volumes in the middle of the night.

He remembered what had happened so long ago, when he had been an awkward, friendless young boy, still innocent for all his razor-sharp tongue and wit. An exceptionally intelligent child, Severus had entered Hogwarts a year early, and therefore looked to the older students in his House and year for guidance in more non-academic matters. At the time, the primary candidate had been Lucius Malfoy. He was strong, confident, charismatic, and seemed to have total control over his life. It was, however, Severus’ enthusiastic admiration of the blond that had gotten the younger boy into trouble with Lord Voldemort in the following years.

Nevertheless, he studied the handsome aristocrat, always looking for clues and occasionally asking for advice, although it was done with much more discretion and pride than that irritating juvenile with the camera. To him, as a scared, underage Potions prodigy, Lucius was perfect in every way that he was not. So perfect, in fact, that it came as a total shock when, sometime during his fifth year, he stumbled upon his role model engaging in heated kisses with the Gryffindor Golden Boy of the times, James Potter. They did not see him, busy as they were, so he had hastily turned and run in the opposite direction.

It was bizarre; no sane person could have seen their relationship coming. When the younger Slytherin had asked Lucius about it, his roommate, who had become quite fond of the dark-eyed boy over the years, answered with some strange nonsense about a family heirloom, his whimsical tone reflecting that of Sibyl Trelawney, the Gryffindor airhead who bore an incurable obsession with Divination.

He had forgotten about it for two reasons: first of all, it was Lucius’ business, and, as all Slytherins knew, it best not to tell everyone everything, no matter how much they could be trusted. Severus respected this. Secondly, however, the fourteen-year-old had begun to develop similar interest in another one of the Gryffindor Four, namely Remus Lupin. The boy’s amber-gold eyes and quiet, polite demeanor appealed to him in a way that he had thought himself immune to. He kept his distance, though, wanting to stay as far away from the notorious Sirius Black as possible.

It would have been easy had Remus not, a week later, come to him asking for help with Potions homework. Severus was forced to control his enthusiasm at the request, but, as Severus Snape was Severus Snape, it was not so hard to accomplish.

For the next year and a half, the two worked together, both attracted, for the Slytherin was sure he had sensed those wolf-like eyes on his back during meals, but neither was ready to open up to and trust the other. Both had substantial reasons for their hesitancy, as well, considering Remus’ lycanthropy and Severus’ prestigious, darkly inclined family. Nevertheless, they still found comfort in each other, an intimacy that never went past a light touch or an embrace.

Then, in their seventh year, when they were both achingly close, the world came crashing down. It had been stupidity coupled with a healthy dosing of jealousy that pushed Remus’ ex-lover Sirius Black over the edge. Although the two had broken up to save their friendship a few weeks before the werewolf had noticed Severus, Sirius still considered Remus to be his property. It was Sirius who set up the cruel Whomping Willow incident, and it had been James who saved Severus on Lucius’ behalf. Unfortunately, the plan was successful, and Severus’ liaison with Remus had ended before it ever had a chance to begin.

Over twelve years passed, and the Slytherin was still bitter when Remus came to teach. In public, Severus had no problems with letting his former friend know exactly how he felt about a prank that the latter had not even been aware of. In private, however, they started back at the beginning, with averted gazes and choked words. Only to have it destroyed by Sirius Black a second time.

Still, as he sat there, eyes closed in a moment of peace that many would not have believed possible for such a man, Severus was grateful for what had happened.

He was grateful that he had seen the hurt in Remus’ eyes when he had exposed his status as a werewolf.

He was grateful that he had finally had the sense to apologize after more than a decade.

He was grateful that, now, as he opened his eyes and saw the most breath-taking shade of amber-gold glittering at him, he saw trust, compassion, forgiveness, and, most importantly, love.

It was still cold, and it was still dark, but it did not feel as lonely anymore.

VII: Hands Of The Ages

"Starting today and continuing for the rest of the year will be strict seating arrangements in my class. The headmaster has decided that, in answer to the escalating rivalry between Houses, your partners shall be of the opposite House. If anyone has a problem with that, come and see me after class to… deal with it." Snape glared around the room, making it clear that he would not be tolerating the complaints of whiny children. He sneered when a few students shriveled under his intense stare before continuing. "The pairing will go as follows: Granger and Parkinson, front seats on the right. Malfoy and Potter, front and center. Longbottom and Zabini, front and to the left. Weasley and Goyle, behind Granger and Parkinson…." He continued in his deep baritone, sounding very much like a drill sergeant, until everyone had, albeit very reluctantly, seated themselves in their designated positions.

Harry’s heart sped up as he plopped down on Draco’s right and began setting up his materials for the class. He touched the blond’s bandaged hand under the desk before snatching it back. Hermione was sitting to his right and Ron was behind her, and he could not risk them discovering his new relationship with Draco, not yet at least. It was worth the risk, though, for the barely perceptible smile that played on Draco’s face.

"Mister Potter…." Harry’s heart sped up. Snape already knew about him and Draco but there was no saying he would not pass up an opportunity to make Harry’s life miserable. "I expect that, with Mister Malfoy’s hand in its current condition, you will take care of the more... physical aspect of today’s class."

Harry dully nodded and the black gaze was turned to his partner.

"Mister Malfoy, am I correct in assuming that you will not be able to write either?"

"I’m left-handed, sir."

A dark eyebrow shot up. "Very well, then." He uttered a quick spell and the white chalk began writing ingredients and a recipe on the board as he gave his lecture to the class. "The potion we will be brewing today should, given that no one is fool enough to confuse the ingredients," a pointed look towards Neville, "be able to determine the history of a magical object. Can anyone besides Miss Granger tell me what it is called?"

There was a stony silence in the classroom, broken only by the occasional shuffle of clothing and paper as Hermione flipped through the index of her textbook. Draco was training his eyes at his paper. Apparently he did not know the answer, either.

Snape let out a sigh of annoyance. "Its technical name is Manus Vetustatum serum. It is a very old potion, and therefore most of the technique needed to create it can only be found in rare manuscripts. Therefore, it is quite doubtful that any of you will succeed, though hopefully you can get through it without causing an explosion that will rip out half of the school.

"Now, I have some of the rarer ingredients set up on the side table. To prevent a needless rush that will inevitably end in the destruction of part of the classroom, I want the Gryffindors, with the exception of Mister Longbottom, to come and gather what is needed. You will be working with your partners, obviously, so use one cauldron."

Materials were gathered quickly and set out on the tables. Harry laid out a bunch of freshly picked laurel leaves on the cutting board. He was just about to slice them vertically, as it was written in the recipe, when Draco stopped him. He looked up, questioning.

"You can’t cut those yet, and certainly not with that knife." He gestured to the crude steel blade that had been provided. "You want to use a Boline for herbs and an Athame for the less delicate ingredients. You have to boil the water first; when the leaves’ veins are opened and exposed to the air for longer than a few minutes, the magical energy mixes with the plant’s properties and corrupts it. You can measure out the other ingredients while we wait, though." It was all said with a nonchalant tone, though not at all cold.

Harry did as he was told and lit the bottom of the cauldron with his wand before proceeding to fill the different sized measuring cups with various ingredients, smoothing off the tops with the flat back of a knife for unerring precision. He wanted to give Snape as little excuse to complain about his potion as was humanly possible. Draco approved of his technique, nodding, appraisingly, though still with the superior air that made him a Malfoy, as Harry poured streams of basilisk blood (he shuddered) and tufts of fur from a bobcat’s kitten into the boiling water. Then he began to slice the leaves delicately with Draco’s ivory-handled Boline, pausing a moment to admire the intricately carved Celtic vines and the sheet-thin blade.

"It was a gift." Harry turned to look at his partner, who inclined his head slightly towards the scowling professor at the front of the class. The Gryffindor nodded, smiling, and continued his task, taking extra special care of both the ingredients and the knife as he did so.

As it turned out, when they were not fighting as they had so many years before, Harry and Draco made a relatively good team. When he was not sweating under Snape’s ebony gaze, Harry was very competent at putting the potion together. After all, he had spent several years cooking for the Dursleys, so he was exceptionally good with his hands, at least when he took the time to concentrate on what he was doing. Draco was successfully puzzling his way through the methods used in making the potion, calling up the encyclopedia-like knowledge he had about his favorite subject as well as the feel for timing he had developed when adding ingredients. He also paid special attention to those around him, observing what they did incorrectly and jotting down the effects in his notebook with his good hand while sifting through more probable procedures.

Nearing the end of the class, Harry was adding the final ingredient: a generous pinch of glittering silver dust from an air-pixie. As soon as it touched the potion’s surface, black from the basilisk blood, it spread and swirled until the entire surface was sheathed in a thin layer of dust, looking very much like a lake frozen over in the dead of winter.

Draco paused in his writing to glance at the board, double-checking the recipe, and lifted his wand. "When I tell you to, freeze the cauldron. Ready?" Harry nodded.

They waited, poised, for over a minute. Then a small crack in the center of the silver dust began to split, and thick, bright red liquid began to seep through it when….

"Now!"

"Conglacia!"

"Incendo!"

The shouts came at the same time, and immediately the black cauldron was covered in a sheet of ice, smooth to the touch. Contrarily, bright red flames were now dancing on the potion’s surface, licking at the air. After a few seconds, the fire abruptly went out, revealing a shining sapphire blue liquid as clear as glass. Draco smirked in satisfaction.

The flames had attracted the attention of every student in the room, all of whom had their hands up to shield themselves from explosion. Professor Snape, on the other hand, was both surprised and pleased when he saw the final spells. He stalked over to the table, lifting some of the concoction on an ash wood ladle to look closely at it. It congealed slightly, holding fast around every dip and curve in the wood. He nodded his head curtly.

"It seems that not everyone in this class is utterly hopeless. Well done. Twenty-five points to Slytherin for a flawless Manus Vetustatum serum, and a further twenty-five for being able to being able to do it while compensating for your partner’s lack of skill." Harry had to keep from laughing when he saw Draco roll his eyes and heard Ron’s groan of annoyance from behind him. Snape shot the latter a glare that would have melted the polar ice caps before continuing in a deep, silky, condescending voice.

"We shall use this for a simple demonstration. I trust," warningly, "that all of you shall remain in your seats while I retrieve an object for the experiment." He left the room for a moment and returned holding a bowl of water and a thin stick with a slightly burnt end that appeared to be a piece of Professor Trelawny’s incense. Harry was bewildered as to how he had moved so fast, but then reasoned that with all of the secret passages in the school enabling for the Potions professor to emerge and catch students sneaking out at night, finding a way to the North Tower was a simple phenomenon.

"The application of Manus Vetustatum is very easy: simply smear some of the potion, which is non-toxic, mind you, over a small portion of the object you wish to know the history of, and dip that part of it in a bowl of water. The solution itself is hydrophobic, so it will not damage any antiques or such when it is used."

As he was speaking, Snape slipped the slim rod into the cauldron. When he withdrew it, about half was covered in the congealing, slightly transparent, blue substance. Then he dropped the incense into the water, and the liquid shimmered slightly. As the class watched, a date appeared on the surface, written in clear, dark blue letters.

‘January 4th, 1993, 1:53 P.M. – September 2nd, 1995, 10:40 A.M.’

"This time period marks from the minute the item was made to the present date and time. Of course, it would not do to view over a year’s worth of incense, so we shall skip to a few minutes of what it was used for today."

Reaching into his pocket, the Head of Slytherin withdrew a dark-wooded wand and tapped it to the surface of the water, disturbing its tranquility.

"Manifesta mihi September 2nd, 1995, 9:45 A.M. to September 2nd, 9:47 A.M."

The water rippled from some unseen wind before an image began to form in the bowl. It slowly cleared, to reveal the incense curling in on itself as it burned. Around it was the familiar Divinations classroom, complete with a group of third year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs in the middle of a peaceful meditation… or a late morning nap. Near the bottom of the image was a timer counting down to the second for how much longer the scene would be on display. As soon as it reached zero, the image darkened, and faded back to clear water.

"For your homework," The students jumped at Snape’s unexpected announcement. "I want eighteen inches of parchment on the history of the is Manus Vetustatum serum and the significance and effects of each separate ingredient. Mister Malfoy and Mister Potter, remain behind. I know for a fact that you both have a free period after this, so no excuses. The rest of the class is dismissed."

"I’m sorry I can’t wait up for you, Harry, I have Muggle Studies next, and I don’t want to be late to the first class." Hermione was stuffing her book bag as fast as possible without losing any materials as she spoke.

"Um… why would you be taking Muggle Studies?"

"I feel that it would be informative to understand how the Wizarding population sees the non-magical world. I’m also going to be an assistant to the professor, as well." It was said with an air of superiority that carried far too much enthusiasm to be taken the wrong way. Harry smiled, good-naturedly.

"Oh, okay, ‘Mione. I’ll see you at lunch, then."

Hermione nodded, then raced out the door with Dean Thomas. Ron tapped his friend on the shoulder, wearing a rather confused look.

"Harry, aren’t you taking Divination? That’s what I have next, and there is only one class for Gryffindor fifth years."

The raven-haired boy sighed. "I... I’m not taking that this year, Ron. I can’t deal with her predictions. After last year, it’s just not fun anymore."

Ron smiled sympathetically. "So, if you’re not taking Death 101, what are you taking?"

"Um… Advanced Magical Healing with Madame Pomfrey. I want to help save lives – too many have been taken already."

"I’ve never heard of that class; I thought there was only a single term medi-witch and medi-wizard course, and the rest you have to take in an apprenticeship or at a university."

"Well, that’s true, but this course has always been open to anyone that asks. Not many people know about it, though. In fact, I’m the only one taking it."

"Mister Weasley, if you would be so kind as to vacate the premises and go to your next class? I believe our Golden Boy will do without his sidekick for a few hours."

Ron flushed bright red and stalked out of the room with a muttered, "See you."

As soon as he left, the Snape shut and locked the door with a wave of his wand. Then he turned to the two boys and immediately dropped the mask of the cruel, spiteful Potions professor to something that Harry had never seen before: a father figure, showing such concern for his son that the Gryffindor’s eyes widened.

"How are you, Draco?" His deep voice was smooth and soft, nothing similar to the sneering, blade-like edge it carried when insulting a student’s mental capacity.

"My hand’s still a bit sore, but it’s getting better," Draco answered.

"You know that’s not what I meant."

Smiling weakly, "I know, Sev, I know." A weary sigh escaped pale pink lips. "I’m… exhausted, really. And absolutely terrified; Lucius is going to find out, and it’s only a matter of time before he does. But," He leaned his head on Harry’s shoulder, closing his eyes briefly, "at least… at least I don’t have to worry about being alone anymore."

Severus nodded once before turning his gaze to Harry, suddenly looking very serious and threatening. "I trust, Mister Potter, that now that you and Mister Malfoy are… involved, you will be needing a place to spend time together without being seen?"

Harry hesitantly nodded, taking care not to disturb the weight on his shoulder. "Yes, it would be hard to sneak time between classes, and sooner or later we’re bound to get caught doing so."

"I think you will notice that I persuaded the Headmaster to organize your schedules so that all of the classes that both of you take will be together, including free periods. If you need, there is a guest room in my quarters that you are welcome to use, so long as you keep track of the time."

The dark haired boy smiled, slightly bewildered at his teacher’s sudden kindness, though he knew it was mainly because of Draco. "Thank you, sir."

"If you wish, then, I shall take you there now. It’s just beyond the classroom. Oh, and Mister Potter…."

"Sir?"

"Should you cause any harm to Mister Malfoy, I will personally see to it that-"

"Stop it, Sev. Harry wouldn’t hurt me, I know it." Draco had his eyes narrowed in annoyance.

"I don’t think I could. Hurt him, I mean, because it would hurt me, as well."

Severus’ piercing black eyes stayed level on Harry’s face for a long, drawn out moment before he nodded, curtly. "Very well. Come with me."

He swept out of the room in long strides, his layered black robes dramatically swirling about his lithe form. Harry and Draco had to rush to keep up, hastily lifting their bags as they stumbling after him. They followed him through a door and into his private rooms, the first being a small living room and library. It was decorated with dark woods, rusted golds and warm greens. Shelves of old manuscripts, books and scrolls lined the walls in a neatly organized fashion. In one corner was an imposing desk and matching chair, parchments and vast tombs strewn about on top of it in such a manner that only the researcher would be able to understand. On the other side of the room an old ebony and gold grandfather clock stood a full eight feet tall. It ran soundlessly, with a precision of exceptional quality for an heirloom such as it was.

Two high-backed, antique leather chairs, one looking slightly more used than the other, stood on a cream throw rug in front of a grand stone fireplace. They were separated by a low, circular coffee table of some dark, identifiable, knotted tree. Curiously enough, there were two white coffee cups that looked like they had been drained some time ago, accompanied by a paper-back book and a pair of reading glasses that were certainly not Snape’s, as Draco had seen him correct many test papers without needing them. He would ask Sev about it later, as he was sure that the dignified Potions master would not want to discuss his private life in front of the Boy Who Lived.

Severus led them through another door, this one leading to what was assumed to be the guest bedroom. "The washroom is through there," he said as he pointed to a door on the other side of the room. "Do not forget that you have lunch in about seventy minutes. It would not do to miss it; that could raise suspicions, and that Granger girl is far to bright for her own good." With that, he left the room, looking as if he were in quite a hurry to be somewhere else, and shut the door behind him.

Now alone, the two boys set their things down on the floor and began to inspect the room. Although Draco had spent much time with his surrogate father, he had never seen past the first room, and was interested to see what else there was. The main part of the room was a grand, king-sized four-poster canopy bed with a deep, royal blue comforter and drapes of a strange, starry fabric that seemed slightly translucent, as if he were staring through a glass window at the night sky. Maplewood nightstands sat on each side. There was a stone fireplace here, as well, though it was slightly smaller than the first. A fuzzy throw rug of the same color blue as the comforters was laid across the floor. The last piece of furniture was a broad, overstuffed sofa covered with the same material as the drapes. Draco grinned and led Harry towards it and lay down, propped up against a large pillow on the armrest He pulled the smaller boy onto his lap and Harry curled up against him, melting into his warmth. A quick "incendo" and a blazing fire lit up the room.

"Harry?"

"Mmmm?"

"What . . . what do you think is going to happen?"

Harry shifted. "I don’t know. To be honest, I’m... not really so worried. I mean, my life hasn’t been exactly that normal. I lived in a cupboard for the first eleven years of my life, more or less, then suddenly a ten foot half-giant tells me I’m a wizard, and not only that, but I’m famous for having a powerful evil overlord after my blood and surviving it. Then in first year, he tries to kill me from one of my teacher’s bodies. Second year, I’m ostracized by the school and almost murdered by a giant snake and some freakish, preserved form of the same guy. Third year wasn’t so bad, though I still thought that I had a psychopathic mass murderer on my tail. Forth year, well, I’d rather not talk about that." His eyes clouded for a second before he lopsidedly smiled at his blond lover. "So you see, this whole... thing, or whatever it is that’s going on, isn’t really that strange for me. It just fits into the normal pattern of my life."

Draco looked at him, wide-eyed and amazed. "But... aren’t you scared of… of dying? That one day your luck will just... run out?"

Harry sighed. "I came to terms with death a long time ago, Draco. I kind of had to. It’s not like I want to die; I’ve just come to accept that one day I will, and there is nothing I can do about it."

There was no answer.

"Draco?" He twisted again to face him. "Oh, Draco…." The other boy’s face looked blank and scared, his liquid silver eyes glistening with unshed tears. Suddenly Draco noticed his lover’s bright green orbs filled with concern, and he pulled him close to his chest.

"Don’t you leave me," he whispered into soft, raven locks, "you may not care if you die, but I do. You can’t... I can’t be alone anymore... I’ve been alone for so long… you have to stay, you have to…."

Harry pulled back slightly and lifted Draco’s chin gently, allowing their eyes to meet. Then he leaned in, brushing his lips against the blond’s and pouring every ounce of comfort and strength and truth and love that he had into the tender sweep of lips and teeth and tongue. He reached around and ran a hand up and down Draco’s back in an attempt to calm the distraught boy and coax him to relax. Slowly Draco began to melt under Harry’s touch, his eyes growing heavy and his movements sluggish as he ran the tip of his tongue over Harry’s bottom lip. Just when he was on the verge of sleep, Harry ran the back of his hand over one pale cheek.

"You aren’t alone, Draco. I’ll never leave you, not even in death. Sleep now, I’ll wake you when it’s time to leave."

Draco lazily smiled, sniffing as a result of tears long-dried, and lay back again. He pulled the smaller boy to lie on top of him, his very own blanket in the cold of the dungeons.

---

"Remus?"

Amber-gold eyes glanced up from behind half-moon glasses. "Yes, love?"

"Have you heard from our contact recently?"

Remus Lupin placed his book on the coffee table, dog-earing his page, and removed his glasses to get a better look at his dark-haired lover. He tucked a lock of wavy, dirty blond, gray streaked hair behind his ear before answering.

"I spoke to him through the fireplace this morning while you were sleeping. He thinks that he has a lead, but the magic is unfamiliar to him. Albus has asked him to scout the area before sends out another member of the Order."

Thin lips twisted into a scowl. "I doubt that mutt could track anything more than a woman in a pretty dress, let alone sorcery that he had absolutely no experience with."

Remus smiled, gently. "Come, now, Severus. You know that Sirius is the best for the job. It’s safer for him to be there rather than here, anyhow, with the Ministry still after him."

"I suppose you’re right. But that doesn’t mean that I have to like it."

"Of course not, love." The werewolf chuckled. He glanced at the old grandfather clock in the corner. "It’s almost time for lunch. Shall we go?"

"You go ahead; I have a bit of research to finish up before I come to a stopping point."

"Very well, but if you’re not up in ten minutes, I’m coming to get you. The last time you said ‘a bit of research’, you ended up staying awake until well near two A.M., and I’ll not have you missing lunch. You’re thin enough as it is."

Remus turned towards the door without waiting for an answer – he knew he would end up having to bring lunch down if his lover was going to eat, anyway.

Just as he was in the doorframe, a silken voice called him back. "Remus?"

"Yes?"

"One thing: where did Black say that he was headed?"

Lupine eyes turned thoughtful for a minute. "I believe he said that he was in India, Severus. India."

---

See this link for the seating chart.

*Xander Higgs is an OMC of mine. I give permission for anyone who wishes to use this character. He is the younger brother of Terence Higgs, who was the Slytherin Seeker before Draco Malfoy. And I just happen to like the nickname "Xander".

**In tPS/tSS, a student with the last name "Nott" is mentioned to be in Harry’s year, though his house is left unsaid. I decided to put him in Slytherin since his father is supposedly a Death Eater. Permission to use him is freely given, as well.

I found this information at the site below. Take a look – it has a lot of random details from the books in it that my fellow writers may find helpful:

http://www.geocities.com/siriusandremus/index.html

Translations for Latin lovers:

Manus – A noun meaning "hands". It is the nominative plural form of the 4th Declension word "manus, manus, f".

Vetustatum – The genitive plural form of the 3rd Declension noun "vetustas -atis f" that means "of the ages; of the past time".

Conglacia – A command form of the 1st Conjugation verb "conglacio, conglaciare, conglaciavi, conglaciatum est" meaning "freeze; turn to ice".

Incendo – A 3rd Conjugation verb that means "I kindle; I set fire to; I burn; I illuminate". The principle parts are "incendo, incendere, incendi, incensum est".

Manifesta – A 1st Conjugation verb in the imperative meaning "show clearly; reveal". It comes from "manifesto, manifestare, manifestavi, manifestatum est".

Mihi – A pronoun in the dative singular that means "to me; for me". Its forms are "ego, mei, mihi, me, me".

VIII: Familiar Protectors

Harry checked his watch. It was ten minutes before lunch and his friends would be worried if he did not show up. Cautiously, avoiding Draco’s still-bandaged hand, he rolled onto his side, so that he was curled up under the blonde’s shoulder, rather than lying on top of him. He brushed his fingertips over Draco’s face, trying to awaken him as gently as possible. His lover was probably still very stressed, and he did not wish to add to it anymore than he had earlier.

Harry rubbed his thumb over a pale, finely arched eyebrow, easing muscles scrunched up with worry and fear until they relaxed and became smooth again. Fingers trailed over the curve of his cheekbones, caressing the jawbone that had been so abused just a few days ago. Draco shifted with a muffled whimper and pulled Harry closer to him. The Gryffindor smiled and continued in his tender ministrations, massaging warm temples and bending over to kiss Draco’s forehead. When he pulled back, gleaming silver eyes fluttered open, still slightly hazy from the recesses of sleep.

"You’re still here?"

Harry smiled. "Always."

Draco purred, contentedly, and buried his face in the crook of Harry’s neck and shoulder.

"How much time do we have?" The soft inquiry was just barely audible near Harry’s ear.

"About five minutes until lunch. Professor Snape said that we should go, or we’ll be missed.

A stifled laugh. "No, Harry, you’ll be missed. I can do whatever I please and no one in Slytherin will think twice on it."

"Do you want to stay here, then? I’ll still have to go to lunch, mind you."

"Could I? I… I don’t think I’m ready to face everyone again… not just yet. And besides, I’ll want to get a head start on my essay if I’m going to help you with it later. Face it, you’ll need my help, whether you like it or not."

Harry grinned. Now there’s the Draco I know and love, he thought. "No problem. I’ll see you in DADA, then, all right?"

Draco nodded as he and Harry sat up, though the Slytherin was still a bit tipsy and had to lean on his lover for support. The dark haired boy allowed it for a moment before he stood up and retrieved Draco’s book bag. His lover smiled in thanks and pulled him in for a soft kiss before Harry gathered his own school things and left the room, softly closing the door behind him. Draco watched him go before taking out his Potions materials.

---

Harry sighed as he closed the door and leaned against the frame to collect his thoughts. At least, he reasoned, with our schedules arranged like this, everything will be somewhat more bearable.

"Mister Potter…."

Harry jumped and spun around to see the resident Potions master’s black eyes trained on him with something akin to amusement and contempt.

"Sir?"

"I trust that you and Mister Malfoy will be heading up to the Great Hall soon?"

"No, Professor, just me. Draco doesn’t want to face so many people just yet."

Snape nodded. "Understandable. He did seem a bit… off, today. Enjoy your lunch then, Mister Potter."

Harry blinked. Had he just had a somewhat pleasant conversation with Severus Snape? "Um, thank you, Sir."

The Gryffindor headed towards the door, wanting both to escape the elder man’s presence and to avoid worrying his friends. Unfortunately….

"One more thing, Mister Potter."

Harry stifled a sigh. He knew it had been too good to last. "Sir?"

"I love Draco like a son, and I would hate to see him hurt; he’s been hurt too many times in his life, and once more is likely to break him. So I think it goes without saying that if he is ever harmed by your hand, I shall not be held responsible for my actions. Is that clear?"

Harry’s eyes widened. He could not believe anyone could even suggest such a thing after seeing how close he had become to the blond. Then again, it was Snape, after all. "Crystal, sir." It was said with as much conviction as he could muster.

"Very good, Mister Potter." The Professor sounded pleased, at any rate. "You may go."

Harry did not need to be told twice.

---

"Remus!"

The werewolf was suddenly stumbling under the unexpected, however light, weight of the green eyed Gryffindor boy he had grown so fond of over the past two years.

"Harry, my boy! How are you doing?"

Harry grinned, his eyes alive in a way that Remus had not seen since before the Tri-Wizard Tournament. "Very well, thanks. I’ve got a lot to tell you, but I’d rather not in the great hall."

Remus nodded, sympathetically. Over the summer, he had been happy to provide as a sounding board for Harry’s grievances through more or less constant writing. The werewolf had always been understanding of others, and was more than happy to help his best friend’s son get over his troubles in a way that Sirius and Harry’s younger, more immature friends could not.

Harry decided to continue at Remus’ thoughtful silence and the gentle encouragement in his expression. "My life’s just managed to get stranger, and to top it off, I just had a conversation with Professor Snape, and he didn’t even take off any points!"

Chuckling, "Severus isn’t really that bad, Harry. You just have to know how to push the right buttons."

A few seats down on the faculty table, Minerva McGonagall choked on her coffee. Remus tactfully ignored her.

"Where are your friends, Ron and Hermione?"

Harry glanced back towards the Gryffindor table. The fiery redhead and their bookish friend were conspicuously absent. He was surprised that he had not noticed it upon entering the Great Hall. Then again, the first thing he had done was to hurl himself at the werewolf as soon as he had seen him, so maybe it was not that odd. "I don’t know. Maybe they’re off somewhere studying or…." Then he had a thought. "Ohhhh…."

Remus laughed again. "Say, Harry, have you had lunch, yet? I just got here a few moments before you, and I haven’t had more than a drink."

"No. Why?"

"If you like, we could go down to my office and talk while we have something to eat. I’m sure the house elves wouldn’t have a problem with sending some food down there."

Harry nodded. "I’d appreciate that, Remus." Then he paused. "One thing though. If you don’t mind my asking, why are you here?"

Smiling, Remus said, "Didn’t you hear? I’ll be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts again this year."

Harry hugged him again, grinning. "That’s great! But I thought the Ministry wouldn’t let you after all of those complaints last year?"

"Dumbledore pulled a few strings. Apparently he’s got some new leverage to use against Cornelius Fudge."

The younger boy smiled, sadly, as they started to walk out of the Great Hall. At least his capture had been good for something, other than his relationship with Draco, of course. It made him feel a bit better that he could help a friend, even if one of the results had been the death of….

Harry mentally shook his head. There will be plenty of time to talk about that later, he rationalized.

---

The DADA classroom is awfully close to the dungeons, Harry absently noted as they passed by rows of desks arranged on three different levels to allow a better view from all points in the room.

"Remus?"

"Yes?"

"Is it okay if I leave my bag here? I have your class next, I think."

Remus nodded. "Of course, Harry."

The Gryffindor relieved himself of the heavy book bag that had been cutting into his shoulder, marking his territory by placing it in the center of the front row. Then he followed the werewolf through a side door leading to his office. Harry was not sure exactly what to expect, but was pleasantly surprised by the simplicity of the room. The stone floors were covered by a wine-red and leaf-gold throw rug, and the walls had been painted a warm rust color that coordinated with the leather upholstery on the chairs. They were made with a dark antique wood that had been tastefully chosen to match that of a desk, which harbored various scrolls in a neat pile on one side of it and an inkwell and eagle-feather quill on the other. A few stacks of DADA texts and plain, unidentifiable paperback books that looked as if they had been read many times sat upon a stone fireplace, the latter of which seemed to be more for practical usage than decoration. As soon as Remus sat down, Harry could not help but feel that although his friend was comfortable in the room, he would have preferred if the two of them were somewhere else. Harry, on the other hand, had fallen in love with the place the moment he had stepped inside.

Remus called up a house elf and asked for a platter of sandwiches and some pumpkin juice before addressing his young charge. "So, Harry, what’s on your mind?"

That was all it took. Before he knew it, the dark haired boy had told his confidante everything that had happened to him from his first strange vision to the night that he had been captured to his conversation with the Potions professor, leaving absolutely nothing out. Remus was a good listener; his eyes widened and his face was tinged pink at all the appropriate times, though he was extremely careful to keep a calm outlook and repress any outbursts he might have made had he been Sirius Black. It would not do to make Harry feel uncomfortable, thus frightening him away when he needed emotional support the most.

When he was done, Harry visibly slumped in his chair, physically, mentally and emotionally exhausted from his confession. Lucky for both of them, Harry because he needed energy, and Remus because he wanted a minute to consider how he was going to word his responses and questions, the house elf appeared with a large silver tray of assorted sandwiches, two glasses, and a pitcher of pumpkin juice. The creature timidly placed it on the empty space in the middle of the DADA professor’s broad desk before disappearing again. Harry gratefully reached for a roast-beef sandwich and began to eat, sighing. Remus poured two glasses of pumpkin juice for them and waited until they had both finished their first serving to break the companionable silence.

"Are you feeling any better?"

Harry reached for another sandwich, grilled cheese this time, and said, "Yes, actually. Draco’s been absolutely wonderful, even though he had his own problems to deal with."

"I’m sure that if you believe him, then he’s trustworthy, Harry. You always were a good judge of character when it came to matters of the heart."

No answer.

"Harry?"

The reaction was delayed, but the louder call shook Harry from his reverie. "Huh?"

Remus chuckled, gently smiling in the way that only Remus Lupin could. "You must really love him, don’t you?"

Harry blushed, but his answer was sincere and thoughtful. "I’ve been falling in love with him for a while, now. I think… I think it was when he let me know Draco, and not just Malfoy, that I was pretty much lost for him. Although, to be honest, I don’t think I realized it until you asked me."

The werewolf nodded. "I know the feeling."

"Oh?"

Suddenly Remus understood what he had said, and he blushed. "I, ahh, just meant that… I understand how you can love someone your entire life, and not realize it until years later."

Harry nodded, but he still believed that there was more to it than his DADA professor was letting on. I’ll talk to Draco about it later, he thought.

"Have you told the headmaster about your visions yet?" the elder man asked, turning the conversation to more serious matters.

"No," Harry answered, shaking his head. "I was planning on telling him when Draco and I went to speak with him a few nights ago, but I never really got a chance. And then I found out what happened and…." The Gryffindor choked, willing himself not to cry again. He had thought that he was empty after so many tears, that the flood had abated and all that was left was a sun-dried, earthen ground. As his eyes began to water, glistening like freshly cut emeralds, he knew that he had been wrong.

As soon as Harry looked down, Remus stood up from his chair and walked around the desk to pull the small boy into a warm, fatherly embrace. Harry let himself be held and clutched onto the werewolf’s robes for much-needed support. Normally, when he cried, it was loud and soulful, with every ounce of frustration and anger and sadness and fear expressed within stifled sobs, hiccups, and mewling whimpers as he struggled to catch his breath. Now, though, as he was drained in every way possible, he slumped in Remus’ arms and just relaxed as his body shook with small, jagged tremors and tears streamed continuously down his face like twin waterfalls.

When he stopped crying, Remus began to pull away, but Harry hung on to him, so he smiled, sadly, and resumed his former position with the younger boy’s head on his chest. It was a lucky thing that the next day was Saturday; they would both need a break.

---

When the bell rang ten minutes later, Harry stepped out of the office to find Ron and Hermione already waiting for him, with Ron sitting next to the space claimed by Harry’s bag and Hermione on the redhead’s other side. They were talking in low voices, with their heads closer together than necessary and their hands brushing each other with the furtive touches that marked a recently developed couple. Harry smiled, thinking how glad he was that he and Draco had more or less skipped that part of their relationship. Both of them craved human companionship and the love that came with it, and they were too lonely to have the emotional patience to deal with shyness to the extreme that Ron and Hermione were taking it to. They knew that trying to remain outside that particular boundary would have only served to further frustrate the two boys, even if all they did beyond it was kiss and hold each other.

Harry smirked, a trait he had recently picked up from his blond lover, when he noticed that his friends had been so absorbed in each other that they had yet to see him. And what kind of friend would he be if he neglected to announce his presence? "So, tell me, have you kissed yet?"

The reaction was immediate; they pulled away from each other as if they had been burned. "Harry!"

"You scared us there, mate. Didn’t see ya."

Harry would have laughed at the situation had he not been crying a few minutes ago. Ron was fidgeting with nervousness and kept dropping things as he tried to get his materials out for class, and Hermione had hidden behind her copy of the DADA text and was reading it… upside down.

"Oi, guys?"

This time the dark-haired boy had to stifle his laugh as Hermione dropped her book and Ron watched is unbreakable glass inkwell roll across the stone floor. They scrambled to collect their fallen objects before looking back up at Harry.

"I don’t have a problem with you two being together. In fact, I’m surprised that it took this long."

The two gaped at him for a moment before Ron’s face spread into a jaw-cracking grin. "Thanks a lot, mate."

"I’m sorry we didn’t tell you, Harry," Hermione offered, "but we just weren’t sure how you would take it, or if you would feel left out…."

Harry held up a hand for her to stop. "Relax, ‘Mione. I’m fine with it, and I know that you would be okay with whoever I started dating, right?"

Hermione smiled and embraced her friend. "Of course, Harry, we would support you no matter who it was. In fact, it might be good for you to get a girlfriend."

"Or boyfriend," the youngest Weasley male quipped, patting Harry on the back.

Harry raised an eyebrow at this. That was unexpected, he thought. "Boyfriend?"

Ron shrugged. "Yeah. Wizards are pretty lenient about that sort of thing, except maybe the purebloods. Gotta produce an heir and all that nonsense. Besides, half of my family’s gay. Bill and the twins are bisexual, and if Charlie isn’t gay tell me now so I can go jump off of the Astronomy Tower."

"That’s good to know," Harry mused.

This time it was Ron’s turn to look surprised. "Really? Got your eye on someone?"

The smaller boy nodded. "You could say that. I’ll tell you tonight, though, because it’s kind of private, and class is about to start."

Sure enough, the other students were beginning to filter into the classroom and sit down tentatively. Most of them were remembering their previous Defense Against the Dark Arts professors, and their memories were not all that pleasant. The Golden Trio sat down in their designated seats and Hermione started chattering eccentrically about the class. Harry gave Draco a small, reassuring smile as the blond walked in and skillfully took the space behind his lover without making it look like he did it on purpose. He deliberately brushed Harry’s hair as he sat down, sending shivers down the Gryffindor’s spine. Harry shook himself and turned his attention back to what Hermione was saying.

"I wonder who the teacher is going to be this year? He or she can’t be that bad, considering who we’ve had the past few years-"

"’Mione?" Harry cut her off before she hurt herself.

"Yes?"

"It’s Professor Lupin. I had lunch with him while you two were, um, busy."

Ron blushed bright red, but Hermione was far too excited to notice the innuendo. "Really? That’s wonderful! He was the only good teacher we’ve had so far, even if he was a-"

"Good afternoon, class," the professor said, cheerfully, as he walked into the room. "For those of you who do not remember me from your third year, my name is Professor Lupin, and I am a werewolf." The reaction was mixed: some of those who noticed him gasped, some of the Slytherins hissed, some, like Draco, remained indifferent, others, like Harry and his friends, excitedly grinned, and still others just looked confused. When the noise had died down, Remus began his lesson, however pausing to remove points from the students unintelligent enough to insult him in his own class.

"Before I organized my syllabus, I took the time to review what teachers from the previous years have taught you, just to make sure I didn’t miss anything. From what I know, in your first year, you learned next to nothing, except maybe how to deal with a rampaging troll." He spared an amused look toward Ron and Harry. "Second year, you learned what Gilderoy Lockhart’s favorite color was, and how not to gain prestige in the Wizarding World." There were a few muffled laughs and giggles from the students, and more than a few of the girls in the class blushed. Harry, however, was just getting suspicious. That doesn’t sound like Remus, he mused, It’s more Snape’s style to insult other teachers like that. But I know that it’s Remus, it felt like him earlier. So why would he be acting like Snape? He was brought back to reality as his favorite professor started speaking again.

"Third year, as you all know, I came here, and taught you a good deal about Dark Creatures, and how to defend against them. Fourth year, even though he wasn’t who he claimed to be, Alastor Moody, or Barty Crouch Jr., rather, did manage to give you pretty thorough grounding on the basics of Dark Curses, mainly the three Unforgivables. This year, we are going to learn how to use those defenses, especially under pressure and with distractions, as well as the proper times to fight and the proper times to run from a fight. That is one of the most important lessons you can learn."

The class was stunned by his speech. Even the Slytherins were silent; no one had ever heard their mild-mannered DADA professor speak with so much passion before, with the exception of Harry, Ron and Hermione when they were in the Shrieking Shack with him.

"I’m going to tell you your homework in advance, so that I don’t forget it." There was a collective groan, but it did not have as much feeling as it would have before Remus’ production. "Tonight, I want all of you to decide which is more important: to stay and fight, or to run, and tell my why it is more important. Be sure to consider different situations. You don’t have to write anything, but come to class prepared, because I will be sure to call on each and every one of you, perhaps even start a debate. As for today, we are going to start with a spell that is very easy to learn, but very difficult to cast when the situation arises. If you can deal with this, then you can deal with almost anything the Dark Arts can throw at you. Almost." He turned to Harry, locking eyes with the boy. "Mister Potter, I have a boggart in the supply closet. I trust that your greatest fear hasn’t changed since first year?"

Harry swallowed. He knew what was coming. "No, Professor."

"Good." Then he addressed the class, "Mister Potter is going to perform the Patronus Spell, which defends against… well, you’ll see soon enough. It takes someone with a very strong will, not to mention a fair amount of magical brawn, to get more than a wisp from his or her wand when casting it. I don’t presume that any of you can do it just yet, nor do I expect you to. This is just for the sake of a demonstration of keeping a cool head under pressure. Mister Potter, will you come down here please?"

Tightly clutching his wand, Harry made his way to stand in front of the closed door. Remus wrapped his hand around the doorknob. "Ready?"

Not really, Harry thought, but he nodded anyway. Then Professor Lupin opened the door.

Almost immediately the boggart took the form of a Dementor, black and terrible and cold. Harry was bombarded with his mother’s screaming and flashes of green light. Images of Cedric’s paralyzed body and the high-pitched voice screeching "kill the spare" were also added to the mix, and he was forced to take a step back to keep from fainting.

Then, on reflex of survival, Harry’s mind called up his happiest memories: his first time on a broom, and the freedom he had felt on it, his friendship with Ron and Hermione and Remus, the time he realized that he had family in Sirius, but most of all, Draco. He remembered their first kiss, and how wonderful it felt to be wrapped in the other boy’s warm arms. With those memories came determination, and Harry raised his wand with renewed strength and glared at the boggart turned Dementor.

"Exspecto Patronum!"

Silver and gold flowed from his wand and solidified in the form of a stag. He stared at it, fascinated. This was not the small colt it had been when he had first cast the spell successfully. This was a Great Stag, with silky chocolate brown and silver coat, shining golden hooves and antlers spread in an impressive rack that looked too broad for the quadruped to hold up. The creature lowered its pointed weaponry and gored the Dementor, making it release a bone-splitting cry. Remus finished the thing off with a quick "Riddikulus" and watched, amazed, as the Patronus circled the room. Suddenly it stopped, right in front of Draco Malfoy, and nuzzled the boy’s face. Then it walked proudly back to Harry, who lifted his fingers to touch the soft muzzle. "Prongs…." he whispered, and then promptly passed out.

Professor Lupin was quick to act. He conjured a stretcher and levitated Harry’s prone body onto it. "Miss Granger, Mister Weasley, would you please take Mister Potter to the infirmary? Mister Malfoy, you should probably accompany them; you don’t look that well. Don’t worry about coming back, take as much time as you need."

Hermione gathered Harry’s things into his book bag and hooked it onto one of the poles that made up the stretcher. Then she and Ron lifted him easily, light as he was, and carefully carried him through the halls. Draco, looking slightly sick, followed a few steps behind them, his eyes trained on his raven-haired lover the whole time.

---

Once in the infirmary, Ron and Hermione wasted no time explaining everything that had happened, including the strange attention Harry’s Patronus had given Draco. Madame Pomfrey appeared thoughtful, but made no comment. She gave Harry a potion that would replenish his magical reserves and wake him up in due time, and Draco something that would calm his nerves. Then she left the room, knowing that she would not be able to extract from the room Ron and Hermione even if she tried.

The couple was talking in hushed whispers, completely ignoring the fact that Draco was sitting one bed over from Harry, still looking frazzled. Suddenly a groan startled them.

"Harry!"

"What… what happened, ‘Mione?"

"You passed out after casting your Patronus. Oh, Harry, it was absolutely incredible! I’ve never seen anything like it. And then it touched Malfoy, do you remember? He still looks a bit sick, though."

Harry’s eyes flickered over to the blonde, who met his eyes and smiled. Hermione’s right, he thought, he looks far too pale. Then, with a grin, Harry made a quick decision and turned back to his friends.

"Hey, remember when you said that I’ve… ‘got my eye on someone’, Ron?"

"Yeah…."

Harry glanced back at Draco, and his lover nodded, almost imperceptibly, for Harry to continue.

"Well, I kind of do have a… boyfriend, so to speak, though we’ve never really used this term."

Hermione shot a glare at the Slytherin, who was impassively sitting, his skillfully crafted mask of indifference in place. "Are you sure you want Malfoy to see this? I mean…." Suddenly everything clicked. The uncharacteristic, however well-hidden, kindness that Malfoy had shown to Harry in potions, when they had both been called to stay behind, the way the blond chose a seat right behind Harry in DADA, and most importantly, the interaction between her friend’s Patronus and the pale Slytherin. She would have kicked herself, had she been that flexible. Her eyes widened and she made sure that Harry was looking at her when she flicked her eyes over to Malfoy, then back to the raven-haired boy. He nodded, and she smiled, however unsure she felt. "Are you sure, Harry?"

"Yes. I’ve never been surer about anything. He’s changed, you know. He’s the sweetest person if you get to know him."

"If you trust him, Harry, then I suppose that you’ve made the right decision."

Harry grinned at her. One down, one to go. "I am."

"Um, did I miss something?" Ron looked extremely confused.

Harry sighed. Now for the hard part. "Ron, you did agree that you would support me no matter who it was, right?"

He was getting worried. "Right…."

"It’s… it’s Draco, Ron."

Ron was incredulous. "What?"

"My boyfriend. It’s Draco." He gestured towards his lover, imploringly gazing at him. The Slytherin grinned and moved to sit on Harry’s cot, taking his hand. When Ron did not speak, Draco decided to try something else.

"Listen, Weasley… Ron, I’m…." Damnit, this is going to be hard. "I’m sorry I’ve been so nasty to you… and to you, Gra- Hermione, all of these years." He shrugged, looking down. "It’s just the way I was brought up. I couldn’t really help it. It was either that or be beaten by Lucius, after all."

Harry grasped his hand tighter and received a grateful smile in response. Ron was clenching his fists, a cold fury evident in his sky blue eyes. Hermione noticed this and touched his arm, causing the redhead to calm visibly. When he spoke, his voice was steady and controlled.

"I’ll tell you right now, I don’t like this at all. I despise you, Malfoy, and I doubt we’ll ever be friends. But… Harry, however, is my friend, and he’s important to me, and I don’t want to lose him. I’ll accept this… thing for what it is, but make no mistake, if you do anything, and I mean anything, Malfoy, that causes Harry pain, and I will have your head. Harry is my family, and nobody messes with my family."

Draco nodded in assent, pleased and somewhat impressed at the same time. "No harm will come to him by my hand, Weasley. You have my word on that."

Ron let out a heavy exhalation, and the tension in the room dropped back down to a minimum. "Listen, Harry, I need to go… clear my mind, or something. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not angry with you, I just need some… time to adjust. This is a lot to take."

"That’s okay, Ron. I’ll see the two of you later, then, all right?"

"Definitely."

"Get some rest, Harry. Take good care of him, Mal- Draco."

"I will, Hermione."

Once they left, Draco slid under the covers with his lover, wrapping his arms around Harry as the smaller boy curled up against him. It had been a long day, and they were both exhausted, and it was just so easy to fall into the warmth of a familiar, loving, comforting body and drift off….

---

"Albus, Remus and I have come across some… interesting information that may be of good use."

Blue eyes sparkled and bushy white eyebrows rose. "Oh?"

The werewolf took over. "In class today, I had Harry cast his Patronus as a demonstration to the class. He passed out afterwards, but Merlin, Albus, it was amazing."

"What form did it take? Was it not a stag, like his father’s Animagus form?"

Had Albus been a normal wizard, Remus would have been surprised that the headmaster knew his childhood friends’ secret. But Albus Dumbledore was anything but a normal wizard, and his tendency to know everything that went on within the school was brushed aside without much consideration by those who knew him well. "It was different this time, Albus, it wasn’t like James’ younger form. It was a Great Stag, Albus, a Great Stag… and it touched Draco Malfoy…."

"The damn thing was still prancing around like it owned the place when I got there an hour later," Severus snarled.

The headmaster nodded, thoughtfully. "We’ve known for some time now that Harry would be an exceptionally powerful wizard. This just confirms it, does it not?"

Severus’ eyes glittered with excitement. He finally had one up on the old man. "Ah, but you see Albus, very little happens without a reason, even if it was organized eons ago. You see, we’ve found something…."

Translations for Latin lovers:

Exspecto – This means "I expect; I receive; I wait for" and comes from the forms of the 1st Conjugation verb "exspecto, exspectare, exspectavi, exspectatum est".

Patronum – A 2nd Declension noun in the accusative singular form from "patronus, patroni, m" that means "protector".

IX: Phoenix Tears

"Do you really think that they’re ready?"

"Positive."

"But to be initiated so soon… I think it’s too early. We still need to see where your student’s loyalties lie…."

Snarling, "Had you seen the way they interact with each other, you would have no doubts about his loyalty. It’s not an act – there’s no way it can be."

"Are you sure?"

The deep voice was smooth and confident. "Yes. I know from experience, not my own, of course, I was never involved that young, but I remember a similar pairing from my school years."

"Oh?"

A nod. "It’s strange, really. They’re so much alike, but this time… it’s as if, well, as if someone is performing an experiment a second time and has learned from past mistakes. Everything is exactly the same, only… they’re doing everything right for once."

A weary sigh. "But to be brought into the fold so young… I’m not sure if they could handle it just yet."

"Albus, those two boys have had to grow up faster than anyone I know, with the possible exception of myself. They have each other, though, and that will make it easier on everyone."

"Very well. The next meeting is this Sunday, a Hogsmeade weekend. I’ll see to it that they’re initiated before then, so that they can get started as soon as possible. If we’re going to do this, we might as well do this right. Now, I believe that you have a class to attend to?"

"Indeed I do. Good evening, Albus."

"Good night to you too, Severus."

---

"I believe, Mister Malfoy, that perhaps you should be getting up now, no matter how comfortable you are."

Draco opened one liquid silver eye to find Madame Pomfrey looking at him with an amused expression. He twisted, and the boy in his arms snuggled deeper into his warmth, wrapped around him. The Slytherin blushed light pink at being caught by the medi-witch. He shifted and swung his legs around, attempting to lower his feet to the infirmary floor, when Harry moaned in protest and pulled him back down onto the bed. He sneered as Madame Pomfrey stifled a laugh. He looked back at his lover, smiling as those beautiful, sparkling green eyes fluttered underneath thick, dark lashes and opened up, twin blossoms blooming to the sun. Draco reached over and gently slipped Harry’s frames onto him, who smiled as his vision cleared, and paused to rub the weary laziness of sleep from his eyes, stretching. Then he met Draco’s lips in a soft kiss, expressing with his lips what his mind was still too tired to say. Madame Pomfrey coughed.

"I would appreciate it, Mister Malfoy, if you would be so kind as to hand over my student? I will not have my only pupil missing his first class, despite how cute you are together. And don’t you have an Arithmancy class to get to, Mister Malfoy?"

This time it was Harry’s turn to blush. He attempted to hide it by burying his face in Draco’s neck, but to no avail. Slowly, the Slytherin helped Harry to stand up from the cot they had been sharing. He stumbled, still slightly wobbly from his early exhibition of magical power. Draco let the smaller boy lean against him, kissing the soft mop of messy black hair and wrapping his arms around the slim form. "I’ll see you in Sev’s rooms after dinner, all right?"

Harry nodded and the blond kissed him once more before gracefully walking out of the infirmary. Then he looked nervously at the medi-witch, who answered the question that his mind had been voicing in an apprehensive silence.

"Don’t worry, Harry, dear, your secret is safe with me."

Harry visibly relaxed.

"Now, why don’t you get your things – Miss Granger and Mister Weasley were kind enough to collect them and bring them up with you – and we can move into my rooms for a cup of tea. What do you think?" She was bustling around the room as she spoke, putting stray potions away in their proper places with habitual ease.

"Um… your rooms?" My, aren’t we articulate today, the snide little voice at the back of Harry’s mind ridiculed. Madame Pomfrey took no notice to his lack of eloquence, however. He was thankful for that; he got enough of it from Snape.

"Yes, dear. I have an office, but I think a more personal space and a warm fire would be much more cozy, not to mention easier to work in, than a stuffy old teacher’s office with nothing but files and folders, don’t you agree?"

Harry gave a light-hearted laugh. When she was not mothering the students and pestering them about cuts and scrapes and the proper amount of bed rest after being sick, she seemed rather like a younger, female version of the headmaster. Although, Harry noted absently as he remembered the wake-up comments he and Draco had been greeted with, her sense of humor is much looser than Dumbledore’s. The Gryffindor decided that he liked the change.

When they entered the medi-witch’s quarters, Harry noticed that the blueprints were very similar to that of the Potions master’s rooms. However, that was where the similarities ended. As like all of the rooms in Hogwarts, the walls and the floor were stone, but it looked as if a decorator had gone through great lengths to make that fact as inconspicuous as possible. A thick, soft, cream-colored, plush carpet stretched from corner to corner, covering every inch of the floor, so pure that Harry felt the need to take off his shoes before he entered the room so as not to sully it. Grand tapestries woven with friendly, welcoming designs and expertly painted portraits in golden frames were hung in tasteful locations upon the walls. There was an open window bordered by transparent, flowing white curtains with satin trim, the window itself so large that it claimed an entire wall, the fabric billowing with the late afternoon breeze.

The sitting area’s furniture was made of a dark cherry-wood, and the chairs were upholstered with a smooth, cream fabric and gold trim. A large couch was the only thing to break away from the color scheme, as it was made of a rich blue material that subtly shifted hues, giving the impression of a darkened twilight sky on a clear day. Gratefully, Harry sat down on it and sank into the cushions before taking out his notebook for the course and spreading his materials on the low, cherry-wood coffee table.

"Harry, dear, what do you take in your tea?" Madame Pomfrey was standing half inside of a doorway that Harry assumed lead to the kitchen.

"Milk and one sugar, please."

She disappeared, only to re-enter the room carrying two steaming mugs. She handed one to her student and they just sat for a moment, sipping at the warm liquid. Then Harry decided to ask his teacher something that had been bothering him for a while. "Madame Pomfrey?"

She chuckled. "Harry, dear, why don’t you just call me ‘Poppy’. After all, you’ve been in the infirmary so many times that I think you’ve earned the right to address me by my first name. Besides, since we’re going to be spending so much time one on one, it’s only natural that we use them to get more comfortable with each other."

"All right, Ma- Poppy." This is going to take some serious adjusting to.

His teacher brightened. "Good! Now, what did you want to ask me?"

"Um… well, I was just curious as to why you didn’t heal Draco’s wrist completely. I mean, I thought that you could fix something like that overnight."

Poppy turned thoughtful for a moment, considering her answer. "The thing is, dear, that wounds can only be treated magically, for the most part, within a certain time frame after the injury is caused. Unfortunately, the greater the injury, the smaller the time frame. Had it been just a sprain or a cut, then there would have been no problem. However, Mister Malfoy broke many delicate bones in his hand, and the hands and feet are of the most complex structures of any part of the human body, barring major organs and things like the nervous system, of course. There are exceptions to this rule, though."

Harry’s eyes widened considerably. "Really? What are they?"

"You see, Harry, anybody could become a medi-witch or a medi-wizard with the proper training, but few actually have the talent for it. I myself certainly do not, though I’ve had more experience than most have in this particular field. Those who do have the talent, though, could heal something as permanent as the scar on your forehead." She sighed, taking a sip of her tea. "Unfortunately, there hasn’t been a true Healer in well near a century."

Harry noticed that she was averting her eyes from him. He normally was not the best at judging facial expressions – that was more of Draco’s forte – but he could tell that there was more to it than that.

"What else is there?"

She started. "Hmm?"

"There’s something you’re not telling me, isn’t there? There’s more to Draco’s injury than what you’re letting on."

She sighed. "Well, I suppose you deserve to know. Mister Malfoy… has a spell cast on him that prevents him from being healed magically, and as you’ve learned, the longer a spell is in place, the stronger it is. I think he may have been cursed with it all his life, if I’m not mistaken. I found out about it about two years ago, when he was attacked by Hagrid’s hippogriff in Care of Magical Creatures. He had a horrible gash, couldn’t move his arm for a month, the poor thing. I’ve even had the headmaster try to remove it, but there’s nothing we can do. I’m sorry, Harry."

The Gryffindor’s eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in anger. And we all thought he was faking that incident… wait. I’ll bet it was Lucius that cursed him, that bastard!

He absently rubbed his scar, disappointed at not being able to help his lover. It hurt him to see Draco in so much pain. The blond’s hands were important to him, what with his talent for potion making, and there was little he could do when one of them was incapacitated.

Poppy, having noticed Harry’s downtrodden expression, thought it best to try and change the conversation to something a bit lighter. "Well, dear, why don’t we discuss the course, all right."

Harry nodded and offered a lopsided smile, which she took as a sign of encouragement and continued. "In the first month or so, we’ll just start with some basic medical theory, as well as a study on human anatomy. I trust that Mister Malfoy is helping you in potions?"

The raven-haired boy blushed, but nodded anyway.

"Perfect. A lot of medicine is potions, and you will need a decent knowledge of potion theory and developed skill if you’re to become a successful medi-wizard. Later on in the year, when I think that you’re ready, I’ll be having you assist me in the infirmary during part of the period to get you used to it, though there will still be plenty of written work, mind you.

"Now, contrary to what most people know, magical medicine is actually a very difficult and draining branch of wizardry. The most important part of it that all who wish to learn medicine must first be instructed as to how to find their magical cores. It is very important to be able to find, enlarge, balance, and preserve your magical reserves when healing, because, like potions, a little bit of magic goes into your work when you heal, and it certainly wouldn’t do to pass out in the middle of a war, now would it?"

During the rest of the ninety-minute period Harry made three attempts to find his core. On the second try, he slumped, discouraged, and Poppy placed a comforting hand on his arm, gently squeezing. "It’s all right, dear, no need to get frustrated. Very few are able to center on their first day. It took me a week, and I was five years your senior when I started training."

Harry smiled, wearily, and looked back up at her. "Is it… is it okay if I try one more time before I go?"

"Of course, dear. Just don’t wear yourself out, now."

Harry nodded and let his body completely relax, though without slouching. He fell into his mind as his consciousness turned in on itself in black nothingness. Slowly, one by one, the Gryffindor felt his frustrations, fears, and emotions dropping away, each time making him feel considerably lighter in mind, body and spirit, until there was only one thing left: the love that he felt for his home and the people around him. He opened that up and dove inside, finding the light that he was filled with.

It was a swirling pool of pale green, mixed with whites and glittering golds that danced and swam with perfect rhythm. Harry reached for it, pulling out a few glowing strands and feeding them through the infinite number of rivulets in his body, so that even the tips of his fingers throbbed with this familiar warmth. He opened his eyes, absorbing his surroundings in a world blurred by pale green light, looking without seeing. Then he let his lids fall, and poured his energy back into that pool, easily accessible now, and watched as a thousand waterfalls refilled his reserves, slowly spinning like his own, personal galaxy in which everything was always good, always pure. When he opened his eyes again, he was surprised to find the medi-witch staring at him with something akin to awe.

"I’ll be right back," she whispered before practically bolting from the room. When she returned, she was carrying a considerable sized glass bottle in one hand, which appeared to be filled with a thick, slightly transparent orange substance, and a stainless steel medical knife. She relieved the bottle of its stopper and set it down on the coffee within arm’s reach, raising the knife.

"Now, Harry, I’m going to do something that may seem a bit strange to you, and I just want you to do what comes naturally, all right. Don’t worry, though, this potion will do the trick if anything goes wrong."

Harry nodded, uncertainly, still a bit dazed from the power rush. His eyes widened as Poppy brought the knife down across the back of her forearm in one swift motion, creating a gash that was not deep enough to scar, but deep enough to draw blood. Without thinking, the raven-haired boy placed his hands over the wound, calling up numerous pale green strands of energy from his pool. He let it flow down through his arms and into his hands, watching as the light spread in a visible aura on his skin, creating a heat that made his palms sweat and very nearly burned his fingertips. When he drew his hands back, the wound was as if it had never been. He was panting, and had to wipe sweat from his brow to prevent it from dripping into his eyes. As an afterthought, he looked inwards again, to find that very few of the strands that he had originally taken were actually used, and were now flooding back into his pool. He turned his gaze to Poppy, who was grinning at him.

"Well, Harry, it seems that I was wrong when I said there is no longer a Healer in existence."

Green eyes widened, still dimly glowing.

"I know, because I’m staring right at one."

---

When Harry entered the Great Hall for dinner a few minutes late, he was surprised to find that the entire Gryffindor table was excitedly talking. He tapped Ron on the shoulder as he sat down. The redhead started at the sudden contact, but let out a face-splitting grin when he saw his friend. Harry was relieved that Ron had gotten over his anger from earlier that afternoon, and revealed a matching grin to show his gratitude.

"You’re here! That’s great, now you guys can vote."

"Vote for what?"

Ron’s chest swelled. "Why, for Quidditch team captain, of course." He said it with the enthusiasm he always used when speaking of his obsession. "You haven’t forgotten, have you?"

"What? Oh, no, definitely not." The truth was, he actually had forgotten, but there was no way he would admit that to his Quidditch-infatuated best friend. With everything that had been going on, normality had taken a back seat when it came to priorities.

The table looked up as the infamous Weasley twins prepared for their speech.

"As you know, the time had come for us to choose a team captain."

"Normally, we use spell-proof paper to take the votes, so that everyone’s choices are anonymous-"

"-but this year, there really is no need for that-"

"-because Oliver and Alicia have graduated-"

"-George and I are too busy with other… endeavors," here Harry was favored with twin winks.

"-and Katie and Angelina need the time to work, so that they can be accepted to the Magical Institute of Commerce and International Developments, whatever that means-"

"-so, naturally, there was only one choice for team captain. Ironically, he would have been the best man for the job anyway, even if the rest of us were able to take the position."

"So, without further adieu, please allow us to present this year’s Gryffindor Quidditch team captain, the illustrious Harry Potter! Mister Potter, will you please come up here and deliver your acceptance speech?"

Harry sat, stunned, glued to his seat. When Fred and George realized that he was not going to move anytime soon, they spoke to each other in the way that only twins can, and waltzed over to the place where he was sitting. Then, without warning, they hoisted the small boy up in the air, resulting in an undignified squeak from their burden, and carried him over to the head of the table, setting him down none too gently on his feet. When he came back to himself, he looked around and hastily scrambled for something to say.

"I, well, I… um, well that was certainly unexpected." The group laughed, and Harry began to feel more at ease with his new position. He easily slipped into the roll of team captain, which was quite amusing to see from someone so small. "I suppose, now that Wood is gone, you’ll think that practice is going to be easier. Well I’ve got news for you. After tryouts are finished, every practice will be spent until we are sweating blood, and if anyone slacks off, they’ll become the target of one of Fred and George’s newest inventions." At this, the twins grinned with evil glee, and the rest of the students were trying to decide whether they should be laughing or cowering, or some twisted combination of both.

"But," Harry continued, "if you do put forth your best effort, I can promise you the best Quidditch season that Hogwarts has ever seen!" The table broke out into cheers as he made his way back to his spot. He sat down, grinning as Ron patted him on the back, and turned towards his blond lover, who was sitting directly across from him on the other side of the Great Hall. Harry watched, amazed and pleased at the same time, as Draco lifted his glass to him, and drank deep.

---

"Congratulations on making team captain, Harry," Draco said when they walked into their room.

"Thanks. Hey, why didn’t you get picked for your team?"

The Slytherin sighed. "I quit the team. I’ve got so much to deal with, and I can’t risk falling if the Mark burns while I’m in a dive or something."

Harry nodded. He certainly understood, but for him, flying meant freedom, and he was not about to give that up just yet. He moved closer to his lover as they sat on the couch, stroking Draco’s arm in soft, fluid motions.

"Hey, Draco?"

"Mmm?"

"Did you notice if Remus was acting strangely during class today?"

"Who?"

"Remus is Professor Lupin. We have a relationship similar to what you have with Professor Snape."

"Oh. Strange? How do you mean ‘strange’?"

"He was kind of acting like… well, like Professor Snape. It was odd. I mean, I know it was him, and not some Barty Crouch Jr. wannabe or something, but he seemed… different. It wasn’t bad, really, I’m just not used to it."

Draco thought for a moment. Harry’s right, he was acting a bit like Sev. There wouldn’t be much reason for that, unless… oh.

"Harry? Just out of curiosity, does Professor Lupin have reading glasses? Half-moon spectacles, perhaps?"

A hesitant nod. "Yeah, I think he does. Why? Does it matter?"

Draco grinned. He had them now. Severus would never hear the end of it from him. "You know how when couples are together, they tend adopt a bit of each other’s traits?"

Harry considered. He had been smirking a lot more, now that he thought of it, and Draco was much kinder towards those around him, or at least, he did not go out of his way to make others miserable. "Yeah, I guess that does happen, but what does that have to do with… oh. Are you suggesting…?"

"Harry, love, that is exactly what I’m saying. Remember when we were in Sev’s room this afternoon? I saw an extra cup, a book and a pair of spectacles that were certainly not Sev’s on the coffee table. And it couldn’t have been a visitor; Sev never has visitors… well, except for us."

Harry nodded, remembering the way Remus had blushed after slipping when he mentioned understanding how he felt about love. Had it been an old schoolboy thing, the werewolf would not have acted so embarrassed. "You’re probably right."

Draco smirked. "I’m always right."

Harry sighed, and continued to trace his fingers down the Slytherin’s arm. He stopped at the fabric bandage, frowning. Then his face lit up. He pulled back and looked his lover in they eyes, liquid silver and shining emeralds.

"Do you trust me, Draco?"

The blonde looked at him, a bit frightened. Where is this going? "Of course I do, Harry. You don’t have to ask."

Harry smiled. "Good. Just checking." Then he collected the broken hand in his, caressing each digit before he began to remove the bandage carefully, taking his time.

"Um… what are you doing?"

"Trust me."

Draco nodded, still a bit apprehensive, and lay back on the couch in the same position he had been in early that afternoon, with Harry sitting beside him as he unwrapped the wounded appendage. When he was finished, the Gryffindor discarded the strip of canvas, taking a closer look at the break. It was not as bad as before, as Madame Pomfrey had done an admirable job in setting the bones, but it was still red and swollen. It was still sore, too, as Draco winced, horribly, when Harry ran his fingers over it.

Smiling to reassure the other boy, Harry cupped his hand over the break, and closed his eyes, turning inward as he had done with Poppy’s self-inflicted injury. This time, though, he felt as if he was pushing against something, trying to force his energy into a body that would not accept it. He regrouped and gathered his strength again, searching for a weak point. Suddenly he felt something unnamable shatter and his pale green light rushed into the wound, knitting bones together and solidifying the new connection. Harry groaned with exhaustion when he was done, and would have fallen on the floor had Draco not been there to catch him and pull him back onto the couch.

"It wasn’t the healing part that was hard," Harry mumbled, his voice heavy with sleep, "but breaking Lucius’ spell was one hell of a job."

Draco’s eyes widened. Not even Dumbledore had been able to remove that spell, and Harry had done it in a matter of moments. He clutched the smaller boy closer to him, nuzzling his hair. Harry sighed and leaned into the contact. Then he lifted his head up to face the blond, locking their eyes yet again.

"Draco? Something came up when I was talking to Remus today and… I just want you to know that I do love you. You’ve become the most important part of my life, and I’m grateful for that. You… you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to, I just wanted you to know."

"Thank you."

"Huh?"

Draco started kissing Harry’s face, eyes, lips, chin, cheeks, anything he could to express how he was feeling. Then he buried his hands in that soft, black hair and let his head fall to Harry’s shoulder. "Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you so much. I love you always, Harry, I was just… afraid… that you wouldn’t, and no one’s ever loved me before, so I wasn’t sure, and…."

Harry silenced him with an easy meeting of lips, tender and delicious. Draco kissed back with desperation, wanting to feel loved, wanting to feel that he was not the lonely little boy he had been just a few weeks ago. Then Harry pulled them both down, resting so that Draco was on his side, half on top of the Gryffindor. Harry slipped his glasses off before snaked his arm around Draco’s back, running a hand up and down the other boy’s spine, all the while releasing traces of his magical energy to coax Draco into a deep sleep. His last thoughts before he drifted off were fleeting, just a consideration of Ron and Hermione. They might be worried if I don’t go back, he thought. But, even so, there was no way he was leaving the circle of Draco’s arms, so they would just have to deal with it.

---

Saturday morning. Harry shifted, sleepily blinking to gaze at his lover’s soft, relaxed features. He looked around the room, and noticed a book on one of the nightstands on the other side of the room and read the title: Enchanted Items and Their History. He rubbed his face, still tired. Then his brow furrowed in confusion. Something was missing. He ran hesitant fingertips over his face again, checking to see that everything was there. By chance he happened to glance on the floor, and started when he noticed his glasses resting on the floor. He bent to pick them up.

Wait.

Wait.

He could read the title of a book from a considerable distance away. Without his glasses. And he was supposed to be as blind as a bat. Out of curiosity, he looked through the lenses, nearly dropping them when the world became blurry. When did that happen? he wondered. Oh, well. No use questioning a good thing. I can ask Poppy later. That decided, he slipped the frames into his pocket, just in case the change did not last, and turned back to Draco to see shining silver eyes gazing at him.

"Morning, love. Feel better?"

Harry nodded. "Um… Draco?"

"Yes?"

"I can see."

The blonde rolled his eyes, indulgently. "And here I was, thinking that you had gone blind."

Harry laughed. "No, I mean my vision’s cleared. I can see without my glasses."

Draco’s eyes widened, but then he remembered something. "You know, that makes sense. I mean, after what you did last night…." He raised his right hand. "You’re a Healer, aren’t you?"

"Yes. I just found out yesterday."

"I think I read something once that talked about how, when a Healer finds his center, his body corrects any disabilities he may have had. It’s a self-preservation thing; the rare are hunted, and it wouldn’t do if you couldn’t see where you were running to or whom you were fighting."

Harry nodded. "That makes sense."

Yawning, Draco asked, "What day is it?"

"Saturday, love. We can go back to sleep, if you want."

Draco grinned. "That sounds good. Next time, don’t wake me up." And with that, he pulled the smaller boy back under him, snuggling up against his pillow for another hour.

---

The rest of the day was spent in seclusion. Harry only emerged once from his and Draco’s rooms to inform his friends that, yes, he was still alive, no, they did not need to call out a search party, and no, he did not want to come to Hogsmeade with them, as he had other plans to take care of. Although, to his credit, he did sneak into town with his invisibility cloak to buy some butterbeers and a fair supply of candy.

When he returned, he and Draco spent their time finishing up homework, including a fair bit of Potions tutoring, which Draco was ecstatic about when found that he was able to do the practical work with his hand again. They talked about anything and everything, drinking in each other’s company and getting to know each other deeper then they ever had before. So it was no surprise when they crawled into the soft bed together at the end of the day, bound in a tight embrace and more content then they thought possible.

---

"Do you think we should wake them?" The voice was hushed.

A smirk. "They’ve had enough sleep. Besides, if Albus doesn’t do this now, I doubt he’ll ever get around to it."

Sighing, "You’re right. I’ll do it."

Remus Lupin crept up to the bed where his and Severus’ surrogate sons slept, twin expressions of utter peace on their features. He gently shook Harry, pulling the Gryffindor away from his sleep.

"C’mon, Harry, the headmaster wants to see you two."

A groan was his only response as the boys just moved closer in their embrace. Amber-gold eyes looked imploringly into Severus’ black ones. The Potions master sighed. He knew that Remus, soft, gentle Remus, would never have the heart to disturb them. He stalked over, sneering, and in one swift motion he ripped the sheets from them, exposing two shivering bodies clad in only boxers and T-shirts.

That did it.

"Seeeeeev…." Draco whined. "It’s too eaaarrly."

"Nice try, Draco, but it’s well past noon, and the headmaster humbly requests your presence."

Harry roused himself just then, and furiously blushed when he saw his two professors staring down at him. Then he remembered the way they were now associated, and blushed harder. Draco laughed and ruffled the dark head of hair before walking, unabashedly, across the room to gather his and Harry’s robes, tossing the Gryffindor crested set to his lover, who rushed to pull it over his head.

It was not long before they were being led up to the headmaster’s office and listening as Severus muttered the password. Once they were upstairs, Draco nervously sat down, pulling Harry into his lap. He turned his head to the side, noticing with amusement that Remus and Severus were trying to stand as close as possible without actually touching, or rather, Remus was sitting and Severus was all but perched on the armrest. Draco rolled his eyes and nudged Harry. The Gryffindor stifled a laugh at the picture; they were acting like hormonal teenage boys, and that was their job. Then Draco grinned, deciding to reveal his sum of blackmail information.

"You know, I think Voldemort couldn’t be more obvious than you two. Sev, if you want to sit on his lap, do it already!"

By this time, the professors were gaping at him. Then Severus regained his composure and asked coolly, "And how, pray tell, did you come to that conclusion?"

"Well, let’s just say that you shouldn’t leave things like, oh, say a pair of glasses, lying around where you can find them."

Remus shifted uncomfortably. "And you’re… okay with this, Harry?"

"Of course," Harry said, smiling reassuringly. "Besides, it would be a bit hypocritical of me if I weren’t, don’t you think?"

The werewolf nodded and twisted so that he was leaning against his lover, the latter of whom rested one elegant, long-fingered hand on Remus’ shoulder.

"Well, isn’t this cozy!" The headmaster suddenly appeared behind the desk, making everyone but Severus start.

"Let’s get this over with. The meeting is going to start soon, and I want to be sure we have everyone. Fawkes, will you do the honors?"

The phoenix, fiery and magnificent from his recent rebirth, flew over and landed on Harry’s shoulder. Without hesitation he began to sing, a glorious melody that rang throughout the school’s walls. Then, as soon as he was done, Fawkes landed on the arm of the chair, facing Draco, and began to sing again. Dumbledore beamed.

"Excellent! And so quickly accepted, too. All right boys, tonight is your first meeting, and if, afterwards, you decide that you no longer wish to participate in this organization, then your memory of the past few hours shall be erased. Good? Good! Now, if you’ll just follow me…."

With far too much energy for a man of his years, the headmaster led the quartet through the back door in his office. The last time Harry and Draco had been there, it looked more like a sitting room, not counting the bed that Dumbledore had transfigured for Harry’s sake. Now, about thirty people sat in various places around the room, some familiar, and some bearing faces that neither boy had ever seen before.

Dumbledore swept inside and turned around to face the young lovers. "Welcome," he said, "to the Order of the Phoenix!"

X: Blood Spells

"Lucius Malfoy’s son! What the hell is he doing here?" It was said by an unfamiliar middle-aged man with dirty blonde hair and dark brown eyes. Severus bristled upon hearing him, and Dumbledore took a step forward to defend his newest member, but it was Harry who spoke first. His eyes narrowed with cold green fire as he raised an arm to protect his lover.

"I don’t know who you are, or how much power you have, but none of it gives you any right to talk to Draco like that. He obviously wouldn’t be here if he weren’t trustworthy; Fawkes and Professor Dumbledore have already seen to that. Now, if you or anyone else has a problem with his being here, then he will leave the way he came in and I will follow."

There was a stunned silence for a moment. Suddenly Arthur Weasley, who was sitting in a corner with his wife, Bill, and Charlie, broke into a grin and started clapping.

"Bravo, Harry. We’ve been trying to get Lawrence there to shut up for days."

The group, barring Lawrence, started laughing, and the room became much more comfortable. Remus and Severus sat down in two chairs near the Weasley brood, although not before the Potions master shot a glower at Lawrence. Draco followed, leaning against Severus’ knees and pulling Harry between his legs, wrapping his arms around the smaller boy’s chest. The reaction was mixed: it ranged from Lawrence, who’s disgusted snarling was cut off by a piercing glare from Severus, which caused the man to swallow hard and shrink in his chair, to the oldest Weasley sons, who were grinning at each other. Harry and Draco did a superb job of ignoring them all.

"Well," Dumbledore cut in, "let’s get down to business, shall we? Remus, Severus, why don’t you share what your contact found with the group?"

Unfortunately, the Potions master was still fuming, despite his ability to cover it up, so Remus spoke for him.

"As you all know by now, or at least most of you," here he spared a glance to Harry and Draco, "our contact has been involved in a world-wide for an old and powerful type of magic or spell that can be used to our advantage against You-Know-Who. The spell that Wormtail used to resurrect him-" Harry winced, "-was indeed found to date back to twenty eight hundred B.C., about thirty years before the end of the first dynasty in Egypt. It used Blood Magic, something that, despite the fact that it is now forbidden, was very popular among the higher wizard-priests of ancient Egypt. Also, because that particular spell has been in existence for well over two millennia, it is very powerful and very solid, to the point where it protects the user’s soul as well as his mind and body.

"Now the hard part: we need something strong enough to break it and make You-Know-Who vulnerable, hence the search. So far, we know that whatever magic we use must be of a considerable age, though if it is powerful enough in its own right, it does not have to be nearly as old as Egyptian magic. As many of you know, there are other factors involved that determine the magical force of an incantation or talisman or such, including the mindset, experience and sheer power of the person casting it in the first place. The other factor that needed to be taken into account is that whatever spell we end up using must be Blood Magic."

There was an audible gasp sounding throughout the room, and murmurs spread as would wildfire among the numerous small groups.

"Silence, all of you, we don’t have time for this." Severus’ voice was smooth, calm, and, most importantly, efficient. The hushed whispers abruptly stopped, and the Potions master continued where his lover had left off. "As Remus stated, the only thing strong enough to fight an Egyptian resurrection spell, most likely from the Book of the Dead, would be Blood Magic. Yes, I know it is illegal, and yes, I know the price for using it is high, but the consequences for neglecting the only possible way of defeating this madman are higher.

"We sent instructions to our contact with the mentality that he should search for anything that felt… unusual, with a different magical flavor, so to speak. Recently, he called us by fire and was quick to say that he had found something in a small Wizarding town in India. I will inform you now that the magic in such a country is very rich, and very old indeed. There was a woman in the village, a Shaman, who claimed to be the reincarnated form of a Hindu sorceress from some time around one thousand B.C., when the religion first came into practice.

"Apparently, in her previous body, the woman was also an extraordinary seer, and she never had a single vision that wasn’t given to her for a reason. She said that there was one in particular that told of horrible bloodshed, death and suffering caused solely by a feud between two powerful families."

Severus took a breath before continuing. He had a theory, but that’s all it was: a theory. "The vision frightened her so much that it lead her to make a creation by invoking the oldest Blood Magic ever known, blatantly ignoring the fact that the Hindu religion, as it was and still is based on karma, strongly forbid it.

"It took her a good century of her life as a sorceress, and during that time, mind you, she had no other visions to distract her from her work, nor outside visitors to interrupt it. When she finished, she had produced something that would forever bind two of the greatest Wizarding families ever known, a full thirteen hundred years before the first ancestors came into existence. Their relationships would alternate with each generation, under the power of her creation, first with love, then with hate, until there would be no more births and the cycle would end. Supposedly, this back and forth state of mind between the two families would prevent them from warring, as they would be too busy trying to figure things out to form anything more than a petty rivalry.

"The point is that, if we can harness this power, as well as that of the descendants and heirs to both families, we, or they, as the case may be, might be able to use it against Him the next time He makes an open attack on our turf."

Dumbledore considered him thoughtfully. "That is all well and good, Severus, but how would you go about finding these… heirs?"

Another deep breath. "I was given the names of the first two from my contact, who in turn received the information from the Shaman. Though it may be unnecessary, I can trace the family tree with a revealing potion of sorts."

The headmaster nodded appraisingly. "And, pray tell, who were the original two?"

Everyone in the room leaned forward, impatient to hear the only key to Voldemort’s destruction. It was a good thing they were so alert, too, because when Severus spoke, it was no more than a whisper.

"Dominique Alexandre-Jacques Malfoi and Christopher Horatio Potter."

---

"Where have you been, young man?"

It was Monday morning again, about a half an hour before breakfast. After the previous day’s rather shocking revelations, Harry and Draco had spent the rest of the time with Professors Snape and Lupin, discussing various ideas and trading bits and pieces of information about the prestigious bloodlines of Potter and Malfoy, or "Malfoi", as the original spelling had been. Despite the seriousness of the conversation, Harry enjoyed the history lesson, as he learned more about his family line in those few hours than he had in his entire life.

He had been interested to find that he was of Irish blood, dating back to the ancient Celts. His ancestors from his father’s side had always been very prominent in transfiguration techniques, Animagus transformations included. In fact, it was a young and ambitious James Dorian Potter from the late twelve hundreds who had first melded and shifted his body into the form of an animal, or to be more specific, into a Great Stag. The first attempts, however, had been frightening and just as, if not more, painful than Remus’ monthly transformation. It had needed the greatest courage of Gryffindor and determination worthy of Slytherin, which, as Harry was happy to find, was why James Dorian Potter had very nearly been sorted into the House of the Serpent just as Harry had, before success was immanent. But, after three long years of fine tuning magical energy and performing dangerous experiments, the final project was complete, thus revolutionizing one of the most powerful branches of magic. Ironically, Harry’s grandparents had named his father prior to any knowledge of his status as an illegal Animagus during his school years at Hogwarts.

Curious as he was, Harry had also inquired about his mother’s side, and found it fitting that her line, through her grandmother, who had been the most recent witch in the family before her birth, was gifted with miraculous healing abilities. It had also been his three times great grandmother who had been the world’s Healer before him, and it was Lily Evans’ powerful ancestors, accompanied by her love for her son, that had saved his life that fateful day of All Hallows Eve. Dumbledore gave the explanation, however long overdue it was, that with Lily’s courageous burst of power, she had forced infant Harry’s dormant ability to manifest itself for a split second. That second had been just enough time for his natural defenses as a wizard to reverse the polarity of the energy from the Killing Curse into healing energy as it hit him. The positive force of his spell had caught the curse on preparation, so to speak, and saved him before the dark magic was given time enough to drain his life. The original spell, having still been linked to the caster, tore a hole through Voldemort’s magical self, as the Light energy had also contradicted the darker magic in the Dark Lord’s body, creating a strain too strong for Voldemort to contain.

Another side affect was that, because all magic needs a place to go after it is sucked from its previous container, some of Tom Riddle’s powers, such as parseltongue, accidentally channeled themselves into Harry by way of the still solid connection. When the bond had, finally, broken itself off, Harry was left with Voldemort’s energy signature within the central point of the spell: his scar. By that time Harry’s healing gifts, as they were no longer needed, had reverted to their dormant state, where they would remain until his body was ready to accept them.

Draco’s side, however, tended to stray closer towards more… subtle means when it came to greatness. Things like politics, potions, and various types of trade in general needed a delicate touch, and the aristocratic hands of a Malfoi were made for that. In fact, while James Dorian Potter was gaining fame for his brilliance in the field of transfiguration, one Basile Julien Malfoi had been devising a tactic that would do the impossible: to bring down an entire nation with just one man. That is not to say that Basile did not use his contacts, old favors and such. It merely states that this Malfoi never spoke a word about his motives or his purpose to any other. Of course, it also helped that those he associated with knew never to ask in the first place, and that they never saw his face.

While the enemy’s army was building, so were Basile’s resources, and by the time the magical Islamic dynasty in India was thought to be at its highest point, it was already crumbling from rebellions that had been sparked by an unknown source.

In the end, the entire plot had been organized solely so that Basile could claim a peculiar tapestry with the family crest of a grand Northern Dragon on it from a small town in India. The steal had been skillfully made to appear as if the tapestry had been burnt in a fire started by raging mutineers rather than lifted from a dignified European aristocrat. Oddly enough, the Potters owned a tapestry of similar style, though their model depicted the Potter crest of a Great Stag, instead.

The two families had been rivals in that generation.

Narcissa’s side of the family was something Draco already had knowledge of, and there was nothing of much worth from there other than they were pure blooded and boasted a touch of veela blood. The LeSauvage side was used for breeding, so that there would always be a clean plot from which to choose a wife. Draco was disgusted by it, to put it lightly. Inbreeding had never carried much appeal to him. Then again, neither did Pansy Parkinson.

Both Harry and Draco were exceedingly grateful for the existence of a third option.

At the moment, though, Harry felt a rough hand on his shoulder rip him from his thoughts and he immediately recognized his location, though he still suffered somewhat of a mental backlash. He was standing in the middle of the Gryffindor common room, the first time he had been there since his brief appearance to assure Ron and Hermione of his well-being two days ago. Now, he was being accosted by the identically devilish grins of Fred and George Weasley as they performed a startlingly perfect impression of their mother.

"Do you know how worried we’ve been about you? You could have-"

"-been killed, or worse, captured by Slytherin and-"

"-tortured for information on Quidditch tactics! Which, by the way, -"

"-you still need to discuss with us, so start talking!"

Harry was subconsciously aware that while he was being bombarded with an interrogation worthy of a Howler, the twins were dragging him over to a couch in front of the fireplace. They proceeded to push him onto the cushions, taking a seat on either side of him to prevent him from escaping without giving satisfactory answers.

Harry blinked, owlishly, his eyes appearing even wider without their usual obstruction of cheap plastic frames, before the jumbled words and phrases that were rattling around in his head came to a halt and he was able to focus on how to reply without giving away too much information.

"Um… I’ve been talking with Professor Dumbledore… there was a lot to discuss, and I was too tired to come back to Gryffindor, so Professor Lupin let me spend the night on his couch…." That would be a plausible excuse. The twins knew how well Harry got along with his DADA professor from during his third year, although they were not aware of exactly how deep the filial bond went. Nevertheless, they would most likely accept his words without inquiry, unless they were given reason for doubt.

The younger Gryffindor continued, "And no, I can’t tell you what the conversation was about-"

Fred and George pouted. Harry ignored them.

"-but as for Quidditch, where do you want to start?"

The redheads grinned, revealing two sets of identical white teeth. Then they went into a strange sort of phase in which their personalities took on the blended characteristics of a distinguished business man and a bloodthirsty, ambitious general, either Napoleon or Gangues Khan, and went into attack mode. Harry had a fleeting thought that caused him to wonder if the Sorting Hat had experienced difficulty deciding whether they should have been placed in Slytherin instead of Gryffindor, as it had with him.

"Well, as you already know, -"

"-we need a new chaser and a new keeper, so-"

"-when do you want to hold tryouts?"

After his head stopped spinning from being jerked back and forth to look at each twin as they spoke, Harry considered his schedule. The first Prefect meeting would be that Friday, so that was out. Tuesday and Thursday he planned to spend with Draco for tutoring in Potions, among other… things. Wednesday he had agreed to meet up with Professors Lupin and Snape, as well as his blonde lover, to prepare for the next Order of the Phoenix meeting, which, if all went well, would be Saturday evening. So, all things accounted for, that left….

"What about today? I’ll ask Professor McGonagall this morning, and then I can announce it at breakfast. I’ll ask whoever is interested to come back here, so that we’re not overheard." He grinned, conspiratorially. "Besides, the sooner we have a complete team, the sooner we can start practice."

"Yeah, not like you need it though. You’d be able to pound Malfoy into the ground in your sleep!"

"Ahh… one thing. I heard that Dr- Malfoy quit the team."

Freckled faces glowed brighter, if that were even possible. "Really? He may have bought his way onto the team, but we’ll admit-"

"-that the kid did have some talent. Slytherin’s going to be devastatingly bad this year!"

Harry laughed along with them as Fred thumped him on the back. The raven-haired boy was excited as well, but for a different reason. The last thing he ever wanted to do was to face off against Draco on opposite sides of the battlefield, even if it were just for sport.

---

"Professor McGonagall?"

"Yes, Mister Potter?"

"Could you please reserve the pitch for us after school? We’ve decided to have tryouts today, if that’s all right with you."

The Head of Gryffindor nodded, a faint gleam of excitement caught in her eyes. Mild-mannered and strict as she was, Minerva McGonagall was never one to turn down a good fight against the Slytherins, let alone anything that would help prepare for battle. "Certainly. I shall arrange for Madame Hooch to meet you there. Mature though you are, I would feel better if there was some adult supervision when dealing with the newcomers. Some students tend to be a bit… rowdy when it comes to Quidditch tryouts."

Harry grinned in thanks. It was working out better than he had expected; with Madame Hooch there, he might be able to gain a second opinion from the flying instructor herself.

He marched back to the Gryffindor table and cleared his voice before calling his House’s attention.

"Excuse me! I have an announcement to make, if you’ll please listen for a moment." Seventy plus heads looked up at him, expectantly. "I need everyone who’s interested in trying out for the Quidditch team to meet me in our common room before classes start, and I’ll give you the time and date. There are spaces open for one chaser and a keeper, and anyone who is second year or above is welcome to try for one or both positions. Keep in mind, however, that anyone who arrives late will be turned away without a trial run, because if you’re late for that, then you’ll prolly slack off during training season. If you have a problem with the time, come to me afterwards and we’ll try to arrange something. I hope to see you all there, and good luck!"

---

Harry summoned the team and they got up to leave the Great Hall fifteen minutes early. It was only a few moments before the hopeful potentials noticed their sudden absence and followed, piling into the common room. There were about ten in all, which provided for a decent variety to pick from. Among them, Harry noticed Dennis Creevy, Seamus Finnigan, and….

"Ron! I should’ve known you’d try out. What’re you going for?"

The redhead flashed a bright grin. "Keeper. That’s what I always play when the family gets together at home, so I’ve got a fair amount of practice at it, even if I’ve had to make do with a shoddy old broom."

Harry cracked a smile at his friend’s good-natured complaining. "What about Ginny? Does she usually play?"

Nodding, "Yeah, she plays chaser with Bill, and Percy, on the rare occasion that he realizes that there is more to life than cauldron-bottom thickness."

The green-eyed boy scanned the crowd, brow furrowed. "Why isn’t she here, then?"

"She doesn’t like being competitive when she plays a sport. She does it for fun and her own happiness, not for anybody else, although she won’t pass up screaming at the referee if he makes a bad call at a match."

A dark eyebrow shot up. "Ginny? Screaming? No offense, Ron, but that sounds more like your mother’s style. Ginny barely made a peep at the World Cup last year…." He trailed off, his mind drifting to the other events that had taken place that night. Fortunately, Ron’s free laughter shook him out of it before he had a chance to fall in too deep.

"That’s because of you, mate. You know that. You should hear her otherwise; she’s just as tough as my mum and twice as loud. She’s got female instincts with a full blown Weasley temper to top it off, and I pity the poor fool that gets involved with her and breaks her heart. He won’t have to worry about me and my brothers… although, we’d still murder the perpetrator at a moments notice. No, she’d take care of it, and he’d be dead five times before he hit the ground, or his ears would start bleeding and he’d go deaf from the mouth she’s got on her. In fact, I think the only time we ever get some peace and quiet at the Burrow is when you’re there."

The twins, who had been eavesdropping, had long since given up attempting to be tactful and were now fiercely nodding in agreement. Harry laughed; he feared the day that he met the creature that reduced Fred and George to speechless puppets.

"That’s too bad," he said, "we could have used that fire. But, hey, if you make it, I’m sure I can count on you for that, too, right?"

"You bet, mate."

The team captain refocused his attention to the matter at hand. He nodded to Angelina, who grinned and let forth an ear-splitting whistle.

"All right, then," Harry began, "first off, I just want to check that everybody here is above first year, and is interested in either the chaser or keeper position. Anyone else, please leave now."

Predictably, a small boy Harry did not recognize grumbled and kicked his foot against the carpet, dejectedly shuffling out of the common room as he muttered beneath his breath. Harry rolled his eyes as the portrait slammed shut and the Fat Lady gave a squeak of complaint.

"Now that that’s done with, tryouts have been scheduled to begin at four o’clock this afternoon. I’ve already reserved the pitch, so there shouldn’t be any problems. Does this interfere with anybody’s classes?"

No answer. Good, Harry thought, fewer problems for me.

"Perfect. And because I want everyone to have an equal chance to show their skills and not their possessions, every single person will try out using the school’s brooms rather than their own. Of course, should you make the team, you can use whatever you wish, so long as it’s legal. Don’t forget, anyone who is late – and I don’t care what your excuse is – will be disqualified from tryouts. Once again, come at four o’clock." He briefly checked his watch. "That’s all for today. Class starts in about five minutes, so I suggest that you guys get going. See you this afternoon."

Soon the common room was bustling with the apprehensive and eager voices of the Gryffindor students. Harry grinned.

This is going to be an interesting day.

---

A house is an amazing thing. It has blueprints and boundaries, rooms and levels. It is designed and constructed down to the last detail with immaculate accuracy, including the hidden compartment under the third bookcase from the right in the library, and the strategically placed trap door under a thick, innocent looking carpet in an office.

A house is also the perfect place to hide things, especially if said house is a mansion. It can hide the smallest of objects in such an obscure location that it would take well near a year to find it. It can hide diaries, old books, illegal items, people held against their will, and even entire rooms. A house can lock away its tangible secrets for eternity, until it is beaten to the ground and its secrets die with it. It can hide anything, except for one simple, and yet oh so incredibly vital item: emotions. They linger in the stillness of a room, hovering on the breath of a guest and brushing icy hot fingertips along the neck of a host. They come in flooding waterfalls of tears, in cackling, wraith-like screams, and in storms of vibrating anger, leaving tracks and trails in blatant patterns that stretch deeper and farther than simple blueprints ever could. Emotions tell stories of desperation and hope, of revenge and despair, of love and love lost, creating overlapping echoes that bounce and reverberate and send shivers down the spine. It comes to a point at which the stale memories, blanketed with the dust and grime of what will come, are so rich, so true, that they reveal more secrets than a journal hidden in the compartment under the third bookshelf from the right or the broken bodies stored beneath the trap door under the carpet ever could.

If there were ever any doubt that this is the case, a quick jog through Malfoy Mansion would do well to put all arguments to rest. However, when one has lived there as long as Lucius Malfoy has, two things happen as an aftereffect of the constant resonation: First of all, every emotion fades into the background, a comfortingly familiar buzz in the back of the mind. Secondly, the moment one of those emotions is twisted off center, Lucius knows it in an instant, and then proceeds to sniff out the scent like a bloodhound.

His jaw will twitch, and he will stalk around corridors, steal around corners, creeping up behind whatever prey has disturbed the delicate balance of the Malfoy legacy. There was a time when this could be done with unfailing perfection, when his natural sense of the house lead him toward any mutiny or disloyalty that might be lurking about within the minds of his servants or his guests. Sometimes Malfoy Mansion even went so far as to draw the unsuspecting conspirators into a corner, blocking them off with endless mazes and chambers while leading Lucius through the precise series of doors needed to reach them. The house was the only thing Lucius had ever come to trust, and he relied on it as he did no living human being.

But.

But. That was a long time ago. Over the years, Malfoy Mansion had turned from its owner to suit another, and the patterns had changed. Rooms were often found out of reach, dead ends appeared where they should not have been, and too much went on without his knowing. Of course, there were still a few places that obeyed him and only him, such as the dungeons, his quarters, his office, the main dining hall, and numerous others. After all, it was a big house, and not everything could change overnight. And besides, those were, for the most part, the rooms that mattered.

Except. There were rooms with secrets buried from his prying, steel gray eyes, rooms that revealed themselves to one person only, rooms that he had not seen since his youth, seeking refuge from his controlling father. Of course, the only person who could see them now was…

…his son.

There was not so much harm in that, though. Likewise, he had hidden himself in much the same way when the house began to open up to him in his earlier years, finding a scarce empty corner or storage room in which he could be free to daydream about soft words, warm brown eyes and dark hair. The only place he ever felt protected, beneath the eyes of a dragon and a stag, other than the safe arms of his lover… just as Draco had….

Oh.

That would pose a problem.

But then again, he was Lucius Malfoy.

And all problems… had a solution.

Here are my resources for the time periods. I chose something that would be realistic in accordance to the development of human civilization when the spells were created.

http://www.askasia.org/image/maps/timeind.htm

http://www.mce.k12tn.net/ancient_egypt/timeline.htm

http://www.ucalgary.ca/applied_history/tutor/oldwrld/overview/fourth.html

XI: Night Crawling

At approximately three thirty PM, Harry could be seen walking across the Hogwarts campus towards the Quidditch pitch, holding his Firebolt and two of the school brooms as a large trunk floated along behind him. It had been a long day, and he wanted nothing more than to have a few minutes of peace to himself in the air before the tryouts began and the pitch was swarming with other Gryffindors and any friends that came to cheer them on.

The morning had started off with Advanced Transfiguration after he had made his announcement. Predictably, Draco had sidled in to sit next to him in the back row of the class, skillfully keeping up his cool demeanor while interlacing his fingers with Harry’s, taking great joy as his lover tried, unsuccessfully, to keep from blushing. The smaller boy had gotten used to the very-nearly-public contact after a few minutes, though, and was able to focus well enough to take decent notes and perform the assignment. They were working on fine-tuning details and layering when shifting objects, so that one object could become more than one. It was particularly difficult to change the exact shape and color of the hand-painted teapots into glass, water-filled bowls with a small goldfish in them. Harry managed to get it after two or three tries, skilled as he was in Transfiguration, but Draco was having problems visualizing the end result. By the end of the class, Harry had helped his blond lover to alter the teapot they were working with into the goldfish bowl and the water within it, but the goldfish was still decorated with the delicate floral patterns that the pot had been. "Potions is more of my thing anyway," the blond mumbled, dejectedly. Harry just laughed and squeezed the other’s hand.

Charms would have gone off without a hitch, but people had started to notice that Draco was not being his usual malevolent self towards the Gryffindor Golden Boy. To the common eye, he was still cold and aloof, and treated Harry with little more than a frozen indifference. Nevertheless, the changed was becoming more apparent, and though most brushed it off and accepted the gift of not having to put up with Malfoy’s sharp tongue, a few others were suspicious, and rightfully so. Which is why Draco could not shake the chills that ran up and down his spine while Professor Flitwick explained the intricacies of a vanishing charm in his eccentric manner. Draco dared not look back, though; he wanted to figure out whose eyes were drilling a hole through the back of his head without revealing to him or her that he knew he was being studied.

Herbology was exciting and terrifying at the same time. Professor Sprout had been man-handling a giant Venus Flytrap into the room, and cast a complicated binding spell on the creature before explaining that it was one of the more dangerous plants that fed off of magical energy. About halfway through the class, the spell must have warn off, because it made a sudden dive straight for Harry, who was sitting in the middle row. The Head of Hufflepuff was able to recast the body-bind, but Harry did not escape without a fair-sized gash on his forearm, cackling with his pale green energy. He was sent to the infirmary without hesitation, but once there, Poppy smiled at him and told him that it would be the perfect opportunity to practice healing himself. As it turned out, it was a fair amount more difficult to heal his own injuries than those of others, so he left more drained then when he came in, though his arm was in one piece again. Luckily his next class would not require any magical work early in the year, and Care of Magical Creatures had been something to take note of that day.

---

"A’right, kids, I foun’ some interestin’ li’l creatures for us ta work with taday. I got ’em roun’ the back, so let’s go ‘ave a look."

The Slytherin-Gryffindor class tentatively walked around Hagrid’s cottage. Usually when the amicable half-giant was this excited it meant that he had a particularly nasty and dangerous animal for their enjoyment. Harry was listening as Hermione chattered at warp-speed, actively guessing at whatever Hagrid had in store while Ron rolled his eyes. Through his peripheral vision, Harry noticed the way Draco was fidgeting, internally, flanked as he was between Crabbe and Goyle. The Gryffindor did not blame his lover for being so apprehensive around them. Their fathers were Death Eaters, like as not, and Harry feared what they might do to the Malfoy heir should they discover or be told of his relationship with Voldemort’s most hated foe.

Just then, Hagrid came to a halt, and rounded what looked to be a large crate, only about two feet high, but perhaps ten feet in length and width. It was made of ironwood, and seemed to be coated with a fire-resistant lacquer. The half-giant lifted off the lid, revealing a swarming mass of twenty odd creatures within.

"These li’l guys are called Itoki. If ya know yer mythology, then you’ll know tha’ Itoki was the Nicaraguan creator deity, an’ a fine one at tha’. Her alternate form is a scorpion, an’ ya can see the constellation at nigh’, if ya look well enough."

Scorpions, indeed. They would have been identical to their desert cousins but for a few distinguishing features. They were about a foot long from their pinchers to the high-arched tail, and all were colored varying shades of deep blue. They might have looked intimidating had it not been for the rings of light blue fur around the tip of their stingers and at the base of their pinchers. And as Hagrid explained, the tail, though it was not poisonous, could shoot a powerful blast of water mixed with wild-magic energy, which was more than enough to scare away the few predators that the Itoki had. Oddly enough, the Itoki were vegetarians, and the claws were used to pry into the hard rinds of the tropical fruits they lived off of. The class was, for the most part, fairly excited. As strange as they looked at first glance, the Itoki might actually be fun to take care of, and Hagrid actually seemed to have some previous experience with them, which had hardly been the case the year before with the Blast-Ended Skrewts.

Harry was looking around at his classmates’ excited faces before he turned to Draco. However, instead of the cold, nonchalant mask his lover had been wearing regularly, the blond was painted deathly white, and looked as though he was about to faint. Fortunately, Hagrid noticed this as well.

"Mister Malfoy, yer lookin’ a bit off. Ya need to go see Madame Pomfrey?"

It took a few moments before Draco realized that his teacher had spoken, and when he did, the Slytherin just nodded, weakly, before turning around and walking on shaky legs back to the school. Crabbe and Goyle were about to follow, but Hagrid stopped them.

"Not so fas’, boys. I’m sure ‘e can manage on ‘is own." He turned back to the class. "Now, the firs’ thing ya gotta know about carin’ for an Itoki is…."

Even as he spoke, Harry was drifting off, and the only thing he could think of being his lover’s petrified expression.

---

Harry shook his head and lowered the floating trunk to the ground. He would think about his problems later. He opened the lid, ignoring the leather bludgers as they eagerly strained and shook against their binds. Instead, he reached for the small compartment that kept the snitch, unlocked it, and lifted the little golden ball onto his palm. It sprang to life, teasing him by zipping around in front of his face. Then it sped into the sky, enjoying its moment of freedom. Harry grinned and mounted his broom, eyes never leaving the golden gleam.

The raven-haired boy raced after it, glad that he no longer needed his glasses. The snitch jolted back and forth in an unpredictable pattern, up down, right, then straight across to the other side of the pitch, about twenty feet above Harry’s head. Harry hugged close to his broom and sharply pulled up, so fast that he was upside down as he raced in the other direction before he righted himself, a move not dissimilar from that of an Olympic swimmer changing direction after a powerful lap.

The snitch zoomed through the highest keeper’s ring, and Harry followed right through before tightly rounding the edge of the field as the snitch flew back in the other direction. This time, when Harry was just a few feet away from closing his hand around the fluttering ball, it shot straight down. The Gryffindor seeker followed without hesitation, his body perpendicular to the pitch. Then, about a yard from hitting the ground, the snitch decided to move forwards again. Harry jerked out of his dive and spun after the gold ball, the momentum and acceleration causing him to corkscrew a foot from the ground. He stretched out his hand, mindless of the spinning sensation, and felt the satisfying slap as his hand closed around the snitch.

Grinning, Harry pulled up and swung off his broom, clasping it and the now-dormant snitch as he marched towards the edge of the field, where a crowd was waiting. He sighed. Well, the peace was nice while it lasted.

The group was cheering, and Fred and George enthusiastically patted him on the back.

"What a show, mate! That was fantastic!"

Harry smiled his thanks before turning to gain control of the mob. "All right, I want everyone who is not trying out or currently on the team to please go and sit on the bleachers. You’re welcome to watch, as long as you do so from a good distance."

About twenty people turned and walked in the other direction, gathering on the bleachers closest to the pitch. Harry surveyed the group. Aside from the team, and Madame Hooch, who was making her way across the field, there were only six people, four less than before. Looking at his watch, he saw that it was five minutes after the scheduled time. He shrugged. Anyone else who came now would be turned away.

The flying instructor strode up to the group with her broom and nodded for Harry to begin. "Okay, I want everyone who is trying out for keeper on my right, for chaser on my left. If you are trying out for both, stay where you are."

Ron and a seventh year stood on his right side, and Seamus and two others on his left. Dennis Creevy was the only one who wanted to try for both, apparently.

"Good. Ron, I want you and Dennis to go up first, you as keeper and Dennis as chaser. Here are the brooms; I’ll follow up with you to get a better look."

The two boys mounted the school brooms, Ron’s face set into a determined expression. Harry put the snitch back in its place and removed the quaffle. He rose into the air with the others and waited for them to position themselves before tossing the red ball to Dennis. The second year deftly caught it, but lost his balance on his broom before adjusting himself. Harry instructed him to try to get five shots into the hoops. Dennis took a little time to get used to throwing while remaining on his broom without using his hands, but soon he was swerving about, trying to outdo the youngest Weasley male. Unfortunately for him, Ron skillfully blocked each attempt before tossing the ball back to the temporary chaser.

Harry nodded and told Dennis to go back down, instructing Ron to stay up. Then he called to Seamus to try for chaser. Dennis handed him the school broom before the Irish boy zoomed up, a huge grin plastered on his face. Harry gave him the quaffle, and almost immediately Seamus took up a dodging and fast pattern of flight. His first shot was carefully planned, and Ron missed the block, but just barely. The sandy-haired boy tried the same maneuver a second time, and this time Ron was ready for it, and caught the ball in both hands. Then Seamus tried to fake him out, fainting right and going left, and Ron scarcely had time before he hit the ball away.

As soon as Seamus had the quaffle again, he threw it into the ring that Ron was farthest from, and it sailed past the redhead’s outstretched hands. Ron blocked the last one, though, and very nearly fell off his broom in doing so.

During the tryouts Harry pitted every combination of keeper-chaser there was, so that he could see each person’s skills in different situations. He also called up the twins and Katie and Angelina, so he could see how each person worked as a team while avoiding bludgers. In the end, Harry called over his team to talk with Madame Hooch and discuss possibilities.

"Ron is a definite ‘yes’ for keeper. The seventh year is a bit better, but he’ll be graduating this year, and we need someone who’ll last longer than that. Dennis tries, but he can’t seem to stay on the broom." It was true. While trying for keeper, the poor boy had all but fallen from his broom while trying to block a throw, and had ended up dangling by his legs, unable to pull himself back up. Harry had needed to go and right the boy before he plummeted to the ground. The twins nodded in agreement.

"As for chaser, well… most of them were pretty good on their own, but who do you two think works best as a team?" He turned the question towards the girls. Angelina considered.

"Steven what’s-his-name, the sixth year, was too much of a ball hog. I’d never get along with him, and he could bring the team down."

Katie nodded. "Yeah, that’s about right. The third year girl was pretty good, but she needs to work on actually catching the ball, though she’s got potential. I say we keep her as a second-string, along with that fourth year, something Moon. His sister’s a Hufflepuff in your year, Harry. Sally, I think."

"I like Seamus, though," Angelina said, grinning, "he seems like fun, and he knows his way around the pitch. He had a natural sense for when the quaffle was being thrown to him, too. That’s a must for a chaser."

Harry grinned. Seamus was a flirt with the girls, and some of the guys, so body language was something he understood well. "It’s settled, then. Ron for keeper, Seamus for chaser, with the seventh, third and forth years that you mentioned for second-string players. What do you think, Madame Hooch?"

The flying instructor grinned, yellow hawk-eyes glittering. "I think, Mister Potter, that you hardly needed my help at all, and that I shall post the results tomorrow."

Nodding, the Gryffindor turned to the group of hopefuls. "I’m glad you all tried out, you did a great job. Results will be posted in the common room tomorrow morning."

Ron grinned and strode up to his best friend. "Good, ‘cause it’s time for dinner, and I’m starving."

Startled, Harry realized that it was indeed seven o’clock, and the sky was beginning to darken. Tryouts had gone longer than he thought. "You want to help me put this stuff away first? I’d like to get their soon, too."

"Sure, mate."

Harry grabbed the brooms and Ron levitated the trunk back to the shed, both enjoying an amicable silence that the past few days had lacked.

---

Harry spent dinner actively conversing with his friends, trying to make the most of their time together. When he was finished, however, he caught Draco’s eyes across the room, and noticed that the other boy’s face was still pasty white from earlier that afternoon. Harry noticed his pleading look and nodded, imperceptible to those who were not looking for it. Then he excused himself and left the Great Hall and walked towards the dungeons to wait outside of Snape’s rooms. Draco appeared about five minutes later, gave Harry a weak smile, and led him through the empty sitting room and into their quarters, lighting a fire as they took off their robes.

Harry sat down on the couch and pulled Draco against him, feeling the blond melt against his body. He spread a warm blanket over them, snugly wrapping it around the Slytherin. After a few minutes, Harry spoke.

"What happened today, love?"

Draco shuddered in his embrace. "Bad memories." It was barely a whisper.

Harry did not say anything, just kissed his lover’s head and ran a hand along Draco’s chest and stomach, sending gentle waves of comfort through his fingertips. The Slytherin relaxed before speaking up again, voice cracking slightly.

"Lucius… isn’t the kind of person you want to make angry. He… he always told me not to go into the forests around Malfoy Mansion. I was six, and one day I was outside, and… I got lost, somehow I ended up in the forest. It got so dark, and I started hearing things… I ran so fast… I was lucky, though, and ended up at the footsteps of my home, though I didn’t remember how I got there. Well, Lucius… he has a way of knowing everything that goes around there, so he knew where I’d been. He… he was so angry, and… he had this small closet near his office that he’d lock me in sometimes, and that’s what he did, but… he put something in there, in the closet with me. There was a small light that he turned on, just enough so I could see before I went in.…"

He took a deep, shaky breath. "There were… scorpions, at least ten of them. Their poison had been removed, but he… he threw me in there, and they… they crawled all over me, biting me, I was in there for hours…." He was crying now, and Harry clutched him tighter. "So when I saw those… things, it all came back, and I felt like I was there again, I could feel them on my skin, I…."

He dissolved into tears, and shifted so that he could sob into Harry’s shoulder. Harry cooed to him, kissing his temple, and rubbed the boy’s back as it trembled, his slim body wracked with fear. Then Harry slid his hand under Draco’s shirt, wanting to give him the comfort of skin on skin contact. His brow furrowed when he noticed that the smooth cream of his lover’s body was crinkled and raised in some areas, rough and cracked in others. Draco stiffened, tears abated for the moment, and pulled away.

"Draco, what…?"

The blonde looked down, ashamed. Slowly, as if he were afraid of Harry’s reaction, he lifted up his shirt, bunching up the fabric inch by inch until he brought it over his head. Harry’s eyes widened as he struggled to keep from gasping. A series of long, severe scars danced across his lover’s torso, marring the perfect, pale skin. They were all in various stages of healing, some so pale they were nearly white, others pink and puckered, and still others that were a bright, angry red, and could not have been more than a few months old, all twisted and snake-like, biting into the flesh of his memories. Then Draco turned, revealing similar wounds stretching along his back, like some horribly perverse map of his childhood. He wrapped his arms around himself as he faced Harry again, trying to hide from the world. Liquid silver eyes hesitantly looked up, brimming with a fresh layer of tears.

Harry reached out to cup Draco’s cheek and brushed away a shimmering, translucent pearl as it fell. "What’s wrong, love?"

"You’re going to hate me now," Draco whispered.

Smiling, sadly, "Why would I?"

"Because I’m dirty… broken… unworthy…."

Harry leaned forward, using his other hand to clasp one of Draco’s, those of which he had been nervously wringing together in his lap.

"Beautiful," Harry murmured.

He kissed Draco’s palm.

"Whole."

He brought his face up and brushed Draco’s lips with his own, listening to the other boy sigh, tiredly, as his eyes fluttered closed.

"Worthy."

Then Harry led Draco over to the bed, pushing the covers down, and pulled his lover onto it before proceeding to kiss the boy’s tears away. A dark head suckled its way down porcelain white skin, leaving a trail of fire that burned and ached in its absence. Draco gasped and moaned, his voice echoing with the cackling flames.

Hands still entwined, Harry kissed and licked the length of every scar on Draco’s chest, making sure to pay reverent and loving attention to each one in turn. Exhausted as he was, Draco could have cried a third time, this time with tears of joy. Knowing that Harry was aware of and understood everything that he was, all that he had been through, and accepted him without question despite it was exactly what Draco craved, what his soul ached for. When he felt those lips on his left forearm, on the Mark, making him pure again, tears did spill, but no move was made to wipe them away.

Then Harry was taking him, filling him, loving him in a way he had never thought possible, only to offer himself up in return so selflessly that Draco was sure that, had he been standing, he would have collapsed. They were one being, together, so completely entwined that it was nearly impossible to tell where one began and the other ended, the perfect emblem of a lover’s embrace and all that it stood for.

---

Later, Harry lay awake, gazing at the blond head resting on his shoulder and the peaceful expression that softened Draco’s normally tense features. He ran a hand over the scars on the other boy’s back, lightly tracing them. He squeezed his eyes shut. Draco was beautiful, all of him, and the jagged lines did nothing other than make him love Draco more and focus all his rage on the man that called this amazing creature his son. Harry continued his gentle ministrations as his thoughts filtered throughout the crevices of his mind, and was not surprised when the familiar pale green light glowed beneath his fingertips. With the utmost tenderness, Harry sealed each line of torn flesh, watching as they faded and disappeared, leaving only a trail of the glittering, pale-green light behind. Then he shifted his lover and bestowed the same treatment to the wounds that followed along the ridges of Draco’s smooth chest and belly. Maybe now, Harry marveled, he’ll believe me when I tell him he’s beautiful. Maybe he’ll be able to let go, at least a little.

Carefully, trying not to wake his love, Harry pulled the covers around them and clutched the Slytherin tighter, burying his face in those soft, moon-golden locks. For all those he had harmed, for all the pain and torment he had caused Draco, Lucius would pay dearly, and Harry would make sure of that.

---

Miles away, Lucius Malfoy felt a shiver creep up his spine.

---

There is a certain type of internal clock in every human’s body that begins to push the mind toward mental awareness when the first light of dawn streaks across the sky. For some people, who grow up without a care in the world, this clock has all but faded out, and their mornings are lazy and relaxed. Some, during times when they will get little or no sleep at all, allow their subconscious to take advantage of the opportunity to ignore the aforementioned internal clock whenever it presents itself.

Then there are others who shrink away from the light of day and spend their waking hours in the dead of night, only growing tired when pinks and oranges bring the subtlest hints of sunrise. Any time during the day that they are forced to remain awake is spent close to the earth, in the darkest surroundings possible.

It is the third set of people, however, that dangerously hangs in between the other two categories. It is they who fear both the black of night and the light of day, the night because it brings crawling death and creeping shadows, and the light because it shines light upon their sins. They are the lightest of sleepers, trained either by nature or by their surroundings to wake at the slightest threat, the slightest possibility that clawed hands wait outside the door, and the only chance they have is to brace themselves for the first blow. Since their nerves are so shot on a daily, and nightly, basis, it is expected that, on occasion, or perhaps not so rarely, their minds will tease and trick them into waking from the few hours of sleep they have snatched away from their predators.

Draco Malfoy was of the third group.

At precisely five A.M. on Tuesday morning, gray eyes snapped open and wildly flickered around the room. Then Draco felt the warm pair of arms wrapped around him, and, with a sigh of relief, melted back into the embrace. The embers of the fire were still glowing, a soft orange peeking out among the blue darkness of the room. He closed his eyes, listening to Harry’s deep, soft breath, feeling the rise and fall of the warm body beneath and around him. He moved closer, and felt the arms around him tighten, felt warm lips press against his head.

"Mornin’."

Draco looked up, smiling when he saw glittering green eyes staring back at him. He leaned forward to brush their lips together before settling back down against Harry’s shoulder. Then he felt his lover’s palm caress his back, smoothing up and down the shallow dip of his spine. Draco’s eyes widened. It was not supposed to feel like that, like….

A quick glance at his chest, and he inhaled, sharply, sitting up to get a better look. They were gone. Every line, every scar, every gash, completely gone, with no evidence that they had ever been. Draco reached a shaking hand to brush across his lower back, only to find the same expanse of perfect, flawless skin, unmarred by his father’s evils. Then he looked over at Harry, loving, tender Harry, who had sat up as well to meet his eyes.

"Did you…?"

A nod.

"Why?" His voice was small, like a child.

Harry smiled, tentatively. "Because… because I would love you no matter what wound was on your body, and you’d always be beautiful to me, and nothing could change that. Because it hurts to see you so sad, in so much pain because of something that was never your fault and that you never deserved. I was hoping that… maybe, if they were gone, you would know how beautiful you are, and that it would lessen the pain or… give you some sort of release, so you could let go of what Lucius did." Harry chewed his bottom lip. "If… if for some reason, you need them… or something, I guess I could probably reverse the spell if I tried, but…."

He stopped, because Draco had thrown himself into his arms and was clinging to him. "Thank you," he whispered.

Harry smiled and enfolded the boy in his arms once again, crushing his length against his own. After a moment, they lay back down again, still clutching each other.

Draco would always sleep more easily after that.

---

I’m not exactly sure how schedules work for British private schools, but I’ve used a method of ‘block scheduling’ to make things simpler in this story. Actually, my school is considering changing from the standard, forty minute periods that we usually have to try block scheduling next year. For those of you who don’t know how it works, the days are organized so that instead of having every class everyday for forty (or fifty, in some schools) minutes each day, the students would endure two periods (or eighty minutes) of each class back to back, but every other day. So, half of the classes would take place on ‘A’ days, and the other half on ‘B’ days. Some of my friends don’t like the idea, but I think it would be an interesting change. I’ll have to wait to see what the decision ends up being, though.

XII: A Bridge Through Ruins

There are certain benefits to a person’s point of view. If he or she is located on the inside of a situation, then perspectives are often obstructed, and even though that person’s decisions and actions would gravely affect whatever happens within his bubble of existence, he will be most like to ignore whatever is blatantly obvious to others. There are numerous examples of these smaller circles, and most yield a specific stereotype that few care to dissect and distinguish from others. Then there are those people are the ones outside of the circle, the people who have no peer pressure to restrict how they act or think, the people who can enjoy a clear, unhindered view of everything that goes on within the protective bubble world the first group constructs. Unfortunately, the outer classification cannot directly interfere with the affairs of those on the inside, and are often ignored or dismissed without considering that the quiet boy with shifty, dark eyes and a furtive demeanor could pose a threat given the correct motive.

There is something else that needs to be mentioned when speaking of the outer circle. This particular group is normally quite varied, as almost any kind of person can evolve from it. Because it is the place were a person might have his own beliefs and thoughts without influence, for the most part, it depends entirely on the person’s nature as to who he will become. Also, he is not as blind to the goings on in his group as the inner circle’s inhabitants are to theirs. No, the outcasts are observant and subtle, and watch the movements of allies and enemies with shaded gazes from behind library tombs. As for how they affect the blind insiders, it cannot be openly done, for actions so manifest would be brushed off without a second glance in passing. So, logically, there must be a bridge if anything is to be accomplished.

The bridges are those who can freely walk through both groups, who fear not the shadows and welcome the observant nature of the outside, but can blend and shift with a chameleon’s grace to fit those on the inside. These are the people who rise to high places in life, as they are charismatic enough to be respected by shallow, conventional circles and insightful enough to gather resources and information from their contacts on the outside.

It is not to say that one must remain in a particular place, however. Human beings are dynamic creatures, and are able to change with their growth and become a shape that may better fit a different group then that which they had been born into. Some evolve more than others do, the amount of which depending on a person’s surroundings, or perhaps on a life-changing experience. However, this type tends to be few and far between.

Nevertheless, as a quiet boy with dark eyes and a furtive demeanor crept through the corridors of Hogwarts towards the owlery, it was the bridges that he was counting on.

Normally, in a situation such as this, he would write to his father first, explaining in detail all he had seen and derived from his witnessing such occurrences. However, recent events have forced him to reconsider his previously lofty opinion of his father to a decidedly grittier one. The man was a coward, plain and simple. Not a "coward" in the traditional sense that a Gryffindor would define it as, though. No, his father was too weak to even strengthen his ambition, as a true Slytherin would, and because of it, he was lent to tripping over his own words in the most vital of circumstances. So he was an idiot, as well.

Which is why the dark-eyed boy would be mailing a more… influential, intelligent person to be his bridge and take care of the issues arising within the inner circle. This man would handle the problem with skill and poise, not to mention perfect timing. He would know how to deal with what the boy had seen from his convenient and strategic visage. The sudden lack of venom between the most infamous rivals of Hogwarts. The recent, odd shift in one of them that beckoned for a calmer behavior that, though cold and hard as steel on the surface, hid a fiery realm of emotions and strengths that would erupt upon the people he had once been loyal to. And, most importantly, the hesitant smiles and careful touches toward the other once the mask had been dropped, coupled with the fact that the Slytherin Prefect’s dorm had been devoid of its most important member.

The boy chose a barn owl, ordinary and inconspicuous, and used a complicated charm on his writing that would reveal it only to the intended recipient’s eyes, a fact that he in the letter. There was no harm in informing your ally of your thoughtfulness, skill, and most importantly, your worth. Worth was, after all, the only thing a person was judged by when it came to such dealings.

Dark eyes followed the owl as it disappeared, swallowed up in the black of night. Yes, the boy thought, he will know what to do. And I shall just sit back and watch.

---

Proof.

That was what he needed. It was one thing to have a suspicion, no matter how much experience it was based on. Besides, to reveal that experience would earn the decree of treason, and death, or worse, was not an appealing thought. He knew that, once his theory, no, his knowledge, was proved, he would be punished as well. It was mostly his fault for raising such a traitor, after all. But then he would be rewarded in the end, more loyal to his Lord than Abraham was to God. Also, his wife was far from barren; he just preferred never to touch her more than was needed to produce an heir. He could endure her for the nights that were necessary, and then a second chance would be born to him. And he could do things right this time around.

So.

Proof.

A picture would be wonderful, even the word of another would be enough. Anything that could convince Lord Voldemort of his son’s treason an adequate amount to question the boy. And he was weak. His fear would show through, and he would break. No, shatter. Like spun glass.

Just then a barn owl burst through the window and fluttered onto his desk, holding its leg out to be relieved of the light burden tied to it. As soon as the note was lifted, the creature flew away, without waiting for an answer.

A pale eyebrow quirked as aristocratic hands raised the sheet of parchment in the room’s dim lighting.

Gray eyes scanned the contents as Lucius Malfoy read the letter.

And smiled.

---

Harry sneaked down to the dungeons under the cover of his invisibility cloak to meet up with Draco and his Defense Against the Dark Arts and Potions professors after an early dinner. His feet padded along the cold stone floors, creating a strange symphony of percussion with the shift and fall of the fabric wrapped around him. When he arrived at the door, Draco was already there, casually leaning against the solid wood laden with wards and spells that would, by any means necessary, prevent the uninvited from breaking and entering.

Harry tapped the blond on the shoulder and followed him into Snape’s chambers, still wearing the cloak. It was one thing for a Slytherin to visit his Head of House, and it was another for the Potions professor’s most hated student to waltz into his private rooms in the dead of night.

Inside, Remus and Severus were sitting in front of the fire in the pair of high-backed, leather chairs, the werewolf speaking in a soft voice while his lover listened and thoughtfully sipped at rich black tea. Remus looked up as he heard the boys enter, smiling.

"Would you two like a few chairs? I could probably transfigure something…."

Harry thought on it as he slipped out of his cloak before grinning. "No thanks, Remus, I have a better idea."

He disappeared into the guest bedroom and reappeared after a short minute, with a large blanket thrown over his shoulder and holding something small in his hands. He placed the object down on the carpet in front of the fire, carefully judging its distance away from the two elder men. Then he cast an enlarging spell, and immediately the object grew into the soft couch that Harry and Draco had grown so fond of.

Draco gracefully sat down and pulled the Gryffindor to him, wrapping the blanket around them. The fire may have provided some warmth, but it was the nature of the dungeons to be cold and damp and ridden with breezes from unknown sources.

Severus raised an eyebrow upon observing the boys’ antics, but said nothing. Remus merely smiled.

"Well?" Draco said, impatiently. "I assume there is a reason to us being here, correct?"

Remus blinked. "I… um, I’m sure that you remember what was discussed during your first meeting of the Order, yes?"

The boys nodded.

"Well, we have a few feasible theories that might clear up some of the loopholes in the idea we presented, and we were hoping you might have some information that could help us." The werewolf stood up from his chair and crossed the room to where Severus’ desk was. He shifted through the numerous papers and scrolls littering it, taking care not to disturb the area more than necessary. Eventually he selected a thick scroll bound with a black ribbon and carried it over with an inkwell and quill in his other hand.

"Do you want me to enlarge the table, Severus?" Remus asked as he handed the younger man the scrolls and ink. Ever since his lover had been found to be a spy, not to mention punished dearly for his treason, Remus had become protective of the ex-Death Eater, though he tried not to be too paranoid. However, it did not help that Severus still "served" Voldemort and attended the meetings.

When he was first called back after the night of the Dark Lord’s resurrection, Voldemort had waited until the end of the meeting to dismiss all but his inner circle, which Severus had been a part of. At that point, he brought up the subject of how he dealt with traitors, drawing out his speech with deliberate pauses and incomplete threats until the Potions master, usually solid stone and ice, was trembling with fear and the knowledge that he had been discovered. Then Voldemort called him forth and asked him, albeit in a discreet, underhanded manner, where his loyalties lied. Unfortunately, snake as he was, the Dark Lord could smell treachery and deceit just as easily as he could fear. Severus knew this, and had no choice but to confess.

Lucky for him, his ability to choose the most precise wording in a split second of unbearable pressure saved Severus’ life. Though he admitted to turning to Dumbledore, he took great care in fabricating his story, leaving gaps and pretending to lose his composure so that Voldemort would fill in the blank spaces himself, believing whatever he wanted to believe. Thus, the serpentine master was easily convinced that his once faithful servant would have been given the Dementor’s Kiss had he not betrayed the Dark. It was just as well that Severus Snape was widely known as the greatest Potions master in all of Europe, and Voldemort would be hard pressed to find one with a fraction of his skills that could be lured into his circle. In that respect, at least, Severus’ life was saved.

However.

Renouncing the Lord would not go without castigation. Especially since Snape had not come when the Death Eaters had been summoned that fateful night of the Third Task, leaving far too much room for doubt. And so Voldemort took three days.

Three days to make him scream in pain, make his body writhe and curl upon a cold stone floor.

Three days to transform a once proud man into an emaciated, whimpering creature covered in nothing but his own blood and scarred flesh.

Three days to completely and utterly shatter the soul of Severus Snape.

And a fourth day to drop his beaten and battered form at the steps of Hogwarts on the hottest day of the summer.

Stubborn as he was, it did not take Severus as long to recover, at least physically, as it would have taken others, although there were a few injuries that could not be completely healed. His hip, for one, had been destroyed, smashed in as he was thrown against the wall so many times, and it was too late to fix it through magic. Therefore, the bones were set as best as they could be, and the wound had to heal naturally, and it left him stiff and susceptible to the damp and cold. Nevertheless, the last thing Severus Snape would do is give up his dungeons.

Aside from his hip, mental and emotional healing did not come so easily, either. Though he never showed it, it was clear to Remus how vulnerable and empty Severus had become, and how desperately he needed human companionship if he were ever to regain stability again. So it was only natural that, as he had become Severus’ lover before the latter had been summoned to the Dark Lord, the werewolf was often seen in the southern levels of Hogwarts, protective as he was of the dark-eyed man. In the end, Severus became somewhat dependent on Remus, though he never admitted it. At least not with words. But in every gesture, every flickered glance, every almost-smile that tugged thin lips ever so slightly upward, it was there, and Remus was more than happy to return those affections in his own way.

Which is why he was now hovering about him, waiting for any sign of discomfort without being too obvious about it. Severus knew, of course, but he appreciated it just as much as he needed it. So, when Remus asked him if he should raise the table, his only hesitance came from revealing such weakness in front of his surrogate son and the boy’s lover. The thought was dismissed as quickly as it had come, however, and soon the low coffee table’s legs had been stretched so that the Potions master could sift through the parchment and write at a more comfortable angle.

"This is a composite of the information we have collected on the Shaman’s only piece of Blood Magic, as well as its history, how it works, and the ideas we have drawn from it. There are also a few glitches in the pattern, problems and inconsistencies that we are not sure as to how they should be explained," he said. "We have a hypothesis that might solve the puzzle, but it needs more than just logic for us to be sure. So, if either of you have any idea about something… anything that might help…."

Harry furrowed his brow. As he considered the possibilities, his expressions changed from that of concentration, to realization, to timid and a bit guilty. "Um…."

Immediately, three pairs of eyes were focused on him. Severus tapped a finger on the arm of his chair impatiently. "Well?"

"I… I forgot to mention something earlier. Over the summer, I had a… a vision. It wasn’t a premonition. I think… I think I was seeing it while it was happening."

Remus nodded, encouragingly, though internally he was pleading with the boy to continue. Shortly after the school year had ended, the headmaster had informed Remus, Severus and Minerva about the accuracy and importance of Harry’s visions, as well as their connection with Voldemort.

"It was… strange," Harry continued. "Usually, when I have them, it’s like I’m on the outside, looking in. I can see everything, hear everything, as if I were there, though nobody within the vision can see me. This time, though, I couldn’t hear anything except… I think it was a heartbeat, and my perspective was a bit different, like I was seeing through someone else’s eyes. It was kind of blurry, though. I also felt… all of these emotions that weren’t mine, but they were so intense, and I could feel the pain of the Mark getting burned on. My scar was even bleeding afterwards, and that’s never happened, not even in my first year when I met up with Voldemort in Quirrel’s body." He paused for a minute to recollect his thoughts, taking a deep breath.

"I… did Draco tell you where I actually was after the Death Eaters captured me?" Severus nodded curtly. "Well, he got… called while I was in hiding at Malfoy Mansion, and… that’s when it happened again. Only this time, it was clearer and… when Draco came back that night, I… we were connected, somehow. I was seeing through his eyes, both times."

Remus stared at Harry openly, amber-gold eyes wide open. The Potions master just sneered. "And pray tell, Mister Potter, why you did not tell this to Professor Dumbledore when you had the chance the first night back at school?"

Harry looked down. "I’m sorry, I… I was going to, but then I found out about the Dursleys and…." Draco clutched him tighter, stroking his hair. Severus immediately regretted his remark, and the room was filled with an uncomfortable silence.

Remus coughed. "Well, that confirms our suspicions that the bond was developed between you two, but aside from that…."

Draco cocked his head. "Are there any other clues you could give us? Such as, oh, I don’t know, the object the Shaman used to enchant… or maybe we could start with some of the odd spots in the pattern, or whatever it was you said…."

A rustling was heard as Severus scanned the parchment, running one long, elegant finger down the lines to keep his place while Remus looked over his shoulder. "Ah, here’s something. It doesn’t say exactly, but it mentions that the spell she used had to be woven into something, so that every fiber held the magic locked within it. Considering the strength and volume of the spell, whatever she created is probably fairly large. Essentially, that means that it could be a carpet of sorts… or maybe even a tapestry…."

Draco choked. "Tapestry…?"

The Head of Slytherin looked up, sharply. "You know something?"

"I… there’s this tapestry in a room at Malfoy Mansion… it’s got a Northern Dragon and a Great Stag on it."

"Yes?" Severus prompted.

"It’s in a room and… I would go there to get away from Lucius. It was weird, because he could never find me in there. I used to talk to them. The dragon and the stag, I mean. I suppose back then I never considered that it was anything out of the ordinary, but now that I think about it, the tapestry does seem to have some kind of… aura, or something. It’s hard to explain."

"I know what he means," Harry interjected. "When I was at the mansion, that’s the room Draco hid me in. But it wasn’t on purpose. I found the room after the house elf let me out of the dungeons." He paused and frowned. "No, that’s not right. It… it was more like I was drawn to it. The stag originally reminded me of my father when I first saw it, but now… I’m thinking more along the lines of it being my most recent Patronus."

Severus and Remus exchanged a glance. "Draco," the DADA professor said, "do you think that you could try casting a Patronus now?"

Shrugging, "I suppose I could. I’ve never done it before."

"That’s all right. Just give it a shot."

Harry leaned forward to allow Draco to get up from the couch. Once on his feet, the blonde walked around to a relatively empty place in the room and held out his wand. "Exspecto Patronum, right?" The other three nodded.

Draco closed his eyes as he waved his wand in an intricate pattern.

"Exspecto Patronum!"

Nothing happened.

The Slytherin looked towards Remus questioningly.

"Did you remember to think of a happy memory?"

Silver eyes lit up and he began to concentrate again. This time, as his wand twisted and turned in the air, Draco thought of Harry, how those bright green eyes made him feel loved and protected. Of the time they had spent together, from the emotions mixed within their first kiss to their first night as one, two days ago. Of the warmth he felt from his lover, and the understanding that for the first time in his life, Draco was home.

He was so busy indulging in his memories that he did not even hear himself voice the incantation. He did, however, hear when Harry summoned his own Patronus.

"Exspecto Patronum!"

As Harry’s ghost-like, gold and brown Great Stag solidified, a trail of blue-black smoke and red sparks exploded from Draco’s wand, slowly taking shape for the first time. The colors curled upon themselves to form long coils of muscle and layers of scales. After a few seconds, the remaining smoke cleared, revealing a magnificent Northern Dragon. It was a deep blue-black color, with red highlights glimmering along the scales as it moved under the dungeon’s dim lighting. The dragon yawned, showing off dagger-sharp, glistening white teeth and stretching its proud wingspan.

Then it turned to the stag.

There was a moment where the very earth seemed to hold its breath, suspended and hazy while these two beautiful creatures locked eyes, the stag’s green and the dragon’s silver, and began to dance.

It was a dance that spoke of the ages, of the centuries that had passed in a blur of jet-black and platinum blond, and of the legacy that ripped and crashed with every other generation. In the end, the beasts had become so twisted upon each other that it was impossible to determine where one ended and the other began. Suddenly, a brilliant white light flashed throughout the room, forcing the onlookers to cover their eyes. When the blast dimmed, a flat tapestry appeared, about twenty feet long and fifty feet wide. Celtic terrestrial patterns of forest roots and vines curled along the boarder, framing the image of the intertwined Northern Dragon and Great Stag in the center.

"That’s it," Draco whispered. Louder, "That’s it. That’s the tapestry I was talking about." Hesitantly, he reached out towards the image. For the first time, his fingertips brushed the stag, caressing its flank and haunches. He blinked and found that the image had reverted back to the Patroni. Draco stood, frozen in place, as the stag proceeded to nuzzle him with the soft down of its nose. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw as his own dragon protector sauntered up to where Harry was sitting on the couch and gave him the same treatment. After a moment the beasts turned towards an empty corner in the room and curled up with each other, head resting on the stomach of the other.

Remus swallowed. "Draco… if you were to go to your home… do you think you could find this… tapestry?"

The blond nodded faintly as he stumbled back over to the couch, legs shaking from the drained feeling that came with complicated magic. Harry helped him lay down, smiling as his lover curled up in his lap.

The Gryffindor decided to take over the conversation as Draco’s eyes fluttered shut. "I could probably find it, too. Why do you ask?"

"Mister Potter, that tapestry is the heart of the spell, and therefore a vital power source in the Blood Spells we have considered using against Voldemort." Severus spoke as if what he said were the most obvious thing in the world. "Having such an old magic, as well as the people it’s connected to, combined with a spell to strip Him of His power, will leave that corrupted excuse for a soul open to annihilation."

Harry nodded. "So… what are we going to do?"

"You are going to do nothing. We, meaning Remus, Draco and I, shall go to Malfoy Mansion and steal the tapestry. As it turns out, there is to be another Death Eater meeting tonight, in a few hours, and Lucius has kindly invited his son and I to dinner before we leave for the Riddle House. Remus is going to hide under that cloak you seem so fond of-" Harry blushed. "-and at some point, Draco will find an excuse to leave the table, and lead Remus right to the tapestry, then back outside again. All of this time, you will be here, safe, at Hogwarts." His tone left no room for argument.

"Well, it’s been a long night," Remus said. "Severus and Draco have about an hour before they have to leave. Why don’t you and Draco rest for a while, Harry. You can stay in the guestroom, of course." The werewolf stood up and walked over to where Harry was sitting, and lifted up the blond boy, careful not to wake him from the deep slumber he needed.

Remus carried Draco into the guestroom, laying him down on the soft bed and pulling the blankets up to the boy’s shoulders. Turning to the Gryffindor, he whispered, "Harry, can I borrow your invisibility cloak?"

In response, Harry lifted the shimmering material from the foot of the bed, where he had left it earlier. The professor spoke his thanks and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. Harry kicked off his shoes and let his robe fall to the ground before climbing into bed and contentedly spooning around his lover. After a few moments of listening to Draco’s gentle breathing, he, too, drifted into a light doze, feeling the day’s weariness melt away from him.

---

"Get out of my way, Longbottom."

"No. I have to talk to you. Now."

Francis Nott sneered. "And what, pray tell, could a squib like you possibly have to say that would be of any importance to myself?"

"You told him, didn’t you?" Neville’s voice was soft, tinged with hopefulness that the other boy might say ‘no’. "You owled L-Lucius Malfoy about Harry and Draco. I know. I… I saw you a few minutes ago."

Loftily, "And why do you think there’s anything going on between them in the first place? Draco despises Harry, and vise versa. It’s common knowledge."

Neville smiled, strangely. "You know, Nott, in a way, I’m just like you. I’m overlooked, ignored, and occasionally pushed aside after being used. But I know what goes on, just like you do. I see exactly what is under everybody else’s noses. Or what they deny as truth. The only difference is, I have morals. And because of that, people’ll listen to me if I’m careful. Unlike you, who has to call someone else to get things achieved. So you see, either way, we’re still the same. I’m just better at what I do, because I saw you, and you didn’t see me."

Francis considered as he compared himself to this nosy Gryffindor. He examined everything from appearance, such as Neville’s clear blue eyes and dirty blonde hair, to his apparent transformation in personality. Though all he knew was that the boy was more confident of himself, it was Voldemort’s return that had sparked such a change. Neville had taken a lot of time to consider the impending war, as well as what had happened to his parents. Unlike most, he had a bit of understanding that revenge never did any good, and just left a person empty inside, even if his wisdom was not from personal experience. But he was determined that no other child should suffer without a loving family they way that he did. The way that Harry did. The confidence and determination he had gained had altered his overall manifestation, and for the better. He was still the slightly short, pudgy boy he had been last year, albeit the baby fat had begun to disappear, but he radiated self-control. Although Snape still carried the honor of being his childhood fear.

Now Francis looked at himself. He was, in most ways, Longbottom’s opposite. Tall and slim, he had a serpent’s build, with dark eyes and rich brown hair in a neatly styled look that was expected for a pure blood. His motives and morals were also aimed towards the Dark Lord’s side, along with the cunning ambition that came with being a Slytherin. Still, he was on the rim of society, on the outside looking in, and therefore cast aside and disregarded without a second glance. Although, he, of course, knew how to use this to his advantage. Despite that, he nodded his appraisal towards the Gryffindor, who was trying his best not to fidget under Francis’ dark gaze.

"All right. So you know. You can’t prove it, so the teachers won’t believe you. Potter might, but then he’ll run off to save Draco at the meeting tonight."

Neville blanched.

"Yes, there’s one tonight. I’m not invited yet, unfortunately. Where was I? Oh, yes, Golden Boy would fly into the night to save his damsel in distress, right into the middle of the Death Eater circle. What would he do then?" Devilishly grinning, Francis brushed past a stunned Neville, disappearing into the darkness of the Slytherin dungeons.

---

"Draco. Draco, it’s time. We have to go."

Draco groaned and shifted in the arms around him, opening one eye toward the silky voice that was beckoning his mind into consciousness. "Already?"

Severus nodded. "Yes. I’ve fetched your uniform from the dorms. I would have sent Remus, but that would have been far too suspicious. I suggest you try and make yourself presentable, unless you wish to anger your father."

"He’s right. As much as I love you, I don’t fancy healing your hand again." Harry was propped up on his side, resting his head in his palm. "C’mon. I’ll help you to get ready."

A few minutes later, Draco and Severus stood in elegant black robes that were common among the upper class of Wizarding society, their uniforms neatly folded and held under their arms. Remus stood with Harry’s invisibility cloak, trying to look calm while obviously nervous. "I’m afraid you won’t be able to see us off the grounds, Harry," he said. "It would be risking too much if somebody caught you out there with Severus and Draco. Though, if you wish, you may stay here for the night, or go up and sleep in the Gryffindor dorms. Whatever you prefer is fine."

The raven-haired boy stepped forward to embrace Draco. "Come home safe, okay?"

Draco nodded once before slipping on his emotionless mask of cold stone, watching as Severus did the same. In some ways, he marveled, this is just the same as the Death Eater mask I shall wear tonight.

Translations for Latin lovers:

Patroni – Plural for "patronus", from "patronus, patroni, m."

XIII: The Power of Knowledge

Harry clutched his arms around him after they had left. It had barely been a few seconds, but it was a horrible, lingering few seconds that fell like stones to the icy pit of his stomach. He debated were he would stay for the night. Could he fall asleep without Draco next to him if he stayed in their room? No. He would only fall asleep if he went back to Gryffindor. But… he could also wait up for Draco. Make sure that he was alive and safe, if not a little worse for the wear. Yes. That would be good.

He looked down to see that he was still in his underclothes. That was fine, but he would need a change for the next morning.

Harry mechanically slipped back on his only pair of tattered sneakers and black school robes. He was cautious as he sneaked out, wary of any Slytherins or Ravenclaws that would catch a stray Gryffindor in the wrong place.

He reached the portrait of the Fat Lady only a few minutes later. The castle had been uncharacteristically cooperative with him tonight. After uttering the password, he stepped inside, surprised to see the common room empty except for one person. Neville was pacing the carpet, brow furrowed in concentration as he muttered to himself. Hearing Harry enter, he looked up. His expression performed a startling transformation from thoughtful to decisive and then to a touch frantic.

"Harry," he said, "Lucius Malfoy knows."

It had taken a long time for Neville to determine what to do. Nott was correct about a few things. He certainly could not tell an adult. They might have believed him, but they would not act on anything without proof, even if it were taken at face value. Very few other people knew about Harry’s relationship with Draco, anyway, though he was sure Hermione knew. The girl was smart, and she would have figured it out if Harry had not told her already. He was not sure about Ron, though. That matter aside, his best choice would be to tell Harry and try to convince him to tell an adult. Dumbledore trusted him, and most people would take the word of the Boy Who Lived without question.

"What?" Harry breathed. "What does Lucius know?"

"About you and Draco. I caught Francis Nott sending an owl to him. I cornered him, and found out that he’d figured it out, too." Neville swallowed. "Lucius is a horrible man, Harry. My parents…."

"I found out about them," Harry said gently, "and I thought it best not to mention it to anyone, or to you. I wasn’t sure if it would make you uncomfortable. My parents were always a tender subject for me, too."

Neville nodded. "Thank you. That means a lot. But Lucius… he was the one who t-tortured them. I know it. Don’t ask me how, I just do. And he won’t hesitate to do the same to his son, heir or not. Harry, you have to tell someone. Dumbledore will believe you more than he’ll believe me."

Rather than rush to the headmaster’s office, Harry ran up to his dorm, grabbed a winter cloak and his Firebolt, and descended the steps back to the common room three at a time.

"There’s a meeting tonight, and I’m going," he said decisively. Then he caught Neville’s stricken expression. "Don’t worry. Re-… Professor Lupin followed them, so I won’t be alone."

That seemed to calm the other boy. Harry smiled. "Thank you for telling me, Neville. You may have saved Draco’s life." With that, he turned and left the Gryffindor common room.

Oh, dear Merlin, Neville thought, what have I done?

---

As soon as Draco, Remus and Severus had reached the boundaries of Hogwarts, Draco took his professors’ hands and Apparated them to the designated area in Malfoy Mansion. As expected, a house-elf was there to greet them, or at least Draco and Severus, looking timid as she led the group into the sitting room. As expected, Lucius was sitting there, sipping tea from a delicate porcelain cup. As soon as he saw his son and old classmate, he put on a well-practiced grin and stood up, tightly grasping Snape’s hand.

"Severus! How have you been?" He always played this act among fellow Death Eaters and Ministry workers when he was not at a meeting. It was the kind of charm that made people feel special that he would treat them so highly, and, in his eyes, they should. It was sugary sweet, not to mention sickening.

Severus sneered and wiped his hand on his robes. Yes, they had been good friends during their years at Hogwarts, but those days were long past. "As well as can be expected, Lucius."

The blonde turned to his son. "Ah, Draco. I trust you’ve been keeping up in the most… important matters this year? Not to mention your grades, of course."

Draco nodded tersely. "Yes, Father. I’ve devoted all of my time to my studies and to our cause."

Lucius smiled, maliciously. "I’m sure you have, son. Though, you look as if you just crawled out of bed, and I won’t have you sitting at the dinner table in such a state of distress. Go to your room and freshen up. And fix your hair, for Merlin’s sake! It’s a disgrace to see it like that."

Draco bowed his head, trying his best to appear subdued. "Yes, Father." Inwardly, however, he was jumping with joy. This was the perfect opportunity to retrieve to the tapestry. Therefore, he wasted no time in starting his trek up the grand staircase, listening for the second pair of footsteps that would mean that Remus was following him. He raced down the intricate twists and turns throughout Malfoy Mansion, ascending and descending various staircases, abruptly crossing over corners and jumping over certain areas that might be considered unreliable in a magical house.

After what was only a few minutes, but seemed like hours, Draco skidded up to the door with the crystal handle. It had been so long since he had been here, since he had last clasped the cool multi-faceted pummel in his hand. He touched it, reverently, his breath catching as soft skin kissed ice. My Sanctuary….

Remus, knowing that what he was bearing witness to was some beautiful, private part of Draco Malfoy that not many people saw, patiently waited for the blonde to enjoy his moment of peace before reality came crashing down.

Soon enough, though, Draco twisted the knob and pushed the door open, striding into the old storage room. Remus followed, dropping the cloak from his shoulders once he was inside.

"That’s it." Draco’s voice was but a soft, worshipful whisper.

Remus turned to his left to see where the Malfoy heir was staring. And gasped. The tapestry was even more amazing than that ghost-like image had promised. It glittered in the moonlight streaming through a high window up above, the eyes of both the dragon and the stag merrily glimmering, as if to say, We’re going home.

The werewolf levitated the tapestry off of the wall, rolling it up by moving his wand in circular motions. He could not shrink it, though, because there was too much magic woven into such a creation to be packed and smothered into a smaller mass. Fortunately, Severus had thought of this before, and had equipped his lover with a complicated invisibility potion that had been altered to the tapestry’s uniquely powerful properties. This in mind, Remus withdrew a small vial filled with a lavender dust from deep within the folds of his robes, carefully uncorking it. He sprinkled the substance over the rolled up tapestry, making sure that the only part showing was a small corner for him to see that he could cover with Harry’s invisibility cloak when he left.

As soon as Remus was finished, Draco led him out of the room, running back the way they had come. For once, Remus was thankful of his werewolf endurance, for it helped him to keep up with the younger boy while making sure the invisible tapestry followed behind under his levitating spell. After a surprisingly short time, they reached the main hall where they had Apparated in. Without a word, Draco stretched out his hand, inviting Remus to take it. He did so, making sure to clasp the tip of fabric of the tapestry with his other hand. Barely a second after Remus’ larger, callused hand slipped around the blond’s smaller, creamy-skinned one, they Disapparated and reappeared on the boarders of the Hogwarts grounds.

Remus looked around, surprised to see that Draco had already gone back to the mansion. With a start, the werewolf realized why. The boy was so afraid that if he did not go back without giving himself time to think about it, he would not be able to re-enter the place that had been his home for so many years.

So absorbed was he in his thoughts that Remus failed to take in his surroundings as he walked towards the school. If he had, then perhaps he would have been aware of the cloaked figure flying above his head in the opposite direction.

---

Harry flew. Wind relentlessly pounded at his streamlined form, trying to keep him back. No. Hands clutched the wooden handle of his broom, pressing bones and flesh into the worn grains. Tears were ripped from his eyes by the night’s darkness, forcing him to lean forward so that his breastbone was flush against the thick pole and he had to crane his neck to see straight.

He had no idea where he was going. All he had was the subconscious pull of one who was bound to him through magic too old to remember, and love too precious and new and fragile to lose.

Harry gritted his teeth as a dark palace rose in the distance. He pressed closer still, melding his body against his broom, trying to ignore the harsh beating of the thick robes against his weakening body. He tried to ignore any thoughts that he might be too late as he looked over the horizon and saw that the blood red of morning had spilled over the fields as he passed them. Had he really been traveling for that long? It had barely been after seven at night when he had left.

But all he could do was to breathe, to try and keep the air from being crushed from his body as he shattered wall after wall of gale force winds.

And to pray.

---

"Have a seat, Draco."

Wordlessly, the blond slid into his designated straight-backed seat at the interminably long dining table. Narcissa was absent, and Severus had taken her usual place opposite Lucius. Nevertheless, his presence did little to ease the tension that seemed to encompass the very air within the room.

Draco ate, mechanically, retreating back to the safe part of his mind to hide for the evening, though he kept the door open should Lucius or his surrogate father address him. It would not do to be caught daydreaming. That was punishable.

"Severus?"

Strained, "Yes, Lucius?"

"I take it you have some… information that may be of use to us from the goings on at Hogwarts." It was not a question.

"Indeed."

The silence was stale.

"Well?"

Severus set down his utensils and regarded Lucius with a dark, icy gaze. A lake that had been frozen over with three feet of ice. "You shall find out when our Lord does. It is not for any to hear before Him. Or… perhaps you would undermine the Dark Lord?"

Steel gray eyes matched obsidian and steadily held it. "Do what you will, but know that, unlike other company, I know not to let weaknesses such as stupidity and fear ruin my life." The look turned pointed now. Severus locked in a silent battle with his old schoolmate for a minute before tactfully bowing his head. The bigger Lucius’ ego gets, the Potions master reasoned, the more satisfying the blow will be when I pop it after this war is over.

The conversation ended after that. No sooner had they finished dinner than a sharp pain ripped through the left forearm of each man.

"Well, shall we retire to the dungeon?" Lucius suggested through grinding teeth.

Gasping, "What? I thought we were to meet at the Riddle House, as before."

Lucius bared his teeth. "Change of plans. Our Lord believed it would be more… fitting to have it here. Or rather, he thought so after I convinced him."

A single, grand iron bell chimed in the distance.

Draco shivered.

---

The metal door clanged against the stone wall as it was thrown open ruthlessly. Draco resisted the urge to wrap his arms around himself as the all-too-familiar cold began to seep through his flesh to claim the white of his bones. He reached out to grasp the frozen metal rail for balance as the three Death Eaters descended into darkness, spiraling downward. The blond shook his head, slightly, but it did nothing to ease his dizziness or relieve him of the empty hole in his stomach. He was glad that he had not eaten much, for he surely would have wretched over the side if he had.

Lucius did nothing to pause at the bottom level, and continued to glide through the many chambers, his robes sweeping dust up behind him. He walked deeper into the dungeons, as close to Hell as could be reached, until they stopped at the innermost room, filled with Lucius’ and Voldemort’s favorite "toys". Draco swallowed hard, squeezing his eyes shut underneath the cold, bone-white steel mask.

All too soon the other Death Eater’s began arriving, coming in faint "POP"s that, to Draco, sounded like his funeral bells ringing. Lucius must have lowered the wards for this area of the mansion, he noted.

As the room began to fill with identical, emotionless faces and shadowy bodies, Lucius stepped towards Draco, pushing back his mask and beckoning to his son to do the same. The Malfoy heir intelligently did as he was told.

Lucius moved forward, and wrapped his arms around his own flesh and blood. To any onlookers, it was the embrace of a proud, loving father and his loyal son. But in reality, Draco’s hands were weakly clawing at Lucius’ broad back, struggling for breath as the air was forced out of his lungs. He was barely able to keep from crying out as he felt, as well as heard, one of his ribs snap.

As soon as he was sure he had Draco’s attention, Lucius leaned forward, hot breath brushing his son’s ear. The elder man reveled in the fear emanating off of the younger as he felt him tremble. Then he whispered those two words that made Draco’s silver eyes widen in terror, that would condemn the boy and seal his fate. Those two words that would make Draco lose all sense of hope that had been salvaged in the depths of his soul.

"I know."

XIV: As The Sky Falls

"Tonight, we shall take time to regroup." Voldemort’s cold voice echoed in the dungeon. "It isss necccesssary that we orginizzze everything before we ssstrike, either on the Minissstry or, if cccertain… loyaltiesss allow usss, on Azzzkaban." He paused, standing regally. "Now, who hasss information of importanccce? I sssuggessst you ssstep forward, rather than keep anything from your Lord."

One by one, various Death Eaters from the inner circle stepped forward to present their newly acquired knowledge. A weakening or strengthening of forces here, a group of eager young recruits or a revised opinion from the public there. Occasionally some poor soul would trip over his words or deliver the data in such a way that displeased Voldemort. Their screams rang throughout the stone walls and metal cages.

Then it was Lucius’ turn. He proudly stepped forward, a smug grin revealed from behind his mask as he bent to kiss his master’s robe.

"My Lord," he began, "I have some information that might interest you."

"Oh?" Voldemort was getting impatient. He did not like to be led on, and his mood was dampened since the previous Death Eater had announced that the lower Ministry officials were becoming aware of his return, despite Fudge’s attempts to cover it up.

"I have discovered who it was that released Potter from my dungeons this summer."

Red eyes lit up and serpentine lips curled upwards. "Ssso that isss why you insssisssted the meeting take placcce here. In the mood for sssome blood, are you? We shall sssee about that." Another pause. "Well? Who wasss it?"

"I do believe it was my son, my Lord."

Silence dropped in.

Draco felt bile rise in his stomach. Merlin help me….

Voldemort’s gaze momentarily flickered to where Draco was standing. The Slytherin did not budge. "Asss interesssting asss that isss, Luciusss, perhapsss you have sssomething that might do to convinccce me of that? Loyal followersss are few and far between thessse daysss, and I have no desssire to lossse one if your claim turnsss out to be falssse."

Lucius procured a slip of parchment from his robes, unfolding it as he spoke. "I had my suspicions early on, but I couldn’t be sure until I received this. It’s a letter from Nott’s son, claiming that he has seen Draco romantically involved with that Potter boy at school. Also, someone had to have ordered the elf to release him. It is common knowledge that house-elves do nothing unless ordered, or at least, nothing so against their master’s wishes."

Voldemort took the letter with long, spidery hands and smoothed it out. "True. It cccertainly addsss up, Luciusss."

The Dark Lord raised his wand, waving it once over the parchment to detect any spells that might be used to forge the writing. He found nothing, other than a simple, yet effective spell to hide the wording until the intended recipient laid eyes upon it. The magic from that was stale, as it had long since worn off.

"Nott! Ssstep forward."

A slim man walked up nervously and lifted his mask as he kissed the hem of Voldemort’s robe, revealing chocolate brown hair and pale eyes. Francis had gotten his dark irises from Nott’s wife.

"Yes, my Lord?"

"Look at thisss carefully. Tell me, isss thisss your ssson’sss handwriting?"

The man accepted the proffered parchment and handed it back after staring at it for a long moment. He would recognize Francis’ short, nervous, jagged script anywhere, as he always insisted on seeing his son’s schoolwork to make sure that he was doing the family proud. Pure bloods had a name and reputation to keep, after all.

"It is, my Lord."

Voldemort nodded slowly and dismissed him. Nott walked backwards, head bowed with respect, until he found his place in the circle and melded amongst identical steel masks and black robes.

"Come here, young Draco."

The blond hesitantly stepped forward, falling to his knees next to his father. He swallowed hard as Lucius flashed a feral grin at him before touching his lips to the silky fabric of Voldemort’s robes.

"Tell me, boy," Voldemort hissed, "isss what your father claimsss the truth?"

Draco hesitated. His throat was dry.

"Keep in mind that I will be able to tell if you are lying."

Draco cast his eyes downward for a moment, blinking back tears of fear. Then he looked up again, silver eyes burning, defiantly. He would die either way, so he might as well do it right.

"Yes," he rasped.

Voldemort’s eyes widened at the confession before he regained his composure.

"That’sss a pity, my dear boy. Becaussse now there isss no chanccce of you leaving here alive."

He leveled his wand, thirteen inches, yew and phoenix feather, between Draco’s eyes. "Crucio."

---

Remus removed the invisibility cloak as soon as he closed the door to his and Severus’ rooms. He had run as fast as he could when the potion concealing the tapestry had begun to wear off halfway across the Quidditch field. By now the entire thing could be seen again.

The walls in the dungeon were very high, fortunately, providing ample room to display the grand heirloom. As soon as it was securely fastened to the stone, Remus noticed that the stag and dragon Patroni were still curled up in the corner. Now, however, they were awake and alert. Remus watched with awe as they stood up, lazily stretching, and trotted over to where the tapestry was hanging. After a moment, each climbed into their places in the design, melding with their two-dimensional counterparts. The figures glowed with their respective colors, pale green and blue-black.

When the light subsided, the tapestry, which had originally appeared neglected and coated with a dulling sheet of dust, reclaimed its luster and shine, looking as if it had just been made. Colors swirled and branches twisted at the replenished magic, the power so strong that it emanated a shocking warmth of its own, making Remus’ skin tingle with energy.

He breathed deeply, closing his eyes on the exhale. How is this affecting Harry, I wonder….

On that thought, he strode over to the guestroom door, softly knocking in case the boy was asleep. No answer. Quietly he slid the door open, looking around for any sign of the boy and finding none. He must have gone back to Gryffindor, he reasoned.

No matter. He had to get to Albus and tell him that he had the tapestry. It was only a short while before Voldemort would surely strike again, and the Order needed to be ready for it.

---

Guilt. It is a horrible thing. It eats away at self-respect and joy like a parasite, leeching emotions and leaving behind nothing but a cold, empty shell. Some people go their entire lives ravaged away by guilt, torn apart and left to rot in some abandoned hole in the ground. Others try in futility to ignore it, but it is always there, gnawing away at any pleasant thoughts in much the same way as a Dementor would, only with much more subtlety, so that the pain was lingering, interminably drawn out. On occasion, guilt becomes too much, and can only be escaped by the hardness of a steel blade or a thick, chafing rope.

Severus Snape had a lot to be guilty about. He had done horrible things during his lifetime, as both a Death Eater and a spy. Things that were only seen in the cover of night when screams were ignored and there was no distinction between blood and ink. Things that would make the bravest man claw his eyes out to save his innocence and faith, not to mention his own peace of mind. And Severus had done it, lived with it, suffered under it, and, eventually, with the help of those merciful, amber-gold eyes, forgiven himself for it. Most of the time. He would never be completely free. Nameless faces… no, they were not nameless, because he wrote down the name of every person he had ever wronged, and how, in a small book kept by his bedside. It felt wrong that they would not be remembered by most, wrong that the killer should look the other way and ask for the mercy he did not deserve.

And yet, slowly, a day at a time, he had at least come to terms with his guilt, meeting it halfway in a strange compromise. I’ll leave you alone so long as you pay me a visit once in a while, was the deal. It had been working for over a year.

But now…. Nothing could save him from the bloodsucker shredding his soul apart with guilt as he listened to Draco’s screams and did nothing to help…. Draco, the innocent young boy who had come to him for solace from his father’s hateful eyes, a single source of kindness in a darkened world. That same boy who was now sobbing as half-choked cries were extracted from his throat at every curse, every horrible blow from a whip or other instrument of torture that left him in a pool of his own blood. And Severus had failed him. Even at that moment, as he stood there paralyzed, unable to move forward to protect the boy who had so depended on him, for they both would surely die if he did so.

Another scream echoed throughout the dungeons, weak and raspy and cracked as the blond coughed up sickly looking blood. So many years of living in solitary confinement had given Severus an extraordinarily accurate sense of time, so he knew that, had they been outside, he would have seen the sun rising over the mountains in some horrible mocking irony as Draco’s life was beginning to end.

Dark eyes closed, and no move was made to prevent streams of tears from crashing down alabaster cheeks.

---

Painfearcruciocruciopainohmerlinpainpainhelpmepleasestophelpmehelpme….

They’re killing him, Harry thought, they’re killing him, and I’m going to be too late….

He plowed forward as Malfoy Mansion came up about one hundred yards ahead. Then he was there, going into a straight dive, waiting for the wards to slam against him, but finding that, for some reason, there were none. He pushed that thought to the back of his mind. He could puzzle through that if… no, when he got Draco out of there.

As he neared the door he withdrew his wand from his robes, blasting the heavy oak barriers to the side and zooming through. He wound through the many halls and corridors of the mansion, abruptly turning, knowing exactly where he was going without ever being sure.

Eventually he came to a solid, foreboding metal door, and forced it open with the same blast of magical energy that he had used on the first set. It slammed hard against the wall.

The seeker twisted in a corkscrew spiral down the staircase, turning at a sharp ninety-degree angle at floor level as he plowed forward. It was dark, dark, ever so dark. Too dark. Dark, like the kind that froze the soul, leeched away hope, brought emptiness and fear.

A scream rang in Harry’s sensitive ears, a sick distortion of the same voice that said his name so sweetly, that spoke softly to him when he cried and called his name when they made love. He flew faster in the enveloping blackness, listening to the cries as they grew louder. His hands, one clutching the broom handle and the other grasping his wand, were starting to sweat.

There. In the distance. A faint glimmer, a swish of black robes. In another moment, he would be….

"Stupify! Stupify! Stupify!" Three Death Eaters went down, limply falling to the floor with empty ‘thuds’.

Voldemort looked up and red eyes focused on the intruder. A splitting pain shot through Harry’s scar. He ignored it.

"Ah, Missster Potter. How kind of you to join usss."

Harry did not even spare him a second glance. Instead he continued zipping around the room, shooting various binding and stunning spells at the black cloaked figures and dodging what they threw at him. Years of avoiding bludgers had finally paid off.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry noticed as a particularly tall, brooding man discreetly hit a few of the other masked figures, making it look like an accident as he "aimed" for Harry. The Gryffindor would have grinned had the situation not been so grave.

"Give him back, Riddle," he growled.

"I think not," came the amused response. Then Voldemort aimed his wand at the bruised and bloodied body by his feet. "Cru-"

"No!"

Harry dove in front of the blast to shield Draco, and felt the air forced out of his lungs as the Crutiatus hit dead-on. He fell off of his broom at the pain, screaming as thousands of glass shards sliced his skin, as he was split down the middle and put back together wrong. He was vaguely aware of a sickening crunching sound as he hit the stone floor, but his nerves were too numbed by the curse to register the new source of pain.

Somehow, the piercing cries stirred Draco’s consciousness. Slowly, he opened the eye in which his myriad blood vessels had not burst. He would have cried out had his vocal cords not been utterly destroyed. Harry, his Harry, was caught in spasms by the second Unforgivable, tears pouring down his cheeks as his body was wracked with agony. White-hot rage bubbled up, and Draco’s blurry vision refocused on Voldemort, who was cruelly smiling at Draco’s lover’s anguish.

Then Draco saw black. He fell, in, always in, until he was submerged in a glittering blue-black pool, touched with the occasional glimmer of silver and red. It swirled around him, replenished him, filled him with a magical strength not of the physical plane. He pulled out, taking trails of the cool liquid with him, and rejoined his limp body. Immediately he was assaulted by weakness and ferociously throbbing pain wrought by hours of torture. Nevertheless he continued to draw strands of glowing blue-black light from his internal pool, letting it spread throughout his body, into his flesh and bones, pushing outward and vibrating in the air around him.

Voldemort was staring at him now, his concentration on Harry completely broken. Was it Draco’s imagination, or was there fear in those hateful red eyes? Draco enjoyed seeing that fear. Yes, you bastard, he snarled mentally, this is what you get for touching what is mine.

With a sudden blast of desperate strength, Draco threw every ounce of that blue-black pool at the Dark Lord, barely noticing the numerous Disapparations around him. Brilliant lights filled the room, expanding and contracting as they enveloped everything in the dungeon.

As the last of his energy drained from him, Draco melted back into the stone floor, his muscles having involuntarily tensed at the release of magic. He winced as his head dropped to the ground none too lightly and closed his eyes. At least Harry is safe now….

---

After a few precious moments, Harry forced himself up to sitting with his good arm, wincing as pain shot through his abused nerves. Then he proceeded to half crawl, half drag himself to Draco’s side.

"Oh…."

It was worse than he had thought. The black, blood-matted robes were in tatters, barely serving their original purpose to cover the boy’s body. Limbs were bent at odd angles, gashes were ripped and bleeding across exposed flesh. What was not covered by drying blood was bruised, a sickening purple from all the capillaries that had ruptured due to overexposure to the Crutiatus.

Harry looked around, scanning the room for Severus. There, in the corner, his crumpled form was slumped against the wall. Tentatively reaching out with his magical energy, Harry found that the man was unharmed but for a light bump on his head that forced him from consciousness. The Gryffindor was glad that he was alive, but his state did little to help Draco with his situation.

Gently, tenderly, Harry gathered his poor, fragile, shattered lover into his arms, brushing strands of black-encrusted hair from his forehead. He gasped when he saw that one of Draco’s eyes was completely red. The other one opened and focused on him for a second before glazing over again.

"…Ha-…." It was broken and scratchy, barely a winter’s breath of a whisper.

"I’m here, Draco. I’m here. Don’t worry, I’ve got you…." Harry choked on tears that he did not notice had begun to form. It was so hard, cradling Draco’s destroyed body when every touch made him flinch and quiver. It was so hard, knowing that if he had just flown faster, just a little faster, then maybe it would not have been all for naught. Maybe there would have been hope. Maybe….

The blond tried to smile to ease Harry’s obvious distress, but it slipped. Bloodless lips moved to form a single, wistful syllable. "Home…." Draco inhaled, weakly, a strangled, desperate breath. Then he fell limp. Harry closed his eyes, pressing his face to the soft form of his lover.

Suddenly a featherlike, cool breeze ruffled his jet-black hair. That was not right. They were deep underground; air should not be able to reach them.

Harry jerked his head up, ignoring the pain that shot down his spine at the motion. His jaw dropped at what he saw. Somehow Draco had managed to Apparate them through numerous wards and onto Hogwarts grounds. Home….

Slowly, as if afraid of what he might see, Harry gazed down at his lover, searching for any sign of life. Draco was alive, he knew it. He could not be dead. There was no way Harry would let himself think that, because then it would be true. He was not dead. Not yet.

Frantically, Harry moved his hand over Draco’s ruined body, letting pale green light flow through his fingertips. Subconsciously he searched for the most fatal injuries, focusing on the pierced lung that had long since begun to fill with blood. Then he moved onto internal bleeding, damaged organs, feeling them reform under his touch. Eventually his hand passed over numerous broken bones, squeezing his eyes shut as the bones knitted together with an extra layer of white, natural enamel.

He pushed out all of his reserves, dedicating all of his strength to saving the life of the boy in his arms. Pale green light poured and cleaned and purified, spilling out until exhaustion claimed Harry and he collapsed, unconscious, his arms still protectively wrapped around his lover. Draco breathed.

XV: Prayers And Gratitude

Severus Snape awoke with a groan and muttered an ironically distinguished curse. He rubbed the aching weariness from his eyes, ran a hand through his hair – a nervous habit he had not resorted to since his school years – and searched his body to make sure that he was still in one piece. Aside from a sore bump on the back of his head and that recent hip injury, everything was in order. Satisfied with this diagnosis, Severus pulled himself up off of the cold stone floor, using a thick, rusted chain dangling above his head for support.

Once he had gotten onto his feet, albeit a bit uneasily, he scanned the room. Sure enough, he was still in the dungeons, along with about a dozen still unconscious Death Eaters. Severus estimated that it was probably an hour since….

Another groan, this time out of frustration. An hour since Potter had flown in on that blasted broom of his in a flurry of Gryffindor heroics, blindly throwing stunning spells at every person in the dungeons. Come to think of it, Potter had been successful in aiming at most of the black-robed figures in a pitch-black chamber. Not many peoplecould accomplish that, no matter how good their vision was.

Snape scowled. If Potter thought he would be getting praise for his stupidity, he had another thing coming. Then, a thought. Draco….

Dark eyes scanned the room for any sign of the boy’s corpse. There was no way that he could still be alive. But there was nothing, save a pool of blood in the middle of the floor and a few shreds from Draco’s robe. Squeezing his eyes to barricade his tears, Severus, wrapped his long arms around himself and Disapparated.

---

Severus reappeared on the edge of Hogwarts grounds. With a heavy heart, he limped slowly across the dew-dampened ground, occasionally lifting a hand to brush tears away from his cheeks, lest they freeze from the cold of his skin, tiny diamonds on white marble.

So caught up in his guilt was he that Severus stumbled over a log in the middle of the field, falling face-forward to the mud-ridden ground. Shaking, long-fingered hands clutched at the grass as he pressed his head to the damp earth, weeping brokenly. His feet were still hooked around the log, which refused to let him go. Despairingly, he twisted around to see the dark lump his boots and robes were snagged on. He pushed himself up, intending to release the threads from their catch, when his eyes cleared and the shape behind him solidified in his vision. Gasping, the Potions master scrambled to get a closer look. A cry escaped when he saw Draco’s body, beaten and bloody, wrapped in the Potter boy’s protective, yet heart-wrenchingly gentle embrace.

Coming to his senses, Severus ran his hands over both boys, checking for their conditions. Although Draco was obviously worse off, he did not seem as bad as he did an hour ago, while still in the throes of the Crutiatus. Potter had a broken arm, but not much beyond that. He could wait.

Cautiously, Severus untangled the boys’ limbs and fumbled for his wand, conjuring a stretcher and, after a thought, levitating Harry onto it. He would carry Draco. This in mind, he pulled the blond into his arms, taking off his own robe and wrapping it around Draco’s near naked body. He looked so small, almost disappearing within the dark expanse of bundled fabric. Severus choked.

Severus stood up with paternal tenderness, cradling Draco against his broad chest as if he were no more than the infant Severus had known so long ago. A quick gesture with his wand and Harry was trailing behind them on the stretcher.

It was slow going, crippled as Severus was and with a hundred-something pound boy in his arms to boot, but bit by bit with a steady pace the Potions master made his way across the field towards the grand sanctuary ahead of him.

He’s alive, he chanted. It was becoming his mantra for the night. He’s alive. I don’t know how, but he’s alive.

Draco’s alive.

---

White.

That was the first thing that came to his mind when he awoke. White. White walls, white ceiling, just white. He blinked, trying to clear the sleepy brightness from his eyes. His head ached, and he felt drained. There was little strength left in him, magical or otherwise.

He moved his arm and found that it was sore, too.

Merlin.

This was turning out to be one damn long list of complaints.

"Harry, dear! You’re awake!"

He groaned. The noise hurt, too. But it was a nice pain. The kind of pain that let him know that he was alive. He needed that knowledge right now.

Harry refocused his eyes, smiling when he recognized the round circle of Poppy’s face hovering over him. He was about to speak, to offer a greeting from his dreamlike state, but she placed a finger over her lips before disappearing from his narrow expanse of vision. Before Harry had time to wonder where she had gone, she returned, holding a steaming goblet in one hand and two pillows in the other. Setting the goblet down, she proceeded to wrap her arms around Harry’s slim torso and lift him forward, awkwardly organizing the extra pillows behind him. He gratefully flopped back into the mass of white fluff when she released him.

"There you go, Harry. Now, I want you to drink this entire potion; it will help replenish your magic and calm your nerves." Then she laughed at his stricken look. "Don’t worry; it’s not a sleeping potion. It’ll just make it easier for your body to readjust to physical activity and build muscle. Here. Drink."

She helped him lift his unbroken arm to hold the cup. Harry was surprised to find that once it had been shifted from its original position, the deadened limb did not feel so much like a ton of lead anymore, though he doubted that he would be able to lift anything heavier then a pint of liquid for a while.

Harry probably expected some grotesque mockery of bile, or perhaps the bitter thickness that came with infirmary potions, but, as he lifted the deep blue concoction to his lips, he realized that there would be none of that this time around. Although it was steaming, the potion felt blissfully cool sliding down his parched throat. It appeared thick, but was perfectly smooth, like stew in comparison to soup, and warmed his body with the intensity of a fire on a winter’s day as it fell to the pit of his stomach. And the taste… at that moment, if the only thing he could ever consume for the rest of his life was this potion, Harry would not have complained.

There was chocolate, definitely chocolate, rich and creamy, with a cornucopia of savory spices that enhanced the flavor and tickled his senses. There was rich and sweet and cinnamon tinged with the innocence of vanilla. Caramel fudge, sugar cane, maple syrup, pancakes and waffles and breakfast rolls. It smelled like freshly baked blueberry pies, like comfort food, like all the things he had ever imagined that his mother would have cooked for him when he was a child, had she been alive. All the good things he spent his time fantasizing about to escape from the darkness of his cupboard.

Before he knew it the goblet was empty, and he set it down with a satiated smile on his face, eyes half closed. Madame Pomfrey chuckled.

"It’s a revival potion, in the back cupboard, top shelf on the right. Don’t worry – I’d feel like that too if that were the first thing I ate after such a long sleep. You and young Mister Malfoy over there have been out for just short of three days. You missed the first Prefects’ meeting, by the way."

But Harry was not listening. As soon as he had heard his lover’s name he had scrambled off the hospital bed, using his good arm to support his weakened legs as he limped the three feet to where Draco was sleeping. Exhausted from the short excursion, Harry all but collapsed into the chair by Draco’s side, taking the blond’s bandaged hand in his. The Gryffindor swallowed hard as he took in the sight before him. Draco certainly looked better than he had two nights ago, that was for sure, but his skin still retained a slight purple-green coloring, signaling the healing stage of his ruptured capillaries. The blood had been washed away and his wounds had been skillfully wrapped in clean, white bandages. Harry watched as the blankets rose and fell with each shallow breath, grateful that Draco was breathing at all. The boy looked so delicate, so fragile lying there, a rag doll with porcelain features and limbs, like he might break at the slightest touch.

Harry leaned forward, pushing the chair as close as it would get, and lay his forehead on Draco’s chest in silent prayer, thanking whatever gods were responsible for bringing Draco home safe.

---

Harry was still sitting by Draco’s side throughout the night and onto the next day. After Poppy removed the sling around his arm and said that he was free to go, he just stubbornly shook his head and resumed his position in the chair next to Draco’s bed. The medi-witch gave up then and there. She knew that the only way Harry would ever stand to be torn away from his lover was if she used forceful means, and she certainly did not have the heart to do such a thing to her young student.

Though Harry had tried his best to stay awake during the night, somewhere along the line exhaustion claimed him and he fell asleep with his head in his arms, bent over forwards while he remained sitting.

It was early morning when the first grays of dawn were creeping into the room through the open windows as ghost-like wraiths, brushing their fingers over exposed flesh and making Harry shiver in his sleep. He shifted from his uncomfortable position and lifted his head up, immediately cursing himself for drifting off earlier.

He examined his lover. Draco’s skin was almost back to its normal, creamy-white state, and his breathing was easier. Harry clutched the blond’s hand and pressed it to his forehead, wishing for Draco to wake up so that he could see those beautiful, liquid silver eyes again. He was becoming desperate, though it had only been a day, and he needed to concentrate on his breathing to keep himself together. He was so focused, in fact, that he almost missed it.

A groan.

Harry’s head shot up. He focused on Draco, whose delicate, handsome features were twisted into a grimace as he tried to move.

"Stay still," Harry whispered as he laid a gentle hand on Draco’s chest.

"Hurts… Ha-" Draco exploded into a coughing fit, horrible sounds that wracked his frail body in an all-too-familiar way. Harry wrapped protective arms around his lover, holding him until the shaking stopped. When the last few tremors subsided, the Gryffindor leaned back slightly to brush a silky strand of pale gold hair from Draco’s face, wishing there was something he could do to help. Then his face lit up.

"Draco, I have something for you. I’ll be right back, okay?"

A faint nod was his response. It was enough.

Harry dashed into the back room, trying to remember Poppy’s instructions. "Top shelf, on the right," he chanted. Sure enough, the sacred dark blue liquid was right where Poppy had left it. Harry poured some into a goblet, giving a little more than necessary, and put everything back neatly before running back to his lover, careful not to spill. He leaned over Draco’s weakened body, holding the goblet to his thin, colorless lips with one hand and using his other to lift the back of Draco’s head so that he could swallow more easily.

"Drink this. It’ll help, I promise." Harry sealed his words by tenderly brushing his lips over Draco’s, willing them to open so that the boy could drink the precious concoction and go on living. After a though, Harry sipped some of the potion and kissed Draco again, letting the liquid pass into his lover’s mouth.

It took a moment for him to respond to the soft insistence, but soon Draco was drinking of his own accord, and the goblet was quickly downed without any further problems. When he was finished, Harry set the goblet on the side table and took Draco’s hand again.

Gray eyes fluttered open, looking milky and worn.

"Ha… Harry?" His voice was raspy and barely above a whisper, but at least there was no coughing this time.

Harry smiled. "Yes, love?"

"Where… where are you? I can’t see…."

Harry moved so that he was in Draco’s field of vision, gently caressing one soft, purple-tinged cheek.

"I’m here."

Draco gave a small, relieved smile, and Harry felt as if his heart would break for joy.

"Harry?"

"Mmm?"

"Will you… lay down with me, please? I can’t… I need…."

Harry did not need to be asked twice.

"Just a minute," he whispered.

He pulled back and looked at the narrow cot. There was no way they would both fit in it. Instead, Harry pushed one of the nightstands out of the way and carried the chair he had been sitting in to the other side. Then he forced his bed next to Draco’s, so that the edges were touching. Quickly he scanned the room and, upon seeing his robes in a pile in far corner, went over to fetch his wand.

The Gryffindor walked back, focusing on the two beds, and cast a complicated merging spell. As he watched, the headboards, mattresses, and even the bed sheets connected to form a larger, almost queen sized bed. Grinning ridiculously at his accomplishment, Harry climbed in under the covers. He then proceeded to gather the blond in his arms, taking great care to avoid brushing half-healed wounds, and pulled the covers around their shoulders. Draco purred with contentment, resting his head on Harry’s shoulder and reveling in the much-needed warmth and comfort.

"Better?"

Draco nodded. They remained still for a few minutes, basking in each other’s presence and in the knowledge that, at least for the time being, everything was all right, and that they were perfectly safe to just let themselves be.

"Thank you."

Harry smiled, sadly. He knew what Draco was talking about. "You don’t have to thank me, love. Besides, in the end, you were the one that got us back to Hogwarts."

"Yes I do." Draco turned to bury his face in Harry’s chest. "You came… you came, and nobody else did. How… how did you know?"

Harry considered his answer. "I think that I knew as soon as you left that something was wrong, but I couldn’t be sure if it was just worries or… or if you really were in trouble." He chuckled. "It was actually Neville, of all people, who told me that Lucius found out about… us, among other things. So I just… flew. It’s not like I had any other way to get there, and there was no way I was leading the Knight Bus to a Death Eater meeting."

Draco gave a hoarse laugh. "Must remember to thank Neville later. A really big ‘thank you’. With flowers. And chocolate."

There was a comfortable stretch of silence before Harry felt something wet on his shirt. It took a moment before he realized that tears were causing it.

"Draco, love? What is it?"

Draco sniffed and lifted his head up, revealing two trails of crystalline tears and reddened cheeks. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a breath, as if he were afraid of his own words and what they entailed.

"They… they hurt me, Harry. After Lucius told them… V-Voldemort held me under C-Crutiatus for so long, I thought I was going to die, and then… then he l-let Lucius do what he wanted, and it hurt so much… and…." He took a deep breath before diving in again. "V-Voldemort… he touched me Harry, I was so scared, and I thought I was going to be split open, and…."

But Harry had stopped listening. Draco could not mean that, could he? The Gryffindor did not get a chance to heal everything before he had passed out that night, so there was the possibility that he missed it in his frenzied search.

Harry pulled Draco closer to him as the boy dissolved into sobs. He kissed the blond head as Draco curled up in a half fetal position, a natural defense against the world. Harry wrapped one powerful, protective leg around Draco’s and kept it there, binding his lover in the safety that his presence promised. A warm, Quidditch-callused palm smoothed down the shivering length of spine, then back up again as Harry whispered words of comfort even though he was now crying, as well.

Eventually Draco used up what little vigor he had reclaimed earlier and fell limp, cold and empty, is only solace being found in the strong body that enveloped him. Harry continued his gentle ministrations until the boy fell asleep, soothed by the caring touches of one who loved him.

Neither noticed the pair of large eyes that blinked and widened as a house-elf watched eagerly, or the scampering feet as the creature ran off to inform her master.

---

It was Saturday morning. Severus curled closer around the warm body next to him. He opened his eyes, broken shards of glass peeking from underneath dark lashes. He smiled one of those rare, honest smiles that few people ever saw. Remus had been so good to him the other night, so amazingly understanding.

It was Remus who had first seen him as he staggered through the school’s halls towards the infirmary, which was, consequentially, very close to the headmaster’s office. Without a word the werewolf had lifted Harry off of the stretcher to carry him himself, so that Severus would not need to expend his energy on the levitation spell for the stretcher.

Afterwards, when Severus and Remus were sitting nervously as Madame Pomfrey assessed the damage with a heavy heart, requested various potions and bandaged wounds, Remus had provided immeasurable support to his lover. He had placed a comforting hand on one narrow shoulder, exactly what was needed to keep Severus from collapsing right then and there, a performance that would have cost him his dignity and pride. And it was not as if Remus was not in a similar situation, either; he regarded Harry as a son much as Severus did Draco, so he was obviously worried for the young Gryffindor. He just had not been there. He had not been forced to listen to the screams, to stand by helplessly and do nothing while one of the few people that trusted and loved him was being mercilessly tortured ….

Back in their chambers, Remus had embraced Severus, holding the younger man as he endured the aftershock that had finally caught up with him. Diligent as he was, though, Severus only allowed himself a few moments of comfort before he went about making the potions Poppy had requested from scratch, his shaky hands stilling and nerves calming with the comfortable familiarity of his forte. Remus had helped, laying out ingredients and occasionally cutting or measuring something delicate whenever Severus’ nerves acted up.

Later, when the potions were bottled up and sent off to Madame Pomfrey, Severus was near collapsing from stress and simple fatigue. The werewolf had helped him into bed, wrapping a warm blanket around him and providing the comfort that only an undisturbed silence could provide. The entire time Remus had made a point of forgiving Severus for what he had done, or, rather, what he had not done, using his actions and body language and no words in a way that was just… well, Remus. The DADA professor had even postponed his meeting with the headmaster, just so he could help put Severus back together.

Now, days later, the wonderful creature with the amber-gold eyes was beginning to stir. He shifted closer, nuzzling Severus’ neck, before pulling back to look at him with a soft, sleepy, early morning gaze.

"Feeling better?" he murmured.

Severus nodded and pulled his lover closer, burying his face in soft, graying, wheat-golden curls. Remus lifted his head up and their lips met, a gentle sliding of flesh on flesh, before tongues began to join the sensuous dance. As the kiss deepened, Severus moved to cover the man below him, marveling at how perfectly their bodies fit together. Unfortunately, not a moment later they were disrupted by a loud "CRACK", followed shortly after by a startled "eep!".

Slowly, keeping their positions, they turned their heads to face the source of the sound. There, half-hiding behind a chair in the corner, was a timid house-elf. She stepped forward cautiously, ears flattened back and eyes wider than normal.

Severus gave a long-suffering sigh. Holly was his personal house-elf, who came from Snape Manor to school with him every year, then back again. On normal occasions she was extremely helpful, absolutely silent, and incredibly useful. She was the only person Severus trusted to cook his food, for there was no telling when one of the school’s elves would be "persuaded" to slip something into his meals, either as a joke from some Gryffindor troublemaker or as a deadly poison from one of his many enemies.

At this time, however, her presence was simply irritating.

"Yes, Holly?" Normally, when annoyed, the Potions master’s voice was seething rage in shadows, ready to leap forth on unsuspecting victims should they find it difficult to stay out of his way. However, since he had no desire for his house-elf to damage herself at the thought of needing punishment due to her master’s distress, he kept his tone as level and emotionless as possible.

"Master was wanting Holly to tell him when young Master Draco-" she had taken a liking to the boy, as he was the only one to visit Severus before Remus came around, "-is waking up, yes?"

Severus nodded. This was true; he had ordered her to inform him the moment Draco regained consciousness, so that he could be sure the boy remained alive and breathing.

"Well, he is waking up now sir. He is with Dobby’s Harry Potter, who is also waking up. Master is wanting your things to be seeing Master Draco now, sir?"

But Severus was already in the process of changing. Remus was too, albeit somewhat more leisurely.

"Thank you, Holly," Snape said as he dismissed the elf, "that will be all."

By the time the "CRACK" of house-elf Disapparation was heard, Severus was already out the door.

---

The Potions master all but slammed the door to the infirmary open in his enthusiasm to see Draco alive and well, Remus following close behind.

Dark eyes scanned the room and landed upon a bed that looked larger than most and boasted a considerable sized lump in the center. Upon closer inspection he found that two tufts of hair, one light and one dark, were poking out from the top of the lump. He smirked and walked over to the side of the bed, sitting in the chair that had been pushed close to it. The dark head sensed his presence and stirred.

Green eyes blinked, owlishly, flicking away the mist before focusing on the two figures before him. "Hullo, Professor. Hi Remus."

The werewolf smiled and sat down on the arm of Severus’ chair. "Good morning, Harry. How are you?"

He shrugged. "Okay, I guess. Tired, but okay. My arm’s better. Poppy removed the bandages last night."

Severus spoke up. "Is he awake?"

Harry had to pause for a moment before answering, stunned by the obvious and open concern that shone in the man’s eyes. "Umm… he just went back to sleep. He woke up for a few minutes a little while ago, though."

The Potions master nodded, skillfully hiding his disappointment.

A second later, Madame Pomfrey bustled in wearing a pink nightgown and fluffy bathrobe with slippers to match, clearly awoken by the noise Severus had made when he entered the infirmary.

Poppy smiled at seeing the concerned group there, granting them silence for a moment before making her presence known.

"Well, I see everyone’s up. Let me just get that revival potion…."

"I already gave it to Draco," Harry interjected.

"Oh, good. But I wanted to get it for you, dear. Whatever transfiguration spell you did on those beds probably reversed all the work the first potion did."

Harry blushed at the off-handed complement and sat up, careful not to disturb his sleeping bundle. He thirstily drank when she came back and handed the potion to him before settling back down under the warm blankets.

Poppy sighed as he finished. It was either now or never.

"Harry, dear…." He looked up at her, barely moving from his position.

"When you two were brought to me… I ran a quick diagnosis, so that I could determine what potions I needed Severus here to make. Well, I found something a bit frightening." She breathed. "It seems that Draco was…." Poppy was finding it difficult to say. Fortunately, Harry interrupted her.

"I know," he said softly, "Draco told me when he woke up."

She nodded, eyes downcast. "Severus, do you…?"

"I was there," he spat, bitterly, "I saw it happen."

Remus just looked confused. "Excuse me, but will someone please fill me in?"

"Draco was raped, dear," Poppy said gently.

Severus buried his face in his hands. "Not just raped. He did it. And I did nothing to stop it."

Remus wrapped his arms around Severus’ shoulders, brushing strands of black hair away and kissing the pale expanse of neck.

"There was nothing you could do," he reminded the younger man, his lips close to Severus’ ear. "If you had tried, you both would have died. Then where would we be? Where would I be?"

Severus nodded, dejectedly, and leaned into the embrace.

"You should thank Harry, Severus," Poppy suggested. "They were both completely drained of magic that night. I’m not sure what happened with Draco, but I’m sure Harry spent himself trying to heal him. Am I right?"

Harry smiled, shyly, confirming her suspicions.

"There’s a good possibility that Draco would have died if Harry didn’t do so." With that, she turned and left the room, planning on catching at least one more hour of sleep before she had to start her day.

The Potions master looked up to see that Harry had already re-settled himself in bed, eyes half closed with Draco’s head tucked under his chin. Just then, a contented mewling noise resounded in the room. The blond shifted, digging himself closer to Harry’s warmth. Harry responded by stroking Draco’s hair, running his fingers through the soft locks.

"Draco?"

"Mmm?"

"Professor Snape is here to see you."

"Sev?" It sounded hopeful.

Draco went through great expense to twist his body around and face the older man, wincing as he did so. Eventually, Harry lifted him up, turning him so that they were both facing the two anxious professors. Then Harry spooned his lover from behind, wrapping an arm around the slim waist so that Draco would not have to forfeit his warmth.

"Hi, Sev." Draco stretched out a hand and Severus took it, running his thumb over the bruised knuckles.

"Hello, Draco." Dark eyes remained focused on silver, afraid that if he looked away, even for a second, Draco would vanish.

"I forgive you, you know."

Those eyes widened considerably at the statement. "What?"

Draco squeezed the hand in his. "It’s okay. I understand… that you couldn’t save me. Besides, it means so much more to me that you’re here now, alive, and able to help me deal with this, then had you died for a lost cause."

Severus closed his eyes and murmured his appreciation.

Remus turned and whispered something in his lover’s ear. The Potions master nodded. Then he turned towards Draco. "We have a meeting with the headmaster to attend to. There is also a gathering of the Order later tonight. If you’re up to it, you can go, though you do not have to if you’re still not feeling well enough." He was about to stand, but hesitated. "Draco… will you be all right if I leave you?"

Draco smiled. "Of course, Sev." He pressed back into Harry’s warm body for emphasis.

Severus forced himself up and out of the chair with Remus’ assistance. The two walked towards the door, standing precariously close but not touching. Severus paused once he neared the opening that lead to the main hallway, holding onto the doorframe for support.

"Pot-… Harry?" he called, not turning to face the boy.

Harry looked up, startled. "Yes, professor?"

Severus breathed and whispered, "Thank you" and walked out the door before Harry had a chance to respond. Remus lingered for a moment to offer a warm smile before following his lover out of the infirmary.

"That’s got to be a record," Draco joked.

"What?"

"I don’t think I’ve ever heard Sev say ‘thank you’ so many times in an hour. Come to think of it, I don’t think that he’s ever said it. At least, not in front of me."

Harry chuckled before breaking the silence again.

"How are you? Any better?"

Draco sighed. "Sore. And… beyond tired, I think."

Harry tightened his embrace around the boy. "Go back to sleep, then. I’ll be here when you wake up, I promise."

He was.

XVI: From The Flames

Timidly, "Are you sure they won’t mind?"

"Not at all, dear. You’re much calmer then his other friends, so they’ll enjoy your company. Besides, I hear nothing but good things about you from Flora."

A blush. "Really?"

"Certainly. Now go on in, just be sure to knock first."

"Thank you, Madame Pomfrey."

"Any time, Mister Longbottom."

Neville shuffled over to the side door in the infirmary where Draco and Harry had been moved to for the weekend. He tapped his knuckles to the wood before entering. Two pairs of eyes immediately focused on him. For a second the Gryffindor thought he saw a green light glowing from Harry’s fingertips, but brushed it off as being nothing more than his unreliable imagination.

"Neville!" Harry grinned from his half sitting position, beckoning the other boy over. Draco shifted from where he was curled up against Harry’s chest for a better view. He gave a gentle smile.

"Come in."

Neville stepped forward, eyes downcast, and pulled a chair up to the bed. "Um… I suppose you probably should be told… everyone kinda knows about you two… being together, I mean. It was hard to keep it a secret after… after what happened."

Draco’s eyes darkened. "No matter. The main reason we were so secretive was to prevent Lucius from finding out…."

Harry tightened his grip on his lover. The blond blinked, shaken out of his gruesome reverie. Then he squeezed his eyes shut and turned to press his forehead against Harry’s front. The dark haired boy sighed, running his fingertips down Draco’s back and letting soothing sparks of green flow through them at regular intervals.

"What brings you here anyway, Neville?"

The boy did not answer. He sat, transfixed at the ethereal radiance coming from Harry’s hand.

"What… what is that?"

Harry looked down and started. He had not realized what he was doing, as the action had become a natural reflex.

"I’m… I’m a Healer, Nev. I only found out about it this year."

Neville shook his head, awestruck. "Oh. Um, what did you say before?"

Harry chuckled and repeated his earlier question.

Blue eyes looked at the floor again. "I… I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I thought… that maybe, by telling you, I might’ve gotten you killed, or something, and I didn’t want…."

"Neville," Harry interrupted, "that was the best thing you could’ve done. You’re a hero for that, you know?" He chuckled. "Draco told me how grateful he was. He meant it, too. We both do."

Neville grinned, feeling a bit more confident in himself. "If Ron or Hermione want to come up, what should I tell them?"

Harry considered. "I don’t think he – or either of us, for that matter – is ready to see too many people. Especially, well, you know as well as I do how bad Ron’s temper can get." Neville laughed. The redhead was infamous for his anger. Harry continued, "Sunday should be okay, though."

"Okay. I better go, then."

"Hey, Nev?"

The boy turned.

"Could you do me a favor? There’s a blue potion in that cupboard over there, and a goblet next to it. Would you please pour some into it and bring it over here?"

Neville complied, handling the liquid with the utmost care, lest his clumsiness sneak up on him. Fortunately he got the potion to the bedside table without any trouble.

Harry smiled. "That’s great. Oh, and Neville? One more thing."

"Yes, Harry?"

Sincerely, "Thank you."

After Neville left, Harry used his energy to grant his lover a gentle wake up call.

"Mmm?"

"Here, drink this. You haven’t eaten anything since you woke up this morning."

Harry helped Draco into a position similar to his own and handed him the revival potion. Once the Slytherin was done, Harry took the goblet from him and stole a moment to observe the pale boy. The purple tinge was completely gone, though there was a certain sadness about Draco’s stormy eyes that Harry doubted would ever leave. But aside from that, his superficial wounds were mostly healed, as Harry had been steadily working on him all morning.

Another knock on the door jarred him from his thoughts. "Come in." Draco groaned lay back against Harry as Dumbledore trundled in.

"Good afternoon, boys."

"Hullo, Professor."

"I see you’re recovering well, Draco. Tell me, how do you think you will feel by this evening?"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "We’ll see when we get there. Why do you ask?"

Dumbledore’s eyes gave an amused twinkle. "Tonight, I’m sure you’ll recall, is the Order of the Phoenix meeting. I was hoping that you would be there, that is, if you were up to it, of course. You may have some information that could prove vital."

"It’s up to you, love," Harry said while running a hand up Draco’s arm.

The blond chewed his bottom lip in thought. "I think… I think that I should try to go, but… if for some reason I need to leave, could I?"

"Certainly, my boy. I’ll send Professor Snape and Professor Lupin up to get you when the time comes, then. Lemon drop?"

Draco blinked. The headmaster was holding out a silver dish of light yellow candies that had not been there before. He turned the older man down; the sight of food made him queasy. Dumbledore shrugged popped one into his mouth, smiling like the cat that got the cream.

"Well, I’m off," he said, standing up. A second later he was gone, and the door clicked behind him.

Draco sank deeper into the warmth of the bed and the body beneath him.

"I swear, I’m going to hex the next person who comes in."

Harry laughed. "Amen."

As it were, the only other visitor was Poppy, who strutted into the small room about an hour later with a freshly made salve and some clean bandages. Fortunately for her Draco was deep asleep by the time she came in.

---

Hands.

They were everywhere, tearing, clawing, ripping him apart.

Streaks of fire shot down his back and blood fell in torrents.

Laughter. He was laughing, a hideous, high-pitched sound that cut at his flesh and stung his every nerve.

Bones cracked and shattered as he was thrown to the ground and left there, cold and alone and dying.

Then….

Something large, forcing itself into him, splitting him open from the inside out, like iron, burning, burning….

Something inside him broke.

He screamed.

---

It started as a twitch, a straining of the jaw muscles. Soon he began to twist and turn, whimpering and shaking when the movement aggravated his still fresh wounds. Movements became more urgent as he struggled against the sheets, which had wrapped around his limbs like shackles. Then a loud keening noise escaped his lips, followed by a scream.

"Draco!" Harry shot up and pulled his lover close, trying to calm him as the scream ripped from Draco’s throat. The blond awoke, gray eyes alert and fearful, then filled with shame and sorrow when they focused on green.

Draco fell forward, crying into Harry’s chest and clutching at his shirt. Harry embraced him and lay back down, letting a gentle hand run up and down the other boy’s shaking back.

"Shhh, Draco, Shhh," he cooed, "you’re safe, it’s over now. Shhh."

"No," Draco choked out through his sobs. He shook his head, violently. "It’s not over. It never will be. Every time I close my eyes, I feel their hands on me, I feel Him forcing himself into me…." He looked up, silver eyes brimming with dark tears. "Make it go away, please, Harry, I can’t deal with this… make it go away…."

Harry tightened his hold on him and kissed the top of his head. "I wish I could, love. But… you won’t go through this alone. I’ll be with you every step of the way, I promise."

To solidify his words, Harry called forth a few strands from his pool of pale green and pressed his hand to the base of Draco’s spine, at his tail bone, filling him with the purity of his light. The body in Harry’s arms relaxed, falling limp against him. Draco sighed and his shaky breathing evened out again. He gazed up at Harry through weary, half-lidded eyes, offering a tired smile.

"See?" he murmured, "I knew you could do it."

Harry smiled in return and brushed his lips to Draco’s own before settling down again.

He was already half asleep when the door flew open and a dark figure swept in, followed by his less dramatic counterpart.

"Time to go. The meeting is in fifteen minutes," Remus said.

Nodding, Harry turned his attention towards his lover. "Draco. Draco, we have to go. Remus and Professor Snape are here."

"Sev?" Draco sleepily looked at the older man.

"You do not have to go if you aren’t feeling well." Severus’ voice was gentle.

Draco shook his head, dazed. "No, no. I’ll go. I just need to get up…."

Harry sat up from behind and swung their legs around, so that they were dangling off of the edge of the bed. He stood up with an arm around Draco’s shoulders for support as the blond transferred his weight onto weak, unused limbs. As soon as he was on his feet, however, his legs gave out and he fell with a soft cry. With a seeker’s reflexes Harry caught him around the waist before he could hit the ground and looked to his two professors. Severus sighed and bent forward, scooping up the Slytherin, one arm lifting under Draco’s knees and the other at his slim shoulders. Draco mewled and curled up in the embrace.

Harry rushed to the corner and threw on his recently washed school robe and his old sneakers. Then, after grabbing a polar-fleece blanket from the end of the bed, he followed the two older men and his lover up to Dumbledore’s office.

---

Remus whispered the password to the infamous stone gargoyle and lead the way up the stairs, slowly so that Severus could keep up. Once there, they were greeted by Albus Dumbledore’s twinkling eyes.

"Ah, good. You’re here early. I don’t believe anyone else has shown up just yet, but let’s have a seat in my rooms now anyway."

They walked into the familiar chambers, and Harry claimed a long couch that was set off to the side of the room. Severus sat down next to him, setting Draco down across their laps with the blond’s legs propped up against the armrest and his head and shoulders resting on Harry’s legs. Remus took the blanket from his fellow Gryffindor and spread it over Draco’s thin body, tucking it around the boy before sitting down on Harry’s other side. Harry leaned against his surrogate father as they waited for the others to show up, all the while fending off Albus’ enthusiastic offerings of tea and various sweets, both magic and muggle.

It was not long before the fire roared with green and four redheaded Weasleys stepped out, brushing themselves off. Upon seeing the other group, Molly rushed over to Harry, gingerly reaching over Draco to embrace the Gryffindor.

"Harry, I’m so glad you’re safe! That was an awfully brave thing you did, and you’re parents would be so proud!" She squeezed him harder. "And if you ever try anything like that again, you’ll be sure to hear from me, young man!"

Arthur stepped over and put a hand on her shoulder. "Dear, you’re crushing him. He’s got enough to deal with without being suffocated."

Molly huffed but surrendered and backed away, resigning to sit on a chair across from the couch. No sooner had she sat down than the room was being filled with excited wizards and witches, all chattering as they stepped from the fireplace to take their seats around the room. Then Dumbledore stood up and the noise quieted.

"I’m sure that most of you have been informed about some of the more… unfortunate recent occurrences."

A solemn silence echoed throughout the room, and a more than a few pitying glances were cast Harry and Draco’s way. Harry looked down and tightened his grip around his lover, sifting his fingers through soft blond hair.

"Ahem, well." Heads jerked up towards Albus again as he continued. "One good result that did come out of everything was that Remus here managed to reclaim the tapestry from Malfoy Mansion. Remus, if you please…?"

The werewolf withdrew his wand from the folds of his robe, muttering a levitation charm and lifting the rolled up tapestry from its place behind the couch. He and Severus had brought it up before fetching Harry and Draco, knowing that it would be needed during the meeting.

Slowly Remus moved the grand piece and hung it on the side wall behind Dumbledore. An audible gasp sounded as it was unveiled, and numerous eyes locked, captivated, on the skillfully woven surface. Draco stirred at the tapestry’s presence, and Remus used a pillow from the end of the couch to prop the boy’s head up so that he could see. As if sensing Draco and Harry’s eyes on them, the stag and dragon glowed in greeting.

"This," Remus began, "is the legacy of the Potter and Malfoi families, and the key to defeating Voldemort, along with the families’ descendants, of course. With this old magic comes an… area of specialty, perhaps, that is embedded in the blood of each line. The specifics tend to change with each generation, but the powers always balance each other in some way so that no particular magic becomes too intense for natural boundaries and such to handle. At this time, as we have discovered, the Malfoi has a more offensive type of magic, while the Potter family leans more toward healing and defensive magic of sorts."

"Excuse me, Remus, but that doesn’t make sense," Harry interrupted. "I thought my being a Healer came from my mother’s side."

Remus grinned. "That’s true, Harry, but you have to remember that old magic tends to have a life of its own. The tapestry knows its entire line of relationships between your and Draco’s families, even if only the most recent developments are revealed to human eyes. The reason the Evans family was introduced to the Potter bloodline was because, well, the tapestry was trying to rectify a mistake."

Harry’s eyes widened as his Potions professor took over the explanation. "I knew something was wrong when I found in my research that the relationships were supposed to alter every generation, yet you and Draco show a similar relationship to that of your fathers."

"You… you mean, m-my father and Lucius were…." The dark haired boy was stuttering by now, oblivious to the hawk-like attention that everybody was paying him.

"I believe the term you are looking for, Mister Potter, is lovers-" Harry blushed crimson, "-and yes, James and Lucius were together, in secret, mind you, for the better part their years at Hogwarts. They would have remained lovers during their respective marriages, as well, had nothing gone wrong." He regarded Harry seriously. "The problem was that your father was killed too early, something that the old magic of the tapestry did not expect, because, if you’ll remember, He uses old magic as well. Because of that, your fathers’ generation of the love/hate relationship was not completed, and therefore the tapestry could not move onto the next, though it was already halfway through their dalliance." Severus shifted, taking some of the weight off of his hip before he spoke up again.

"To fix this the tapestry had to be completely sure of the next generation, or of you and Draco, as it were. The only way was to ensure that both of you were strong enough to finish this round without being killed was to organize things so that the first few years of your time with Draco was spent on rivalry, as your fathers’ few years together was spent on affection. Then, and only then, would it be safe for you two to become more… romantically inclined."

Hesitantly, "So, are you saying that my parents only got together because of some dusty, old magic?"

Remus shook his head slightly. "No. Lily and James would have married regardless; they loved each other dearly. What the tapestry did ensure, however, was that you received full magical abilities from both your sides, including the healing magic that your mother’s family had. The natural ability you seem to have at Transfiguration, among other things, comes from the Potter side. The same goes for Draco. Severus tells me that he is gifted in Potions, from Lucius’ side, and strong forms of natural Dark Magic, from his mother’s."

Draco, who had been riveted to the tapestry all this time, twisted to look at Remus. "What?" He sounded incredulous.

Severus sneered. "Do you truly think that your father would just pick a pureblooded witch from the barrel for his wife? Not so. Believe it or not, Narcissa was chosen not only for her purity, but also for the strong magic that flowed through veins. You see, Draco, you come from a long line of powerful Veela, and that has nothing to do with Malfoi blood."

Draco was surprised, to say the least. He had always maintained the impression that his mother was nothing more than a tool, a cold statue that could be dressed up for company. Obviously that notion was incorrect. Draco pushed it aside. No matter. There were more important things to deal with now.

"But then… does this mean that Harry and I wouldn’t be together without the tapestry’s Blood Magic?" Draco’s flat voice was tinged with desperation.

Remus smiled. "No, we don’t think so. If that were the case, then you would have been rivals for exactly the amount of time that Lucius and James had been lovers. We have proof that they were together as confidential friends, at least, since their first year at Hogwarts, and on until James’ death at age nineteen. That’s eight years, at the least. Now you and Harry, on the other hand, were only on the ‘hate’ side of the line for four years, give or take a few months. So it was your natural attraction, among other things, that gave the magic a push and jump-started everything four years early. Even if there had been no outside influence, you would still be a couple this very moment."

Harry grinned, entwining his fingers with Draco’s. Then he seemed to realize that the rest of the Order was in the room, and blushed. "So… um, wasn’t Vol-" half the people in the room cringed at the name, "-demort killed? I mean, Draco shot a curse or a hex or something at Him, and it seemed pretty powerful, so…."

All eyes turned towards either Severus or Remus. Severus closed his eyes, fighting back a sigh. "I wish that were the case, Mister Po-… Harry. But there was no corpse when I left, so we can only assume that He is still out there. Aside from that…." Severus lifted up his sleeve and revealed the Dark Mark, black and pulsing at Harry’s intense gaze.

Timidly, "What spell are we going to use, then?"

"I believe I can answer that one," came a voice from the door.

"Sirius!" Had his lover not weighted him down, Harry would have bolted to the door. His godfather’s hair was cut short again, and he was wearing plain, dark blue robes that looked like they actually fit him. His face had lost some of its gaunt appearance, as well, so he had obviously been getting enough to eat. All in all, Sirius looked much better since Harry had last seen him, if not a little travel worn. The man gave a canine grin to his godson, Azkaban-haunted sapphire blue eyes glittering as he strode around to the back of the couch to embrace Harry from behind.

"Hey, Kiddo! How’s it goin’? I haven’t seen you for a while." He ruffled Harry’s messy hair and was met with an enthusiastic, lopsided grin.

"Great, Sirius! Where’ve you been?"

Sirius grabbed an extra armless chair from near the door and swung it around, straddling it and crossing his arms over the backrest.

"That," he said, resting his chin on his arms, "is what I’m here to say." He turned to address the rest of the room, blatantly ignoring the few wands that had been drawn against the "murderous criminal". "Well, I’ve been in contact with Remus and Snape, and found the Shaman who performed Blood Magic in India. Combinin’ my outside sources with Snape’s research, I think we’ve come up with a possible solution. There’s a Blood Spell that can be used to activate Harry and Draco’s connection on a more conscious level. Though they’re connected by the older magic right now, the link’s only apparent at an extreme level, like when one of ‘em’s in danger. However, if this is successful, and their blood’s bonded so that they can control the connection and their abilities, they can use that against You-Know-Who."

Lawrence, who had been among the few to raise their wands against Sirius, was attempting a pitiful imitation of Severus’ patented sneer. "And what, convict, do you propose we do?"

Sirius, who had withstood years of Snape’s constant insults while in school, was not at all perturbed by the remark. His answer was as casual as if he were discussing his weekend plans with an old friend, despite the fact that he was explaining how to bring down one of the most powerful Dark wizards of all time. This, of course, only aggravated Lawrence more, and the former Marauder took great joy when the other’s eye started to twitch. He grinned at the man, whose hands were shaking with rage so badly that he had all but dropped his wand. "That answer your question?"

"It should do," the other man replied through gritted teeth and a clenching jaw. Severus smirked.

The rest of the meeting was spent brainstorming various counterattacks against Voldemort’s most recent plans. They also considered scenarios in which the Dark Lord either managed to capture either of the Potter or Malfoi descendants again (Draco shuddered and Harry pulled him closer) or if He assaulted the school in an open declaration of war.

It was nearly midnight when things were called to a close. By then the boys were practically asleep on the couch, and Remus had to support Harry with one arm to prevent him from falling over with fatigue. The Weasleys were the last to leave, and Sirius came over to Harry before he disappeared through the green flames with them.

"Hey, kiddo, the Weasleys are letting me kip at the Burrow. You can come visit if you need me for something…."

Harry grinned. He may have been a Gryffindor, but that did not mean that he was blind to the obvious all of the time. He had been alert enough to see the looks that Sirius and Bill Weasley had been shooting each other, and known that they had found kindred spirits. "Don’t worry about it Sirius, and have a good time with Bill. He’s nice; you’ll like him."

Sirius blushed and ran a hand through his black hair. "Um… yeah, thanks, Harry. See you later, I guess. Bye Remus," then, as an after thought, "Snape."

Severus curtly nodded as the man floo’d out and shook Draco gently. "Draco, the meeting’s over. We can go now."

Draco peeked up at him from underneath long, pale lashes. "Sev? Could Harry and I stay in your guestroom again? I don’t want to go back to the infirmary. I’m sick of it."

Harry laughed. "I know the feeling."

Severus nodded to Draco’s request. "All right." He began to lift the boy up and carry him down as he had before, but was met with a determined protest.

"Wait. I want to try walking again."

Sighing, the Head of Slytherin set his charge onto his bare feet, holding one thin shoulder as Draco tried to steady himself. His balance slipped and Severus caught him around the chest.

"Um… maybe I just need a little help," the blond said, stubbornly.

Harry stood up and looped an arm around his lover’s waist, while Draco clung to Harry’s shoulders. They proceeded down the stairs and to the dungeon, slowly, stopping every now and then for Draco to lean his weight on Harry while he caught his breath or rested his still-weak legs.

By the time they reached Severus’ quarters, Draco was near exhaustion and shivering from the cold, as the thin infirmary pajamas he was wearing hardly did anything to keep him warm. He promptly collapsed on the soft bed in the guestroom after Harry led him in, bidding goodnight to their caretakers. Harry stripped off his robe and shoes and helped Draco under the covers, pulling the Slytherin close and lifting the blankets past their shoulders. Silence floated through the room as they watched the fire die down, waiting for sleep to claim them.

XVII: The Fires Of India

Harry awoke late on Sunday afternoon, groaning as unwanted light began to shine through his closed eyelids. He threw an arm over his eyes, turning deeper into the bed’s warmth to hide from the stark glow of day. When he attempted to pull his lover closer to him in an effort to remain hidden from the sun, he realized that the blond was not there. Startled, Harry blinked, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand and pushing himself up to sitting.

"Draco?"

Snidely, "It’s about time you got up. We’ve missed breakfast, and I want to make an appearance for lunch."

When the blurry residue had all but faded from Harry’s field of vision, his green gaze focused on the Slytherin standing at the foot of the bed. He blinked again and was able to make out the pair of slim-fitting, simple black slacks and the warm gray sweater that Draco wore with perfect elegance and subtlety. He looked clean and refreshed, and Harry was glad to see that there was a healthy tinge to the boy’s cheeks, despite his naturally pale complexion. He seems to be feeling better, Harry admonished.

"All right, I’ll just go get cleaned up, then," the Gryffindor said. Draco watched with a smirk as the shorter boy, still not quite free from the recesses of sleep, stumbled over to the bathroom to run the shower. He had to bite back a harsh laugh when Harry nearly ran into the wall beside the door.

By the time Harry emerged again, towel-dried and flushed from the warm water, Draco was ready to go, prim and perfect as he leaned against one of the bedposts. The dark haired boy suddenly felt very vulnerable wearing only a large towel wrapped around his waist and blushed from the neck up, surprised when Draco merely rolled his eyes. Still bright red, Harry searched the room for his black school robe, and furrowed his brow in frustration when he could not find it.

"Draco, have you seen my clothes? I thought I put my robe on the chair last night…."

A pale eyebrow arched. "Well, I see your skills of observation haven’t improved much."

Oh, yes, Harry thought, he’s definitely feeling better. "Come again?"

Draco gave a long-suffering sigh. "Apparently someone moved our trunks in here last night, and thought it fit to clean our robes, as well." He gestured to two large trunks that were pressed up against the end of the bed. "And besides, why would you want to wear robes today? In case you forgot, uniforms aren’t required on Sunday s or holidays."

Harry blushed. "I’d rather wear robes than Dudley’s old hand-me-downs…." He broke off and looked down at his bare toes when he remembered why he would not be receiving those anymore, even if he had never been fond of them.

Draco sighed and stepped forward to embrace his lover, wrapping long arms around smooth, thin shoulders. Harry stiffened, still uncomfortable about his state of undress, and then melted into the slim body. Draco relished in the exact moment when Harry let himself go, let himself be protected for a change, head dropping to Draco’s shoulder, and clutched the smaller boy tighter. Harry needed to know that it was okay to just be held, and not worry about being the hero all of the time, and Draco wanted to be the one to help him understand that. "Don’t worry about it," he whispered, "I’ll lend you something of mine – we’re about the same build, so they should fit well enough."

Green eyes looked up, surprised, as the blonde bent over to rummage through his trunk before emerging with a pair of khakis, a simple white T-shirt and a green sweater. "Here, put these on. I have a fitting charm that’ll help if they end up a little too big."

Harry stepped back into the bathroom with the borrowed attire and a pair of his own boxers. Draco shook his head as the door closed shut. Even though they slept together on a nightly basis and had already made love, his sweet, innocent Harry was still shy about changing in front of him. It was really quite endearing; the simple gesture reminded Draco how, behind the courage and the famous name, Harry was just a boy, plain and simple.

A moment later the aforementioned Gryffindor emerged from the bathroom, looking self-conscious in Draco’s clothing. "Well?" he asked, nervously.

Draco muttered a fitting spell and the hems of the shirt and pants lost the extra three inches of fabric that had dangled to the tips of Harry’s fingers. Immediately Harry felt altogether more comfortable in the soft clothing, although he somewhat missed the atmosphere of protection and anonymity that his old, baggy clothes had provided. Draco smiled. "You look perfect. Not to mention that the green brings out your eyes, especially without your glasses."

Harry blushed again, lopsidedly grinning at the compliment. He slipped his hand into Draco’s. "Ready to face the world?"

"Always."

---

There was a collective silence that filled the Great Hall when Draco and Harry appeared at the door together, hand in hand. Harry looked around, scanning the sea of faces for any hostile looking expressions among the mix of shock, nonchalance, and varying degrees of encouragement. Inwardly he sighed. Evidently, although the student body knew about them from one source or another, it was not at all the same as seeing them together, since visual evidence made it all the more real.

Harry continued his survey and drew in a sharp breath when he laid eyes on the Slytherin table. Many of the fifth years were glaring at Draco with nothing short of menace, Pansy Parkinson especially. Decision made, Harry tugged gently at his lover’s hand and led them over to the Gryffindor table, where room was made for both of them in between Neville Longbottom and Dean Thomas. Harry smiled, gratefully, at them and pulled Draco close, wrapping an arm around his waist.

"Never thought you’d be sitting at the Gryffindor table, eh, Malfoy?"

Draco turned towards Seamus, smirking. "No, I suppose not. But then, you probably never thought that you, or anyone else for that matter, would be able to engage in civil conversation with me, yes?"

The Irish boy laughed good-naturedly. "Aye. I do, however, have one question regardin’ the Serpent’s Pit."

The eyebrow shot up again. "Oh?"

Seamus conspiratorially looked around the room and then past Draco’s shoulder before speaking in a stage whisper. "Is Zabini available?"

The table laughed as Draco nodded and Seamus grinned. After the ice had been broken, the rest of the Gryffindors were eager to talk with Draco, almost as if he had always been one of the group. Even Ron threw in a couple of friendly jests at the blond, who seemed all too happy to retaliate in kind.

"Hey, Harry," Hermione began, "I didn’t say anything before, but you look great in contacts."

Harry looked puzzled for a second before he realized that very few people knew about his status as a Healer. Then he decided that, at least for the moment, it would be better to keep it that way. The last thing he needed was another group of reporters swarming him for yet another reason to stick him in the Daily Prophet or, Merlin forbid, Witch Weekly.

Grinning, "Thanks, Mione. They’re a lot easier than glasses, that’s for sure."

She smiled and turned to engage Draco in a discussion about Arithmancy. They were, as it turned out, in the same class together, and were both fairly interested in the subject. Hermione was glad there was finally someone who appreciated and matched her intellect, and Draco was discovering that heritage had no affect on a person’s ability as a wizard or witch. In the meantime Ron stole his best friend’s attention to talk Quidditch. Seamus, as he was the new first-string chaser, listened in on the conversation.

"When is practice going to begin, do you think?"

Harry’s brow furrowed. He had not really had time to think about things as trivial as sports during the past few days, considering the most recent occurrences.

"Umm… prolly sometime next week, but I’ll have to check to see when the pitch is free. I wanna try and schedule four hour and a half practices a week, but if that’s no good for everybody’s school life, then we can try for three two hour practices, instead."

Ron grinned, clearly in his element, and began shooting out rapid-fire ideas for new tactics.

At some point, Professor Lupin walked over and leaned close to Harry’s ear, speaking just loud enough so that only the two intended listeners could hear.

"I want you boys to come back to Severus’ quarters after lunch. We need to go over some things."

Harry nodded and watched the werewolf go back to his seat at the head table and shook the curiosity from his head for the moment. I’ll find out what he wants soon enough, he reasoned.

---

When it seemed like a natural time to leave and other students were beginning to filter out of the Great Hall, Draco tugged at Harry’s sleeve and nodded to him, signaling that they needed to go. After a quick word to the rest of the Gryffindors, they began to head down to the dungeons, only to be stopped at the junction between the entrance to the library and the hallway that lead toward the Slytherin and Ravenclaw dorms by a very irate looking Pansy.

Draco immediately adopted a lazy "you are beneath me you piece of pond scum" look and loosely draped an arm around Harry’s shoulders before addressing the pug-faced girl.

"May I ask why you are standing in our way, Parkinson?"

Pansy just fumed even more, her face taking on a brilliant shade of red that showed up uneven and splotchy underneath her many layers of caked on concealer and eyeshadow.

"It’s bad enough that you insulted me on the train," she steamed, "but now you’re showing up with that… that…."

Draco glared and his voice level dropped deadly low. "I suggest, Parkinson, that, if you value your pitiful excuse of an existence, you will not finish that sentence." Harry shivered. He never wanted to be on the receiving end of that honey and sandpaper tone.

Pansy blanched for a second before crossing her arms and adopting a smug expression characteristic of all pureblooded Slytherins.

"I suggest you stay away from the Slytherin dorms, Malfoy," she spat, "because I can think of a good many of us who would do well to hand you over to Voldemort. He’s out for your blood, now."

Draco sneered. "As if he weren’t before." He leaned closer, so that his face was just inches from hers. "I already warned you once to stay away from me, and I am not going to repeat myself. But if you interfere with me, or lay one finger on Harry, I will hunt you down and destroy you in every way possible."

He grabbed Harry’s hand and pushed past her, determinedly striding toward the dungeons, leaving her to figure out what he had just said.

When they reached Severus’ rooms Draco made no hesitation to collapse on the soft couch, which had not been removed since Harry placed it there. Harry sighed and sat down next to him, rubbing up and down the boy’s back and feeling the tense muscles release under his touch.

"Do you think she’ll be a problem?"

Draco shifted his head from where it was laying on his arms, turning so that he could see Harry while keeping his current position. "I’m not sure, but either way we should be careful where we tread. She’s always been a little off…." Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

Harry nodded in thought, still moving his hand in circles along the broad back. "There were others, y’know. I didn’t like some of the looks you were getting from the Slytherin table."

"Mmm."

Just then the door opened and Severus swept into the room, followed by the ever-modest Remus. They sat down and began matters of business.

"We want to bond you as soon as possible," Remus said, "today, if you’re up to it. Most likely you’ll be tired out whenever you do decide to do this, so we’ll make sure you’re given leeway in your classes and ample time to rest."

Draco had sat up during the speech, and was now leaning against Harry, head on the other boy’s shoulder and eyelids hanging low. "What exactly does this ‘bond’ entail? I refuse to do anything unless I know what to expect."

Severus appraisingly inclined his head at his favorite student. "Very well. From what we know, it would, primarily, activate the old Blood link created between your two families thousands of years ago. However, it would also… fine tune it, so to speak, to your personal relations and characteristics, as well as the abilities that you have inherited from the sides of your families not of the Potter or Malfoi lines. As a result of that, your natural magic would be strengthened, particularly when you are in each other’s presence or in physical contact. It would also create a more tangible basis for the bond, such as a controllable emotional connection, though this does not go so far as to include telepathy, for that is a mental connection and not a spiritual one. Lastly, the bond enables either one of you to Apparate directly to the other’s location at any point in time, through any kind of ward, including those around Hogwarts."

"And the down side?"

Severus looked at Draco seriously. "The problem is that if one of you dies, the other will experience the equivalent of the Dementor’s Kiss, meaning that your soul will be sucked from your body to meet with that of your bond-mate, while your body remains an empty shell, not dead, yet not really living. We’re not sure what the consequences this would bring about on the spirit, but they cannot possibly be something to look forward to."

There was silence for a moment before Harry spoke up. "I think that if Draco died I’d go insane even if we weren’t bonded. And, considering this might be the only chance of destroying Voldemort we have at hand, there’s really not much of a choice. I’ll do it." Then his brow furrowed. "This isn’t going to hurt much, is it?"

Remus chuckled. "No, it shouldn’t. At least, the actual spell won’t. It’ll just be immensely tiring, especially for you two. However, there’s a requirement that blood be drawn, so you can expect that to be painful, but certainly nothing unbearable. Draco, what do you think?"

Silver eyes looked up, determined and fiery. "When do we start?"

---

Draco and Harry stood across from each other, a round, nearly flat basin filled with the purest water between them. To Harry’s right stood Remus, holding a thick, leather-bound book in his right hand and a long piece of incense in the other, a thread from the tapestry wrapped around its length. He scrutinized the words for one last time while everything was being set in place, reading glasses resting low on his nose. When Draco had asked why Remus was chanting the spell when Severus had always been so much better at Latin, he had been greeted by an amused reprimand that not all spells were of the Roman Empire’s language. The spell they were going to be using was, in fact, Norwegian, and Remus was of Norwegian ancestry. His family had brought him up learning to read, write and speak the old language so that he could carry on a conversation with some of his older relatives, most of whom knew little or no English. Severus’ family was, on the other hand, of Mediterranean descent, predominantly Greek and Italian. Therefore his tongues tended toward more classical dialects, as well as the modern languages of the day.

Severus was standing on Draco’s right, holding two jewel-encrusted daggers of ornate design, one with a stag carved onto the ivory hilt and the other bearing a dragon engraved within the black ebony of its hilt. There were also a number of potions to his side should something go wrong. He had never been one to start anything unprepared.

Severus lifted a vial filled with a shimmering golden liquid and passed it to Draco, who looked up in question. The boy had a vast knowledge of potions, as great as that of the Potions master when he had been Draco’s age, and still he did not recognize the concoction in his hand.

"It’s called Liberar Alma, and was invented by a Spanish alchemist in the late fourteen hundreds. Its purpose is to loosen the spirit from the body, so that when you and Mister Potter perform the ceremony in a few moments, it will be easier to join on an ethereal level. It will also dull the pain of the… physical aspect of the bonding so that you can focus on the task at hand, rather than trying to break the natural defense that the body has when one attempts self-harm."

"How much would you have to drink to leave your body?"

"About a pint would completely detach the soul from the flesh. You will only be drinking half of that vial, which is exactly half an ounce."

Draco skillfully uncapped the glass container, shooting back half of the thin, flavorless liquid and handing the rest to Harry. When Harry was done, Severus took the vial from him, glad that the first step was complete, and handed each of them their respective dagger, the stag for Harry and the dragon for Draco.

Remus looked up from his book. "Ready?"

Both nodded and waited as Remus began to chant, his practiced voice weaving around the complicated syllables with perfect articulation.

"Våkne den evige kausjonen
Og tetter det forbudte blodet av det forbundne;
Uendelige det slutter, lys opp på mørke
Og mørke opp på lys."

As soon as his voice sounded Harry felt himself being drawn outwards, encompassing the entire room and feeling Draco within it. Without being truly aware of what he was doing, he lifted the dagger and unflinchingly pressed it to his skin, drawing two thin lines of blood along the underside of his left forearm, along the veins from the wrist and extending six inches. Draco did the same, barely noticing as the crimson liquid flowed against his pale skin, fine red wine against pure white silk. Then each repeated the process on his right arm before carelessly dropping the daggers into the water below. Never leaving Draco’s eyes, Harry reached across and clasped the blond at both elbows with his hands, feeling Draco do the same so that their wounds were pressed against each other. The blood seeped through the joining and dripped into the water, creating a ripple on the surface and a ghostlike swirl of crimson below. The energy between them cackled as it grew with the smoke of ethereal apparitions, spreading to form wispy spirits of the Great Stag and Northern Dragon.

All the while Remus was chanting, constantly repeating the spell, his voice rising and the tempo speeding up with each verse. The pressure in the air seemed to build as the magic cackled with electricity, a strange mix of pale green and blue-black lightning. At the climax of the spell, Remus shouted the last word at the top of his voice and the incense he was holding caught fire. He threw it into the shallow pool of water, and a white flame exploded upwards, engulfing Harry and Draco as they clung to each other. The stag and dragon solidified for a split second within the fire, a brown-coated beast with golden hooves and antlers entwining and twisting with it’s black-scaled counterpart until they meshed together.

After an eternity the light cleared, the fire died down, taking the proud stag and sly dragon with it in strands of escaping soot, and the water evaporated from the basin, leaving it empty save for two shimmering, clean daggers resting at its base. The two bonded were breathing hard, shaking and sweating and perspiring from the exertion. They were subconsciously using each other to stand, pushing and pulling at the same time from where they grasped each other’s elbows and leaning forward as their grips on reality and awareness slipped from near-collapse.

Remus, although he was tired from casting the spell, was not nearly as exhausted as the boys were. He beckoned to Severus so that they could pull Harry and Draco apart and bring them to bed. Remus wrapped an arm around the dark haired youth and eased his grip on his lover’s arms. Harry collapsed when the connection was broken, a dead weight in Remus’ arms. The werewolf looked up to see that Severus was in a similar predicament, struggling to keep Draco from falling as he scooped the blond into a strong embrace. Together they carried their students into the guestroom, taking off shoes and bulky robes as they laid them onto the bed with the utmost care. Severus brought extra blankets from a side closet, knowing that a body cannot expend energy producing warmth while it is trying to heal.

Remus’ eyes widened in surprise, then relaxed in enjoyment of another person’s happiness when Harry and Draco turned over in their sleep, automatically moving towards each other so that their hands and arms were haphazardly thrown across each other, foreheads barely touching. The werewolf took one last look at the sleeping boys after tucking them in before following Severus out of the room and closing the door in silence. Without hesitation he prepared himself for bed and fell onto the soft cushions within minutes. Severus raised an eyebrow at him, causing the latter to smile, faintly.

"The Norwegians were built strong and to have bodies that could easily support the energy needed in their spells. Normally it would be easier for me, but I’m afraid lycanthropy has long since begun to take its toll on my body."

The Potions master sighed and slipped under the blankets as well, wrapping his arms around his fatigue-ridden lover. Remus sighed and nuzzled his face against Severus’ shoulder, eyes already drifting shut.

"Severus?" he murmured, voice thick with weariness.

"Mmm?"

"D’you think this’ll work? It’s nev-" yawn, "-been done befo’…."

Severus increased the pressure on his grip, tightly holding Remus. "I hope it does, for all our sakes."

Translations for Spanish and Norwegian lovers:

Liberar – The infinitive form meaning ‘to free.’ A regular ‘–ar’ verb.

La Alma – Meaning ‘the soul.’ A feminine noun.

Våkne den evige kausjonen
Og tetter det forbudte blodet av det forbundne;
Uendelige det slutter, lys opp på mørke
Og mørke opp på lys.

To awaken the eternal bond
And seal the forbidden blood of the joined;
The infinite shall end, light unto darkness
And darkness unto light.

http://www.mezzofanti.org/translation/

This is an excellent translator. I tried a few things in Spanish and the grammatical aspect of the sentence and word formation was correct, not only the bare translation of the words as I originally expected. Therefore, I can also assume that the Norwegian translations are just as good.

XVIII: Breathe

Warm.

He had never been so warm before. Not hot, just warm, comfortable and safe. Odd. It used to be so cold, so empty. Even when there was family. Especially when there was family. Now there was this unearthly connection creating a gentle shift and crash in shallow waves against the shore as he breathed. He moaned, still deep in the realm of sleep, yet not so far that the rise and fall of another’s chest against his own could not draw him out.

As he moved he discovered the exact position of his limbs and of those of his companion. He rubbed his eyes with a half-curled fist, his motions sludgy from the residue of sleep, and burrowed further into his lover’s chest. The added pressure seemed to alert the latter, for his eyelids fluttered before softening to a lazy, barely awakened look around emerald eyes, glistening like blades of grass encrusted with the morning dew. Harry smiled at the blonde boy and ran the tips of his fingers up one slender, pale arm, causing a shiver of pleasure to run through the other’s body as he reluctantly opened his eyes. There was a moment of pause, a brief second when everything seemed to freeze, and then and intense emotion of contentment filled Harry from his toes to the wild strands of his ebony-black hair. It took him a minute before he realized that the feeling had been transmitted through the link, from his lover, from Draco. Mentally, it was startling, pleasing, and somewhat refreshing all at the same time, but emotionally if felt expected, as if the sharing of senses were an inbred thing.

"What time is it?" Draco mumbled.

Harry’s gaze swept the room, searching for signs that would relinquish the answer to him. Eventually he settled on a clock on the side wall, its golden hands pointing to "After dinner".

"Late," he whispered, running his fingers through pale blond hair.

"Does that mean we can go back to sleep?"

"Sure, if you want."

Draco’s lips quirked up in a sort of half smile before he settled down again, finding himself asleep again before he had time to think of anything else.

Harry kissed the top of Draco’s head before stretching stiff muscles, groaning as flesh and sinew strained under his golden skin. Then he exhaled and rolling out of bed, reaching out a hand to steady himself on a poster in defense against the dizzy spell that came with such sudden movements after a long period of idleness. He wondered how long he had been asleep, because his hair had begun to sustain an oily quality that pushed it all to one side, a result of lying in awkward positions for so long. Immediately he went to run a bath, still groggy as he stumbled over to the bathroom. As much as he had come to tolerate Professor Snape in the past few days, he had no ambitions to imitate the man’s seemingly poor hygiene habits.

He emerged fifteen minutes later wearing a cleaner set of boxers and white T-shirt, an eruption of sweet-smelling steam gasping behind him as he towel-dried his hair. Looking up, he was surprised to find Remus Lupin sitting on the star-covered couch, which had apparently been moved back into the guestroom. Amber-gold eyes glittered as Harry moved to embrace the man before sitting down beside him, leaning his head on a life-worn shoulder as the arm attached to it wrapped around him. Harry reveled in the warmth of another body, as the shock of moving from warm water to cool air had given him unwelcome goose bumps all over his arms and legs.

"You’ve slept a good two days, my boy. I’m not surprised though – that was a taxing spell."

Clear green eyes shone as Harry tilted his head up. "Really?"

"Mmm-hmm." Remus shifted to get a better look at the younger Gryffindor, smiling at the boy’s amazement. "So, how’s the bond working out so far? Does everything seem to be as it should?"

Harry considered. "Well, I only just woke up, but it’s been okay. No problems or anything."

"That’s good." Then he changed the subject. "I just wanted to come by and make sure everything was all right, and I don’t just mean the bond. You’ve been through a lot in the past few days, more than any fifteen-year-old should be going through, and I wanted to see if you were handling it okay. I understand that Draco’s probably a big help, but if anything’s been bothering you that you haven’t thought much about…." Remus spread his hands, helplessly.

Harry’s eyes widened as he took in his professor’s words. His throat went dry, parched and scratchy. Suddenly everything rushed back at once, and looked down, ashamed as he crawled into Remus’ lap like a child, clinging to the older man’s robes and hiding his face in the werewolf’s broad chest.

"I’m scared," he whispered. "I’m afraid that when everything happens, I’m going to lose everybody, you, Draco, Ron and Hermione, even Professor Snape." He laughed at the last name, a choked, desperate sound. "I’m afraid that I’ll let everyone down, and they’re all depending on me for so much, and I just want to help…."

Remus wrapped the boy in the folds of his robes, resting his cheek on Harry’s dark head before answering. "It’s all right to be scared every now and then, Harry, especially in this day and age. It’s just normal. I’m scared every month, scared of the moon and what it brings, and that I might forget to take my potion or that it might not work, and that I’ll end up hurting the ones I love the most. Including you. And as for the other bit…." He sighed. "Harry, if you could have any life in the world a year from now, no strings attached, no responsibilities, what would that be?"

"With Draco." There was no hesitation. "I’d want Sirius to be free, and I’d want Professor Snape to be seen as a person and respected for his work as a spy, not just for him, but for you. I’d want… I don’t know, a job I could enjoy, I guess, where I could teach people to protect themselves rather than cause deaths. I’ve seen too much death in my lifetime. I… I just want to be happy."

Remus smiled and used his fingers to life Harry’s head up from where it was buried in his robes, amber-gold meeting emerald green. "Then that is what you should work for. Not for what everyone else wants or expects of you, not for what others think you were born to do, but what you want, because then, in the end, it’ll all be worthwhile. No matter how hard you try, Harry, you can’t please everyone, so you should stop trying to, and learn to enjoy life while you still can."

There was an extended silence for a minute before Harry’s face broke into a grin. He tightened his embrace around his professor. "Thanks, Remus."

"Anytime."

---

The next time Draco and Harry woke up it was Wednesday morning, about an hour before breakfast. Normally, Harry would have to be pulled out of the soft blankets, dragged along with mumbling protests and unsure footing, but as Draco came into consciousness at the usual time, his lover was dragged to awakening via their link. Both were still drowsy, the tendrils of sleep clinging to their limbs, but they agreed that they had missed too much school already and needed to make up for lost time without losing any more. It was that thought alone with which they managed to struggle through the morning’s chores; at least, they sure seamed like chores before the sun had fully risen. However, the freedom to spend the day together without worry of being discovered as a couple was further encouragement to the cause.

When they entered the Great Hall twenty minutes early, there was barely anyone there. A few stray Ravenclaws eating with books propped up in front of them and a group of three second year Gryffindors were all who sat at the students’ tables. Harry and Draco sat down to eat at the Gryffindor table with a relaxed air that had been hard to come by in the past few days, and they thoroughly enjoyed it before leaving early for Transfiguration. In class, Professor McGonagall was explaining how intent was vital when solidifying the end result of a transfigured object, meaning that if a person were not focused on the task at hand, then the comb, which they were using for an example, would revert back to its original form as an orange within seconds. The eighty-minute period passed without incident, barring the venomous glare Pansy started shooting into Harry’s back the second she entered. The intensity only grew when Harry sensed the burning and shivered, causing Draco to wrap an arm around the smaller boy. Eventually, however, as she failed to elicit a satisfying reaction, Pansy was forced to give up and actually concentrate on McGonagall’s lecture.

Charms posed a slight problem, however, as they were practicing banishing spells by throwing pillows into boxes across the room with Professor Flitwick’s patented "swish and flick" method. Every so often a pillow would hit the back of Harry’s head, its direction coming from where Pansy, Crabbe and Goyle were snickering. Draco had needed to direct Harry’s attention elsewhere to prevent the boy from using books instead of pillows to send back in retaliation. Fortunately the minute professor noticed the girl’s antics about halfway through class, thereby awarding her two nights’ detention and fifteen points from Slytherin for unjustly attacking a fellow student. Both Harry and Draco had been grinning, or at least Harry was grinning and Draco was smirking, after she was caught.

Herbology consisted of Professor Sprout’s enthusiastic descriptions of the proper soil for the Venus Flytrap, which was now sitting, dejectedly, in the corner with a strong metal cage around it, as any magical barrier would be literally inhaled by the strange creature. However, near the end Draco’s hands were starting to shake with apprehension, his small, precise handwriting taking on a jagged quality. He and Harry were sitting in the back of the class, so no one noticed when the dark haired boy took the pale, slender hands in his, rubbing each digit as if it would ease the violent trembling.

"Draco?" Harry whispered.

The blond looked up, silver eyes haunted.

"Draco, love, what is it?" Harry reached one hand to caress Draco’s cold, pale cheek. Draco leaned into the most wanted touch as he spoke. "We have Care of Magical Creatures next."

Harry’s eyes widened as he wrapped his arms around his lover, feeling Draco’s back rise and fall as he struggled to calm his shallow breaths. Unfortunately Harry was unable to use magic to ease the other’s tensions, lest the beast in the corner catch his energetic signature and draw attention to them. The last thing Draco needed was to be hoarded by a classroom of students, even if they meant well. Professor Sprout and Madame Pomfrey’s hyperactive fussing would not have done anything to calm his frazzled nerves. Instead, Harry took matters into his own hands, literally and figuratively, as he continued to stroke Draco’s fingertips.

"I’ll be there," he cooed, "don’t worry. You won’t be alone."

Draco nodded against Harry’s chest before pulling back, his trademark smirk in place, as he continued to take notes, the unoccupied hand safely entwined with that of the Gryffindor.

---

The walk to CoMC was nothing short of a funeral march. It was slow and somber, and the two had to stop every thirty seconds for Draco to regain his composure and escape his violent memories. His stomach felt like ice as the images welled up in his mind and flashed before him, trapping him in the small closet with tiny predators creeping over his body in the darkness. Harry saw him shiver, noticing the snow-white pallor of the other’s features and stepped closer, coiling an arm around Draco’s slim waist, not hesitating to use his magic to heal the Slytherin. The action roused Draco from his nightmarish vision, causing him to start. Then he felt his lover’s comforting touch and gave a shaky smile, melted against Harry’s shorter form. Together they watched their fellow students rush to gather around Hagrid, his tall form towering above the group. They came up at the back of the cluster, absorbed in each other, Draco using Harry as his link to reality, and Harry alert to each subtle change in his lover’s mood, so as to rescue him from another untimely flashback if need be. Neither noticed the incredulous look Hagrid was sporting as he viewed the Itoki.

"Look at ‘em!" he exclaimed, "they’re glowin’! Some’un mus’ be doin’ some heavy magic ‘round here… might be th’ headmaster…."

Glowing they certainly were. Each scorpion-like creature had obtained a pale-green luminescence to their shells, dotted with shimmering gold, a reflection of the energy coming from one near them. Without warning, a rambunctious Itoki leaped from the crate and landed on the grass behind the student body, spinning around once as if hunting for the power source. Draco jumped with a soft cry, keeping his eyes focused on the would-be attacker, silver eyes wide and frightened. A second later the Itoki’s beady black irises were focused on Harry, and the creature scuttled forward towards him. Draco was shaking and sweating now, clutching at Harry’s arm and standing behind him, whimpering as the images glared with cruel Technicolor brightness. Harry turned to his lover, caressing a slick, pale cheek. Draco’s head jerked in his direction, and the grip around Harry’s arm tightened.

"It’s okay, Draco. Hagrid said that they’re friendly, so there’s nothing to be worried about."

The Slytherin nodded, stiffly, but still did not appear convinced. Deciding to take a more active roll, Harry kneeled down in front of the glowing Itoki and began to stroke it along its armored body. Almost immediately the creature’s tail arched high, the glowing increased, making it look radioactive, and then it… purred. Like a cat. Harry grinned and continued petting it, paying special attention to the three tufts of pale blue fur, which felt as soft as cashmere and were the only things that retained their original color as his magic seeped through the Itoki’s small, crustacean-like body.

"See? It’s fine. He likes the attention. It… is a he, right, Hagrid?"

The animal-loving professor gave a jerky nod, still quite flabbergasted at the strange turn of events. Harry looked back at Draco, who had remained rooted through the earth, a cold, ethereal tree on a barren landscape. Offering a calm smile, Harry reached up and grasped his lover’s hand, gently pulling the other boy to his knees next to him. Draco was, of course, in too much shock to do much beyond going along with the directed motions.

"Go ahead – pet it."

Grasping Harry’s hand, Draco reached his other shaking limb forward, flinching as his skin brushed the slick scales. The Itoki bounced on its numerous legs and jumped over to Draco, enthusiastically rubbing against the blond’s leg. He ran his hand along the creature again, this time sending a touch of his own magic through his fingertips. Suddenly the Itoki’s color shifted from the pale green and gold to a deep, black-blue with shocks of Spanish red running throughout it, purring even louder in a state of bliss.

Draco began to smile.

---

"What next?"

"Um, stir slowly, counter-clockwise for thirty rotations while I put in pinches of the ground dogwood. It needs to be added in small doses, ‘cause too much at once will cause an explosion, though I think it’s more like an upwards explosion."

Almost on cue, Neville Longbottom’s potion went up in flames, sticking to the high ceiling and leaving a caked layer of black soot on Neville and Blaise in its wake. Neville blinked, dazed, while Blaise tried in vain to brush the residue off of his expensive black robes. Professor Snape snorted at the two.

"Don’t think you’re getting out just because of a first year’s mistake. This particular mixture is not poisonous at this point. I expect that the entire area will be cleaned up by the end of class, or I’ll have you doing it under the caretaker’s supervision. Oh, and ten points from Gryffindor for that error – and don’t argue with me, Mister Weasley, I happen to have eyes and saw that it was Longbottom who incorrectly added the dogwood."

A few of the Slytherins on the other side of the room snickered and were promptly ignored. Harry shook his head and continued stirring, making sure not to lose count, while Draco distributed a matte brown powder over the surface. When they were done, Draco nodded at the bright, crystalline swirls of red and orange liquid.

"Now we heat it up and let it boil down for five minutes."

Harry sighed and leaned back in his chair, enjoying the satisfied feeling that came with a job well done. Remembering a discussion they had had the night before, he leaned towards his lover and whispered, "Do you think we should do it today?"

Draco considered. "Probably. I don’t think that Sev has any other classes today, so he should have plenty of time to recover."

"I know that Remus has next period free, so he can stay for emotional support, or whatever."

"Mister Potter, would you care to tell the class what you are so avidly discussing with Mister Malfoy that is more important than the matter at hand?" Severus’ snide voice cut through the moist, velvet air of the dungeons like a knife, though anyone who knew him well enough would have been able to detect a hint of amusement underlying the smooth tones of honey and smoke.

Harry grinned. He knew the answer to this one. "Not particularly, sir, but Draco and I would be happy to tell you personally after class." He glanced into the pewter cauldron. "Oh, and we finished our potion, so I think it should be permissible that we discuss other topics now."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Cocky, aren’t we? Well then, let’s have a look at your potion, if indeed it may be called such."

Sure enough, the concoction had finished boiling down to its completed form. A cluster of twenty or more of what looked like bright orange glass marbles, each with a single scarlet flame flickering within, was gathered at the bottom of the pot. In war, there were often times when one did not have time to uncork a bottle of potion or remember a complicated spell, when split-second decisions came in constant continuance and quick thinking was a do-or-die necessity. Thus the small orbs called Spell Balls came into play. They were made to contain any single spell or potion for safekeeping when the user would not have time to perform the spell later or brew the potion. For quick identification the Spell Balls would take on the color of the spell or potion they sheltered, from the electric green of Avada Kedavra to the clear luminescence of Veritaserum. Then the glass balls could be thrown at the ground and the magic, in whatever form it may be, would be expelled at anything within a twenty-foot radius. It was an incredibly useful convenience to have, considering that they only broke with the intent of the witch or wizard using them.

After judging the capacity and size of the Spell Balls, Snape looked up at the two boys with an unreadable look on his face before his mouth broke out into a classic Slytherin smirk.

"So. You managed to complete the assignment after all. Twenty-five points to Slytherin… and to Gryffindor."

Just then the bell rang. Not a soul moved, each student riveted with utter shock at hearing the biased Potions master award points to his least-favorite House.

"Class is dismissed. Now leave."

As if a spell had been broken, the group fled out of the room, eager to spin the tale of the amazing miracle that had just occurred.

"Now, would you mind informing me of what was so interesting that it couldn’t wait a few minutes ago?"

Harry exchanged a glance with his lover. "Just a minute."

Before any protests could be made, the dark haired boy rushed out of the room, only to return thirty seconds later dragging a rather flustered Remus Lupin behind him and rushing into Severus’ quarters.

Draco chuckled, remembering the conversation he had discussed with Harry the night before.

---

"Thank you, Harry."

"For what? You got over the Itoki on your own. There was only so much I could do."

Draco held the warm body so dear to him as close as possible. "Be that as it may, you still helped a great deal, and there was only so much I could do without your help. Just by being there, you made it better."

Harry kissed Draco’s forehead before pressing his own against Draco’s, green and silver barely an inch apart. "I didn’t know I’d done so much. You’re welcome, love."

They laid in silence for a few blissful moments, enjoying each other’s company and the feeling of safety that came with it.

"I was thinking…."Draco’s voice was hesitant, so Harry urged him on.

"Yes?"

"Do you think… do you think that, if you tried, you could heal Sev’s hip? You’re so good at helping people, I’m sure you could do something about that. It… it hurts him, even though he never shows it; the injury causes more pain than he lets on. It’s getting worse, too, and the air in the dungeons isn’t good for it, especially since it’s been getting colder. I’ve noticed. Most people can’t see, but I’ve been there, I can see the pain in his eyes. It’s the type that only comes from old injuries. I wish we could do something… couldn’t we? Couldn’t you?"

Harry considered, chewing on his lower lip. "Maybe, I’m not sure. The thing is, that injury is old, and even though Madame Pomfrey said that Healers can heal old wounds, I may not be strong enough or experienced enough to take on something so delicate and permanent."

"What if… what if I help? What if I give you some of my magic?"

Shrugging, "It’s worth a shot. There’s no guarantee that it’ll work, but we can try. The only thing is that.. it will hurt him, Draco. A lot. That’s the thing with old wounds when they involve bone – because the physical formation is already solidified, it would be like breaking and shifting the bone back to its original position, and then healing it, though not quite as messy. It will take a lot of energy out of him, so he’ll need time to recover afterwards. We probably will, too. But I think I could do it, with your help. All right?"

Draco smiled and settled his head back down in the crook of Harry’s shoulder. "Good. I don’t like seeing him hurting like he is. He doesn’t deserve it." But I do.

Harry heard the unspoken words. He tightened his grip around Draco for reassurance. "No, you don’t deserve that pain, either. You never have. Remember that."

"Thanks."

"Anytime."

---

"Well, let’s follow them, shall we?"

Slowly, so that Severus could keep up without trouble, the two Slytherins ambled into the bedroom where Harry and Remus were waiting patiently. Draco could not help but be reminded yet again that as the seasons got colder, Severus’ limp became worse, and that, though the man’s face was a stone wall, there was pain visible in his glass eyes now that the mask had been dropped. Draco wrapped an arm around Severus’ waist, the latter of whom smiled, gratefully, and rested some of his weight on his student with every other step. Once inside, Draco looked around at Severus’ bedroom. It was decorated in the same blacks, greens and antique golds as the living room was, but there were some touches that spoke of Remus’ presence. A throw rug here, a photo there, even a pile of novels that could not belong to the Potions master was present in the room. Draco led Severus over to the large canopy bed, pulling back emerald green silk sheets and helping his surrogate father lay down. A dark eyebrow raised at Remus as if to say, Are you in on this?

The werewolf just shrugged, walking over to sit on the other side of the bed. He took off his shoes, leaning back against the pillows while still sitting up, his presence alone giving invisible reassurance to all present.

"May I ask what you are doing?" The voice was deep and silky.

Harry pulled a chair over by Severus’ side, Draco standing behind him with a hand on each of his shoulders. Absently Draco began to rub his fingers into the tense knots that had been forming from the steady train of stress over the past few weeks. Harry relaxed under the skilled touch, but still managed to retain his composure and focus as he calmly answered Severus’ inquiry.

"I’m going to fix you. Try and relax. This’ll hurt quite a bit, I imagine."

Severus’ eyes widened. "That’s a comforting thought."

"Trust me. It should only take a few seconds. Besides, I know what I’m doing."

"One can only hope," the Potions master muttered before resting against the mattress and closing his eyes. Remus took one slim, long-fingered hand in his and massaged warmth into it, looking down at the knuckles and tracing his finger tips along the shallow contours of the narrow palm.

Harry placed his hands on Severus’ right hip, instinctively knowing the source of the fracture that had been brutally created so long ago. Applying gentle pressure to the wound, he drew shimmering gold and pale green strands from his pool of energy, feeling as Draco did the same with his own blue-black and red magic. They created a chain, starting with Draco as he fed his light into his lover and ending with Severus as he received the combined energies. All of a sudden Severus’ breath sped up as the pain increased, air coming out in short, quick bursts as his hip broke and shifted with sickening crunching noises, an experience not unlike Remus’ monthly transformations, minus the relief of the Wolfsbane potion. All three involved were sweating now, and Harry and Draco’s hands were literally burning with magic. Then the pain stopped as abruptly as it had started, and Severus’ breathing eased as the bone was re-sealed, his hip still glowing through the fabric. With a final calming touch to cool the incessant burning, Severus drifted into a deep, healing sleep.

Remus looked over at his lover, whose face was a picture of relaxed contentment, devoid of the worry-lines that had stretched across the skin over the past few years. For the first time in a decade, Severus looked peaceful in his sleep. Remus ran a hand over the other man’s jaw, leaning down to kiss the thin lips before turning his gaze to the two exhausted boys, both of which were fondly staring at him. Tears brimmed over amber-gold eyes.

"Thank you."

XIX: Quintessential Spectrum

The field was glittering, a broad expanse of brilliantly cut emeralds and diamonds littering the earth so finely that they could not be seen as the leaves of grass they were. The sky was a rich cerulean blue, shaded with the classic dry-brush technique to add a sprinkling of wispy cirrus clouds, each one fragile, delicate and untouchable in its own right. Even the very foundation of Hogwarts seemed alive, the autumn sun’s golden light catching each unique facet, each crumbling of granite and ancient crystal on its usually dark surface, making the stained glass windows shine with their bright spectrums and influencing the gargoyles’ stone lips into lupine grins. The inhabitants of the fairy-tale castle bustled about with rapturous enthusiasm, excited as they were for the first Quidditch game of the season, which was Slytherin versus Gryffindor, as well, thus making it all the more riveting.

For the first time in history, a Malfoy sat on the Gryffindor side of the field, accompanied by a Granger and a Weasley on either side. Behind him was his Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, amber-gold eyes alight with sun fire. Although Remus Lupin was a creature of the night, he thrived on the daylight that brought his freedom from the seductive form of the silver, pregnant moon. Now he could close his eyes and feel the life-giving warmth of Solaris, bathing in the glow that tinged his skin, eased the worry lines around his eyes and brought a certain peace not unlike what Severus felt in the midst of his own forte: potions. The light also brought a different sort of awareness than came with the silent black of night, a more comfortable knowledge of the emotions that radiated off of others rather than the bloodthirsty, predatory senses that were part of the night. Because of his more relaxed state, he was able to smell the nervous emotions wafting off of the blond in front of him, even though Draco himself was the perfect image of composure and nonchalance, a spot of green amongst an unfamiliar sea of raucous scarlet.

Remus leaned forward and laid a comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder, feeling it stiffen, then calm as the touch was recognized. After this unspoken acknowledgment was given, Remus leaned forward and whispered his concern in one flawless shell of an ear, all the while rubbing his thumb in small, reassuring circles along a sharply cut muscle.

"What’s troubling you?" He kept his voice low, non-threatening.

"I’m not sure how the connection will work – this is the first time we’ve been more than a room apart from each other for the past few weeks."

It was true. Lately, Harry and Draco had been joined at the hip, each secretly afraid that something would happen to the other should attention be drawn elsewhere, even for a second. Harry had even gone so far as to request that his classes with Madame Pomfrey, the only one that he did not share with his lover, be in a classroom only two doors down from Draco’s Arithmancy course. Then they would meet up immediately after the bell rang, always keeping contact with each other in some way, be it touch, sight or sound. They had also used the time to explore the bond they now shared, stretching through numerous emotions and basking in each other’s presence for hours on end, until they reached a point where one could discern his lover’s thoughts just by feeling the other’s emotions. Though there was telepathy involved, what they shared came as close as possible without mentally communicating via words and pictures. The only aspect they had not yet experienced was the portkey magic, such that if one were in any sort of danger, the other could transport through any wards to his lover’s exact location. The ability could even be tuned so that Harry or Draco would appear a controlled distance from the other, which would come in handy when there was the possibility of getting caught by the enemy should one pop into existence at an inconvenient time and place.

At the moment, Draco’s gut was boiling with worry, which could have been either his intuition or Harry’s nervousness at experiencing his first Quidditch game as captain. Draco sincerely hoped that it was the latter. He turned to Remus as the werewolf spoke.

"I understand why you’re worried; after all, you’re not the only one with a lover on the pitch."

Indeed it was true. Severus Snape had been so excited, though he would never have admitted it, about the recent lack of restriction in his movements that the second Madame Hooch had called for a stand-in referee due to an untimely illness, he snatched up the opportunity. At the moment he was strutting out into the middle of the pitch, broom in hand with the trunk of Quidditch balls trailing behind him. He had his trademark smirk in place, and there was a glitter in his dark eyes similar to that which Dumbledore proudly displayed on a daily basis. As soon as he stood in the middle of the pitch, Lee Jordan’s voice erupted from the watchtower where he and Minerva McGonagall sat.

"It’s a beautiful day for a Quidditch game, and what a game at that! Slytherin versus Gryffindor, first of the season. Of course we can hardly expect a fair outcome, what with that slimy Professor Snape as ref-"

"Jordan! Keep your opinions to yourself," the Head of Gryffindor hissed.

"Right-O, Professor. And here they come, from the magnificent House of the Lion, the Gryffindor Quidditch team! And from the other side of the field the-" a glare from McGonagall made him rethink his wording, "-nondescript Slytherin Quidditch team."

As he spoke, a scarlet blur raced onto the field, mirrored by the deep green of the team’s counterparts. The two groups spun around in the air, the Slytherin team resembling a military formation, while each Gryffindor performed unique tricks and dives, a spectacular show of crimson fireworks. The crowd cheered, more than three-quarters of the school favoring the Gryffindors with grand red banners and flags, while the Slytherin stands only boasted a meager showing of the House’s serpentine emerald.

Growing weary of the boisterous displays, Professor Snape blew the whistle and called the teams down to earth, where each payer took their respective positions. Harry stood across from the new Slytherin seeker, who, up until then, had been a shadowed secret that he had not paid much attention to. Now that he saw who it was, his clear green eyes meeting dark ones, he snarled. Sneering back at him was Francis Nott, he who had revealed his relationship with Draco to Lucius Malfoy and caused them both so much pain.

Severus caught the tension and moved forward, trying to keep himself from growling. It would not do to reveal his position as a spy a second time.

"Shake hands."

Fire met ice in a fierce grip, both boys clutching harder than need be. Turning to the trunk, Severus released the snitch first, allowing the golden ball time to hide itself. Harry watched it flicker around in front of him, chasing it around the field with his eyes. He barely acknowledged when Snape released the bludgers and lifted the quaffle from its hold. The second the whistle was blown, however, Harry was the first to shoot up in the sky, flying high above the pitch and circling around for the snitch, which he had lost when it disappeared behind one of the stands. Now he was spinning the broom in slow circles, looking everywhere at once, up, down, and in all four directions. Distantly he could sense his adrenaline rush reverberating off of Draco, though his main focus was in that state of half-conscious reality where there was only one thing to concentrate on.

From below, Lee Jordan was talking a thousand words a minute, shouting out scores and plays and fouls with an enthusiasm that refused to be rebuffed by anything, including Minerva’s occasional reprimand at his biased declarations. Somewhere along the way the words "Gryffindor: fifty, Slytherin: twenty" drifted up to greet him, but he dismissed it and continued to look for the snitch. Searching, searching….

There. Barely a few feet off the ground, by the Slytherin goal post that was furthest to the right. A quick glance to the side assured him that Nott had yet to see it, and was in fact facing the other direction. Wasting no time, Harry sped down the field, hand outstretched to clasp the golden ball.

WHAM!

A Slytherin beater, Crabbe, had body-slammed him off course. He spun in the air, one hand clutching the broom and the other holding his dizzy head. Across the field Draco was feeling woozy; Remus’ fatherly touch on his shoulders kept him grounded while he refocused on the now-still form of his lover.

Harry looked around again, ignoring Jordan’s outraged commentary and the easily managed foul shot that Gryffindor had been granted. The snitch had moved to the other side of the pitch, and was still unnoticed by the other players. Determined to end the game now, Harry zoomed towards it, eyes following its jagged path to the point where he could predict the thing’s every move. As he flew ever closer, he could make out cries of fear, and someone calling his name, but he pushed the voices away and continued forward. He was just a few yards from the snitch, inching ever closer until he felt the metal against skin as his fingers closed around the elusive golden ball… when a renegade bludger hit him squarely in the chest and he fell from his broom, a few hundred feet in the air.

---

It was pure torture for Draco to watch his lover without being able to protect him, and he might have been chewing his nails had he not been so vain. After Seamus scored a goal against the Slytherin keeper, the score now being seventy to thirty with Gryffindor still in the lead, one of the bludgers had undergone a strange seizure, almost as if it were fighting against another’s will. After only a few short moments it was normal again. Or, at least, as normal as it could have been for an enchanted ball. Then, without warning the thing zoomed in Harry’s direction, with no aid whatsoever from any of the beaters. Draco sat, stunned, as it accelerated its pace after the boy who was now chasing a little golden glimmer, unnoticed by anyone else at the time. Snapped out of his shock by a sudden protective emotion, Draco stood up in his seat and yelled at the top of his lungs.

"HARRY!"

Unfortunately, despite the blond’s efforts, Harry failed to hear the call and continued to rush on as the bludger closed in behind him. Draco was forced to watch, helpless, as Harry’s hand closed around the golden speck and slowed down just enough for the bludger to slam him in the chest and knock him off his broom. Suddenly the only thing Draco wanted was to be up in the air with his lover.

And he was.

Several people jumped in surprise when Draco disappeared from the stands, only to materialize on Harry’s broom. Instantly the Slytherin took control and steered down at breakneck speed as Harry plummeted, a deadweight to which the air gave no support. Each second, each eternity, passed by while Draco flew underneath the falling body. Bracing himself, he held his arms out, wrapping his legs around the broom as Harry dropped into his arms, straining the muscles and tendons. Draco lifted the lighter boy so that his weight was spread across the Slytherin’s chest. Harry whimpered in pain as his numerous broken ribs were aggravated, but he did not relinquish his death grip on the snitch. Draco whispered to him while steering the broom to Severus, a few yards away from where the teams had landed once the game had been signaled over.

"Come, Mister Malfoy. We need to get him to the infirmary." He reached for the boy, but Draco refused to let Harry go.

"I’ll carry him."

Sighing, Severus nodded and took up Harry’s Firebolt, spelling the balls, including the cursed bludger, back into the trunk for examination and levitated them to follow behind. Lee Jordan’s incredulous voice was still sounding through the speakers, announcing a Gryffindor win of two hundred and twenty to thirty. Draco and his Head of House easily ignored his curses against Slytherin. The only important thing was making sure that Harry was safe.

---

In the infirmary, Madame Pomfrey was tearing the place apart in the process of gathering the materials with which to bind Harry’s chest. They were in the same side room where Harry and Draco had remained after the ordeal with the Death Eaters. Now it was Draco who sat at Harry’s side, clasping one hand and watching the strained rise and fall of trapped lungs under shattered ribs. Remus had come down from the Quidditch pitch and was sitting by the other side of the bed while Severus was working on a pain-numbing potion and a bone-strengthening potion in the dungeons. Since he no longer needed the werewolf’s help to get around, he was free to go about his normal errands without any supervision.

Poppy walked over with her wand in hand and looked gravely at Draco. "Dear, I need you and Professor Lupin to hold him down while I reset the bones. He will try to rise, and he must stay still for this to work."

Draco nodded, applied solid pressure to Harry’s shoulders, and watched Remus move to wrap his arms around thin legs. Then Madame Pomfrey moved forward and began to perform a medicinal variation of the common levitation spell on one rib at a time, making sure that each fragment of the bone was held in place until Severus was finished with his concoctions. Harry whimpered, pitifully, as his bones were shifted and struggled against the people binding him. Draco brushed back strands of hair and kissed his sweaty forehead, murmuring to him throughout the process. Eventually Harry stopped moving and could only moan in pain, but by then the job was finished. Remus released his hold on the boy’s legs but Draco continued to embrace him.

Suddenly the door opened to reveal a slightly frazzled Potions master holding a large vial in one hand and a goblet containing a steaming milk-white liquid in the other.

"You’ll have to wait at least eight hours to give him the pain-numbing serum after he drinks this," he gestured to the goblet, "or else the ingredients will react and poison him."

Poppy nodded, mentally filing the information away while Severus handed the goblet to Draco.

"He needs to drink all of it for it to work," he said, gently.

The blond nodded and roused his lover, gently shaking him. "Harry, you need to wake up and take this."

Bleary eyes peeked out from beneath dark lashes. "…Unn? Draco? Where…."

"Shhh. Drink. It’ll make you feel better." He lifted the back of Harry’s head up with one hand for better reach and tipped the goblet between parched lips. Harry sipped at it and made a face at the sour flavor, but downed the whole thing without complaint.

Draco placed the empty goblet on the side table and toed off his shoes before sliding in the enlarged bed beside his lover, cradling the smaller boy against his chest in such a way that would provide the most relief to Harry’s aching ribs. Poppy came over and Draco was asked to help her keep the Gryffindor steady while she wrapped a temporary bandage around the breaks. He was still having trouble breathing, and it would be difficult to strain against the tight fabric, but it would make sure that he quickly and properly healed while the potion went to work.

Remus and Severus watched as the youths drifted off to sleep a half an hour later before leaving the room and walking down to the dungeons, unknowingly mirroring each other’s thoughts.

Who is behind this?

---

"What the…."

The dungeon was a mess. Books strewn about, drawers opened and furniture overturned; it looked as if a tornado had blown through.

Remus kneeled down and lifted a stray piece of fabric, breathing in a distinctive scent for a clue.

"Someone was obviously looking for something," Severus admonished while straightening some of his potions.

Remus nodded in agreement. "Well, why don’t we clean up and see if we can figure out what’s missing."

They set about cleaning the rooms and were not surprised to find that each and every one had been ravaged, with the exception of the guestroom. There had been powerful spells and wards on that door, locking out everyone with malevolent intentions and hiding it from the view of all but Harry, Draco, Severus, Remus and the headmaster, who could see through the wards anyway. About two hours later the dungeons looked more or less like before, and, strangely enough, it seemed as if nothing were missing.

"Do you think whatever the person was looking for was not here?"

Severus grunted. "It’s probable. I’m more worried about this afternoon’s sabotage, though. I believe that whoever charmed that bludger knew that if Harry were out for the count, the dungeons would be empty, at least for a time. It was probably planned, just to buy time to search for… whatever it was he or she was looking for."

"Yes. There are lots of people who dislike Harry due to his relationship with Draco, but I don’t think anyone hates him enough to risk his life. There had to be an ulterior motive. Besides, there’s a scent in here that I’m sure I’ve smelled before. I just can’t seem to place it."

"Well, let’s try to figure out what they were looking for. The object is most likely to be in the room that was devastated the most. That would be the living room."

They moved out of the bedroom, where they had finished cleaning, and back into the parlor. The tapestry was rolled up in a corner, still where they had put it while cleaning. Nevertheless the dormant form of woven magic caught Remus’ sharp eyes.

"Hey, Sev, do you think it has anything to do with this?"

Severus’ eyes widened when he saw what Remus was pointing to. "Could be. It was unrolled when we came in."

Remus levitated the tapestry back onto the high wall, examining it. Everything appeared to be the same as when he had first seen it at Malfoy Mansion, except….

"Was this hole here before?"

Severus moved closer to peer at where Remus was pointing. Sure enough, there was an empty space in the center of the tapestry, in between the stag and the dragon. The odd thing was that it had been there the first time they opened up the thing. He was sure of it. He voiced his opinion to the werewolf, who conjured a stool. Slowly he stood up on top of it, with Severus steadying the bottom should he fall. He leaned forward and sniffed the blank, fist-sized circle of fabric. However, there was no tantalizingly familiar scent as what had wafted around the room with the intruder, so it was obvious that whatever was missing from the space had not been recently taken. Brow furrowed, Remus stepped off of the stool with Severus’ guidance and picked up the book from which he had read the binding spell. Wordlessly Severus began making a potion to distinguish a slightly wavy strand of dark hair that he had found on the floor, for it was certainly not his or Remus’, in hopes of finding the invader’s identity. It was going to be a long night.

---

When Harry woke up a little after dinner, he discovered a heavy weight pressing down on his chest, as if someone were trying to force the air out of his lungs. He squirmed away from the force, but it just seemed to tighten. Suddenly something inside him twisted the wrong way and he cried out, falling back against the bed and taking short, gasping breaths. That did not do much to help, since the sharp movements only served to pull against his chest in such a way that it felt as if knives were being driven into his ribcage. He whimpered, pitifully, flailing his arms as his breathing turned to choked sobs. Then he felt the bed move under him, and warmth surround him as he was drawn closer to another body.

"Shhh," Draco soothed, "shhh, Harry. We’re in the infirmary, do you remember? You had a bad Quidditch accident."

Harry peered up at him with glassy, pained eyes.

"C’mon, now, relax. Breathe deep and slow."

Harry did as he was told and winced. "Hurts… can’t breathe…."

Draco smiled and brushed dark locks away from a sweaty forehead and took one of Harry’s hands in his, rubbing his thumb across the knuckles. "I know, love. But Madame Pomfrey says that you have to keep the bandages on until you’re healed, and you don’t have enough strength yet to do it on your own, especially after we used everything up on Severus. Just try to keep calm, and it should get easier."

Sighing, Harry settled back into the circle of Draco’s arms and tried to rest. Slowly his breathing steadied out and the once sharp pains became a dull ache. With Draco’s tranquil murmurs and gentle caresses bestowed upon his face and arms, Harry fell into a deep, healing sleep.

---

"James! James, did you see this before?"

"Hmm? What… okay, who did you swipe that from, Lucius?" Arms crossed.

Smiling, devilishly, "Oh, c’mon, what ever made you think I would steal something like this?"

Eyes rolled up to the ceiling to accompany a pointed glare.

"Fine, fine, I get it. But I didn’t steal this, I swear. I found it in the storage room. Y’know, the one in my family’s mansion?"

James grinned. He and Lucius had many frond memories from that room. "So… what are you planning to do with it?"

Lucius frowned in thought, rubbing his thumbs over a smooth, fist-sized opal as if for reassurance. He walked over and sat down next to his secret lover, smiling when James swung a strong arm around his shoulders. "Well?"

"I’m not sure. I haven’t given it much thought. There’s a lot of magical energy radiating off of it; it could probably fetch a hefty price on the black market."

James held his hand out and took the stone from Lucius, jumping when a spark passed between them. The opal reverberated in his palm. Looking closely, he could see the colors shifting beneath the surface, an infinite, ever-changing rainbow of magical energy. His brown eyes seemed to light up as he turned it over to view its other side, which was as smooth and ethereally beautiful as the front. Then he shook his head.

"No. This is too powerful; it’s best not to mess with anything like this. I may be a Marauder, but even I know when something’s out of my league. You should put it back where you found it and try to forget it exists. Besides, what do you need the money for? You’re family’s more loaded than mine."

Lucius sighed. "You’re no fun. But I suppose you have a point. And I like it too much to sell it."

The next weekend, Lucius and James went back to Malfoy Mansion to hide the stone within his sanctuary, all the while undetected by the current residents of Lucius’ home. James smiled, his warm brown eyes sparkling with pride from behind his glasses for his Slytherin lover’s noble deed. Mischievously, James curled an arm around the blonde’s slender waist and crushed their lips together.

The stone was easily forgotten.

---

The next few days proved to be a challenge for Harry to get around, as his ribs would not be healed for a week, even with the aid of the potion. Every few seconds he would be forced to stop and gather his breath, since the bandages still constricted his lung expansion and the constant strain on the shattered bones provided a lingering ache. Fortunately Draco was patient with him, and they were provided with an excuse to be late to all of their classes, as the five minute break in between bells was certainly not enough for Harry to walk from one side of the campus to the other with his constricting injury.

Although he could not participate in Quidditch practice in the air, he still attended with the team to shout instructions to the players and accept Ron’s skilled tactical advice for new chaser and beater maneuvers. His enthusiasm was infectious, bright blue eyes lighting up and hands violently gesturing as he described energetic and affective moves. That, along with Draco’s constant support by Harry’s side, was more than enough to lift his spirits when his injury rebuffed them.

Sleep was also a problem, as every shift and breath aggravated the breaks. It only ended when Draco thought to perform a sleeping spell, and Harry fell limp in his arms, dark head tucked under his chin. However, the wound also allowed for a lot of resting time, and therefore a lot of time to catch up on missed homework, much to Hermione’s delight. She took great joy in having a captive audience to tutor, and, once she stopped nagging and focused on the material, Harry found that she was a magnificent teacher, able to relay the concepts in an understandable manner that was greatly appreciated.

So at home in this normal, relaxed routine was Harry that it came somewhat of a surprise when an enthusiastic Dobby popped out of nowhere and relayed a message to speak with Professors Snape and Lupin. Shrugging, he and Draco slowly made their way from Gryffindor Tower to the other side of the castle, careful to avoid sneaky staircases, trick steps and deadly third-floor corridors as they went. By the time they arrived, Harry was panting and grimacing from the exertion. Worriedly, Draco sat down on one of the chairs and drew the smaller boy into his lap, rubbing gentle circles about his lower back as he struggled to catch his breath. Remus and Severus looked on, waiting for Harry to calm down before they began to speak.

"We have a problem."

Draco raised an elegant pale eyebrow at the werewolf. "Oh?"

"We’re missing something that may prove to be vital part of our plan."

Draco nodded slowly. "And we’re going to do what, may I ask?"

Severus smirked at his student. Smart as he was, there were times when the boy was too cocky for his own good. "You two boys are going on a little… trip."

XX: Temporal Kaleidoscope

"So, in simpler terms, you want us to find out where the missing piece of the tapestry is."

"Yes."

Draco sighed, unconsciously pulling Harry closer. Harry shifted so that there was less pressure on his tender ribcage.

"How are we going to do that? I mean, I’ve been in Draco’s house, and that place is huge! It would take months to find something that small in that maze."

Severus sat up straighter in his chair, raising a dark eyebrow and smirking. However, the gesture carried less menace than it used to, suggesting a significant, if subtle, change in the Head of Slytherin’s demeanor. According to their year mates, whom Harry and Draco had been forced to rely on for information about the school’s intricate society while they were spending so much time in the infirmary, Snape had amended his teaching strategies for the better, a transformation that had begun after he was healed. He was still incredibly strict and made no move to hide his displeasure when an accident occurred due to sheer carelessness, but he treated the houses equally, awarding points to those who earned them and taking all the same.

He was also more patient with people such as Neville Longbottom, who, despite his newfound confidence when among his peers, still seemed to have a chronic fear of the infamous Potions master. Rather than spout insults to the formerly estranged Gryffindor, Severus made an honest effort to help him, even going so far as to enlist Hermione in his efforts. In return for her help, he had invited her to work on some more advanced projects for extra-credit. The girl’s eyes had lit up the second he had mentioned it. Despite the bitter man Severus used to be and his rather controversial education methods, Potions had always been one of Hermione’s favorite subjects, a close second to Arithmancy. Needless to say, she accepted.

The reason behind this sudden development, Harry suspected, was a result of the many changes that had occurred in Severus’ life, the first being Remus’ support. The werewolf was the kindest person Harry had ever met, and he always seemed to have a good effect on people. Then there was the misfortune of Severus’ discovery, and the hideous torture he had endured because of it. That, as well as his crippling injuries and Draco’s brush with death at Voldemort’s hands, served to convince him just how valuable life was, and that it was far better to enjoy it then to wallow in self-discrimination and hatred. When Harry had performed the healing spell with Draco’s assistance, leaving Severus replenished and feeling ten years younger, the latter recognized his second chance, and had seized it with all the ambition that the Slytherin House was famed for.

Along with this newfound kindness came the developing respect that Severus had for Harry, a change that was both understated and astonishing in its manifestation: he had begun to call Harry by his first name.

"Why, Harry," he said, "I’m surprised at you. Do you honestly think that I would teach you something without practical use?"

Harry stared. "Umm…"

Draco chuckled at the obvious retort that Harry was struggling to hold back, and pressed his lips to the boy’s temple.

"Think, love. What potion have we learned recently that would come in handy right about now?"

Green eyes lit up. "Manus Vetustatum!"

"Exactly. We can use that to see the tapestry’s history, and find out exactly when and where missing part was lost." So saying, Remus walked over to the corner of the room where a low table was set up with the materials that would be needed. There was a shallow, steel pan filled just below its inch-high brim with sparkling, clear water, and a small vial of the familiar crystalline blue substance that Harry and Draco had concocted in class a few weeks ago. Leaning against the wall was the rolled-up tapestry, looking both frail with age and foreboding with experience. With a start Harry realized that the description also fit their illustrious headmaster.

Remus beckoned for the other three to come over while he made sure everything was in order. Severus and Draco assisted Harry as he shifted to his feet from where he had been sitting on his lover’s lap, wincing when he twisted. Once standing, a hand still on Draco’s shoulder for balance, Harry walked over to the werewolf. He looked up at the amber-gold eyes, shadowed and intense with concentration before they blinked once and a smile creased weather worn skin.

"We need to find the exact time when the piece was lost, as that may be the only way we’ll be able to retrieve it. Both of you must pay close attention to details and any clues what you see will give us."

In response, Draco levitated the tapestry so that it was hanging over the table and unrolled it so that a foot of the intricate fabric hung loose. Then he proceeded to lift the vial and scoop a small amount of the liquid onto his fingers, rubbing it onto a corner of the tapestry. Within seconds the substance had congealed, and Harry took the opportunity to guide the corner towards the pan, carefully dipping it into the edge of the water. Almost immediately a date appeared.

‘1st Day of the Rainy Season, 398 AD, 12:00 A.M. – September 29th, 1995 AD, 8:32 P.M.’

Harry gaped. He had forgotten how old the tapestry was. "This is going to take forever! Couldn’t we just ask for it to show us a specific event, like a normal Pensieve?"

Severus shook his head. "I’m afraid not, Harry. Manus Vetustatum does not work that way. It only shows you the time that you ask for, not what occurred during it. However, this will not take as long as you seem to think. We can look at, say, one thousand AD for a second or two, see if the missing part is there, and then leave. If it is in place, then that means we have to go forwards, if not, then back. It shouldn’t take more than an hour to narrow down the time, and then we can watch what happens when the piece is removed."

Harry grinned, relieved that the process would be so much simpler than he had anticipated, and fumbled around for his wand. He clasped his hand around the handle, which had, after five years of use, molded to fit the unique contours of his fingers, and touched the tip to the water’s surface, watching a smooth ripple spread from the point before speaking the incantation that he had been taught with utmost clarity.

"Manifesta mihi January 1st, 1000 AD, 12:00 P.M. to January 1st, 1000 AD, 12:20 P.M."

The water shimmered, revealing a towering stone castle on a hilltop somewhere in Western Europe. The sky was a stormy gray, covered with a blanket of clouds that stretched for an eternity in all directions, but the fields were a brilliant green, as if a fresh rain had fallen and left each blade of grass quivering with life. The four watched as two powerful chestnut Clydesdale horses pulled an old rickety wooden cart up the hill towards the castle. A signal must have been given, because the heavy, oak drawbridge was being lowered across an expansive moat of murky water. Harry looked closer and gasped when he saw a scaled, serpentine body peak from beneath the liquid.

Then the scene changed, and Harry was left to guess if what he had seen had been real. The image showed the broad courtyard as the cart was being directed inside of the formidable stone walls. Eventually the driver called the horses to a stop and two men in unremarkable clothing climbed out of the back, grunting under the weight of a long, rolled up slab of fabric that they carried between them. Another man appeared from within the innermost walls, where the more practical rooms were located, and strode towards them with an air of superiority. He was wearing lavish robes of a deep royal blue that hung about a slender figure in elegantly pressed layers. Piercing gray eyes that matched the sky gleamed as he walked closer, but it was his hair that set him apart from most. Nearly waist-length, it was tied back with a thin, dark blue cord, and was the palest shade of blond that a human could claim without being labeled an albino. When he spoke, his voice had an extraordinary tone that seemed to be both condescending and appraising at the same time. It also contained a distinctly French accent, thought rougher, unlike the more delicate sounds of the modern language.

"Right on schedule, I see. Follow me. I want you to bring it into the master bedroom."

He turned without another word, blond hair swaying behind him, and walked back the way he had come, his gleaming locks the last thing to disappear in the darkness. The two men followed, noiseless except for the occasional grunt when one had to readjust the weight of the fabric. After climbing endless stairwells and stumbling through dark hallways, the three came to their destination, a grand room with a magnificent, silk-laden four-poster bed and stone floors covered in various animal skins. There were no windows; it would be impertinent to be assassinated in one’s sleep, and windows are the first openings that men with hidden daggers search for. Instead, numerous sleek-lined yet incredibly expensive, if the shimmering gold metal was any indication, candelabras were distributed in corners around the room. The silver-eyed man made a casual gesture to the floor or, more specifically, to the floor closest to the wall across from the bed.

"You may place it there and then take your leave. Payment has already been delivered to your superiors, so I am no longer in need of your services. Good day."

Having taken the not-so-subtle hint to leave, the two men departed the way they came, shrugging their shoulders and appearing disgruntled at being so boorishly treated, though they dared not say anything about it. Nevertheless, it would give them something to complain about at the tavern that night.

As soon as they had gone, the blond heaved a sigh of relief and let his shoulders slump. Then another man entered from a different door across the room, smiling, softly, as he moved to embrace the first. It was quite a picture, as the two were in near perfect contrast with each other. Where one boasted lengths of silky blond tresses, the other’s dark hair was cut short, and seemed to stick out in every direction. He also had deep, chocolate brown eyes, so dark they were almost black, perfectly opposite the other’s icy silver. His skin was tanned, though it looked more as if it were from being in the sun than from any sort of manual labor. Anyone who thought the latter would have banished such assumptions upon seeing his deep crimson, gold-trimmed robes glowing in the candlelight.

The picture was not completed, however, until the paler man leaned forward to brush his lips against those of his companion, lightly at first, then fiercer, with the kind of passionate desperation that only came when lovers were forced to be apart for long periods of time. The other responded in kind, wrapping his arms around the slender waist and aligning their bodies so that not a part of them remained untouched by its counterpart.

Embarrassed at watching the two, as if he were intruding on some sacred moment, Harry glanced down at the clock instead, seeing that there were only a few minutes before the scene would end. He kept his eyes focused on the numbers, heat rising to his cheeks, until he heard one of them speak.

"When do you have to go back? My wife is not expecting me for at least a few weeks." His voice was a notch deeper than the blond’s, and the accent was distinctly Irish.

"Mine is the same. Though she is becoming impatient more often at these times. I believe she wishes to have a second son."

A chuckle. "We both know that is impossible. A daughter, perhaps, but only one son can be born to our lines, unless, of course, the first dies in some unfortunate accident or stroke of the gods’ anger."

Nodding, the paler one laid his head against his lover’s shoulder. "Don’t you think we should hang it up first? This is the first time it’s been in one piece since our grandfathers’ time."

"As you wish."

He brought his wand from within the folds of his robe and leveled it at the rolled up material on the floor, whispering a long-forgotten levitation spell. At the incantation, the tapestry, for that is what it was, unrolled itself and hung itself up on the wall, revealing an intertwined Northern Dragon and Great Stag at its center, eyes glittering. Quickly, Harry scanned his eyes over it and pointed to the center.

"There. Nothing’s missing."

Indeed, the tapestry was complete, including at its center a beautiful, luminescent opal of approximately four inches in diameter. The stone seemed to glow, giving off an ethereal aura that was pulsing even in its dormant state. Then the image disappeared, and the water regained its natural clarity.

Draco blinked and leaned back. He would have said that he felt as if he had been sitting too close to the television for an hour, had he known what a television was.

"Well, its still there, at least. We should go forward, then." Then, after a thought, "Sev, do we need to re-coat the tapestry, or will the first time last until we stop using it?"

Severus considered. "That was a rather good batch, so one application should last for a long amount of time. Now, I think we can try something that is, perhaps, a bit further into the future. Maybe by five hundred years, or so?"

Harry nodded and recast the spell, altering the dates to fit the new specifications. "Manifesta mihi January 1st, 1500 AD, 12:00 P.M. to January 1st, 1500 AD, 12:20 P.M."

As before, the surface rippled and changed to reveal what had occurred in days long passed. This time, however, as opposed to the tranquil scene before, this showed the middle of a battle, bloodthirsty and sparkling with swords and stray magic from the sidelines. Fire raged above shadowed bodies and cries deafened sensitive ears. This was all seen from a narrow window, where a guard was desperately searching for… something. Suddenly his eyes widened and he tore down the hall, shouting orders to lower the drawbridge but to remain ready to haul it back up again at a moment’s notice. He reached the castle entrance just as it was finished being opened and assisted two guards as they hauled their load into the protective stone walls. He gave the signal to a man on a nearby tower to relay the message to pull up the drawbridge and hastened with the others, dragging their burden into the mess hall with as much gentleness as could be spared. Once inside, they laid it out on the long wooden table, revealing it to be a man, so covered in blood and earth that his humanity was barely recognizable.

The guard called for water and brought a flask to the man’s parched lips, pushing blood-matted white-blond hair from his face. Another guard looked him over for injury, gasping when he discovered a punctured lung and a number of nasty curses littering his interior. There was no time for the medi-witch in the North Tower to prepare for him. He would die within a matter of moments, and they would be without their king. The castle would be burnt to the ground and the Stag Family would move in on the territory they had sought for decades. The king’s only heir had stole away in the dead of night months ago, and was presumed to be dead. It was also rumored that the same had become of the Great Stag’s only child, a boy with dark hair and eyes who looked remarkably like his father, but they never worried about that. What mattered now was making their lord comfortable in his last hour of breath.

Suddenly the guard heard a rough, strained voice, still with the authority and power of its owner despite the circumstances, requesting to be taken to the master bedroom to die. The three complied, carefully lifting him around his legs and shoulders and carrying him to the highest tower in the center of the castle, all the while trying to ignore the hopeless cries of the battle-turned-massacre below them.

By the time they reached it, the king was pale as a ghost, his breathing shallow and sickly pink blood coating his lips. They lowered him onto the bed with utmost care, and he closed his silver eyes before choking out one final order.

"Leave."

The men complied, but remained outside the heavy wooden door should he change his mind within the next few moments. Inside, the man gazed up at the one thing he had seen since his childhood, a tapestry bearing the family crest, a snarling blue-black Northern Dragon. It was magnificent in its poise, its perfect balance of beauty and deadliness. He smiled, weakly, as his eyes traced the familiar form along its shining coils and bladed appendages. His gaze paused, however, at the left side of the tapestry, where what appeared to be half of a shining opal gemstone attached to the very edge, right at the center between top and bottom. It had always confused him, why only half of such an enchanting jewel had been built into this work of art, and had constantly wondered where the other half took its residence.

Breathing was getting harder now, and his peripheral vision was going black. His last thought before his eyes closed for eternity was of his son, and a hope that the boy had chosen a different path than he.

It was there that the image ended and the four men standing in the Hogwarts dungeons pulled back from staring into the water. All of them looked shaken at the realistic clarity that magic provided. Harry leaned into Draco, who wrapped his arm around Harry’s shoulders and ran a hand up and down the other boy’s thin arm. Remus bit his lip, eyes moist and shining like molten gold.

"Well," he murmured, "It must have been lost later on, then."

The others nodded, none of them wanting to continue, yet knowing that it was inevitable. Severus lifted his wand and cast the spell again, his voice no more than a whisper. He had a strange idea, a mere hunch, but it was better than nothing.

"Manifesta mihi January 1st, 1976 AD, 12:00 A.M. to January 1st, 1976 AD, 12:20 A.M."

The water shimmered and cleared, revealing a wiry-looking boy with silver, rectangular wire frames resting low on his nose and messy, untamable black hair that fell into warm, chocolate brown eyes.

Harry gasped.

The boy was, unmistakably, James Potter. Harry’s eyes were transfixed on the sight as his father pushed his glasses up into their proper position on his nose, lopsidedly smiling and speaking to someone who was half in the shadows. A second later the other figure stepped from his black blanket and into the light, proudly standing as his short, white-blond hair and mischievous silver eyes gleamed in the firelight. This time it was Draco’s turn to act surprised. The young Lucius Malfoy could have been his twin brother. It was almost frightening to imagine the monster that this boy who looked so much like him would become. In response to these thoughts, Draco held Harry tighter and rested his chin on his lover’s shoulder, smiling when he felt Quidditch-callused hands cover his own.

In the shallow pool, Lucius had stepped closer to James, so close, in fact, that their chests were a hair’s breadth from touching. Lucius whispered something too low to be heard and James nodded, a slight blush tingeing his cheeks. Then they turned and raced down an endless hallway, hands clasped together, under the cover of James’ invisibility cloak. It took only a second for Draco to realize that they were not, in fact, in Hogwarts, but in his own mansion, in the same corridor where the famed storage room was. So saying, he was not at all surprised when they stopped at a door with a crystal handle and tumbled inside, shutting the door behind them. From there they wasted no time falling onto the couch, the very same one Harry and Draco had shared their first kiss on. James pulled Lucius on top of him and buried a hand in the latter’s soft blond hair, pulling his head down to crash their lips together in a bruising kiss. Lucius reached up and curled his fingers around his lover’s glasses, removing them and setting them down on a crate beside the couch, never once breaking the kiss.

Eventually Lucius abandoned the pink, slightly-parted lips in favor of a long, strong jaw line, following it up the side with feverish kisses until he reached the tender skin below James’ ear. He latched on, sucking and licking and scraping with his teeth, reveling in his lover’s cries as the other boy writhed under him. Hands were everywhere at once, sun-bronzed skin flashing in the dim light, limbs entangled as two polar opposites tried to meld themselves together. James pushed his hands underneath Lucius’ shirt, lifting it up over perfect, pale skin. Then, a whispered "finite incantatem", and the spell was broken.

Three pairs of eyes lifted from a rippling surface to meet one pair of onyx ones. Severus sneered. "Let’s leave their business to the grave, shall we? While you three were… otherwise focused, I saw the tapestry. The stone was still there, so it is safe to assume it has yet to be removed."

The others looked away, finding anything they could focus on that was not the gleaming pool of water. Harry and Remus’ faces were beet red, while Draco seemed to be having some sort of internal conflict. It terrified him, how much of a resemblance his and Harry’s fathers bore to them, how incredibly carefree and in love they were, only to be torn apart by war and misguided politics and family loyalty. There was also the conspicuous lack of scars on Lucius’ body. Looking at his family history, Draco had always assumed that the reason his father beat him was due to he himself being abused as a child, and therefore felt the need to release his rage on his own flesh and blood. Apparently, however, this was not at all true. But then, if it was not some sick family tradition, then someone else must have hurt him so, thus making him turn away from any chance at peace. Draco stole a glance at Harry, whose gaze was still trained on the floor. It could not have been James, could it? And if it was, would history repeat itself, as it always seemed to?

Draco shook his head, banishing these thoughts from his mind. Harry needed him just as much as Draco needed Harry, that much was certain. Every look, every touch, every word between them was filled with so much warmth and devotion and absolute love that the very emotions reverberated in the air between them, as well as through the bond. Just as well, it was not the time to be considering such things in the first place.

"I wonder," Draco said, "if it’s possible to view, say, five minutes out of every month or so for a determined length of time."

Severus raised an eyebrow, thoughtfully. "I honestly don’t see why not."

Shrugging, Draco pulled his wand, mahogany, twelve inches with a dragon heartstring, from his robes and whispered the incantation yet again, incorporating his theory within it.

"Manifesta mihi January 2nd, 1977 AD, 12:00 P.M. to January 2nd, 1978 AD, 12:20 P.M., for five minutes on the first day of every two months."

As before, the water shimmered, revealing the same storage room it had shown before. And, also in repetition, James was there, his boyish energy and enthusiasm, untainted by responsibility or war, radiated to the present day. Harry, still not quite used to the idea of seeing his father through this window in time, reached forward with his hand, as if he could touch the past. His fingertips brushed the surface and…

"Harry, no!"

…he fell in.

---

Sparkling sapphire blue eyes, crystal clear with caverns haunted by twelve years lost, opened under the shaft of light that sliced across them and interrupted him from sleep by reintroducing the world’s existence. Stubbornly, he curled closer to the warm body he was spooned against, tightening his arms and burying his face in a mass of soft, fiery red hair. Then he heard a deep chuckle and felt the body in front of him reverberate. He felt his hand being lifted from its hibernation and soft lips being pressed against each digit in turn. He groaned, half in pleasure, half in irritation at having the limb moved without his consent.

Another chuckle, and the other twisted in his arms, hazel eyes partially lidded and a lazy smile on that handsome, pale, lightly freckled face. Sun glinted on the solitary dragon fang earring he wore. The voice that spoke was soft and deep, gentle but without weakness and somehow maintaining a childish air even though the man was perhaps ten years or more out of Hogwarts.

"Good morning, Sirius Black."

Sirius mumbled something, possibly "g’mornin’’, Bill was not quite sure, and then burrowed back into the silky skin of his neck to retreat from the light.

"You do know that you’ll have to wake eventually, yes, love?"

"Doesn’t mean it has to be now."

"I suppose you’re right," Bill murmured, pressing a kiss to the dark head.

The eldest Weasley looked down at Sirius as the latter dozed off again. The extent of his lover’s strength both hurt and amazed him at the same time; hurt, because Sirius, sweet, wonderful, innocent Sirius had been tested throughout his twelve wasted years of life in a cold, dark cell with no happiness to warm him, but amazed that he had survived it intact. Albeit, the older Gryffindor still suffered nightmares, and there were times when his memories caught up with him and Bill would find him trembling and staring into space, caught in a horrific reverie and unable to escape by his own means. At times like those the redhead was quick to wrap him in a strong, warm embrace and whisper to him until the guilt and regret relinquished its hold and Sirius slumped, limp and drained, against the first person to see him for who he was without harsh judgment in nearly two decades. Even Harry, whom loved Sirius dearly as a father figure, had been terrified of him during their first encounter. Of course, as soon as he had found out that Sirius was innocent and his godfather to boot, the boy had all but begged for permission to live with him.

Bill sighed, running his hand through silky black hair and glancing at the clock in the corner of his room. He and Sirius had left the Burrow a few days ago in favor of Bill’s small apartment. It was located in an out of the way, but by no means unknown, wizard apartment complex near Diagon Alley. It was a convenient place that he rented out when he was camping in some remote corner of the world puzzling over a difficult curse. Not only was it close to Hogwarts, but it was also a street or two over from Gringotts, his home base.

So saying, the clock was now reading "Get up now you lazy bum and start breakfast!".

Bill rolled his eyes and placed a hand on Sirius’ shoulder, shaking him.

"All right, your five minutes are up. Time to get out of bed."

No answer. Apparently Sirius was being stubborn today. Grinning mischievously, the redhead slipped off of bed and clutched his fingers around the edge of the blankets. In one swift motion he pulled the entire lot away from the bed, revealing his lover’s shivering body as the later groaned in annoyance and curled around himself. Another minute and Sirius swung his legs over the side of the mattress, hunching over to wipe the sleep from his eyes before he stood up.

"I’m going to take a shower," he announced. Then, leering, "Care to join me?"

Bill laughed. "As much as I’d love to, I’ll be late for work if I do. I’ll just use a spell for now, and then I’ll make breakfast."

Sirius sighed in disappointment, dropped a chaste kiss on Bill’s lips and disappeared into the bathroom. The Curse Breaker smiled again, giving a whispered "ablue" and slipped on a clean pair of dragon hide pants and a plain white T-shirt. The jacket and boots could wait until it was time to leave. He walked into the kitchen, tying his long hair back as he did so, and began rummaging through the refrigerator for something that resembled food. After tossing out two half-empty cartons of stale milk, a pizza from last Tuesday, and some bizarre salad concoction that seemed to be growing a rather thick head of hair, he managed to find a dozen eggs that smelled passable and some orange juice that he had bought on a whim the day before. That, day old coffee and some toast would be enough.

Five minutes and a few cooking spells later, Bill was setting scrambled eggs on the table and Sirius emerged from the shower wearing borrowed clothes. He plopped down in what had been designated as "his" chair and took a long swallow of coffee. The two ate in companionable silence before Sirius wiped his mouth and decided to make conversation.

"Any idea what they’ll have you working on today?"

Bill shook his head. "No. They never give you any warning, just in case someone spills. But they always prepare everything for us, including any books we may need to refer to if the curse is particularly obscure." A pause. "Y’know, seeing as how it is Saturday, why don’t you go pay Harry a visit? I’m sure he’d love to see you."

Sirius’ face lit up. "Great idea. I’ll have to call Dumbledore in advance, but it’d prolly be okay."

Bill nodded and started to clean up. Though he would not say it at the moment, for fear of interrupting Sirius’ good mood, he had been worried about him. Staying in a small apartment for days on end could not be healthy for someone with such a wild canine spirit, although it had been a much-needed rest from constant running. The people who knew of his innocence were few and far between, not nearly enough to convince the general public, let alone the Ministry of Magic. Bill sighed. At the very least, visiting those closest to him would do his lover a world of good.

---

"Well? What’ve we got today?"

A healthily tanned man with shaggy brown hair and dark, shining blue eyes glanced up from a thousand-year-old volume and grinned when he saw a familiar redhead walking towards him while pulling on his dragon hide gloves. The former gestured to the open page.

"Some sort o’ box. Sherri says it was dug up by a stray in India near one of their more obscure temples. The thing sent of a wave of magic that gave every witch and wizard for miles a buzz, including her."

"Can you describe what it felt like?"

The man shook his head. "Best go ask Sherri. She’ll be glad for the break. The goblins ‘ave been bombardin’ her with questions all day."

"All right." Bill patted the man on the back in a friendly gesture and continued on his way towards the examination site.

When it came to Curse Breaking, everything needed a delicate touch. Before an object was shipped anywhere from where it was originally found, it had to be prodded and poked with minimal spurts of magic and tested to measure the amount and type of energy radiating off of it. Only when one was sure that a magical signature would not set it off could someone carry it from the discovery site to a Gringotts Bank that had Curse Breakers and the necessary equipment available to handle it. Sometimes, it depended on who found it that determined where it would be shipped. If the person belonged to the British Ministry of Magic, as Sherri did, then the object would be shipped there by way of non-magic transportation. Though things like Apparation did not drain the user, they still required an amount of magic that could be daunting on sensitive artifacts, an unintentional trigger that could devastate entire cities.

Once it arrived at its destination, an examination site would be cleared far enough away from any nearby towns that no harm would come to the general populous, should anything go wrong. Wards that stretched miles around to prevent curious muggles from sneaking a peek at magical activity surrounded the site. Inside, however, a whole new series of tests would be conducted, each one attempting to determine the category of curse inscribed on the artifact, along with a team of researchers shifting through endless libraries looking for any background information that could be found.

The examination site was, at the time, where Bill Weasley saw a woman irritably arguing with two goblins in a tongue he was not familiar with. Though the words were not understandable, the general tone of the conversation was obvious, and Bill could tell that his timing was impeccable.

"Sherri!" he shouted, jogging over to her and waving. The goblins grumbled and scurried off, knowing that they would no longer have the woman’s attention. Sherri was a petite woman with dirty blonde hair tied into a casual ponytail and lively brown eyes; she was also much stronger than she looked. More than once had her coworkers and friends called her "a little fireball", and though she usually punched whoever spoke those words to her face, she secretly liked the nickname. She grinned and enveloped Bill in her strong grasp before pulling back to a more respectable distance, brushing stray bangs from her face.

"Hey! Ready to get to work on this thing?"

"You bet. I’ve wanted to ask you though… Mike back there said that you felt an energy wave from this… box, was it?"

She nodded, suddenly turning serious. "Yeah. It was strange; usually when you feel something like that it’s more… I don’t know, forceful. This was different, like something tapping the back of your mind, like when you know you’ve forgotten something, but you can’t remember what, y’know? Only… it was more primitive than that, more basic. Like awakening some vestigial sense that’s been dormant for years. It was hard to tell whether it was a good thing or a bad thing, though."

Bill shrugged. "Well, let’s have a look at it, shall we?"

It was, as had been mentioned, a box. An incredibly unremarkable box, at that. The lid was perhaps a foot by eighteen inches, the depth no more than six inches. It was carved of a plain, dark mahogany wood, and still appeared polished despite the ages it had spent underground. All in all, it looked rather like a jewelry box that a carpenter might make for his wife for their anniversary.

Bill chewed his bottom lip in thought, brow furrowed. Then he sighed. "It certainly looks harmless, but, after all, the first lesson we’re taught is not to judge a book by its cover." He walked forward, trying to get a better look without touching it, when….

"Bill! Sherri! Com’ere, quick, I found something!"

The two ran over to where Mike was pointing to a passage in the book he had been reading. Bill skimmed the pages, his eyes widening as he did so.

"Oh, Merlin…."

---

It reminded him of the time he had been tossed into Tom Marvolo Riddle’s diary, a ghostly apparation not from his own time. Harry shifted, noticing that Draco’s arms were still around his waist. Apparently the connection of touch had pulled them both in. Then Harry looked up and came face to face with his mirror image, the only exception being the darker brown of the other’s eyes.

"Dad…."

Translations for Latin lovers:

Ablue – The imperative form of the word "abluo, abluere, ablui, ablutum" meaning "to wash clean" or "to wash away".

XXI: The Fibonacci Sequence

Harry walked forward, pulling out of Draco’s embrace and stretched out his arm, hesitantly reaching toward the pale skin and dark hair and eyes before him that seemed all too real. He stopped, fingertips a bare centimeter from the smooth curve of a delicate cheekbone, when the phantom moved. James Potter stepped forward, brushing through his son’s distant body. In an instant he was on the other side of the room, moving towards what was real in his reality. Harry shivered.

Draco was, similarly, standing by his own father, close enough to touch, but not having the courage or the motivation to do so. His gaze was more of a fascination, the kind of look a scientist would have when studying a newly discovered species. Then he shook his head, clearing the smog from his thoughts and blinking. Harry did not say anything, but understood that Draco’s mind had drifted towards an unwelcome flashback in that moment. Wordlessly the Gryffindor took Draco’s hand, offering silent comfort without invading the tenderness of Draco’s personal space. He glanced towards the door, where a glowing set of numbers showing the countdown of their time within the enchanted pool of water silently ticked. He ignored it.

Together Harry and Draco continued to watch the interaction between the other Malfoy and Potter, all the while unable to shake the feeling of their ethereal presence from startled, dazed bones.

"Lucius…." The word seemed to echo in the stale silence, as if it were being heard across a great cavern. Lucius and James did not appear to notice.

"Yes?" Lucius’ voice was sultry and teasing; the very sound of it weaned James from his serious expression, pulling the corners of his mouth into an amused, lopsided smile. However, despite the loosened mood, James still remained on track within the conversation. There a was, after all, a reason they had traveled miles from Hogwarts on a Hogsmeade weekend to end up in a dusty old storage room in the endless maze that was the Malfoy Mansion.

"So… where did you find it in the first place? It would probably be safest to leave it somewhere hidden from sight."

Lucius bit his lip and nodded. "Definitely. I don’t even want to think about what could happen if my father finds this." He reached into his book bag – the two had reasoned that, if they were going to be sneaking out of school, they might as well get some work done – and produced a round, smooth opal the size of his fist. He stared at it, gray eyes lost in the surreal shifting of color beneath bone-white skin. James waited until Lucius jerked his head up and took a quick survey of the room. Then he set his jaw and strode over to the corner of the room where, half-hidden by ghost-like drapes and stray crates, sat an antique chest with illegible inscriptions carved around the latch. Lucius opened it up, coughing when years of dust were expelled from its interior, just as when Pandora’s box released the world’s diseases and hatred.

He laid the stone among tattered schoolbooks and old robes, taking one last, longing gaze before shutting the trunk and turning back to James. The dark haired boy was grinning. Then, without warning, he pulled Lucius to himself, wrapping long arms around a narrow waist and kissing him fiercely. Despite his surprise, the blond soon found his body melting against his lover’s. He draped his arms around James’ neck and entangled his hands in the silky, flyaway hair, moaning when James playfully licked his bottom lip. With a skillful nip of teeth on soft flesh, James pulled back just enough to meet Lucius’ shining, darkened eyes.

"My noble Slytherin," he whispered, pressing a kiss to Lucius’ forehead. "I’m proud of you."

Lucius smiled, shyly. "Noble" was not a compliment he often received. "Ambitious", "devious", even "beautiful", all in varying degrees, yes, but never "noble". Not knowing what to say in response, despite the knowledge that James required no reply, he attempted to reengage their previous activities. "Well," he drawled, "if this is what honest actions get me, perhaps I should play the hero more often."

James laughed and led his lover to the couch, lying down and pulling Lucius on top of him. Harry backed up from where he was standing, wanting to give them space, even though his presence went unseen. Two steps and he bumped into Draco, who wrapped his arms around Harry’s shoulders and kissed his temple.

"I think we should leave," he whispered. Then he gestured to the bright numbers at the door, watching the time pass with languid slowness.

00.00.03

00.00.02

00.00.01

00.00.00

---

"Headmaster!"

Albus lifted his eyes from where they were focused on one of the many frivolous letters of complaint from some third year Ravenclaw’s parent to peek at the fireplace. A familiar face stared back at him, his hair a flaming mass as its bright color blended with the tongues of fire.

"Yes, Mister Weasley, what can I do for you?"

"There’s something I think you should see. Right away."

The urgency in Bill’s voice attracted Dumbledore’s attention. "Very well, then. Would it be easier if I came to you or if you entered my office?"

Without hesitation, "Come here. I don’t think it would be safe to even touch this thing, so much as transport it through a fireplace." Then, to the people unseen in the background, "Move out of the way, would you? We need to let him through."

A flash of green flames later and Albus was standing at the examination site and being rushed towards the simple artifact by the enthusiastic redhead. Mike jogged up on the headmaster’s other side, trudging his large book along with him as he talked a mile a minute, trying to get the ancient wizard up to speed. At one point it became clear that, for all his years of experience and the wisdom that accompanied it, Albus was unable to understand speech that was being so hurriedly spoken, especially through Mike’s thick Alabama accent. So saying, Albus gently silenced the man with a raised hand and turned to Bill.

"Perhaps, Mister Weasley, it would be better if you explained the situation to me."

"All right. At our last meeting–" he neglected to name the Order, for although Mike knew of his associations with the Head of Hogwarts, he did not know that this entailed a covert organization, "–we realized that, should the plan come through, there was still no way to completely prevent a resurrection, for which only the barest wisp of soul is necessary. This is, I think, the solution."

Albus raised an eyebrow in inquisitive surprise and glanced over at the waist-high podium where the simple box rested. For all its modesty, the box appeared to be no less than an icon of some eternally remembered god. Its very state of dormancy bore a subconscious pull that tugged the back of the mind, weaving through layers upon layers of innate magic and drawing the viewer down, so, so far down….

Abruptly Albus jerked back. He had been leaning forwards, his face inches from the smooth surface before he had come back to himself. As soon as he was able to, he shuffled through his mental cabinets for any stored, dusty information he could recall about this wooden box and its properties. Once found, the realized knowledge made his mental self shake with apprehension. On the outside, however, he maintained the perfect image of calm wisdom that made most men and women respect him without question.

"Well, Mister Weasley, it seems you and your colleagues were correct; this is, indeed, what we’ve been searching for."

Bill grinned, broadly. Although Albus spouted compliments and such to his students to increase their self-confidence, a true, honest praise was rarely granted to any.

"Now, as for transporting it," the older wizard continued, "I do believe that, if you can wrap it in a bag of pure silk – carefully, mind you, for you will lose yourself if your skin touches its surface – it will be safe to transport via floo powder. Bring it to my office as soon as possible, but don’t rush. We wouldn’t want any unnecessary accidents."

"All right," Bill replied, "we should have it ready within a day or two. I’ll stay in touch."

Then he led Dumbledore back to the fireplace and watched him disappear from sight within the green flames.

---

"We know where it is."

Draco and Harry were sitting on the couch again, with Remus and Severus intently staring at them from their respective chairs. Harry had his face buried in Draco’s shoulder, his entire body pressed against the Slytherin. He was exhausted, from both the constant, serious intensity of what had come to pass and from the emotional shock of being within touching distance of his father, yet remaining unable to make bodily contact with the sacred image. But then, the hand threading through his hair released the tenseness of his fatigue, giving way to a light, peaceful slumber. From the edge of his dreams he still heard the other’s speaking, but made no move to participate in the conversation.

"Lucius put it in a trunk that’s in the same room where the tapestry was," Draco continued. "He must have forgotten about it, at least for the time being."

Severus sighed heavily. "I suppose another visit to the mansion is in order. But not yet – the timing is not right, and the Order has not sufficiently prepared for what is to come."

Remus looked at the dark head upon Draco’s shoulder. "I suggest you two get some rest. We’ve been working all morning, and, as long as neither of you have any obligations, you might want to sleep for two or three hours."

Draco nodded. Indeed, they had started at six A.M. and continued for more than three hours. Normally that would be nothing more than breakfast and the first one or two periods of the day, but Harry was still healing and therefore easily grew tired.

He was about to stand and help move the Gryffindor into the guestroom when a scratching and whining at the door made him jump. Shrugging, Remus stood and walked across the room. The second the door was open a black figure sailed through the room and leaped over the back of the couch, landing on Harry’s legs. The boy yelped and sat up in surprise, fully startled from the realm of half-sleep, and winced when the motion disturbed his ribs. Immediately he found himself staring into a pair of large, dark eyes accompanied by a familiar black muzzle.

"Sirius?"

Instantly the eyes brightened to a deep sapphire blue and the canine features became human. Idiotically grinning, Sirius launched himself at his godson, smothering the smaller body against his in a hug reminiscent of Molly Weasley’s.

"Harry! It’s great to see you! I-"

"Get off him!" Draco growled, prying Sirius’ arms loose. The Animagus glared in confused anger before he noticed that Harry’s face was scrunched up with pain, and he was clutching his chest and heaving. Draco pulled Harry to lie on his back in the cradle of the blond’s arms and legs, knowing that the position would relieve most of the pressure on Harry’s lungs and ribcage.

"Breathe, love, breathe. Slowly, don’t over-exert yourself."

By now Sirius was terrified. He had hurt, albeit unknowingly, to his only family. With pleading, worried eyes he looked from the pitiful form of his godson to Severus and Remus, begging for an explanation and reassurance that he had not done any permanent harm.

Remus moved to lay a hand on Sirius’ shoulder. "Padfoot, Harry was injured in a Quidditch game a little while ago. A bludger hit him and broke most of his ribs. He can’t be handled so roughly until he’s healed."

Sirius swallowed hard and nodded faintly before refocusing his gaze on the dark-haired boy.

"Idiotic Gryffindors," Severus muttered, "never thinking about the consequences of their actions." Louder, "There’s no need to worry, Black. I didn’t hear anything crack, so I believe it’s safe to assume that no real damage was done. Just… try to be more gentle with him from now on."

Sirius managed a weak smile in the Potions master’s direction, though his eyes still watched as Harry’s breathing calmed. Absently he wondered what had changed his old rival to be so much more subdued, then pushed the thought away and decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Why fix what is not broken, after all?

"That was quite an entrance, Sirius," Harry said. He was more relaxed now, and the sudden pain had reduced to a dull throb. His arms were wrapped around Draco’s, which had long since curled around the smaller boy’s chest. Harry smiled, using his bright green eyes to belay his forgiveness to his godfather. Feeling much more at ease with the situation, Sirius transformed back into Snuffles, or Padfoot, as it were, and curled up at Harry’s feet, resting his head on the boy’s leg. The latter fell asleep, lulled by his previous exhaustion as well as the warmth and familiar heart beating against his own.

---

Note: For those who do not know, silk is believed to be able to act as an energy barrier, keeping certain magic within a desired area or away from that to which it might to harm.

XXII: Spun Glass

"Wormtail…."

Peter Pettigrew scurried forward, head bowed in submission to the creature that held his life indefinitely.

"Y-yes, my Lord?"

"Tell me - sssinccce you of all people would hold ssso much knowledge on the sssubject - how doesss one lure a rat into a trap when the ssserpent becomesss impatient?"

Pettigrew swallowed hard, cringing. He knew the question was rhetorical, but he would suffer if he failed to give an acceptable answer. "With b-bait, my Lord?"

The answer was not immediate. Voldemort drew out the rat’s anticipation with a piercing stare, one skeletal hand stroking the scales of Nagini’s forehead. Wormtail’s eyes watered in fear and the serpent’s tongue flickered in and out as if tasting him, causing the man to shudder.

"I think," he hissed, "that another meeting isss in order. Don’t you agree?"

Wormtail nodded, dumbly.

"Hmm…." The Dark Lord continued his leisurely motions, his cruel red eyes expressionless. "Leave. Be gone from my sight."

Relieved, Pettigrew kneeled forward to kiss his master’s robes before scuttling towards the doorway.

"Oh, and Wormtail…."

The children in the village below swore they heard a banshee’s cries that night.

---

"Ah!"

Harry opened his arms from where he balanced on his broom, as if trying to embrace the sky. It felt good to fly again, good to feel the wind rushing past his slight form and the sun beating down on his skin.

It had taken a little over a week, but with Madame Pomfrey’s tender care and his friends’ support, Harry’s ribs had healed and he was allowed to fly again, albeit not without a stern warning from the matron. Now within is element, Harry’s mind was free to soar through the skies, and to touch base with that which had not yet occurred, and that which had.

His mind ran over Order’s discussions about the newest element in the fight against Voldemort. Of course, nobody had built up enough courage to touch the plain wooden box once it had arrived from Bill Weasley’s team of Curse Breakers, not that anyone would want to; Harry’s hands had been shaking from all of the penned up energy within the thing. Draco’s had been as well, and the two had been forced to move the couch further away to avoid any wayward explosions, as sometimes happens with untamed magic.

Ever since they had begun training, transforming, tuning their abilities into instinctive second natures, their nerves had been extra sensitive to any and all kinds of magic, coming to the point where they could sense the source, flavor and intensity of a specific spell from anywhere within Hogwarts. The first time Harry had experienced it, and, consequentially, felt the vibrations of every spell cast within the school pound against his weary mind, he had collapsed into a ball upon the floor, falling unconscious from it after convulsing. Immediately afterwards, Remus, Severus and Draco carried him out into the Forbidden Forest, where the magic was more wild, more natural, and therefore, ironically, easier to deal with. Because natural magic had no focus point, it merely buzzed around, lacking the intensity of kinetic energy despite its potential force if provoked. The four of them had camped outside until both boys were able to force their newfound sensitivity to the back of their minds, leaving a slight tingling for each spell that was cast, rather than the full weight of its power from the caster.

They also spent time solving the puzzle of why Harry had been the first for his senses to "open up", so to speak. It was generally decided, after much debate and brain storming of ideas, that the boy’s connection to Voldemort had sped his magical growth. There was a collective moment of fear upon the mention of Voldemort when the group realized that they were out in the open, away from the safety of Hogwarts’ wards, exposed and vulnerable for any wayward Death Eater to find. But as the days passed, they were left undisturbed, with the exception of when Dobby came to drop off meals and supplies or when Albus came for his daily visits around tea time. The first day, his cheery voice had nearly startled Severus out of his skin, as the spy had been rightfully jumpy about some of his ex-comrades finding him when he least wanted them to. Once it was determined that, no, Albus was not one of Voldemort’s minions and no, Severus was not going to have a heart attack or an ulcer when the old man popped out of nowhere, they all settled down while Remus relayed what had happened and the boys’ progress in that short time. When asked how he had discovered where the four were located, Albus’ eyes twinkled, madly, and he offered a pot of tea with five cups and a plate of biscuits that emerged from the very air. In response, Severus rolled his dark eyes while Draco grinned, having become so well attuned in the past few hours that his fingers had tingled the moment that the Headmaster had performed his flawless conjuring.

After that, Albus came back every day for tea and to discuss Draco and Harry’s separate developments and where their strengths and weaknesses lay. It was found that, while Harry’s skills tended toward healing and creation, as they had suspected, he was conveniently balanced by the ability to sense destructive magic more proficiently than Draco, whose areas of mastery were reversed in that aspect. This discovery assisted them in tweaking their perception of each other, including current conditions in mental, physical, and emotional fields. Eventually, the last became so strong that they found it perfectly natural to tap into the other’s feelings, sensing thoughts and sentiments while still being able to discern them from their own to the point where it became almost like telepathy, although it never would progress far enough to send actual pictures or words through the link. They found that it was at its strongest when they were touching, and nearly as strong when they were in the same room. Though it faded at a distance, it never disappeared, so that the other was always at home in the back of their minds no matter where they were.

They had been there for nearly three weeks, living in a homely tent that Albus had leant to them that was filled with as many bizarre things as his office: things that spun wildly and caught the light filtering though magical sun filled windows, things that got up and danced around the shelves they were sitting on at the most inopportune moments, things that spouted magical flames that felt cool rather than hot and were rainbow-colored rather than bright orange, things that shouted insults at Severus but flirted with Draco, and despite all their magic gave Harry little more than a light headache for the first day. Harry remembered guffawing the first time the Headmaster’s collection of talking umbrellas and walking sticks with barnyard animal heads for handles, which were sitting in the corner by the entrance of the tent, started squawking at the Potions master the moment he stepped in, spouting such nonsensical words and phrases that the ludicrous intensity of it caused the green-eyed boy to topple onto a plush, velvet red and gold couch when his laughter took the strength from his legs. After the duck tried to snap at Snape’s robes, and succeeded in tearing a large chunk of fabric off into its wooden beak, Draco and Remus, who had been struggling to keep straight faces for the sake of the other man’s dignity, joined Harry on the couch with hollers that left them all breathless.

After three weeks, however, they were quite well settled in, even to the point where Severus would shout insults back at the duck upon entrance and exit. At tea time Albus handed Remus his Wolfsbane potion, which he had recovered from Severus’ storage, and declared that the boys would be able to return to school the next day. Fortunately, he had also been bringing them their written homework over the month, as well as copies of notes that Hermione had graciously offered to make; any Potions or DADA work had, of course, been easily completed with their two professors of the aforementioned subjects there. The practical exercises in their other classes, with the exception of Herbology, would be effortless with their newfound abilities.

In fact, the only complaint in regards to the modifications that had been made in their absence came from Severus. While Albus had temporarily filled in for Remus’ class, the "old coot" had hired Bill Weasley for potions, a double benefit because it also kept the Curse Breaker on hand to help manage and contain the deceptively simple wooden box. Five biscuits and six cups of black English Breakfast Tea later, however, Severus grudgingly admitted that the boy would make an adequate replacement for a short while. Upon recollection, his exact words were: "Very well, Albus. Weasley Spawn number one was, after all, the only member of his clan who managed not to cause a life-threatening disaster in the classroom." In reality, Bill Weasley had been at the top of his class in every subject by the end of his seventh year, including Potions, not to mention he had been Head Boy at that time.

The only other question remaining was to ask how the area had been kept safe from not only Death Eaters, but also the natural beasts that lurked around in the dark woods. This inquiry was met with glittering sapphire eyes and, "Lemon drop, anyone?" Later that evening, Harry could have sworn that he saw Firenze trot by and wink at him from the cover of the trees.

Once back in school Harry and Draco were confronted by an eager Hermione, who demanded a detailed explanation as to their whereabouts over the past few weeks. Although she had been informed that they had been unable to attend class, the Headmaster had been, in his sweetly innocent grandfather way, extremely covert as to revealing the whole story. Now she had her jaws clamped around the source itself, and would refuse to let go until her hunger for knowledge and information had been appeased. Soon after, the four were sitting in the Gryffindor common room, and Harry and Draco relayed to anyone who was interested that they had been given special training from in Defense Against the Dark Arts to prepare for the upcoming and inevitable war against Voldemort

It was no lie, but it was not the whole truth, either. The exact aspects of their training were left unsaid, as well as the reason why they had found it necessary to leave on such short notice. When asked about the latter by Hermione, Draco quickly inferred that Dumbledore had not wanted to risk any information seeping out to certain families before they even had a chance to leave. It was probable that, had the Dark Lord been aware of their exit prior to when they could declare themselves safe, a Death Eater or two could have caught the group off guard. Hermione, ever concerned for her friends’ safety, accepted this without further question, hugged each boy once more, and then sent them to their rooms in the dungeons with orders that they go to sleep without engaging in any "before bed activities". Draco had maliciously chuckled after that and, with a predatory gleam in his shining silver eyes, proceeded to rush out of the room dragging Harry after him with an urgency that was half faked and half genuine. Harry was still laughing over the flushed look of astonishment and annoyance on Hermione’s face when the portrait door to the Gryffindor common room closed behind the fleeing couple.

Quite unexpectedly there was a sharp twinge inflicted on Harry’s forehead, interrupting him from his contemplation. He winced and felt Draco’s emotions switch suddenly from comfort and contentment to surprise and anxiety. Sending a calm, strengthening wave of thought back to that corner of his mind where the two were connected, Harry proceeded to dip his broom into an expert dive. He landed on the magically tended green of the Quidditch field and broke into a run, following the bond like a bloodhound on a scent.

---

After the time spent in the forest, Draco and Harry had felt comfortable enough with their new connection to spend their day apart, knowing that the other was always within reach. Thus, while Harry was enjoying his freedom in the air, Draco was performing the more necessary, and somewhat dangerous, task of remaining handy while Severus was debriefed by the oldest Weasley son about how his classes had been handled during the Potion master’s absence. Should the latter see fit to lose his temper, Draco would act as the voice of reason and rein in his fellow Slytherin. Normally it would be Remus’ job to do so, but he was weary from his transformations during the full moon, and had therefore been ordered to remain in bed until the spell of weakness was over.

Now Draco sat on Severus’ desk in the Potions classroom, eyes warily following his surrogate father’s body language, waiting for those narrow shoulders to tense, for the eyes to flare behind their sheets of black ice, for pale, thin lips to tighten and for the body to shake in tremors of frustration that encompassed his entire form minus his arms from the elbow down. That extreme self-control of his forearms explained how the man could manage to make deadly concoctions under the pressure of both Dumbledore and Voldemort breathing down his neck at all times.

Any one of the aforementioned symptoms would, to one who knew Severus as well as Draco did, betray the exact moment when his immaculately constructed walls of indifference would crack and crumble like a concrete dam during the flood of the century, and Severus’ anger would come rushing forward and his magic would vibrate throughout the room and his tongue would spout words that would later be regretted and added to his endless list of reasons for self-hatred. Then Draco would spring from his seemingly nonchalant position, and the torso that had been elegantly relaxed would shoot ramrod straight, and he would strain his abilities to calm the wild magic invisibly cackling about Severus’ form.

Normally, Severus was much more tolerant of those that worked in the Order with him, with the exception of pig-headed, prejudice idiots like Lawrence, but if anyone assumed the pretense of being a more competent, skilled, and gifted Potions prodigy than he, Severus slipped back into his old habits of bombarding his generally unwilling opponent cruel and cutting remarks. The threat that Albus thought anyone could even measure up to his ability by hiring another to replace him, even if it were an emergency and only for a few weeks, fell under that category, at least until the substitute admitted inferiority to Severus’ pride of Potions making.

However, despite Draco’s rightful apprehension, Bill Weasley seemed to be one of the kinds of people with a naturally friendly charm that made it impossible for even a bowstring-tight Potions master to get mad. In fact, the redhead proved to be cheerful and good-natured the moment that he entered the classroom where Draco and Severus waited, going straight to business without any pretense besides a bit of light conversation that could only be thought of as considerate, while still managing to be loose and mild-mannered about it.

"Severus, and, oh, Mister Malfoy! What a pleasure to see the two of you again. I trust all went well in the Forbidden Forest?" All of this was said with a bright grin as he carried a box filled to the brim with scrolls and placed it next to Draco on the broad desk.

His lighthearted greeting was met with a jerking motion from Severus which could just barely be interpreted as a nod, and a welcoming smile from Draco which was, unsurprisingly, much more natural than the other man’s action.

Sensing that the following silence meant he was allowed to continue, Bill reached into the box and pulled out a roll of parchment bound in a thin, black ribbon. He pulled off the binding and unrolled it, moving over to let Severus read over his shoulder.

"This is a list of what I covered with each of your classes while you were absent, as well as the assignments I had them do. I tried to stick to your curriculum as much as I could, so that the adjustment wouldn’t be too difficult for the students. I’ve graded all of the papers in this box here, but, as I have a significant lack of experience in this field compared to you, I won’t be insulted if you want to look them over to see if I missed anything, which is quite likely."

Draco let out a mental sigh of relief. That was the admission that Severus had been waiting for, and now that the tension had lessened, perhaps the older man would be able to treat Bill like a human being again rather than a particularly nasty thing found squashed on the underside of Severus’ expensive dragonshide boots.

The Potions master nodded once more and took the list as Bill offered it to him. Though it was not obvious to most, his demeanor had dramatically changed, and he was much more relaxed in the Curse Breaker’s presence than he had been at the beginning of their meeting.

"I believe I shall take you up on your offer, Mister Weasley, and review these papers before returning them to their… authors." He glanced back down at the parchment, and saw that the listed assignments were written in various ink colors that coincided with the assortment of ribbons that bound the students’ essays. He raised an eyebrow. "Though your style of organization may be a bit… unconventional, it seems you have made an acceptable substitute while I was detained."

Bill beamed again, his freckled face and bright eyes practically glowing. He knew that this was probably the best compliment a Gryffindor could receive from this man... with the exception of Severus’ lover, of course. Sensing that he was being dismissed from the room by the curt lack of words, Bill spoke his farewells and left, a noticeable spring to his step as he walked out the door.

Draco cocked his head at his mentor, smirking with characteristic superiority. "Well, that wasn’t so hard, was it?"

Severus snorted, lifted the surprisingly light box, and moved into his private rooms, with Draco following unbidden behind him. The door to his bedroom was closed, and he could hear a soft snoring noise coming from within. Severus allowed himself a small smile, pleased that Remus was resting, properly. After setting the scrolls down in his workspace, he moved to his seat in the fireplace and walked to a small liquor cabinet on the other side of the room. Draco often used to come down when he needed a companion during his younger years and share a drink with the older man. Severus never allowed him the strong scotch he sometimes savored, but a glass of red wine was certainly acceptable for a pureblooded boy who had been drinking champagne with his family since he was eleven. They sat together in front of the fireplace, enjoying the companionable silence, each lost within his own thoughts. Draco tapped into Harry’s spectrum of emotions, feeling his exhilaration while the other boy dipped and twirled through the sky.

CRASH!

Draco nearly dropped his drink as he was startled out of his reverie. He looked up to see Severus clutching his left arm, blood running from between bits of glass where the force of his muscles convulsing had caused the snifter to shatter in his grip.

And there, from underneath his slender fingers, the Dark Mark burned and cackled.

XXIII: Relay Race

A keening wail pierced the still silence that had blanketed the dungeons of Hogwarts. Draco shot up straight, his blond hair whipping his eyes as he spun toward the sound. Harry was writhing on the bed beside him; his hands were gripping the comforter hard enough to paint his knuckles white, and the sheets were twisted around his limbs. The lightning bolt scar was an angry red, as bright as if it had just been carved into his forehead. When a hand reached up to claw at the source of the pain, Draco was startled into action. He pushed Harry’s wrists away from his forehead and pulled the boy flush against his chest, knowing that there would be nothing he could do until the vision – for that is what it appeared to be – had finished on its own.

When Draco felt the smaller body fall limp against him an indiscernible amount of time later, he moved a hand to soothe back the sweat-matted hair and lightly massage the pulsing temples, feeling the echo of fear and pain recede from the back of his mind to be replaced with a tentative comfort.

"Vision?" he asked after Harry had calmed.

There was a moment of silence that seemed to stretch, and Draco almost gave up, thinking his lover asleep, before he felt the dark head nod from its resting-place.

"Yes."

Hands grabbed the slender figure and tried to force him to his knees. A punch was delivered to a vulnerable stomach when he resisted, and Harry’s own abdominal muscles clenched in sympathy. The man’s body folded to the ground in an attempt to protect the abused area, but another cruel hand yanked his dark hair back to prevent him from curling in on himself.

"What about?"

Under the orders of a cold, serpentine voice, the gleaming white mask was ripped from its owner’s face and thrown to the ground. A spell was aimed to where it fell and it burst into flames and sparks, a dance of harsh light that reflected a mockery of emotions within the dark eyes that watched. The man slowly raised his head, and the briefest flicker of dread and, what was even more frightening, acceptance, alit in his eyes before becoming blank again.

"S… Severus…."

"Tell me, Ssseverusss, what ussse isss a ssservant who isss bold enough to betray hisss massster twiccce?"

Defiant silence echoed in the night’s stillness, and red eyes flared.

"Bait, Ssseverusss. A lure. Ssso you sssee, you are nothing more than a sssniveling little worm writhing and ssspeared, a dirty thing to be disssposssed of. You are exxxpendable, Ssseverusss. Your life isss worthlesss. I should sssnuff the breath out of you right now for sssuch treassson."

A pause, meant to draw a response from the intended target, which remained infuriatingly motionless.

An enraged hiss made several in the circle shiver beneath their robes. The group was smaller than it had been before, containing only those who had somehow evaded Draco’s enraged blast months ago by either fleeing to the corners of the dungeon upon sighting Harry, as Severus and Lucius had done, or by not attending that particular meeting at all. Many of the latter had suffered their Lord’s wrath because of their survival.

"And yet, dessspite how I long to crush your throat, that would defeat the purpossse of the end of your pitiful exxxissstenccce. I have no doubt that Missster Potter," the name was spat out with menace, "isss with usss now, watching all of thisss, and will witnesss your death if you are killed."

Severus’ eyes imperceptibly widened, but the monstrosity before him caught it and laughed in delight, if his deranged hissing and spitting could be considered laughter.

"Why Ssseverusss, do you honessstly think that you were my only ssspy at Hogwartsss? For shame, you should have known better. Never trussst a turncoat." He chuckled again, twisting his mouth into something that resembled a smirk. "Now, now, don’t fret. I am sure the Boy-Who-Lived will come to your ressscue in due time. But of courssse, who isss to sssay I cannot do sssomething to amussse myssself while I wait?"

"What did he do to him?"

"Crucio."

Harry lifted his head from where it was pillowed to meet a silver gaze.

"We’ve been waiting all this time, getting ready for this moment, gathering information, magical artifacts, and now that we have an opening I don’t know what to do with it."

Draco’s lips quirked into a sardonic smile. His eyes glittered. "We take it."

---

"First of all," Albus began, "I do apologize for calling everyone here so unexpectedly, and I thank you for coming." His old, gnarled hands were clasped together to still their shaking. "As you have probably assumed, tonight’s failure or success could be the deciding grain that tips the scales in the war against Voldemort." Surprisingly, very few people flinched at the name. "Before I assign positions, I must say that it has been a pleasure working with you all, both on the battlefield and off, and I look forward to seeing everyone at the celebratory feast after our victory." There was a collective murmur of agreement and nervous laughter.

"Now then, let’s get started."

---

"Are you sure this will work?"

"If it doesn’t, we’re dead."

A sigh. "All right then. Carry on."

A split second later, Remus and Draco arrived within the entrance hall of the Malfoy household, body parts and invisibility cloak intact. Even Draco was surprised when he failed to sense the twinge of magic that the alarms normally would emit.

"The house must like me," he joked.

"Indeed."

The rest of the journey was as silent as it was short; that is to say, no words were spoken, for the appropriate room was discovered in half the time it had ever taken during Draco’s childhood. Shrugging it off as a result of his nervous perception, Draco turned his attention to the interior of the room while Remus securely closed the door behind them. The blond glanced at the couch in the corner, pausing to remember what he had found there so many months ago: the first moment of peace since Lucius had shattered his son’s delusions of the world.

"Draco?"

"What? Oh, sorry." The boy flushed and turned away to hide his embarrassment. His eyes caught a flash of age-worn wood in the corner; he strode toward it, pleased to recognize it as the chest from his experience with Manus Vetustatum. Draco paused a moment to trace his fingers over it, picking up dust from the surface. Then, swiftly, decisively, he flipped open the latch and slammed the chest’s lid against the wall, ignoring the swirls of dust that were released with his motions. There, hidden among ancient Hogwarts robes and books lay the stone, an oasis among an expanse of sand. Draco lifted the stone from its nest, flinching at the unnatural heat the thing emitted. It glowed under his touch, sparks of blue-black and crimson flickering beneath its smoky surface. A touch to Draco’s shoulder made him jump.

"We have to leave, Draco." Remus’ voice was soft.

In response, Draco turned and walked out of the room, gesturing for Remus to go before him. The blond gazed into his sanctuary once more before sighing as he grasped the crystal handle and firmly shut the door.

---

Screams rang around the once home of Tom Marvolo Riddle; the air was thick with pain. Lucius watched the body that writhed before him, watched the red eyes that shone with glee as curse after curse was shot from a thirteen inch, yew and phoenix feather wand. Lucius watched as dark, pain-ridden eyes brightened to green….

---

Green eyes filled with tears that would not fall. "L… Lucius, I… why?"

Lucius remembered the pain under his father’s hands, under his new Lord’s, the pain from the premature binding to his delicate, blonde fiancée, and shuddered. He turned his head away from James’ eyes. "I can’t… I couldn’t… I have no choice."

---

Gray eyes scanned the circle of robed figures, picking out the smaller forms of the children, of Nott, Parkinson, Crabbe, Goyle, all eager students to Severus’ teachings, yet all even more eager to His teachings: all spies, traitors to their Head of House.

---

"Goodbye, Lucius."

---

Lucius scrunched his eyes shut under his mask, praying that maybe, just maybe his visual ignorance would travel to his ears; which is why he missed the brilliant flash of light that kindled a salvo of gasps from Voldemort’s followers.

---

"We have it!" Remus’ victorious cry rang throughout Dumbledore’s office. The Order was gathered within, complete with the presence of the Tapestry; Harry had brought it from its haven in Severus’ and Remus’ rooms while the stone was being fetched.

Dumbledore beamed. "Excellent! Now, Harry, Draco, if you boys would be so kind as to do the honors?"

The two youngest members of the Order of the Phoenix levitated the stone to fit in the gaping hole at the center of the Tapestry. As soon as it touched the woven surface the stone emitted a brief pulse, flickering and blending into blue-black and pale green and crimson and gold before falling silent. Harry tingled with energy; he saw Draco’s hands shake. Their eyes glowed.

Dumbledore’s eyes gleamed from within his crinkled, old face. "Well done, well done. Mister Bill Weasley, I assume that you have retrieved the box from its holding?"

In response the redhead lifted up the silk covered item and passed it to Harry and Draco as would a ring bearer at a wedding ceremony.

"Good. And everyone has what is needed?" Grunts of affirmation followed. Dumbledore rubbed his gnarled hands together. "Then, I believe, it is time for us to go to work."

Epilogue

Two men sat across from each other at a breakfast table, both aged far beyond their years, both at peace. The one with salt and pepper hair spoke up, ignoring the clambering from the figures zipping around the front page of his newspaper when he looked away from it."Did you hang it up yet, Draco?"

The other man, his hair a striking white that easily suited his delicate features, answered without taking his eyes off of the orange he was slicing. "Mmm-hmm. You were right, Harry, it looks perfect in the bedroom. I always knew those high ceilings would be good for something."

---

Draco Apparated the entire Order to the old Riddle property, smirking at the surprised gasps. Immediately the Order members began hurling spells at the masked figures, both from their wands and from the numerous Spell Balls each carried. Death Eaters dropped as they were bound, petrified, and otherwise immobilized, at least until Voldemort’s enraged cry sounded across the battlefield.

"KILL THEM ALL!"

A flash of dirty blonde hair sped away from the scene the second that the Death Eaters began a counterattack, unnoticed until a Death Eater’s flash of green light made the figure collapse. Lawrence was instantly killed.

---

"Don’t forget, Severus and Remus are coming over today; it’s the Anniversary, remember?"

Green eyes flickered up to meet silver in acknowledgement. "How could I forget? Twenty-five years. Are they coming to celebrate, or to… to mourn?"

---

Draco and Harry did their best to edge through the writhing mass of wizards, witches and spells, surreptitiously making their way toward Voldemort while clutching the silk-covered box between them.

"YOU!"

Apparently their movements were not surreptitious enough. Voldemort released a powerful "Avada Kedavra"… headed straight at Draco. Harry pulled the blond toward him, just as a Death Eater charged at Voldemort, pushing his Lord away and absorbing the brunt of the curse. The mask was torn from the man who wore it when he hit the ground.

"FATHER!"

---

Draco closed his eyes. "Both. Always both." A sigh. "It’s the same, you know, as the way you felt when the Dursley’s died. He hurt me, but…."

Harry finished the sentence for his husband. "He was still your father. Yes, Love, I understand."

---

Despite the grief squeezing the blood from Draco’s heart, he knew an opportunity when he saw it. "Now, Harry."

Together they called upon their individual magic, called upon a power based on little more than a theory centering on Lily Potter’s most selfless act, and the miracle she had helped her son perform fifteen years ago. Harry brought forth his healing, his Light, and Draco brought forth his destruction, his Dark. They flung their strands of light at Voldemort, watching with amazement when the magic coiled around His serpentine form in blues and greens and reds and golds, drawing forth an unearthly scream from Voldemort’s twisted throat. The contrasting powers of the Northern Dragon and the Great Stag tore a hole in the fabric Voldemort’s being, a black abyss swirling within his gut. Slowly, slowly, the blackness spilled forth in an inky flow of sullied magic, taking with it the devastated soul of Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Draco held the silk fabric surrounding the box while Harry lifted the wooden thing from its armor. They took a deep breath and pulled open the lid, using all of their will power not to gaze into the box’s endless depths. The ancient powers within the box inhaled Voldemort’s magic with an irrepressible vacuum. As soon as the tail of black slipped inside, the box shut its own lid closed, and bolts of some unnamable metal manifested around its sides, sealing Voldemort’s corruption away from the world.

---

"I’m still a bit surprised that it took him so long to die, afterward," Harry said, "Voldemort, I mean. Three years is a long time, and considering that he was already into his seventies, or something, he must have felt like twice that age after everything he put his body through."

---

When the spells’ residue cleared away from the battlefield, all eyes turned to the once proud form of Lord Voldemort. In his place crouched a vulnerable, mangled old man, drooling and mumbling and clutching his knotted fingers around strands of sparse, brittle gray hair, as if a victim of a Dementor’s Kiss.

Harry’s hands were shaking as he slipped the box back into its silken prison and dropped it to the ground. Draco fell against him, shuddering as he whispered, "It’s over, He’s gone, it’s over, it’s finally over…." Harry just held him tighter.

---

The doorbell rang. "It’s them. I’ll get it," Draco said, eager to see his surrogate fathers. Harry, ever the polite host, folded up his newspaper to join them in the living room. The four men fell into the comfortable habits they had among each other, chattering and bickering without insult, ignoring the family heirloom three rooms away.

The Tapestry was worn, looking every one of its thousand-plus years. The stone in the center was cracked from the stress of Harry and Draco’s spell twenty-five years ago, dull and colorless. But, if the light from the room’s windows shot across the room just so, and fell against the tattered embroidery, then the Tapestry wound catch the light, and the eyes of the Northern Dragon and Great Stag would glitter with mirth.

End.