playing the game, living the lie

playing the game, living the lie.

A h/d ficby Abaddon.

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chapter7: a simple kind of life

time: continues directly on from chapter 6.

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Harry barely managed to recover in time for class; Ron and Hermione prying him from his seat and back up to the dorms where they grabbed books and parchment and quills for the morning´s lesson and near bolted for the History of Magic.

He took down the required notes, listening to the droning voice of Professor Binns, but his mind was whirling on quite a different plane. Malfoy? Draco Malfoy? He could have flipped his wand round and cursed himself. It was so obvious! No wonder no-one was willing to discuss it with him! It was so....disturbing. And it made such perfect sense. Suddenly, all those glances fell into place. It was Draco´s attempts to...mark him, almost. Ginny used to look at him with adoration, but Draco...it was ownership, and possession. And beyond it all, a deep and dark need that scared Harry shitless. As if Harry was some kind of addiction, or fix. Draco needed him, and going without him nearly destroyed the Slytherin, but at the same time, Draco knew that getting Harry would not lead to happiness or personal satisfaction, just the unnatural euphoria of a successful hit.

And now Harry knew that Draco knew. Except Harry didn´t know what he was going to do about it. He was reminded of Cho, back in fourth year, when his schoolboy crush must have seemed so apparent. This is how she must have felt: embarrassed, and also a little bit guilty. What had he done, to make Draco feel so? What had she done, to make Harry feel the way he had? Nothing except be friendly, and that obviously didn´t count in Draco´s case.

No. He had treated the boy with a kind of merciful contempt, making it always clear that Draco was beyond his hatred. Just a bug, an annoyance, compared to the greater danger of Voldemort. Even Snape was more threatening! Perhaps that was how it had began; a driving need for Harry to notice him, to be worthy even of his hatred. To obsess over someone so completely they became your entire world, and then finally, to surrender. Harry couldn´t imagine it, and all he had were pop psychology guesses, clutching at straws to find the cause.

The cause was not the problem; rather the solution. Or what amongst all wizardry he was going to do about it. Harry bit his lip, absently noting the occasional date or spouted phrase, lost in thought. He was so busy trying not to think that he missed Professor Binns´ final comment, only a familiar name bringing him out of his reverie. Well, that and Ron´s relieved mugging, which told him something must be up. And no, it wasn´t that the Professor had absently minded floated through the front row, like he had last class.

The entire class seemed to have perked up, Harry realised, intent on catching what was going on. "As I just said," the Professor reiterated, seemingly put out by the fact students were actually happy in his class, "you´ll be doing a double credit assignment with Professor Lupin. For the next few weeks you´ll be going over a topic in Defence Against the Dark Arts, and the research project can count towards your History of Magic grade, if you wish it."

The excited murmurs continued, and Hermione leaned over towards Harry, eyes bright. "I wonder if we´re allowed to do two research projects?" she asked breathlessly, leading to a fond grin and appropriate rolling of the eyes by Ron. She swatted in him gently in return, and the two looked at Harry. All three grinned.

Hogwarts´ own Scooby gang (a name suggested by Dean once, mischievously, which had Harry rolling with laughter; thanks to Saturday mornings watching whatever Dudley wanted, and getting the jokes more than he did) was back in business.

Harry hurried along to the DADA classroom still reeling from the idea of learning something History of Magic related. Of actually learning, rather than just repeating by rote. Once he got there however, he noticed a small crowd hanging outside the closed door. Hermione, books wrapped protectively against her chest, looked almost lost.

"He´s not here."

"What?"

Ron chipped in. "Professor Lupin´s not here. He´s late."

Harry was curt. "Don´t be silly, it´s Lupin." Professor Lupin was rarely early, but he had never been late. Well, not this late. The school body knew just how much he loved his teaching job, and would generally fight a horde of Death Eaters - and win - to get there on time.

Harry heard someone step out behind him. "Lucky it wasn´t a full moon last night, Potter, or I´d assume he ate someone." Harry turned round to see a sneer - casual, and yet somehow not, because Draco Malfoy would never taint himself with anything casual - and realised that today of all days was not the day, he didn´t need Draco suddenly trying to prove his Slytherin masculinity, or other such bollocks. And yet, he knew that if Draco was going to snap, it would be over Remus Lupin. After the mess that had resulted in his departure at the end of third year, the only way that Dumbledore had managed to calm the parents´ down was to enlist the aid of another teacher, one who could guarantee that Lupin was completely safe, a puppy dog really, thanks to the Wolfsbane potion.

Severus Snape was that teacher. He´d forced a smile (grimace perhaps; Snape wasn´t the smiling type), and assured everyone that Remus was safe to teach, and ordered his House to obey the newly returned DADA master as they would any teacher.

The Slytherins had seen their classroom sullied by a `monster´ and their teacher forced to defend it. If Snape hadn´t prevented them from crying bloody murder, they would have. As it was, their restlessness was turned inward, and festered, leading to the kind of sniping that Malfoy - Draco - whatever, Harry just gave the hell up - was doing now.

Ordinarily he would have turned and said something cutting, but could he now, with what he knew? It was only suspicions, of course; Ginny could have been wrong - and Harry prayed silently that she was, but even on the off chance that she was right, he couldn´t be mean to Draco. It would be like kicking that proud little face in the teeth, and so Harry Potter made the monumental decision to attempt to be nice to Draco Malfoy.

He turned, smiled gently, and Draco reacted strongly, stepping back in alarm. Of course, Harry realised with a thud, he´s never seen me smile at him before. Probably thinks it´s all part of my nefarious plot. Git. He opened his mouth to say - what, he didn´t know, and was rescued by the fortuitous presence of Professor Lupin coming up the corridor, more than five minutes late.

Harry narrowed his eyes, curiously. Remus seemed almost...flustered, near dropping his wand, his black teacher´s satchel under one arm. Every now and then this faraway look seemed to come over his face and he stopped what he was doing. Fumbling with said wand, he managed to open up the classroom, and hold the door open whilst everyone bustled in, ignoring the Slytherins´ concerted glaring or the concerned looks from Ron, Hermione and Harry himself. Indeed, Harry thought as he ambled towards the door, maybe the Professor was sick. After all, he was wearing a scarf and it wasn´t even that cold. The scarf slipped slightly, and Harry´s eyes widened. All of a sudden he looked straight forward and walked to his seat stiffly, as if shocked.

Professor Lupin had...marks on his neck. Not bite marks, well, not in the sense that he had been deliberately bitten, Harry prayed. But marks nonetheless, and he´d seen marks like that before...on Lee Jordan, the morning after his date with that Hufflepuff girl whose name Harry could never remember. Lee had blushed a lot, and had been teased, and Harry knew exactly why Remus Lupin had been late to class.

He´d lived with them over the summer, and even though they took care to use a silencing spell in the bedroom - or the kitchen, Harry remembered with suitable revulsion, and then wondered why he hadn´t repressed that: there had been times when their charge had walked in on the middle of something, and deep embarrassment had reigned for all concerned. So right now, Harry took out his quill and his parchment, and sat next to Ron and `Mione, and did his very best to continue his grand old tradition of repression where his adoptive guardians were concerned.

Not so much because sex squicked him out - it didn´t, but really. They were old. Like mid-thirties! Shudder shudder ick ick.

Lupin was standing, laid-back, easy, against the wall, next to the blackboard. He flustered for a moment when he realised his scarf was slipping, but soon regained his usual relaxed humour. "In the world, generally, most people learn to do things a certain way. You´ll have noticed. Most people speak English, as either their first or second language - it´s a common tongue, and as it grows, other languages became disused, and finally extinct. Similar things happen in both wizard and muggle societies; after all, there´s not one magical multinational corporation that doesn´t have a vault in Gringotts, and it´s Head Office in London, or Paris, or Berlin. Britain, and Europe, is the centre of the wizardring worlds. Magicians from Taipei to Freetown copy the latest fashion in robes from Paris, or make sure they order their wands from Ollivanders, or some such. In the Muggle world, people make sure they look to America for advice, to look like the characters off their television programmes, or even just to be watching them, so they can fit in."

He looked around the room, pretty confident that most would get the references, as quite a large group was doing Muggle Studies this year, and even those who hadn´t had heard about `tellyvishon´. Ron and Harry looked at each other over Hermione´s head, who was busy scribbling notes and drooling on her page from an overabundance of information. They had no idea where this was leading, but it sounded vaguely interesting and at least it wasn´t trying to eat them.

"It´s what we call `cultural assimilation´," proclaimed the Professor, writing it on the board. "People change their own ways and habits so they can be more like you, and their original habits die out. Now, as you will also have noticed, our magic is based upon the Greco-Roman system of doing things. Other systems exist, certainly, from African shamans to Aboriginal dreamwalkers to secluded groups of Buddhist, Shinto and Taoist monks. But as more and more people learn our way of doing things, then it becomes more convenient and more desirable that everyone do things our way. There´s a set way of playing Quidditch, for example; a set list of ingredients for wand use and so on." Striding round the front of the room, he turned on his heel, and paced back. "In the past, we have explicitly banned other systems of magic, or wiped them out. The Aztec for example, or the Germanic. Some have died out on their own accord, such as the Egyptian. Some have survived, having adapted enough to be no longer considered a threat, such as the Celtic, and some have had large enough followings to `go it alone´, like the Arabian. Over the next few weeks, Professor Binns and I are going to focus on some of these lost or dying systems of magic, because when you go out into the world, who knows what you´ll face? Dark wizards have often made a study of these lost magicks, not so much because they are inherently bad, but because they are more overtly powerful than our own."

A few students looked surprised at that, Harry noticed, with Hermione blinking and Pansy sneering. Lupin nodded. "It´s true," he said, and took out his wand. "In our system, we have two objects of focus: the wand, which focuses your power, and the word, which focuses your intent, and shapes the power. A few wizards develop enough mental discipline that they no longer need the wand, but the word will always remain. Most non-European systems don´t actually use a wand, and to demonstrate, I´ll give you an example from the Aztec."

He pulled out a small pocket knife and leaned over his desk. The class craned over their desks to see. Folding his shirt sleeve up, he pulled the knife across his forearm in one quick movement, and allowed a few red drops to drip down onto the mahogany, before staunching it with a clean hanky. "Most cultures without wands still need that focus for the power. Many chose blood, which is another reason why the magic was suppressed or died out. Blood magic, now, is very tricky. You give of yourself, wholly and totally. It´s draining, far beyond wand magic, because it´s so immediate, and almost addictive." Professor Lupin looked up to find most of the class hanging on his every word. "Your wand is an insulator as well as a focus; it protects you, makes sure you don´t spend too much of yourself, although it´s still possible. People have died wreaking blood magicks, because there were too deep in the spell to realise they were selling their lives in the process."

Breaking the reverie, he looked up, and peered at the huddled mass. "Now, has anyone suffered any bruises lately, or cuts?"

Everyone looked at Neville, who tentatively raised a hand. The staircase had started moving on their way between classes, and Neville, startled and scared, had tumbled down a few stairs before Hermione had whipped out her wand and froze him in place. He had a couple of nasty bruises on his arms, and one large gash on his leg, promising to go to Madam Pomfrey after class. Lupin was one of the few teachers he liked, and who liked him, and he didn´t want to miss out.

"Well, Neville, why don´t you come forward," Remus asked kindly, a twinkle in his eyes, and Neville shuffled forward. Whilst Neville took his time, Remus prepared himself, dipping his right index finger in the blood on the desk and using it to draw short straight lines under his eyes, and crosses on his palms. Looking quite bizarre, he asked Neville to stand up on the desk, and cupped his hands around the gashed leg, but not coming in contact with the skin.

Closing his eyes in concentration, Lupin whispered "Ticitl", and Neville shuddered, once, like a cool stream had just washed over him. Removing his hands, it was clear that the gash was gone, the skin totally unblemished. The entire class gaped in shock, even the Slytherins. Madam Pomfrey was never that fast. But Harry noticed how Remus´ hands were white and trembling as he sank back into his seat, like he had just carried a huge load an impossible distance.

"Any questions?"

Predictably, Hermione´s hand went up.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Professor, I was wondering if the Aztec system of magic had died out, how you could know enough to just heal Neville like that?"

That earned a smile. "A very good question, Hermione! Of course, fragments of texts have survived. Some of the less dangerous are available to scholars; however, most of the complete Aztec texts I´ve heard of, and certainly the most powerful tomes, lie in safekeeping in the Library of St. John the Beheaded."

There was an excited murmur at this, and Harry rolled his eyes at yet another wizardly term he hadn´t grown up with. Certainly, he´d heard references to the Library, but they were always in whispers, as if talking about it was a crime, and Harry could never be bothered enough to press the issue. Hermione even squealed, so rapt was she.

"Do you mean you have access to the Library, Professor Lupin?"

He laughed. "No, of course not. As you will all know-" he stopped to flash a grin at Harry, who grinned back by way of thanks for the explanation, "the Library of St. John the Beheaded is the most complete collection of dangerous and arcane magical texts on the planet, located in London. Surrounded by spells that no-one exactly understands, membership has been limited to five people for nearly two thousand years. Their names inscribed on the Book of Warding, which rests by the entrance, they are mysteriously replaced every time a member dies. The book can be read by any member of the public, but if you try to enter the Library without your name being inscribed, you die, instantly." Clearly warming to his subject, Lupin continued, "what´s most fascinating of course, is how the Book decides to choose the members, considering some of the names who´ve been listed - not always the most heroic of wizards, you know." He stopped then, and looked guilty, as if he shouldn´t continue, and quickly changed the subject.

The rest of the lesson was spent making sure they could pronounce a few basic Aztec incantations correctly, with the Professor´s promise they would use their wands instead of blood in the next class, after Neville fainted at the thought.

Harry waited for the last few students trailed out from the DADA classroom, and clutching his books, he went up to Professor Lupin. Remus was busy scrubbing blood off the desk with a rag, and looking somewhat perturbed as he did so.

"Professor?"

The look was relieved by an easy smile, which made Harry smile in return. "You don´t have to call me `Professor´, Harry, not when there´s no-one around. You know that." Remus reached across and ruffled Harry´s hair to emphasise the point.

"Right. Remus," Harry said, trying the word out in his mouth. It still felt wrong. Hmm. "Look, I´ve been noticing something a lot lately, about..." The name just slipped out. "Draco Malfoy."

That got Lupin´s attention, straightening up and forgetting the rag. "Oh yes?"

Harry nodded, ignoring the queasy feeling in his stomach. He didn´t want to have this conversation, and yet, he had to know. "I´ve been hearing...rumours," he began tentatively. "DoyouthinkDracoisinlovewithme?"

Remus cocked his head, considered exactly how he should answer the query. The truth is usually the best, he decided, although it always hurts like a bitch. "Yes, Harry, I think he is."

Harry did his best to breathe. Just...breathe.

Draco Malfoy was in love with him, and all he had to do was keep breathing.

Harry forced a smile, thanked the Professor, and walked from the room, trying not to walk into the doorframe on the way out.

Remus shook his head sadly, and went back to polishing out the bloodstains. "If this ends up like James and Lucius," he could be heard muttering, "I´m going to eat somebody."

Whilst the sixth years were getting a class in magical colonialism, Sirius Black was doing his daily rounds of the area. Most people would have just seen a large, shaggy dog carrying a bundle wrapped in brown paper as it made its way leisurely round Hogsmeade village, doing his best to stay out of harm´s - or people´s - way. Of course, if you took a greater interest, as some of the children did, crying out and ambling along in an attempt to hug or pet the dog, they would have noticed the brown leather collar and gleaming metal tag that stated he was the property of one `Remus Lupin´, a Hogwarts Professor who was known to live just outside the village with his husband. Sometimes the dog stopped to be petted and hugged, tongue lolling out, clearly pleased. In fact, it was a rare day he did not, and this wasn´t one of those rare days.

He did the usual rounds, sniffing his way round the village, taking a few moments out to enjoy the innocence of the children, and then padded his way towards the imposing castle on the horizon. He would never technically trespass onto Hogwarts land - he and Dumbledore had an agreement now, but he patrolled around it, and sent frustrated looks at the Forbidden Forest for being so dark and impenetrable.

As Sirius approached the border between ground and forest, he stopped. A familiar smell was in the air, and certainly one he hadn´t expected to find; not here and not now. His curiosity raised, he quickly made his way over and transformed in some bushes, opening the bundle to find his wand and a few clothes. Dressing, he made his way into the open, to find Severus Snape seated on the grass, looking into the Forest that lay over the embankment.

"Snape", Sirius greeted him coolly. They still despised each other, but they had managed to find some kind of peace, for Dumbledore´s sake.

Severus didn´t turn, but remained seating, and acknowledged him with an equally frosty "Black."

"What brings you out here?"

Severus turned and glared. "Studying the roses." There were, of course, no roses in sight.

Sirius settled himself down besides the man, and moments passed.

"I don´t like having to prove myself to you," Snape admittedly, finally, grudgingly.

"Albus trusts you," began the other man.

"Albus trusts everybody!" Snape retorted. "Albus would trust Voldermort if he thought there was a skerrick of humanity left in the man!" He bit back the angry response and fumed for a bit longer. "You don´t trust me though, do you, Black? I know Lupin pities me, but you just hate me. I think I prefer you to Lupin."

"Remus is a better person than I am."

"Yes," Snape agreed, smirking, drawing out the pause, "yes he is."

"If you don´t want to be pitied, and are uncomfortable with trust, why you just go back to Voldemort completely, instead of playing double agent?"

A bloodless smile. "What makes you think I haven´t?"

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Who ever said I didn´t?"

Snape chuckled, deep and low. Touché.

"I never told you what made me leave them, did I? The Death Eaters." He fell back onto his arms, the sun playing on his face.

"You´ve only told Dumbledore, as far as anyone knows."

A pause.

"I was there, at Draco´s conception."

Oh yes. He had heard rumours about that night, and there were things even Remus wouldn´t tell him, things that no-one understood. Just hints,and educated guesses.

"I saw Lucius use that poor woman, and use himself, like some kind of cheap whore doing tricks for his pimp, and...I was sickened. I still don´t know exactly what happened; The Dark Lord used magicks that hadn´t been spoken in half a millennia, and all to get that child. And I knew that the child would grow up doing the things we did, and seeing them as commonplace, and it wasn´t the world I wanted to build. It wasn´t any purer, any better. It was merely about power, without grace or boundary, power run mad." He stopped then, and sighed.

"You are the only Slytherin I have ever met who gives a toss about rules, you know." Sirius looked, bemused, at the man lying besides him, shading his own eyes from the sun.

"They create order," Snape replied, "and I know the human capacity for darkness too well to trust that we could muddle our way through chaos." He stood up, and dusted himself off, taking the time to grimace at a few stray bits of grass that clung to his black robe. "Now, if you´ll excuse me, I have class."

Sirius nodded, as if letting him depart. "Of course."

Snape walked off towards the castle, and called out without looking back. "You´re right though...the Hat said I should have gone in Ravenclaw."

The other man chuckled, and decided to walk back to Hogsmeade, and home.

Harry was running down the corridor, desperately trying not to be late for Potions. He knew technically that due to his conversation with Professor Lupin - Remus - he invariably was, and there was no changing that. But for once Harry wished that he had all the luck and talent that was usually assigned to him, so he could change the temporal constant and thereby arriveon time. Of course, if he did something like that he knew that either Malfoy or Snape would merely lift an eyebrow and snidely comment that the next time Harry wanted to time travel, he could take the entire class along for the ride.

Blinding by his fear, Harry hurtled round the corridor, and saw too late, the tall slender frame in front of him. Knowing with a gut certainty that he would never be able to stop in time, Harry braked vainly and closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable painful `thud´, and the subsequent tangle of limbs. He felt a slight woosh, like air going through a tunnel - not what he expected at all. Then he waited, and waited and...

Opened his eyes.

Blinking, Harry found himself in empty corridor, made all the more puzzling by the dragging sensation on his collar. He turned round, awkwardly, to find Professor Dumbledore standing there, smiling, keeping Harry from sliding over thanks to his surprisingly strong grasp.

"But...But..." he stammered, unsure of what had happened.

"Yes, Harry. We should have collided," the older man agreed, with a friendly nod. "I believe we should merely trust the fates that we did not." At this he spread his hands out evenly on either side, palms up, as if giving thanks for the fortuitous event.

Harry stood, torn between the momentary relief of Dumbledore´s conversation and the fear of Potions´ class. Snape will hate me if I´m late, he thought, before realising. Snape hates me anyway. "Professor", he began, intent on worming his way out, "I´ve got Potions now, so I can´t..." His gaze then fell curiously to the envelope that seemed to have appeared in Dumbledore´s left hand, taking it when proffered.

He stared at it dumbly it, recognising the hand as Dumbledore´s, back from when he got his letter of acceptance from Hogwarts, what, nearly six years ago? It was addressed to Professor Severus Snape, the f´s looking more like s´s, and inside, in the same slightly free hand, was a small note explaining Harry´s absence and apologising for detaining him for the beginning of class, signed Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster.

Dumbledore knew! Harry was almost outraged, and certainly speechless. Dumbledore had planned this, anticipated for it, and made sure that Harry could cover the consequences of his own actions. But that driving curiosity burned within him; he had to know what was going on, what his Headmaster was planning. And so, he waited.

"Do tell me, Harry", Dumbledore began, "where is the best place to hide something?"

Harry stopped, thrown by the question. He´d expected it to be something huge like, `Have you been dreaming of Voldemort lately?´, or `Did you know, the War is over?´ - maybe he hadn´t really known what he expected. But whatever it was, it was not this. "Um....in the one place that nobody expects?" he began hesitantly, and then clarified himself. "I mean, in open sight," he declared triumphantly, and then wondered if that made any sense at all.

Dumbledore rubbed his beard for a few seconds and then suddenly beamed down at the student. "How extraordinary!" he loudly exclaimed, causing Harry to jump back a mite, before bending down to grasp Harry´s hand firmly and shake it vigorously up and down. "In open sight, yes, what a magnificent idea!" the Headmaster continued, chortling to himself as he let go of Harry´s hand (by now paining somewhat from the vigorous handshake) and toddled off down the corridor.

"Um, Professor Dumbledore?" Harry called after him plaintively. He still didn´t know what exactly he should do about Draco - or rather he did, but he was worried that he would be too afraid to do it. "I´ve got this problem, and...", trailing off, unsure, the boy looked down the corridor.

"Yes, Harry?" asked the older man, smiling gently, a twinkle in his eyes. "I can´t help you unless you tell me what´s wrong."

"I..." he faltered, afraid of what Dumbledore would think of him, and decided to take another tack. "I have a decision I don´t want to make."

"Seize the moment, Harry!" Dumbledore implored him. "That´s the thing about moments, you know - they exist to be jumped at. " The excitement left him, and he became more philosophical. "In moments, wars are lost and won, history made. It is the moments that force us to consider `am I doing the right thing?´ - the past is gone, and the future never quite arrives. In the now, in moments, we find out who we are." He smiled, gently, sadly at Harry. "Are you brave enough, Harry? To find out what you´re really capable of?"

Leaving the teenager speechless, he turned around and walked down the corridor in silence, save for the hem of his robes swishing against the stone floor.

Snape seemed to be in a unusually good mood, Harry decided. It wasn´t as if he was smiling or anything, but he had taken a minimum of points off Gryffindor, and he hadn´t been completely sadistic, and say paired him with Malfoy or something. Merely with Neville, which promised Harry would need to buy a new robe by the end of class, although thankfully the end was rapidly approaching. Snape hadn´t even queried the note; merely noted that the next time the Headmaster wished to gain advice from the Boy Who Lived, he would of course put the entire class on hold until Harry arrived.

"I trust you will all be able to give me ten inches on the exact uses of Dusetonium, especially with regards to stimulant potions, by Wednesday, and come up with a practical example of the potions use in healing that you will take at least another five inches to describe. There will be no exceptions for any of you," he added, with a pointed glare at Neville that made the boy yelp and nearly fall back into his cauldron. "Mr Potter, make sure Mr Longbottomdoes not have an unfortunate accident, please," he commented tiredly, flicking his greasy hair back, while Harry grabbed hold of an arm and righted the unfortunate Neville.

"That will be all," and the class shuffled its way out.

Harry noticed Draco up ahead, so, summoning his courage, he took a deep breath and cut through the swathe of people to step in front of him, causing the blonde to stop and stare.

"Do you think I could talk to you for a few minutes, Draco?"

The entire corridor gasped, and Harry glared. "In private." The gathered crowd soon got the message and scurried off to tell friends, owl relatives or perhaps just gossip amongst themselves that Harry Potter had asked to speak to Draco Malfoy in private. Harry nearly kicked himself when he noticed Hermione giving him a friendly wave in parting, and Seamus and Dean´s identical thumb´s up.

Honestly.

He led Draco into an adjacent corridor, hoping that it was as disused as it looked, and surprised - and a bit disturbed - by Draco´s acceptance to be led. Turning around to be faced with a bored sneer left Harry lost for words, struggling to find expression to what he was going to say.

I know you´re in love with me Draco, and I want it to stop?

I´m very flattered, but well, you are kind of an evil bastard?

Does my arse look too big in this robe?

A cool tone cut across his thoughts, reducing them to gibberish. "Exactly what did you have in mind, Potter? Because some of us have better things to do than being lectured by Hogwarts´ Hero on how to live their lives."

Harry glared. "Do you exist to piss me off, was this your father´s idea, as usual?"

"Well, I´m sorry-" he didn´t sound it, not one bit "-if you´re so oversensitive to anything insignificant little me says. Must be the guilt, I suppose. All that attention and adoration, and you know you don´t deserve it."

"Look, I´m just trying to be civil here. Is that too much too ask? Just to be civil? Just once?"

"What do you want to say, so civilly?"

"Why can´t we be friends?" Harry burst out, and was rewarded with a raised eyebrow.

"You had your chance to be my friend a long time ago, and you made it very clear to everyone that for the Boy Who Lived, a Weasley was better than a Malfoy. That I was not good enough."

Harry was aghast. Draco remembered that? Six years later, and he remembered that? "Excuse me then! I guess I must have had a problem with you trying to give me advice on everything, considering that everyone else in my life had judged me incapable of living it!" Malfoy opened his mouth to speak, but Harry would now be dissuaded, his own sarcasm in full vent. "And your father! Your father this, and your father that. Maybe I wanted to become friends with Draco, not his father´s little puppet." By this stage, Draco was opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish, shocked. "Forgive if I thought an arrogant little toady wasn´t worth my while!"

Harry stood, shoulders heaving from the emotion, whereas Draco´s face got whiter and his eyes narrower. "You little shit," he sneered, "trying to use my father against me just because the only decent thing yours did was get himself killed-"

"Draco!" Harry roared, moving forward to shake the other boy´s shoulders in an attempt to get him to stop...

And it worked. The moment Harry touched him,he blinked, as if he´d forgotten everything else. "Yes?"

"Why can´t we just be friends, eh?" Harry asked again, not quite wanting to deal with the emotion he had elicited.

"Then I wouldn´t be able to upset you," Draco shot back. "Obviously my father would have me killed," he added, trying not to smirk. He stood back, freeing himself from Harry´s grasp.

"Oh, yes and of course, that would trouble me so. You´re not the centre of my world, surprisingly. Remember Voldemort? Deformed guy, Dark Lord. Wants to kill me and take over the world. He rates just a bit more highly than you on my list of things to freak about, and honestly, with him on my back, I don´t need any other enemies. What I need are friends."

"It would never work: you´re a Gryffindor, I´m a Slytherin. Besides-" a sad smile crossed his face "-we want different things, I´m sure." With that, he turned to walk away.

Harry´s mind was in a whirl. He´d just seen that vulnerability, that window into Draco that opened for him and only him. If he could just use it...

In moments we find out what we´re capable of...

"I need you." The words came unbidden, tumbling out of Harry´s mouth. But they were out there now, and by Merlin, he would use them.

Draco stopped, and turned back, his face swathed in shadows, but Harry could still see his eyes shining in the darkness. "Pardon?",he breathed, as if he was too scared to say anything stronger and break the moment.

In an instant, Harry crossed to him, and placed his hands on the shoulders on the other boy again. "I need you," he repeated, forcing a goofy smile to his face. "Don´t ask me why, I won´t be able to explain it." Don´t ask me why, he pleaded internally, or I might just tell you the truth. I need you because there´s a War coming, and I can´t let someone with your knowledge and contacts stay on his side...and I´ll use your feelings for me to get you on my side. That´s all.

Draco grinned, the slight turning of one corner of his mouth speaking volumes; Harry could feel him relaxing under his hands. "I won´t ask then."

"Friends then?"Harry repeated, smiling as if to hint at a deeper subtext, blushing when Draco laughed and agreed, slipping one arm easily around Harry´s neck. He probably thinks I´m blushing cause I´m giddily in love with him, Harry thought, cursing himself. Rather the blush came from embarrassment and guilt.

Draco was looking at him now, still smiling, blushing himself, and Harry wanted to hit him, to make him bleed, to score that handsome face, anything! - justto get Draco to stop looking at him like that. As if I meant something.

As if I meant everything.

I don´t deserve it, Harry pleaded, crying inside, feeling everything he´d ever built, everything he thought he was, just collapse. Heroic? No. Virtuous? No. Honest? Merlin forbid. He was reduced to manipulating the affections of the one person who´d loved him despite everything, and turning something almost...sacred into a desecration. I´m weak, and I´m horrible and I´m using you, and I know it, because I chose to do it. For the first time in your life you´ve trusted someone with your humanity, and I don´t give a damn. You deserve better than me, he thought, keeping the smile plastered on.

But damn you for looking at me as if I mean everything to you, and damn me most of all, because when you look at me like that...

I don´t want you to stop.

Deep within the corridors, in a disused storeroom, Professor Dumbledore watched a group of house-elves busy themselves wrapping the object before him up in cloth, ready to be transported to the Entrance Hall. There was `plain sight´, or the best that Dumbledore could do. Stroking his beard, he continued to watch, whilst making sure that no house-elf would be adversely tempted.

House-elves were good, honest beings, fortunately. They never really wanted much than to do good work and be rewarded, usually with a lack of clothing and wages. Satisfaction, pride in a job well done, that was their pay. They were hardly going to be distracted, and if they were, it would be no more than with the promise of some socks, perhaps. One of the reasons he had forbidden that Dobby help was that he was not like other house-elves,and dreams of grandeur had a curious way of being distorted by this...thing.

In front of him, the Mirror of Erised quivered like a living thing, aware of its own encroaching imprisonment, and the elderly Professor sighed with relief as the last inch of the reflective surface was finally covered over with cloth. He could feel it, vainly, trying to escape, reaching out in anticipation of the one whose destiny was entwined with its own.

Not for the first time, he cursed Merlin for having made the damn thing in the first place. Too powerful to destroy, it had slept unused after the great wizard had passed into the Otherworld, and came into the school´s care, along with a lot of magical relics. Dumbledore had been uneasy around it since the first time he´d come into contact with it; not because it held any specific power over him, but the reactions were impossible to gauge...and before he knew it, it had already driven someone mad.

It had lay quietly following the conquest, before it had nearly gotten a hold on Harry. He had put a stop to that, thank the Valar. It was waiting still, waiting to be used again in the fashion it was created for, waiting for a wizard that powerful to rise again, and give it the satisfaction of a job well done. Uncaring that it would damn the world in the process.

Bloody thing, thought Dumbledore, and kicked it softly in protest.