When the Darkness Broke In

Chapter ~ II

This is the Hour When the Mysteries Emerge

"Would someone please explain the reason for this strange behaviour...?"Duran Duran

Harry arrived for breakfast late the next morning, sat down at his usual place, picked up a bowl and filled it with cornflakes before he even realised there was an envelope perched against the milk jug. To his amazement he found his own name on the front. It was obvious that the letter had been delivered by hand, as the owls usually delivered directly to the addressee, and he looked around the room, wondering who might have left it there. Across the hall, a pair of steel-grey eyes was fixed on him intently. Oh not you again! Sighing exaggeratedly, he ripped open the parchment envelope and pulled out its contents. On them was written a single sentence: "I want to speak to you; lunchtime, at the bottom of the South Tower." It wasn't signed, and Harry almost wondered at the arrogance of the simple statement. Not "I would like", not "Can I?" but "I want." Harry looked at Malfoy, watched him staring back at him determinedly, and any trace of wonder faded. The little snob expects me to tend to his beck and call? Well stuff that. Harry shook his head and screwed up the parchment. I've been way too passive for far too long. Not any more, I'm afraid. Malfoy frowned slightly, and lowered his eyes. A moment later he stood and strode from the room, barging past Ron as he did so.

"Happy's back to his old self, then..?" Ron asked as he sat down beside his friend, and began to help himself to a full English.

"What?"

"Malfoy..."

"Oh, yeah..." Harry looked for a moment at the bunched up paper in his hands, "He left me this, this morning... He 'wanted' to meet me at lunch."

"Cheeky little...!"

"That's probably why he's in a mood - I think I made it clear I wasn't going to be there..."

"Waddya do? Give him the finger or something?"

"Nah, just screwed it up."

"Should have told him where to stick his little love notes; I would've done."

"I know you would, but much as I love you, Ron, I don't want to be you." He patted the other boy on the shoulder, then thought for a moment and decided to back-track slightly. "In a manner of speaking with the 'love' bit, obviously..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. So, captain, we got practise today?"

"After dinner? We need to get the rest of the team together, anyway - hold try outs - I posted a notice on the common room board yesterday..."

Ron took a mouthful of bacon and continued to speak through it, hiding his mouth with his hand. "I know. Lost Alicia, Kate and Oliver now, 'aven't we? Bugger it. After that whole Triwizard thing we don't even know if any of the newer kids are any good..." Ron's voice faded out of Harry's consciousness.

No one had mentioned the Triwizard Tournament since school had ended last term. He hadn't told the Dursleys about it because they wouldn't care and Sirius and Remus hadn't spoken about it at all. He'd wondered, once or twice, if they were intentionally steering clear of the issue. At first, he'd been afraid to come back to school; he'd worried that people would blame him for what happened. Admittedly, one or two of the Hufflepuffs had given him sorrowful glances in the corridors, and Herbology had been slightly subdued in the first lesson, but no one had outwardly blamed him. Cho had even smiled at him when they met in the entrance hall before dinner a couple of days ago. But maybe it was worse, now he came to think about it, because for all he knew they may still believe he'd had some part to play; that he could have done more than he did. They could easily be talking about him behind his back. But that really wouldn't be anything new, would it?

Harry had been through all that in his head innumerable times. Sometimes he would see the vivid flash of green beneath his eyelids and flinch. Or he would wake up dreaming that Cedric was in his bedroom, begging with him, pleading for help to return to his body. Or that he had died instead of Cedric and asked Cedric to take his body back but realised there was no one for him to take it to. In his dreams Sirius and Remus never seemed to feature. It was a harrowing few weeks, but the dreams had gradually started to fade, which he was greatly thankful for. He had come to the conclusion, after many long hours thinking about it in the middle of the night, that there was nothing he could have done. Neither he nor Cedric had been prepared for... that. Cedric knew that when he appeared from Voldemort's wand. He hadn't been angry with Harry, he just asked for that one thing, which Harry had done readily. He couldn't do any more for Cedric, now. He wished it had never happened from the very depths of his heart, but he'd passed the stage of blaming himself. He was just lucky - and exceptionally glad - that no one, not even the Slytherins (and this surprised him deeply), seemed to hold him responsible. That would probably be the one thing he would never get over, but the added fact that a Veritassed Confession had been taken from Wormtail and large excerpts serialised in the newspapers - including an account of Voldemort's return to power - seemed to have satisfied people.

Fudge, bizarrely, was still denying that Voldemort had returned to power, despite accepting the Sirius was innocent and pardoning him on almost identical evidence. Harry had been quite angry when Remus had showed him newspapers from the few weeks before he arrived at the cottage. It seemed that he had actually been caught almost a week before Remus came to collect Harry from the Dursleys'. Wormtail had been apprehended while breaking into a Wizarding pet shop and caught as he tried to bundle a nine foot python into a sack. No one had recognised him at first, and he had been arrested purely for robbery. However, when he was taken to the station and the desk assistant fainted at the sight of him and later declared that he was in fact Peter Pettigrew - a classmate from Hogwarts who had been murdered years before - people became quite suspicious to say the least. Fudge had been out of the country at the time, which proved fortunate as the Deputy Minister - Amadeo Lightweather - was firmly in support of Dumbledore, and a confession was extracted before Fudge returned. At any rate, as had been explained later, even if Fudge had let the Dementors have Wormtail, there would still be a positively identified body. Sirius obviously hadn't murdered Peter Pettigrew, thus raising considerable doubt about whether he was responsible for anything.

"Harry? HARRY?? OI, CLOTH EARS!"

"What? Sorry, Ron... Just...um...y'know - thinking..."

"About Malfoy? Why-"

"No, Ron... doesn't matter... What were you saying?"

"Never mind, come on - Divination in quarter of an hour and I've gotta get my bag, yet..."

Together, they made their way out of the hall and towards the marble staircase. "The others are all going to come out and watch the try outs, by the way - they want to case the talent or something."

"Fair enough. So are we the only fifth years, this year? I mean, none of our-year girls are going to want to, are they?"

"Nope."

"Potter?"

The voice came from the top of the stairs, just ahead of them, and both boys looked up to see the relentless Slytherin bearing down on them. "What now, Malfoy?"

"You screwed up my note."

"No shit, Sherlock," Ron muttered, folding his arms.

Without even looking at Ron the other boy continued. "I want to talk to you, Potter, is that too much to ask?"

"Well, actually, yes. What part of 'drop dead' don't you understand? Just leave me alone, Malfoy. Come on, Ron." Harry tugged at his friend's arm and moved to head the rest of the way up the steps, but Malfoy stepped into their path again. Beginning to feel quite angry, Harry scowled up at him and was ready to snap "get out of my way", but Malfoy spoke first, his grey eyes dark and exceptionally storm-like. They unnerved Harry, suggested something was brewing - not something that would explode in a violent rage - but something that would just spill over and make a god-awful mess.

"Why are you doing this?"

"S'cuse me?"

"Why are you being such a cock-sure little prat? You don't understand what you're doing, here..."

"No, you're right, I don't - I'm meant to be on my way to Divination, so if you'd just move..."

"Ignorance doesn't suit you, Harry... This is your last chance: I want to talk to you, and you need to hear what I have to say. Will you meet me at lunchtime?"

Harry stared into the unreadable haze of the other boy's eyes and set his jaw. "No. Now this your last chance, Malfoy, before I tell Dumbledore you're stalking me: Leave. Me. Alone." With that, both he and Ron pushed their way past him and strode off towards Gryffindor Tower in silence. It wasn't until they reached the ladder at the bottom of the trap door into Divination that Ron stopped and muttered. "There was one thing that was really weird about that, you know... he called you 'Harry'..."

Professor Trelawney was sweeping around the classroom in her yards of beaded necklaces and unnervingly rustling robes. "Ah! As I foresaw, my children - they are late..." she sighed as Harry and Ron sat down at the table beside Seamus and Dean and she handed them each a smallish leather pouch. "Do not open them!" she cried as Ron tugged at his drawstring, "We have not yet discussed what is inside..." Shuffling noisily to her vast winged armchair she sat down and beckoned for them all to move closer.. Producing a larger pouch of her own, she lowered her voice to her usual drawn-out whisper. "For thousands of years our cousins in other continents have relied on unusual forms of Divination to bring them news of the future. In here-" she raised the pouch in cupped hands, and gently began to massage its contents through the material, "is the most potent form. Ideally, this should be performed on bare earth, but I am convinced that my psychic influence upon this space is sufficient for the more adept among you to obtain an accurate enough reading." She untied the bag and poured its contents onto the tablecloth. They all leaned closer with curiosity, until Parvati gave a high-pitched squeal and leapt back.

"THEY'RE BONES!!"

A collective "Eugh" swept through the class, and Professor Trelawney waited for calm, a look of mild distaste on her face. "I would not expect those less possessing of the Gift to be properly enamoured of these tokens, but you will all try your hands at casting them." She spread a cloth on the table; in its centre was a circle divided into thirds with small markings on them signifying the numbers one to three. Professor Trelawney raised the small collection of bones in her cupped hands and spilled them onto the cloth. Studying them for a moment she gasped and raised both thin hands to her mouth. "Goodness!"

"Here we, go, Tink," Ron whispered in Harry's ear, "looks like you're going to be abducted by goblins or something..."

"I see Dark things..." Trelawney whispered from behind one hand, the other having been moved to cover her heart as though she was having palpitations. Lavender and Parvati gasped and clutched at each other. "Ronald Weasley..." she murmured, staring at him with abnormally wide eyes, one hand raised to point at him limply.

"EH?" Ron looked around him in surprise, "Me??"

"You will cast away beliefs with which you have grown. The wind of change blows strongly about you. The Darkness deplores you, child, and soon confrontation will come. All will change." She closed her eyes and clasped her hands before her lips, swaying slightly in her chair, "I see opposition and reversal; doors opening, circles completed, a departure from the old ways. Oh! The flames! The flames burn bright..."

The whole room stared at Ron, who, despite looking rather pale, gave a laugh and cleared his throat. "Well, um, thanks, Professor... I'll...er... keep my eyes open... for, um... fire and stuff."

"Bloody 'ell, Harry..." Ron muttered at they returned to their table, "What's she picking on me for?"

"Dunno," Harry grinned, "but come on, she's only ever got one prediction right the we know of, hasn't she?"

"What was she on about, 'the Darkness deplores' me?"

"The 'Darkness' deplores everyone, Ron."

"But still!"

Harry opened his bag of bones and studied them with a slight grimace. I hope these aren't human or anything! "Here you go, I'll do you a reading... It'd probably be a bit more accurate, anyway..." he said, spreading his cloth out on the table and picking up the bones reluctantly before holding them as close as he dared to his face. For some reason he didn't quite understand himself, he felt the urge to blow on them, and was immediately reminded in Professor Trelawney's most long-suffering voice that they were "Bones, my dear, instruments of true Divination; not tuppeny-bit gaming dice" and that the power was in the caster's will, not his breath. Ignoring the comment, he dropped them onto the table and stared at them.

"Well?"

"Erm... I dunno, hang on..." He reached into his bag and pulled out his battered copy of Unfogging the Future. Thumbing through to the section on The Bones, he searched the page for the pattern they had cast. His jaw slackened and he glanced from the page to Ron before biting his lip.

"What...? Harry, what's it say?!"

Harry slowly turned the book around and handed it to Ron, pointing at the section in question. Ron's pale blue eyes widened and he stared up at Harry with very evident horror. "But it says...it says..."

"Change. And enmity. And new allegiances... I know." Ron studied the page again as if frantically looking for a disclaimer that stated otherwise. "Sorry, Ron... I didn't think it'd say anything like what she said."

"Harry, what's happening?" Seamus asked, peering over to see the bones on their table. "Ooh, I know what those two crossed like that means - it means a falling out, so it does!"

"It means more or less what she said..." Ron mumbled anxiously.

"I wouldn't worry about it, Ron..." Harry tried, "we're not going to fall out, are we? And new allegiances are good things, surely?"

"Depends who you're forging them with..." Dean added, leaning over Seamus's shoulder to take a better look.

At that moment Professor Trelawney swept over to see what the disruption was. She gasped as she looked at the table and cried "Proof, if it were needed!" Quickly, everyone huddled around their table and Ron hunched lower in his seat, looking very red. "Who cast these?" Trelawney demanded, looking at each of them.

"Me," Harry mumbled, raising a hand slightly. If you were that good you'd have known that, though, wouldn't you?

"See, children! Mr. Potter has confirmed my prediction: Mr. Weasley will form allegiances with the Dark!"

Both Harry and Ron stared at the rest of the class, who seemed to have started backing away slightly and whispering to each other.

"That's ridiculous!" Harry said finally, "Ron would never do that! He'd never join Voldemort!"

The room winced in unison.

"Do not speak that name here!" the Professor cried, "The Bones have spoken. They do not lie!"

"Well Ron's NOT going to join Voldemort!" Harry argued, deliberately saying the name again, "How could any of you say that? You've known him for years!"

"And how long, pray, did your parents know Peter Pettigrew?"

Harry stared at Professor Trelawney in shock for a moment before slowly standing up and facing her coldly. "Ron isn't Wormtail, and what happened to my parents is nothing to do with this, you fraudulent old bat! I don't think you'd know a bloody prediction if it jumped up and bit you! Hermione's right - this entire subject's a farce! I'm getting out of here. C'mon, Ron." Silently, Ron rose to his feet, not daring to catch anyone's eye and they pushed their way through the class towards the trapdoor. As Harry reached the bottom of the ladder they caught Professor Trelawney's voice behind them:

"Alas! Denial is a common problem for those without the Sight... Mr. Weasley's fate is written, The Bones do not lie... he will align with the Dark."

Together, Harry and Ron headed back to Gryffindor Tower. "I am in so much trouble, now..." Harry groaned as they started up some stairs. He stopped for a moment and banged his forehead gently against the cool stonework of one of the walls a few times, "I swore at a teacher! God... Hermione'll kill me!"

"You'll be alright, Harry; what's gonna happen to me? I'm not gonna join You-Know-Who! I couldn't..."

Harry dragged himself away from the wall and continued up the steps, one hand on his friend's shoulder. "I know you're not. We should've listened to Hermione... it's all rubbish..."

"What're we gonna do now?"

"Dunno...Can you juggle? 'Cause running away with the circus is looking good, at the moment..."

As they stepped into the corridor three floors below the one they had started in, to get to the short cut straight up to the Tower, a voice called from down the passage. "Harry? Harry, what are you doing here?" They looked in the direction from which the voice had come and saw Remus hurrying towards them.

"Um... hi..." Harry mumbled wincing, slightly.

"You should be in class, shouldn't you?" Remus asked, looking concerned. He reached out to lay a hand on Harry's forehead, "You're not ill, are you?"

"Not strictly speaking, no..." Ron muttered awkwardly.

The man looked between them curiously. "Harry? What's the matter?"

"We just walked out of Divination..." Harry sighed finally, "Trelawney said that Ron's going to join Voldemort. We...well, I got a bit... annoyed..." he looked at the floor, expecting to be told off.

"The old battleaxe!" Remus tutted, frowning with annoyance, "I never liked that woman...She's nowhere near as accurate as Professor Scrywell was..." he paused and looked slightly abashed, "But I didn't say that, alright? It's extremely unprofessional." Harry and Ron nodded quickly. "Is that all she said - that Ron would join him?"

Taking a deep breath, Harry shook his head and admitted what she had said about his parents; and what he had said in return.

"Oh Harry!" Remus exclaimed, rubbing his forehead, "You can't swear at your teachers - no matter how infuriating they are! I know it was insensitive of her to say that, but if I was still a teacher here I'd give you a detention for swearing at me. You have to be respectful to your teachers if you want them to respect you. Snape would want you expelled for this."

"Snape always wants me expelled..."

"Don't be flippant, Harry, I'm quite annoyed about it," Remus told him regretfully, a look of almost hurt disappointment covering his soft features.

"I'm sorry, Moony, I didn't mean to say it - it just came out! She shouldn't have said that about mum and dad and Wormtail. Or about Ron... I'm going to be in big trouble now, aren't I?" Harry said apologetically. Remus studied him with a dubious gaze, before sighing and laying a hand on each of the boys' shoulders and guiding them back towards the staircase.

"Come on, I'll take you both back to apologise, and hopefully a detention is all you'll get; if you're lucky."

"But I didn't do anything!" Ron protested, "She's the one who started saying I'm going to turn bad!"

"Humour her, Ron, you're a matter of months away from your exams - you can't drop the subject now. It's too late, I'm afraid."

"Oh don't you start! You sound like Hermione!"

Remus gave a small laugh, "When I was at school, Ron, I was the Marauders' equivalent of Hermione, and Sirius, unquestionably, was you..."

"Moony, what are you doing here, anyway?" Harry asked suddenly; he was so used to seeing Remus in the school with Sirius over the summer that it seemed completely normal and it had only just occurred to him that it wasn't.

Their former professor made a small noise in the back of his throat that sounded almost like an irritated growl. "Sirius," he muttered, "He persuaded me to do a talk for his second years on being a werewolf..."

"How'd it go?" Ron asked, probably hoping that if he distracted their former teacher enough he might forget why he was taking them back to the lesson.

"Dreadful. They were terrified of me; half of them seemed too scared to raise their hands to ask questions in case I bit them off! Except, of course, for the girl who asked it she could pet me..." he added with an embarrassed shiver.

"Pet you?!" Harry laughed, "And what did you say?"

"No, of course!" Remus replied indignantly.

"Aw... I bet she was really disappointed..."

"Are you mocking me, Potter?" he said amicably, lifting Harry off his feet a couple of inches as they climbed the last step, a rare hint of his lycanthropic strength.

"Yes."

"Hm. James would have been, too."

By the time they reached the top of the North Tower the students were scrambling down the silvery ladder at the end of class. They stared at Lupin as they passed and he smiled and nodded hellos to some of them, before ushering Harry up into the room and catching Ron by the hood of his robe as he tried to slip off with the rest of the class. Professor Trelawney was sat in her winged armchair with a cup of tea and staring intently at the trapdoor when they entered, one by one.

"Hello, Sybil," Lupin began, "I hear the boys owe you a bit of an apology..."

"Quite," she sniffed, sipping from one of her precious pink cups.

"Harry...? Ron...?"

"I'm...sorry, Professor Trelawney... for... er... swearing at you..." Harry said in a very forced mumble.

"And for the accusations of fraudulence?" she demanded, haughtily. Harry muttered something inaudible and she prompted: "I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that, Mr. Potter."

"I said I'm sorry for that, too." Not that I meant it...

"And you, Ron?"

"Sorry for walking out of your class, Professor... but I'm still not going to join You-Know-Who..." Ron told her, trying not to sound too defensive.

"Well, we shall see, shan't we?" she replied patronisingly. Ron made to answer, but Remus's grip on his shoulder tightened a little in warning and he held his tongue.

"Okay, boys, thank you. Will you be punishing them at all, Sybil? They've clearly seen the error of their ways..."

Professor Trelawney scrutinised them from behind her over-large glasses before finally warning them that she could 'See' they would not do it again and dismissing them.

After dinner, most of Gryffindor took to the Quidditch pitch to watch or take part in the team try-outs. Katie Bell had left to concentrate on her studies after her marks improved drastically when the Triwizard Tournament had halted play for a year and Oliver Wood and Alicia Spinnet had both now left Hogwarts altogether. They were in search of two Chasers and a Keeper, the latter of which would almost certainly go to Ron, whose place on the team was already secure.

"Right, so, that's the basics of Quidditch," Harry called down to the others, from where he hovered on his broom twelve feet in the air. "Now what we'll do first is have all of you on the far wall of the stand and see who can get to the near end and back again most effectively."

"Ha! That's gonna be easy!" a second year boy scoffed, folding his arms across his chest, "Anyone could do that!"

"Alright, clever clogs," Ron replied, pointing with a beater, "get up the other end - go on - and we'll release the Bludgers and me, Fred and George'll be the other team." The second year didn't move, he merely stared up at them speechlessly. Ron grinned and swooped down to ruffle the youngster's hair, "Didn't think you'd like that idea much."

Harry dropped a few feet so he was just above their heads. "It's not as easy as you might think. It's a dangerous game you have to take seriously. If you don't, you could end up getting hurt, and no one wants that to happen. A Bludger comes at you like a canon ball; it's not going to care that it's aiming for your head while you're fifty feet up in the air or that a fall from that height could break your neck - or worse. To make it even more difficult, the other team's beaters are going to be aiming the Bludgers away from their team and towards you - as the twins'll be doing for us. They're the ones keeping us lot safe. Safe-ish, anyway..."

"Yeah, we'll be flying about -"

"- brandishing our clubs -"

"- and banging the balls - "

"FRED!"

"HARRY!"

"Stop it!"

"Me?"

"Yes!"

"S'all right, Fred, I'll finish," George winked, "And banging a nice pair of balls -"

"Censoro!" Harry cried, pointing his wand at the ginger boy, whose mouth was promptly covered by a thick strip of tape. Try as he might, he couldn't tug it off and instead gestured rudely at Harry to show his annoyance.

Trying not to laugh, Harry turned his attention back to the gathered pupils below him, "So, as I was saying, if you'll ignore these two idiots and make your way down to the far end of the - FRED!"

Fred was hanging from his broom by his knees and appeared to be trying to sprinkle something down a third year girl's collar. He tutted loudly and righted himself on his broom. "You know what, Harry? You're getting really boring in your old age..." He ended the charm on his brother and they swooped off over the pitch, looping and diving in perfect synchronisation as the younger students - who had never seen them fly together before -gaped in awe.

"They're mental, I know, but they're really good beaters..." Harry explained helplessly, before asking them for the third time to head to the far end of the pitch.

As it turned out, the second year boy was fairly good, making it back to the far wall third, behind Dean and Angelina, who had been pacing them. Ron and Angelina then subjected them to some attacking and shooting practise, at which - to everyone's surprise - Ginny excelled. Once they had short listed six new players Ron showed off his skills as Keeper, and saved seventeen shots in a row (including a Bludger George knocked at him deliberately). At the end of the session Harry declared that he and the team would discuss the matter between them and the two new members would find their names posted on the message board by the weekend.

He landed and shouldered his broom to follow the others back into the changing rooms, while Hermione, who had been reading in the stands, fussed with Ron over how good he'd been. Suddenly, in the periphery of his vision something caught his attention. An owl was gliding down towards the pitch. He hesitated, watching to see where it went, and was surprised when it circled his head and perched on the end of his Firebolt, hooting irritably. "Hello there..." he said, holding out his arm so the bird could move to where he could see it. A letter was tied to its leg and he quickly removed it. The owl didn't wait for a reply, but immediately took off again, heading in the direction of the Owlery.

The thick, yellow envelope bore Harry's name in a neat, pretty hand. The seal on the back didn't have a hallmark pressed into it, merely a thumbprint where the wax had been pushed down. Frowning, Harry opened it and tugged hard at the obviously lengthy letter that had been crammed inside. He scanned down the first paragraph, noting that the handwriting was vaguely familiar. At first, the letter didn't seem to make any sense, but when Harry reached the last sentence of the first paragraph his breath caught in his throat and he quickly read the previous few sentences again. His voice came out in a barely audible croak and he looked to his friends, who were still standing a few yards away.

"Her...Hermione!" No, no, please God, no!

Hermione and Ron both looked up and saw his drained face and began to approach him sensing something was seriously wrong. "Harry? What's the matter? You look awful!" Hermione said as she reached him, "You're shaking!"

He handed her the letter and tried to stammer some sensible reply, managing little more than a few croaked syllables.

"What's the matter?" Ron asked, peering over Hermione's shoulder, just as she gasped and clapped a hand to her mouth. "Oh God! He - he wouldn't!"

"What's going on?!" Ron demanded again.

"B-but what if...?" Harry managed, his green eyes wide and glassy with shock.

"Marauders' Map!" Hermione said suddenly, "Come on!" she grabbed Harry's wrist and broke into a run, back towards the castle.

Draco Malfoy stood by a window facing the Quidditch Pitch until he saw five familiar figures rising into the air on brooms. Thanking the Gryffindor solidarity that took them all to the Quidditch pitch for the try-outs, he took a deep breath and glanced at the bag in his hand. Time to go. Slowly he turned and continued up the stairs to the corridor where the painting of the Fat Lady in the Pink Dress guarded the entrance to the Gryffindor common room.

"Butterscotch," he sighed boredly when he reached her. The woman in the painting peered at him suspiciously.

"You're not one of ours..." she observed leaning back slightly and folding her arms.

"Points for observation; however, I have the password - that means you have to let me in," Draco told her firmly. He had no patience with irritable paintings, especially not at the moment.

"I don't think I ought to," the Fat Lady argued importantly, "I have a job to do, you know, and you're not one of ours..."

"Listen, woman, I do not have time for your little game; I need to see someone," he lied.

"There's no-one in."

"Well I'll wait, then. Move!" The Fat Lady remained exactly where she was. "You know, you might not want to annoy me - Sirius Black isn't the only one with a temper around here..."

The comment clearly struck a chord, as the Fat Lady gave a small cry and swung away from the wall, muttering about children having no manners. Without so much as a nod of thanks, Draco stepped into the Gryffindor common room. He'd never been into the Tower before, and it immediately struck him how much more homely it was than the Slytherin Dungeons. It was warm and welcoming, the notice board was full to over flowing with announcements and a few group photographs. Above the huge fireplace a House banner hung, its warm red and yellow aglow with the orange light from the hearth. Various personal effects were scattered about the room, left where they were when the room had emptied - obviously, the Gryffindors trusted each other with their belongings, something the Slytherins did not. On one wall of the circular room a huge painting hung; Godric Gryffindor himself slept in a large armchair, his burgundy robes puddling on the floor by his feet.

Draco squared his shoulders and headed towards the doorway marked "Boys" in gold writing, and started up the stairs. He quickly established that the dormitories were on the floor that related to the year, and, noting how suitable of Ravenclaw that small, logical detail was, he headed for the fifth floor. The door he stopped at was probably as old as the castle itself, for across its surface were scratched dates and initials, apparently noting its occupants and the years they were at the school. In the centre was etched "1970 (-1977) J.P; S.B; P.P; R.L - Marauders Forever" and just above the doorknob someone had artfully scratched "1991 - S. Finnigan; D. Thomas; N. Longbottom; H. Potter & R. Weasley". Hm. I wonder if this could possibly be the right room... the Slytherin thought sarcastically. Typical Gryffindors, needing to mark their territory.

Shaking his head, he pushed the door open and walked inside. Five four-poster beds with trademark red and yellow drapes stood against the walls. To his right stood a bed with a vivid orange Chudley Cannons scarf hung over the headboard and a tatty-looking dressing robe over the footboard. Weasley, he thought contemptuously. He shuddered and looked to the next bed. On the cabinet beside it lay a sketchbook open on a page of life studies; a hand drummed its fingers impatiently on the paper. Above the cabinet, Spell-o-taped to the stone wall, was what appeared to be a Muggle poster of a number of men in blue and purple outfits. The Mud... the Muggle-Born. Draco corrected himself with a slight wince. He was determined that even now, when it may seem pointless, he would keep his resolve and do things his way. No more Mudblood references. The next bed could only be Finnigan's. Its curtains were scorched and it was hung with a string of Irish flag bunting around the top. Between that and the small fireplace was a badly battered bed, covered in a heap of clothes which appeared to have been rifled through and thrown out of the trunk at the foot of the bed in quite some hurry. Longbottom, obviously... Which left just one.

Harry's bed was to his left, behind the large oak door. It was un-exceptional, little personalised like the others, but a well-thumbed copy of Flying with the Cannons lay on the bedside cabinet, next to a photograph in a simple frame. Putting down his bag by the pillows, Draco raised the picture for a closer look. In it was a group of youngsters he didn't recognise. For a moment he mistook a wiry boy with untidy black hair and glasses for Harry, but his eyes were the wrong colour - a deep, sparkling blue. Beside him a red-haired girl smiled and rested her head on his shoulder, waving delicately; she had pretty green eyes - just like Harry's... Glancing at the other teenagers in the picture the truth suddenly dawned on Draco; the boy with the thick tendrils of shiny black hair and wide grin was no other than their D.A.D.A. teacher, Sirius Black and the other boy with small, square glasses and a mop of dark blonde hair had to be Professor Lupin. Which meant the girl and the other boy with glasses must be Lily and James Potter. Or, more accurately, Lily Evans and James Potter; they can't be any more than sixteen, there...he realised. Over the years, he had made it his mission to learn all he could about Harry Potter. He sometimes wondered if he knew more about Harry's history than Harry did himself.

In the photograph, Black was attempting to rub a non-existent mark from Lupin's cheek with a soggy hanky; Lupin, for his part, was holding him off fairly well, and blushing crimson as he did so, trying to look annoyed while he laughed uncontrollably. James whispered something to Lily, who looked up at him and nuzzled closer, watching as Lupin made a break for it and ran round to their other side to avoid the offending handkerchief. Draco touched the glass for a moment, then took the picture and sat down on Harry's bed, laying it on the blankets beside his leg. One by one he pulled objects from his bag: a letter; a bottle of Muggle alcohol that looked exactly like water and didn't smell of anything, but which he was assured did the job; a number of small containers with French writing on them; a stuffed toy in the form of a black puppy and a picture with one side ripped away. He took the bottle first and opened its lid; he'd sniffed at the liquid inside before, but hadn't tried it. Now, he raised the bottle to his lips and took a large gulp. He was almost sick. That is vile! He grimaced, looking at the bottle with revulsion. He pulled his wand from his pocket and muttered an incantation. The liquid rapidly changed to vivid purple, with an effect like ink had just been dripped into its very centre. Draco took another sip and sighed impatiently, it would have to do.

Next, he stood up and moved to the window. Opening it, he scanned the sky until he found what he was looking for: one of the school owls swooped a few hundred yards away and the Slytherin gave a small smirk before muttering "Accio!". A second later there was a whooshing sound and a soft thud as the bird pelted through the window and crashed straight into Longbottom's curtains. It hooted loudly and stared at Draco indignantly. "Oh shut up," he tutted, "you're not hurt. Petrificus Totalus!" The bird instantly became motionless and he picked it up and placed it on the mantelpiece, tying on the letter as he did so. Then he returned to Harry's bed and picked up the small containers, which he'd stolen from home. His mother's parents were French and regularly sent her boxes of Muggle pills because of her 'illness'. If his father had known he would probably have had them both killed. No one even knew what was wrong with her, anyway... She slept so much that he rarely saw her and when he did see her these days she was distant and barely coherent. She had been getting worse since he was about eight years old. He could actually pin point the day it began...

Tipping their contents out onto the blankets, a pile of pills quickly amassed before him and he gave a grim smile as he looked at some large, red ones. They've got to work. One by one he counted out the pills, dedicating each one to a reason that had prompted him into this course of action. This one, this one and this one are for you, Daddy; this one's for Cerberus and what you made me do to him... He picked up the small fluffy toy, bought for him by his grandmother in the likeness of his puppy, stroked it gently and laid it in his lap. They had died within a few weeks of each other, Cerberus and his grandmother, but Draco had only killed the puppy with his own hands - his father had taken care of his grandmother. These are for grandmama, these are for smashing all my Christmas presents when I was five, these are for all the times you punished me for crying when you smacked me - I still have the scar, you know...His thoughts were clipped and emotionless. He didn't feel let down or hard done by as one may expect. No, Draco Malfoy was simply angry. This little collection is for letting me believe I was valued, not just valuable to you, and these - he picked up a handful of assorted pills and let them cascade onto the blanket - this are for my little sister, for what you did to her and for what you put my mother through to get me. And these - he pushed all the remaining pills into the pile he'd carefully divided - these, are for you, Harry. This is what you wanted, after all...

Draco pondered for a moment, staring down at the pills. He didn't want to do this, he really didn't, but it was preferable to the other option. He shuddered inwardly at the thought; it chilled him to his very core. How could he let something so horrific happen to himself - or Harry? But Harry would know, now, they would be able to protect him and he would be safe. If he'd just taken the time to listen to what Draco had been trying to tell him they could both have been safe. That's why Draco had decided to do this just there, on Harry's bed. What was happening now - Plan B - lay wholly on Harry's head as far as Draco was concerned and he wanted Harry to know it.

Gathering up a few of the pills, Draco began to ingest them a couple at a time. He washed them down with the alcohol, still grimacing at the disgusting after taste, but concentrating on getting them all into his system. I just hope I don't get stuck in this bloody school like some displaced House Ghost... By the time he'd finished the pile he was feeling exceptionally fuzzy headed and almost forgot to release the owl to go and deliver the letter to Harry. He struggled up from the mattress and swayed unsteadily, grasping at the thick bed curtains to steady himself, then made his way to where the bird was perched on the mantelpiece. He picked it up on the second attempt and pulled his wand out of his pocket. "F-finite Inc-catatatatum..." he tried, feeling suddenly very woozy; the room had started swimming and he wanted desperately to lie down and go to sleep. This must be what it feels like... it must be working... he thought to himself, "F-finite Incantatum!" The bird ruffled its feathers suddenly and bit him hard on the finger, obviously greatly affronted by Draco's methods of summoning it and making it wait. It flew out of the window and Draco saw two of it soaring round the Tower towards the Quidditch pitch. He collapsed back onto the bed and cuddled the fluffy black dog to his chest, before picking up the torn photograph - it had once been of his parents, but now showed only his mother as he had ripped the half with his father on off - and the picture of Harry's parents and his current guardians and placed them on the pillow next to him. He lay back and closed his eyes.

He felt as though blackness was closing in on him; even though his eyes were closed he felt as though the bed he was laying on was revolving slowly, and he started to feel oddly dizzy, as though he would fall from a great height if he so much as breathed wrong. His thoughts became increasingly scrambled as he lay there - flashes of Harry and his father and his grandmother and Cerberus and Quidditch and soaring over the Forbidden Forest higher and higher and higher until he slipped and was falling further and further and then he hit the ground with a soft flump. Everything went black.