Redemption

Harry was beginning to get tired, for he had been walking for quite a while. Step... step... step, his feet plodded along and echoed through the blackness. His feet were sore, his stomach was cramped and he was numbingly tired, yet he felt oddly detached from these sensations, as if it were someone else who was doing the walking and he was just an observer.

He didn't know where he was, but that wasn't important. What was important was that he reach the top as soon as possible. He knew he had to reach the top, in the same way that he knew that fire burned and that kindness was good, he just knew it. He had therefore begun his climb with all possible speed, but hours of climbing had sapped his strength and now "all possible speed" was a movement rate slightly faster than that of an arthritic turtle.

He pressed onward, and time seemed to flow strangely. Sometimes it seemed as if he took miles of stairway in seconds, or in no time at all, and sometimes years passed between steps. He was very glad when he arrived at the top of the stairway. There was a door there, and he opened it. When he stepped through was standing on a ledge, overlooking a drop that had no end. Suddenly he was struck with a sensation of horror as he was hit by a sudden realization...

Harry awoke with a start, jerking upward and staring wildly around through a fog of sleep. His dream was etched in his memory in a way that dreams never are. He remembered how tired he had been upon reaching the door, the fear at facing the drop, the sense of horror at his revelation...suddenly something strange occurred to him.

That's odd Harry thought, I can remember everything about the dream in perfect detail, except, what did I realize? I've never been so scared in my life, and I can't remember why I was so scared. He sat there, a tapping in the back of his mind, puzzling over his dream. He had never had a dream that vivid before, except when he dreamed about Voldemort. But Voldemort wasn't even in this dream, and this one had been more frightening and confusing than any of Voldemort, all the moreso because he didn't know why it was so terrifying. The tapping was getting stronger. Tapping Harry thought for a second before he realized he wasn't imagining it and that something was rapping sharply on his window.

He reached for his glasses and threw off his blankets, staggering over to get the window. He looked through his shutters and saw Hedwig and two other owls tapping with their beaks. He hastily jerked his window open and the three owls flew into his room and settled on his bed, depositing two envelopes there. He rushed over and picked up the envelopes. One was from Ron, one was from Hogwarts, and the third was addressed in Sirius's handwriting. A grin slid across Harry's face, pushing out all thoughts of troubled dreams.

His summer had been impossibly dull until this point. After a harrowing Sixth year at Hogwarts, he had thought that he would welcome the sheer monotony of Number Four Privet Drive. Within two days of suffering through sheer dullness punctuated only by Dudley's whinings he would eagerly had welcomed a visit from some Dementors just to make his summer remotely interesting. A letter from Ron, who had gone on holiday with Hermione in America, was enough to make Harry feel like he was going to jump for joy.

He eagerly tore into the envelope and read the letter

Dear Harry,

Sorry I haven't written, its just that I've been having so much fun here in America with Hermione. New York is well amazing! So far its my favorite place we've visited, although the Grand Canyon is a close second. We also saw Florida and Las Angeles. You would not believe the amount of illegal Wizardry that goes on in LA, it makes Knockturn Alley look like Honeydukes!

Oh, and you'll never believe this, but Hermione's a really good dancer. We've been going to lots of Wizard Clubs, and you would not believe how good she is.

Harry stopped reading for a second, pausing to smile. Hermione and Ron had begun to date in Fifth year, and they made a great couple. And it didn't surprise him a bit that Hermione was a great dancer, he had stopped being surprised at Hermione's many capabilities a long time ago. He returned to the letter.

Oh, Hermione made Head Girl. Somehow I can't bring myself to be nearly as ashamed of dating a Head Girl as I should be. Don't tell Hermione I said this, but I think she really deserves it, and I'm actually a little proud.

Well anyway, we still have some touring of America left to do, so I unfortunately won't get to see you until school starts. But Hermione and me figured that you must be bored out of your skull so we pitched in and got you two weeks at a Quidditch camp for prospective pros. Its in a few weeks and by all accounts is really great. It's the same one that Viktor Krum and Wronski went to, so you should get a workout.

Can't wait to see you at Hogwarts. Hermione sends her love, but is suffering the consequences of drinking far too much and is currently lying in a dark room puking. Oh yeah, Happy Birthday, it'll be great to be top of the school, won't it?

Ron

Harry chuckled a little, his smile widening as he thought of the present they had gotten him. Quidditch camp! Leave it to Ron and Hermione to have an impossible amount of fun with each other and not only remember about Harry but get him a present so perfect it would make him nearly as happy as they were. He looked back in the envelope, sure enough there was a ticket for two weeks at a Quidditch camp, and it was a portkey, so he wouldn't even need to ask the Dursleys to take him.

There was also something else in the envelope. He picked it up and saw it was a picture. Ron and Hermione were running with each other and kissing in the water of some ocean while the sun set behind them. Ron's freckled face was split in a smile so huge it was hard to believe he could force his lips together to even kiss Hermione. Hermione's hair was bleached lighter, her long hair was shimmering in the light of the sunset and her skin was tanned. She looked so beautiful, and the two looked so happy that Harry couldn't help but feel a little jealous. Not that he had a crush on Hermione, just that the two were so obviously enjoying there summer so much more than he was. He shook off the feeling and sat there fantasizing about Quidditch camp before it occurred to him that there were other letters.

He tore furiously into the letter from Hogwarts. Inside were two letters. One was a list of the supplies he would need, the other was from McGonagall. He read it eagerly, his mouth widening in shock as he did so.

Dear Harry Potter,

You have been selected by the Headmaster and your head of house to be the Head Boy of your year. Despite your repeated rule breakings in the past, we felt that you have more than made up for them with your repeated acts of heroism. Besides, your father was a Head Boy, and we feel you are more than capable of living up to his mantle.

Harry felt a twinge in his stomach at this mention of his father, but it was overshadowed by a fierce pride welling up inside him. He was Head Boy! That wasn't something he had expected in a million years. He continued reading.

I have also decided that given your seven years of experience and tremendous ability you are to be made Quidditch Captain. I will trust you to uphold Gryffindor's tradition of excellence. This will entail choosing almost an entirely new side, as many of those on last year's team have since graduated. It will be up to you train them and take them to victory. I trust you will not let me down in either of these positions.

Sincerely

Professor Minerva McGonagall

Head of Gryffindor House

Harry sat down on his bed in shock. His summer had suddenly taken a sharp turn for the better. In five minutes he had become Head Boy, Quidditch captain and received a ticket to a professional Quidditch camp. He turned his attention to the third letter, the one from Sirius.

Dear Harry,

Happy 17^th birthday, you are shaping into a man capable of living up to your father's mantle, and I can assure you that there is no higher praise I can give you. Remus rounded up some of my old stuff for me, and in doing so discovered James' old jacket. When he was your age, he was notorious for wearing it whenever possible, merely because it "looked cool". I recall it made me extremely envious, and was quite a hit with the girls as well. I hope you get half as much out of it as he did, I know he would have wanted you to have it.

Love,

Sirius

Harry felt a lump rise in his throat as tears of fierce happiness and pride glistened in his eyes. Sirius and McGonagall both said he was shaping up to be a man much like his father! It made him happy, deep down inside, to know that he was following his father's footsteps, even if his father wasn't there to smile proudly and say "That's my boy".

He glanced back at the envelope, where was the jacket? He glanced inside and saw a tiny piece of black cloth in one corner of the envelope, Lifting it out, he noticed a crease in one corner of the cloth, he pulled on it, and a heavy black jacket unfolded from the cloth, tumbling out to land on Harry's bed without a crease on it.

"Whoa," came Harry's fervent cry of appreciation. He stared at the jacket. It was black, dragonhide, with green dragons traced down the sleeves. Harry had to concur with his father, it looked very cool. Unable to resist he tumbled out of his bed and approached the mirror, before stopping himself.

"If I'm going to do this," he muttered to himself, "then I might as well do it properly." Hastily, and hoping desperately the Dursleys didn't wake up, he donned a pair of dark gray slacks he had worn to last year's Yule ball under his dress robes. He pulled on a white T-shirt and pulled on the jacket. The jacket was soft and supple, and to Harry's delight, fit perfectly. He walked over to the mirror.

Framed before him was a lean young man of slightly above average height. Harry had had a large growth spurt, and while hardly as tall as Ron, had grown to a respectable height. Quidditch training had put some muscle on him, and while he wasn't big, he had a sort of lean, wiry strength to him. He had to admit, if only to himself, the figure in the mirror looked almost cool.

The jacket matched his hair and eyes, and lent an air of danger that was decidedly lacking in his standard, unassuming wardrobe. Yet something was missing. He snapped his figures as it came to him. He pulled out a comb and ran it through his hair. He had discovered last year that while his hear would never submit to being straightened out, it had no problems being spiked. Harry walked over to the bed and pulled out the Dragonhide boots and Emerald green mirrorshades that Bill had given him when he had taken Ron, Harry and Hermione to a Weird Sisters' Concert last summer. Over his head went the lion pendant Cho had given him Sixth year before they broke up, and he returned to the mirror.

Now staring back at him was a figure who was undeniably cool. Quidditch captain, head boy, and now owner of a cool wardrobe, Harry allowed himself an extremely proud, almost arrogant grin. This was going to be a fun year, he decided.

"I hate this place", Draco Malfoy mused sourly, not for the first time. It wasn't just that hanging out in moldy catacombs was disgusting. It wasn't just that his Death Eater mask was uncomfortable and looked so hideous. No, it was largely do to the fact that he hated everyone who was there.

A collection of despicable men, the Death Eaters were a motley crew. Draco could see his father on the far side of the circle, in the shadows that suited him so well. Crabbe and Goyle and their respective parents were like hulking gargoyles in the darkness. Wormtail was in one corner prostrated on the ground like the sniveling little worm he was. And in the Middle of the circle, of course, was Lord Voldemort himself.

Draco hated the bastard. Voldemort was a monster in every sense of the word. On a physical level, he was hideous, appearing more like some albino snake than a human. But it went far beyond that. The so-called "He-who-must-not-be-named" was a psychopath. He was sadistic, power-hungry, homicidal, and obsessive. Draco had always prided himself on his good looks, self control, aristocratic bearing, his heritage and breeding, and above all, his class. Voldemort, half-blood, ugly, raving maniac that he was, embodied everything that Draco despised.

Perhaps Draco could have moved beyond that. After all, many of the Death Eaters were unhinged, yet Voldemort had wounded Draco's pride. Lucius Malfoy had always taught his son the importance of family pride, to respect his father, and what it meant to be a Malfoy. Yet Voldemort had returned, and Lucius, who had dominated Draco throughout his young life, had been revealed to be a sniveling, weak-willed coward. Draco had seen what it meant to be a Malfoy, it meant being Voldemort's bitch.

I'm going to kill him, Draco thought. He knew it to be a lie. He was no better than his father. He had been groomed from birth to be Voldemort's lapdog, and when the time came, he became just that. He found himself performing deeds which still haunted his dreams sometimes. Voldemort currently had him scouting for potential Death eaters among the Slytherins. Prior to that he had been a research assistant for tracking down dark incantations, and before that to prove himself he had done a stint in Muggle torture. Not yet Seventeen, and he had already earned himself more than a couple life-sentences in Azkaban.

He had heard that some people had trouble facing themselves in the mirror after doing horrible things. He didn't. In the mirror he saw a tall, slender, handsome young man, with long platinum blond hair framing well-defined cheekbones and penetrating grey eyes. In the mirror he could appreciate his expensive, finely tailored black clothes, clothes that bore no stains from the blood on his hands. No, the mirror was no problem. Sometimes though, when he was alone at night (a rare occurrence, Blaise or Pansy or some other socialite was usually more than willing to spend the night with the handsome heir to the Malfoy fortune) he found himself shaking to keep from sobbing, fighting desperately to hold down his self-loathing.

"My...friends" Voldemort's sibilant whisper snapped Draco back to the present. "As you know, our mission progresses splendidly. Our power grows as we speak, that imbecile Fudge is doing nothing to hinder us. Albus Dumbledore, the Muggle-loving fool, refuses to abandon Hogwarts. Blinded as he is by his own misguided compassion, he can launch no effective offensive. Those scattered few who do oppose us, such as Sirius Black and his allies, pose no threat in the grand scheme of things. You are all to be commended." Voldemort paused, as if expecting some reaction. He hadn't told them anything new, the Death Eater's knew as well as their master about the current state of affairs. It was Wormtail who broke the silence.

"Thank you, my lord. My lord is generous in his praise." Wormtail said in sniveling tones.

This was immediately followed by thank yous all around the room, to his disgust Draco found himself thanking his "master" along with everyone else in the room.

"Yes, yes, but there is one problem." Voldemort's voice had lost all of its silky smoothness and came out in harsh, clipped hisses, "Harry Potter, despite some of our best efforts, has evaded all attempts to end his life. This is intolerable." Voldemort paused, daring anyone to ask why it was so imperative that Potter die. Voldemort had never seen fit to explain himself to his minions, and the last man who questioned him had been awarded with a lovely new flat six feet under ground. No one asked, and Voldemort continued. "However, we now have a solution to our dilemma. My young friend, Draco Malfoy, has come of age. He has demonstrated proficiency in manipulation as well as in the Dark Arts. Since becoming a Death Eater, he has proven himself time and time again to be competent and loyal. What's more, he is Potter's classmate at Hogwarts. He is in an ideal position to strike. To him I entrust the task of dealing with Potter as he sees fit. Capture would be preferable to killing, as I would like the pleasure of killing Potter myself. If Mr. Malfoy succeeds, I shall make him my heir. If he fails, well, we all know how I tolerate failure."

At this every Death Eater in the place began muttering, Draco heard snatches of what they were saying

"Why does he get to be made heir?"

"Don't see why Potter is so important anyway."

"Lucky bastard, just look at his smug little face, why I.."

Draco stopped paying attention as his father stepped forward, warily approaching the Dark Lord. "Master," Lucius began.

"Yes, Lucius my friend?" Voldemort's voice was eerily soft.

"I thank you for honoring the Malfoy line this way, yet, wouldn't it have been better to choose someone more experienced? Lucius was shaking with fear as he asked the question.

Voldemort 's eyes narrowed, and his voice dripped with contempt, "You overstep your bounds Lucius, not a wise move, as I no longer need you. Your son has surpassed you as a servant, and I find you tiresome. You are weak Lucius, and have served me poorly. Avada Ked.." Voldemort paused as Lucius fell backwards, face pale, "No, I don't think I'll kill you. Draco, come here."

Draco warily approached the dias, trying to inject as much swagger as possible into his steps. "Master?"

"Draco, you are my prospective heir, as such, I should begin grooming you for power. I want you to join me, every Wednesday night until your school starts, for schooling in how to live up to the position I have entrusted you with. However, as a first test, I ask you, how will you deal with this man?" Voldemort gestured towards the pale, shaking form of Lucius Malfoy.

Lucius looked up at Draco, "Draco, I am your father, and as such I trust I have taught you the importance of family loyalty. Now would you kindly release me?" Lucius's tone was cold and imperious.

Draco stared down at his father, seeing him as the pitiful little man he really was. How often had he dreamed of this moment when he was younger, of finally gaining the upper hand over this hateful bastard. He raised his wand, not even bothering to spare words on the fucker. Memories of beatings when he was younger, of his mother's screams as his father beat her, of Lucius reprimanding him and finding fault regardless of what he did, flashed through his head as he let out a cry. "Avada Kedavra" His voice was impassive, yet he couldn't conceal the smirk this flitted across his face as his father pitched forward, face forever plastered in a look of pure shock. Draco turned and bowed to Voldemort.

"Excellent my young friend, your father made you stronger than I believe he could have imagined. You will make a fine heir, although I believe that this means you are now the master of the Malfoy manor and your inheritance?"

"Yes master" Draco paused to consider what had just transpired. In a few minutes he had been awarded with the responsibility of carrying out on of Voldemort's prime objectives, he was to take down his most hated rival, his reward was to be power beyond his imaginings, he had finally gotten rid of his father, something he had been wanting to do for as long as he could remember, and he was finally the master of the Malfoy estates. He should have been ecstatic, yet he wasn't. He had been groomed from birth for a moment like this, and he felt...nothing. His apathy surprised him, but not much. It had been a while since he had much cared about anything.

He sank to one knee, "Thank you my lord, I will not fail you". It was true, Draco was as competent as Voldemort had said, but it didn't make him happy.

The warm, flickering light of the bonfire sent a mosaic of shadows and light dancing across Ron's freckled face. He smiled contentedly as Hermione laid her head against his chest. He breathed in deeply, drinking in the scent of her hair. He raised his drink to his lips and leaned back onto the cool sand.

"Hermione," he breathed softly, staring into the flames.

"Yeah Ron?" her reply was muted and content.

"Today was great"

"Yeah, it was"

It was true, every day of this summer had been amazing. New York sight-seeing and clubbing had been followed by hiking in the Grand Canyon. A brief stay at Daytona Beach finished with a stop off in L.A. They then went on to tour Yosemite before coming to Hawaii, where they were finishing off this holiday.

Ron had always been comfortable with the notion that of the two of them, he was the one who really knew how to lighten up and have fun. Hermione had dissuaded him of this notion within three days of their arrival in New York. She was an amazing dancer, with a knack for finding the hot spots in any given town. In fact it fell to Ron to try to keep her from getting carried away and drinking too much. Hermione, always a fast learner, had quickly discovered that having a hangover made performing an anti-hangover spell extremely difficult.

On the beach, Hermione also did better than her boyfriend. While Ron freckled like nothing human, Hermione tanned beautifully and she was also a slightly better swimmer than Ron.

Here in Hawaii, days spent tanning and swimming ended up at nightclubs. Ron, far from feeling overshadowed, spent his days thanking his lucky stars that a girl like Hermione would spend time with him. Gone were the days of Harry and Ron getting into trouble and Hermione pulling them out of it. Hermione had matured into a woman unlike anything Ron could have imagined. He was almost certain he was in love with her.

"Ron?" Hermione shifted her head to look up at him.

"Yeah?" My god she's beautiful

"What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing much, just about how much fun we've had this Holiday." I really want to kiss her

"It's been great, hasn't it"

"It's been the best summer I can ever remember Hermione" Not least because you're with me

"Yeah...What do you think Harry's doing right now?"

"Probably having a blast at Quidditch camp"

"Yeah...Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you want to kiss me?"

"Yes."