Temet Nosce

The back of his neck burnt, and the steady pain eventually drifted all the way down to his fingers. By 5^th year, Harry had finally become steady with ink and a quill, hands sweeping back and forth across the parchment. Unfortunately, there was no choice at Hogwarts; messy handwriting was almost as severely punished as tardiness. 'The most successful wizards are known for their punctuality as much as their precision' was one of McGonagall's favourite mantras.

Draco sat directly behind him, positioned there by Snape to relieve some minor disagreements. Though he never did say much, he often picked fights. Now, uncomfortable Gryffindors, who cowered away as he sat, surrounded him. His cape flickered suspiciously, more and more like his teacher's infamous own.

He now bore his eyes into Harry, so much so that the Gryffindor could feel it. He could feel it in his bones and in his soul. Draco was scanning him for something; it wasn't half hearted or unconscious. But he kept writing, on and on, down the scroll. It hadn't been Draco's face he had seen last night, he kept hoping, but how many skinny white-blondes did he know? And now, the one he just couldn't stop thinking about was sitting right behind him, staring.

Harry knew that there was something wrong. She had said 'go and find him.' If it were Draco, Harry was backing out now. If it were about the two of them, Draco would have to go alone. If she expected them to agree and communicate after everything they had been through, she could go and find someone else.

But how curious could he let himself get, without seeking him out to ask why? Why, why on earth, why? Why did they have it in common? Their wrists were tied together with that seemingly fatal strand. They were alike, in one of the deepest and most spiritual ways. 'The secret that separates the people who have lost their souls from the people that have fought to hold onto them.' The Matrix, knowing thyself and knowing thy world.

Draco was sick of writing and let his quill spin on its oily tip to fall and be caught by the air, settling across his desk. Today, he had normal drafting paper in place of the usual embossed scripting parchment with the Malfoy crest. A first, personal rebellion against his family. A little revolt against the world as he knew it, and praise for the one he would soon learn to call home.

He was sick of waiting, like children before their birthdays and Christmas. He wanted to find those mysterious presents and tear off the wrapping. To reveal whatever was inside. To bask in the overwhelming happines, and the relief.

He had planned to talk to Harry that very day, presuming that not even in a wild state would the Boy Who Lived seek him out. Many things were unsettled. Many were still in the air. It was all silly, first-year nonsense, but egos were upheld and the two had hardly even aimed at each other for almost two years. Harry found Hermione; Voldemort backed off; no new, foolish incidents occurred and Draco fell. Draco fell right through whatever he had been standing on. Maybe it had been his hate for Harry. He just didn't know.

Everything seemed so unstable. Everything seemed transparent. He knew he would be able to push his hand through any teacher or student, to see it pass to the other side. He had been living in a dream world. Now it was time to wake up, and Draco was tossing and turning inches underneath the surface of sleep.

But now, he could only think about the boy sitting in front of him and what was going to happen after they talked. And, what was he going to say? "Harry. I've been thinking, maybe this world isn't actually real. Maybe it's all a big joke. Some girl is going to show me the truth, would you like to come and see?" He frowned and sighed at the difficulty of it all.

It was all about Harry now. It was all about talking, realizing, and acting on impulse. Impulse would get Draco over the line.

A parcel slid underneath the door while Draco was sitting in his bedroom. It was cold and he was sweating in guilt. His ultimate simplicity had been taken over by something that could only resemble confusion. Once such a likeably unusual boy, he was now a writhing mass of complex thoughts and feelings. He hated feelings. He hated expressing them; he hated talking about them. He had finally convinced himself that he was never to feel a single thing.

Now, Draco felt like vomiting up every single swarming emotion in his body, to give in to the total numbness he loved.

The parcel was amazingly Muggle for Hogwarts; London's stamp with a profile of Queen Elizabeth, his name written in ballpoint and a little strip which you licked to create adhesive. He had seen half-blood students do it when replying to their mail in the Great Hall. The whole activity repulsed him.

Inside was something that Draco had never seen before. A small plastic rectangle fell out onto his lap after he slid open the side of the envelope. He picked it up and turned it over, feeling along the sides of the little brick and coming to a pair of buttons.

The noise it then produced made the boy jump and fall back on his bed. It rang much like a little boiling kettle, or an examination bell, and a panel slid off to reveal more buttons. Draco held it up to his nose, looking into the green glass screen.

"There isn't much time." A composed voice shouted at him from the mobile phone, and Draco held it uncertainly up to his ear.

"I don't know what you are, what you are capable of or how I am going to get you out of that place. Can you tell me where you are?" Draco looked around his bedroom, not sure of where to start.

"This isn't going to be easy. I have never done something like this before. All of your signals are confusing me. It really should have been straight forward, but I can't find an opening. Draco, just try and tell me where you are..." She was getting faster and faster, anxiety building in her often composed voice.

Draco squinted his eyes. "Why is this going to be so difficult? You told me that it was all going to be okay." The relief of Trinity's contact was being drained by her speeding talk.

"Don't ask me questions, Draco; everything is going to be okay. Before, it all seemed as if it would go as usual, but now things have changed, simply that. You aren't a normal human, are you Draco?"

"Of course I am."

"You aren't one of us either. And I don't think that you are one of them..."

"Who are they? I am a wizard, is that what you mean? How is that a problem?"

She sighed, as if in fear of something, but not actually sure of the danger. "That is exactly what I mean. You are going to need to help me; I don't know what wizards are. I have never rescued people like you before, I don't know how. Everything is different this time. I can't even reach you. At the start it was easy, but now there is a barrier. You feel like them."

"Like who?"

"Don't ask me questions. You feel like the enemy, Draco, for God's sake! Listen to me. Look around you. Try to remember everything that you see. This is going to be very difficult. It's going to be okay, but normally, it is such a risk. Now, we are most definitely out of the ordinary. You are going to have to tell me everything possible about that place when I reach you."

Draco agreed solemnly.

"Is the other boy coming?"

"Harry?"

"Yes, Harry," she agreed with exasperation, "Go to him. We have hardly another ten minutes. They know that I am coming for you, and they have the huge advantage of already knowing who I am and what I can do. I, on the other hand, I don't know what wizards are capable of. And I don't really have the faintest idea who the hell they are..."

"Go and ask Harry to find a telephone, quickly. He might be able to help us sort everything out." Draco stumbled over the word telephone, and she repeated it again slowly, "Don't ask me questions, Draco; I know this is hard but you have to work with me. Go and ask him to find a telephone."

"Tell him that it's for Trinity."

With that, she hung up the phone and Draco dropped it to the ground like a hot coal.

***

The Prophet stared into his desk, a broad oak bench weighed down by the great burden of his daily work and studies. He liked the new furnishings, his trusty companion on the right, the many talking portraits and his ever-refilling goblet. It was like something out of a myth. So long ago he had created what the humans called a 'children's fairy story', and now he was living inside one.

It was much nicer than the inner-city kitchen, than the powder green walls, than the waiting room full of endless, gifted children. Chanting spells and mixing potions instead of baking cookies was a change for the better. Yet, he had kept the glasses, and he had kept the flowers. He had even kept the sign above his doorway, for all of the students to read as they left the office. His favourite piece of advice.

"Temet Nosce - Know Thyself."

But he had got rid of the apron and the Mediterranean skin. Most importantly, he was now a male. The Oracle was now known as The Prophet, overseer of the ones that got away. Morpheus, Trinity and Neo.

Controller and primary manipulator of those rare, special humans amongst the masses of clones. Harry Potter.

It was finally time for them to go. It was finally time for the end to begin.

Or would the beginning finally end, and would the people rejoice?

The end of Voldemort as everyone knew him. As every wizard feared. The greatest sorcerer of all time was soon to be replaced with a tiny boy. Voldemort was only the entrée; Harry was the main course. If he didn't do as he was ordered, Harry would wreak havoc upon the system. He would help Neo gain control.

Whose evil did Harry Potter believe in? Whose good? Would he rescue the people from a fate worse than death, the cruelty of puppetry and manipulation? Or, would he succumb as the human race did so memorably? Would he break, and fight, and rise to be one of the greatest superheroes of all time?

One of the greatest machines. Another little pawn, given a choice. The choice of freedom, or ultimate fame. The saviour of the Architect, or the experiment gone wrong?

Harry Potter was just a boy. A little boy created to train on Voldemort, and to kill the biggest threat to mankind. The escapist. The One that got away. Harry Potter was created to kill Neo, and he was, now, the only one that could Because Neo had recognised his own powers, finally.

It was his choice. The stupid girl would break her way into the Wizarding World, and she would save them. But it was still his choice. How much did he enjoy being Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived? How much would he rejoice?

One day, he would be the Boy Who Killed. The Boy Who Saved the World.

Would he save the Matrix? Would he fight against The One? Or would Harry Potter be another escapist? Either way, fame was predestined, and fighting simply fate.

The Prophet stood up from his chair. Through from the walls behind him, three men stepped out gallantly. In thick pressed suits and jawbones to envy Superman, the men flanked their new master and stared into space. In the centre, Agent Smith was fuming and ready for action.

They had been unsuccessful.

So many months ago, they had let Neo get away. Now, their new weapon, Harry Potter, was about to be rescued. The wizard hero was about to join the other side. After all of their work, after all of the programming, after every single digit had been entered, he had got away. After the creation of this new neighbourhood, this new suburb of the Matrix, this supreme new species of human, the very people he had been destined to kill had taken him away.

After so much effort to create Wizards, their plans had been wiped like a formatted disk. Empty.

Smith wasn't even going to let Trinity get out of Hogwarts. Once she finally figured out how to get in, without a single phone for hundreds of miles, she would never get away.

The Prophet turned to his three most powerful subjects. The program hackers, who could jump through the Matrix, protecting the humans from resurrection.

He boomed with great direction, "Do not let the boys escape."

The suited men nodded their heads and re-adjusted their earplugs with fluid movements, retreating back through the walls. They were alive and ready to fight after new training; now, the Agent programs could leap and inhabit Wizards, and they could use this new, magical religion against their foes - Trinity, Morpheus, and especially Neo. Though they could dodge bullets, how could they survive, completely ignorant, against spells, potions and jinxes?

The man known as Dumbledore sat back down at his desk. "If you find Trinity, kill her."

***

Harry had seen Voldemort a number of times. Not like this.

In his first year, snake slit eyes had magically emerged from underneath Quirrel's turban. Then, while he and the basilisk fought, a uniformed Tom Riddle lurked in the background, wand raised and poised. The Death Eaters, Wormtail, Cedric and his own Sirius. The father that Harry never had. The mentor, the great warrior, the wonderful person inside his tortured liberator.

These pictures flashed though Harry's mind every single night, foregoing the scene that unfolded now. In these dreams, his foe didn't seem as before. Now, everything was different. Harry was no longer fighting the same person or the same being. It wasn't about Voldemort any longer.

Before him towered a new person. In fresh black and delicate green, he was all height and shoulders. A giant that Harry couldn't possibly overcome. A barrier.

A new enemy? Was he for Harry to kill? This was inevitably the next obstacle, but what did it have to do with him? Where was Voldemort?

"It used to be okay. He used to see the path. That path told him that he would fight. He would fight because it was his duty, and the world would applaud. He would overthrow the Darkness, and the world would applaud."

Was this the path? Or a new one?

Was this the path to freedom? What is freedom?

Would Harry have to kill this person to set everyone free?

The figure stepped closer. A man with dark set eyes, a beautiful fighter. Harry had finally discovered that the world was a game, and he, merely a player. But was there more to discover? Was there some truth behind everything that was false?

Neo lifted his hands and saluted the boy.

He couldn't kill this man. He wouldn't. Her love, and their saviour. Why was he faced with this decision? It felt like someone forced the dream into his head each night, the awful situation. After Trinity's caress and flight, these dreams hurt. They hurt more than his burning scar. The great relief she had brought him was gone, replaced with pain and insecurity.

He was always scared that no one would understand. Then, Trinity had told him someone would. Trinity would and Neo would. What was he thinking now?

"Now, everything was going to be okay. He could see. He could see the simplicity of it all. The simplicity of the game."

Nothing was simple. No matter what path he chose, he was made to fight, but it was his decision for whom he would be fighting. It was his decision who would die.

"It will be me or you, Harry. The world or the Matrix. The peoples' freedom or your fame. Protection or vulnerability." Neo tilted his head.

"Right or wrong."

"Me or You."

***

Draco bounded up the stairs, hoping that one of the platforms would budge and send him head first down the stairwell. The phone was jumping up and down in his pocket, next to his wand. He was bursting to talk to Harry. He was bursting to get out of Hogwarts, because he had realised, when speaking to Trinity for the first time over the phone, that the time had come.

'It was finally time for them to go. It was finally time for the end to begin.' It ran through Draco's head, a firework bouncing over an indistinguishable mass of gray matter fears. Something simple and clear to relish.

And all that was left was to talk to Harry. Soon, they would be free to talk as much as they wanted. Soon, everything was going to be new and fresh. There would be nothing to worry about. There would be no school, no friends and no family.

It was a slate, of open minds and the whole truth. The unabridged truth.

Most of the students were out at lunch, but he knew that Harry would be in his dorm because scheduled Quidditch training had been cancelled due to the weather, and Harry would most probably be aching over the clouds. Torrential rain had caused a deluge to form around the lake, so the grass fibres on the field fought to keep their heads above water. With that, and most Herbology classes called off, students were always milling in their common rooms, trying to dry robes after Magical Creatures and warm themselves. The students did not favour Hogwarts halls in the winter. The cold grey walls seemed to close in when you walked the corridors alone.

Approaching the Fat Lady's Portrait, so well known to the school as the Gryffindor common room after Harry's numerous encounters with Voldemort, Draco brainstormed on how to handle the situation. Polyjuice would have been so perfect now - Harry would tell Ron, or even Hermione, anything. About his dreams, about his feelings.

Or would he? Had Harry lost all of his connections with his friends just as Draco had?

Behind a stone column, Draco fixed himself some charms; one for his hair, unfurling dry curls of a mousy brown; one for his nose, shortening and smoothing out the bump on his bridge, and sprinkling freckles like chocolate on a cappuccino. Then, for his robes - the unique fabric that hung from his back turned to something more suitable for a Gryffindor - scratchy black with gold edges, an almost ebony lining and a maroon jumper.

He shivered, as his self-esteem dropped quite a number of notches. Though a self-confessed outcast, he, out of habit, upheld his heritage no matter how upset it made him feel throughout the previous months. He had no fancy to be Gryffin, but there was no other way.

The Malfoy family crest that hung around his neck was hastily tucked underneath his shirt as he proceeded through the portrait after a group of third years who muttered the password for him. 'Lepus Cavus', appropriate for a number of reasons.

Harry sat in his dorm just as Draco had, watching the rain and longing to be outside on his broom, no matter how drenched he would have been getting. He felt at home in the sky, flying through the wind, gazing into the horizon. The Seeker preferred grey, windy evenings to sunny afternoons, for they were when he felt most comfortable. He could see for miles, his cheeks and forearms buffing the wind. You could zoom and dive when it was windy, and you could let your mind fly away.

When the door opened to reveal an unknown peer, whose hair was much too dark to be natural compared to his ghostly skin, Harry jumped up to push him back out into the corridor. But he shut the door and approached with a purpose, preparing to have a conversation.

"Potter, sit down, I have to talk to you." Impulse, he kept rolling over in the back of his mind. Impulse, impulse, impulse.

Harry bit his tongue as the boy pointed his wand at his robes, which was obviously not a white instrument, but something of a much darker kind. The intruder's robes rolled down from his shoulder, turning a darker grey and green, as his vest and tie changed to forest. Oily white strands grew straight out from his hairline, smoothing over his scalp and curling wetly around the nape of his neck. His skin glazed over like a geisha, a moon like face of white. Out of instinct, covered in his usual skin, the boy's posture improved a great deal.

"Get out, Malfoy." Harry was utterly surprised, and when the words poured from his mouth with such malice, and he regretted it immediately. He didn't want Draco to go. But he wasn't in deep enough to welcome his enemy with open arms.

Not yet, at least.

He started to stumble, "Potter, I don't want to be here, not now and not like this, but I am just playing messenger. I want to talk to you but we don't have much time..."

"What are you talking about, Malfoy?" He tried to scowl, but the lie shone through his set features.

He gave a tiny snigger, "No, Potter. Don't even start. We don't have time to be talking let alone denying what's going on..."

"I don't even know what you know, Malfoy. How can I possibly believe that this is all real?" Harry tried to spell it out and keep his temper in order.

"What? That I am real?"

"Malfoy. I wouldn't believe you if you told me that the sky was blue. You have never been truthful to me, how am I supposed to act like your friend, now, all of a sudden?"

"Trust me, for once in your life, Potter. We're going to die this afternoon, whether you like it or not. I am all you have, so weigh it."

Harry hung his head, "I can't yet." He snapped, standing up to face him. "I don't understand. I need answers and I can't possibly talk to anyone about this seriously. And that's not even considering you..."

Draco continued slowly, "Trinity needs you to find a phone, Harry, right now."

Harry looked into Draco's eyes for the first time. Apart from his diagonally set eyebrows, they were open, round and wide, but they turned down slightly at the sides. Draco was worried. He was self-conscious and very scared. Harry knew that his own eyes looked exactly the same. Their meeting had been forced, and spontaneity was the only way. But, this couldn't account for their terrible unease.

After a long pause, as the two registered their mutual knowledge and Trinity's familiar name, Harry jumped to the obvious conclusion. "There aren't any phones in Hogwarts, you know that. It's impossible."

"There's got to be a way. She's coming, now, and she needs a phone."

"I can't leave with her. I don't understand... about you, especially." He looked at him again, fire in his eyes. It was too easy for them to forget the past. Harry decided to turn the conversation away from the obvious and onto his foe. "Why are you even involved in this?"

Draco backed away. "You think she gave me a choice? Did she give you a choice, Potter?"

"I wish she fucking had, 'Go to sleep and forget!' " His voice rose in defence. "You can't come with me, Malfoy! It's not about you. It's about me and Voldemort and my place. My place in this stupid, stupid life and my role. You don't have a fucking role..."

Draco's eyes fell.

"You can't come with me. I don't care. It's not right. She is taking me and you can go back and dream. Dream forever, Draco, dream deeper and deeper, because you are not coming." Harry turned back to the window, where the rain forever fell. His heart was bursting. He couldn't stand it any more. "Why did it have to be you?"

Draco wasn't about to get emotional, "I can't choose, Harry, she made up my mind for me. I am going because I know, I know about everything and so do you..." He fumbled and lowered his voice, "It's not about who we are, it's not about being a Malfoy and a Potter; she couldn't care less who we are, and what we've done. It's about what we know, Harry. Now, we can't help what we know."

"All I know is... I can't live with you. That's something I know for sure. When you move on, you don't take someone with you. You leave absolutely everything behind, most importantly your enemies." He didn't mean to spit out the last words, but it was habit and he pressed his lips together afterward, and mumbled, "You forget about your enemies, Malfoy."

"It's not my fault that you're my enemy, that blame goes to my father and all of the people around us. Just because we aren't friends now doesn't mean that we have to take that with us."

Harry stayed facing the windows. "It's her bloody fault as well, for choosing you. For choosing us, it's all her fault. It's our path, I know, but this isn't fair. I don't want to do this with you, Malfoy."

"Pursue him, for he is your key to the real truth, and the real world." The sentence that Trinity had told them rolled through their minds that exact moment.

Draco paused and whispered, "Have you see her fly, Potter?"

Harry looked at Draco, through him into his mind. He wasn't transparent like everyone else, like Hermione and Ron. He didn't see the black that he saw inside Hermione and Ron. Draco was solid and true, he knew about everything. His face stayed calm as Harry searched for a sign.

He and Draco were in the same position, and there was nothing that Harry could do about it.

"I see her fly every night, just like you. Draco, you already know that." Draco couldn't smile outwardly, but Harry had admitted to the burden. The act of letting go sparked relief, and he forgot about his stand-off with Neo that accompanied Trinity's flight. "And every time, I want to go with her.... I want to leave. I want leave this fucking place and find out the truth about Voldemort."

After a whole morning of staring into Harry's mind also, Draco sought comfort from that fact the he could see into Harry's soul. He had been given the chance to look Harry and realise. Harry was real. Harry was real and he was a human. This person would look after him.

But Draco had caught Harry off guard. Now that he had looked inside, the fuel for his anger was gone. Harry had to go with Draco because he was the only one. He wasn't an enemy, he was a friend, simply because he was real. This was the boy he needed.

***

"Through the looking glass to a place where back is front, and up is down. Wrong is right, and enemies are your grandest friends."

She flew like a wizard, like a Quidditch player, her strides defeating even three of his. Expected oceans of hair were non-existent; the gunmetal fabric of her suit clung to her like oil. Her impish profile was burnt onto his memory, but he never caught her face.

In a blur of black, she descended through the roof. Spreading invisible wings and perching like a crow on the cold stony air, she was a stick figure in the cold. A superbly awe-inspiring being, brow knitted in concentration and spiky hands, beckoning to the wind. Beckoning to attention, to fear and to wonder. She was a princess in thick slippery leather, clinging to her ankles and her wrists. Around her fingers and tightly belted waist. Flickering grey and muted green, up and down her legs like lightening. Like tangling roots, gravity pulling her to the ground.

"To pull the blindfold from the eyes of civilization, one must know thyself and thy world."

But she fought upward. Into the air, around the walls of the room, spinning a whirlwind of her enemy numbers. Sharp elbows spearing the sky. Battling the earth's forces. She was something inconceivable.

Her never-ending black jacket, her heels on the cobblestones. Ready to pounce. Balanced on the very rules that told us it just couldn't happen. She could sit there, amid the air, a kaleidoscope of muted greys.

"What is the Matrix?"

She gave off radiation. Power to all those she loved. She cared about the two boys below her, but their savior had a hard task before her. Having flown to the great castle and managed to penetrate the walls, she was waist deep in an unknown kingdom. The alarm bells were ringing. Soon, they would be coming after her. They knew her weakness, but she couldn't even predict their strength.

"Temet Nosce. To the roof and back."

There was only one thing on her mind. Don't ask any questions, don't give any answers. In and out in a flash of pixels and rotating skies. Away with the two most meaningful, with as many clues as possible. Clues about the new world. Clues about wizards.

Clues about Harry and what he meant.

Clues about Draco. As much information as possible.

She landed on the ground, and looked at the two boys. A silent greeting. Her harsh features shocked them, her youth and her strength. Her posture, her aura. This was what they would become. She would fight alongside them, for freedom and understanding.

"Down the rabbit hole, as far as it will go. Ask me no questions. Soon, you will learn and conceive."