Home is where the heart is

Home is Where the Heart Is

Chapter Twenty-One - The Beginning of Change

Snape trudged through the ridiculously thick undergrowth, cursing when his cloak repeatedly snagged on stray brambles. Not far behind him, Draco was faring no better. There were numerous small rips in his robes, which made him feel irritated - on top of an overwhelming desire to turn around and bolt back to the castle.

The Death Eaters had been summoned again. Draco woke up, sweating heavily in his four-poster bed, clutching the Dark Mark. It felt like it was on fire. Hissing, Draco dressed as silently as he could, and slipped out of Slytherin House to Snape's office.

He had been waiting.

"Come," was all Snape said.

So Draco followed. Since then, neither had spoken any words to each other, intent on getting out of the castle and into the forest without detection. Draco glanced up at the moon shining through the trees, as he followed the faint path. A few days ago, it had been full. Luckily, the moon was now in wane, and there was no threat of meeting a savage werewolf in the dark. Facing off a werewolf would be easier than this, Draco thought gloomily. It was his first night as an official spy, and he was even more terrified than usual.

Voldemort had ways of weeding out traitors. During the summer, he had heard enough stories from Lucius' 'associates' to last him several lifetimes. But mostly, Voldemort seemed to value his own instincts when it came to the task of uprooting spies. How Snape had managed to just waltz back into the Death Eater fold so easily and become a trusted servant again was a complete mystery to Draco.

It must have taken some artful wording and a sufficient amount of fawning to pull it off.

Too busy imagining the things that Snape might have had to do, Draco didn't pay enough attention to where he stepped. His foot caught in a tangle of tree roots - and he fell flat on his face, straight into a thick growth of thorny weeds.

Draco was extremely grateful that it was too dark to see his face, which felt bright red with humiliation.

Snape stopped at the noise and turned around. The sight of his younger charge struggling to extract himself from brambles and his cloak almost made him snicker. But somehow, Severus doubted that Draco would appreciate any more ridicule than he had already experienced.

"Do get up, Draco. You're wasting time."

"Sorry professor," Draco apologised, as he attempted to stand up and only succeeded in shredding his cloak even more. "I - could you help me? - I think I'm stuck."

Fighting back an annoyed grunt, Snape offered his hand to the pale boy and managed to pull him out of the tangle. Draco was now covered in scratches, many of which were bleeding. His normally immaculate hair was sticking up all over the place, with bits of dirt and leaves stuck in it. Originally flawless robes were dirtied beyond repair. Ashamed of his clumsiness, Draco didn't meet Snape's critical eyes.

"You certainly chose an unfortunate time to develop a clumsy steak, Draco," Severus said dryly. "Your father will not be pleased."

The boy's facial expression became cold and impassive. "I don't care."

Snape paused. "You should. Voldemort does not prize untidiness."

"I'll try my chances," Draco muttered. "Besides, I doubt he particularly favours me anyway. Not after the last meeting."

"That?" Snape looked sombre. "True, Voldemort was rough. Occasionally he acts like a drunken man, lashing out at the nearest object. There is speculation that mentally, he may not be entirely stable. But I warn you now, Draco. That was nothing - nothing - compared to what he might do to you if you displease him."

Draco regarded Snape for a long moment. "You've seen him do worse?"

"I speak from firsthand experience," Snape said tightly. Draco shut up quickly.

They began walking again. Along the way, Draco discreetly tried to tidy himself up. He knew that if he had a mirror, he'd be horrified with what he saw. If there was only one thing that Draco prided himself on, it was his appearance. Pulling as much mess out of his blonde hair as he could, Draco wondered if he'd make it back to Hogwarts that night. He felt rather morbid.

When they were near the portkey site, Snape halted suddenly. "Keep as silent as possible tonight," he said quietly. "I do not want to lose one of my best students to a raving lunatic like Voldemort, through sheer stupidity."

Draco swallowed. "Yes, sir."

Snape glanced at him. "You're sweating. There is nothing to fear yet. But if you give yourself away with such obvious guilt, then you may as well sign your own death papers. Get a hold on yourself."

At that moment, Snape sounded almost identical to Lucius Malfoy. Draco's subconscious recognised this, and old habit that demanded him to do what his father told him won over. He took a deep breath, smoothed back his hair, and straightened his robes again. "I'm ready," Draco said, expressionless. He forced his mind to become blank and calm. Like ice, he thought. Like ice.

The Potions master inspected him again, before nodding. "Good."

They were near the portkey site. When the two bedraggled figures finally entered the clearing, it was, to his surprise, empty. Draco looked at Snape, questioning. "We're travelling alone tonight," Snape explained dourly. "Macnair dropped off a portkey during the day."

Draco looked around; he couldn't see anything that might serve as a suitable portkey. "Where is it?"

Frowning, Snape lit his wand and circled the clearing. The light brightened the area considerably, and then he spotted an old bottle, half hidden in a clump of rocks. "Ah," he said, stooping to pick it up. "Macnair was taking no chances, I see. We have....two minutes," Snape told the boy, examining his old-fashioned pocket watch. Draco nodded, not really listening.

The seconds ticked past, as Snape held the bottle and Draco stood close, his fingers poised, ready to touch the portkey when it was time. Then - "Ten," Snape said quietly. Draco placed his fingers on the bottle. "Nine....eight....seven....."

A haunting birdcall echoed through the forest. Draco shivered. "...four....three....two...one..."

They barely had time to brace themselves. A huge wind bowled Draco over completely - he felt himself flying forward - and then the hardness of the ground, as they arrived. For a few seconds, Draco felt very disorientated. His elbow had hit the ground at a funny angle and it was throbbing. Growling, Draco sat up. Somehow - defying the laws of gravity - Snape was still upright.

"I hate travelling by portkey," Draco was sure he heard the older man mutter under his breath. Draco silently agreed. Getting to his feet, he blinked. Wherever they were, it was stuffy. There was no sunlight, only torches held in brackets along the walls. And it was cold. Very cold.

"Where are we?" Draco whispered to Snape.

Severus shook his head. "I'm not sure. Voldemort never discloses the location of his....whereabouts. Not even to his trusted servants." He adjusted his cloak and drew his mask from inside his black robes. "Put on your mask."

Draco obeyed. The room they had Apparated in was empty, apart from themselves. Glancing at the floor, he noticed strange designs interwoven with the normal paving. Along the walls were similar designs - and diagrams. Draco's stomach lurched. They were creatures - monsters - inconceivable black shapes. Some showed crude stick-figures, representing humans being ripped apart. Others were of a great blackness consuming the world. The flickering torchlight had the effect of causing the figures to appear to move.

Noticing his interest, Snape turned his head. "The patterns on the floor allow us to Apparate here. The only other place you can Apparate to in this complex is the Dark Lord's personal chamber."

"What about them?" Draco gestured at the images. Snape looked at them thoughtfully.

"Those are ancient," he murmured. "Older than Hogwarts. Older than Rome. Far before the time of Christ."

Moving closer to the walls, Draco gazed at one particular mural. It was of a huge black cloud enveloping an entire city. Dark tendrils that curved like claws sunk deep into the surrounding earth. It reminded Draco vaguely of a story he had read somewhere....sometime, long ago....but he couldn't remember where. Hesitant, he reached out to touch the black haze-

"Don't!" Snape said sharply.

Draco jerked his hand back quickly.

"Those paintings have been here long before you and I," warned Snape, strolling forward to put a hand on Draco's shoulder. "As much as they seem harmless, I don't want to risk experimenting. We have to meet your father and the others."

Silently, Draco followed Snape out of the Apparation chamber, and into the labyrinth of tunnels. They were definitely underground. Face hidden beneath the mask and hood of his black cloak, Draco kept his eyes downcast. He could feel the closeness of this place. It was smothering.

Ahead, Snape stopped. Two Death Eaters stood in their path, hooded and cloaked. "You've arrived," one of them commented, a voice which Draco recognised to be Avery. "Lucius is in the storerooms, attending to some urgent business. The Dark Lord will see you instead."

"In his chambers?"

"Of course. The others are already there." Avery and the other Death Eater stood aside to let them pass. Draco felt their eyes following them as they continued down the passage. Shivering, he drew his cloak a little closer.

They turned a corner, and came to an intersection where several passages ran into one another. A massive set of mahogany doors stood there, bathed in the firelight, gold handles glinting. Outside those doors stood two of the most terrifying creatures that Draco had ever seen. They were seven feet tall, standing on hind legs that were as muscular as their torsos. Where hands and feet should have been, there were instead great, sharp claws, each claw as long as Draco's hand.

And the heads. With what seemed to be an eagle's face structure, the creatures boasted large, cruel beaks that looked able to snap a man's arm in two - and slitted, reptilian eyes that were set into their heads like a horse. Their skin was a mixture of greys, browns and dark greens, looking as tough as rubber.

Snape came to an abrupt halt and stared at them. Draco stopped to stand beside him. He glanced up at his mentor and was shocked to see a muscle twitching in Snape's cheek. Unidentifiable emotions flitted across his face. Almost instinctively, he pressed a hand to his side. The side that had nearly caused him to bleed to death.

Both creatures turned as Draco and Snape approached. They lazily inspected them.

"What are they?" Draco asked, barely moving his mouth. He was very, very quiet.

"Daemons." Snape replied, equally quiet.

Deciding them to be harmless, both daemons stood aside, and reluctantly, Draco and Snape passed through the doors. Snape grit his teeth and clenched his hands as they walked past, longing to attack the two monsters. But Voldemort was waiting just ahead, and there was nothing else to do but lead Draco through the doors and down the short passage that went straight into the huge chamber.

Voldemort was seated on his throne, looking imperious as usual. Clustered below the dais, all bent on one knee, were the rest of his servants - their fellow Death Eaters. Standing on one side of the throne was Aiden, clad in his usual black but without, Snape noted, a mask on. On the other side stood another daemon, still as a horrible statue. A blood-red cloth was tied around one huge bicep, and necklaces of teeth hung around its neck.

The closer they came to the throne, the greater Draco's fear pressed on him. This was the same place that he had been initiated, and later, tortured. It was ironic that they were the only times he had ever set foot in the complex. All Draco knew was that it was a place of pain.

"Severus - how wonderful of you to join us. And you as well, my young protégé," Voldemort drawled, rising from his gilded throne. The other Death Eaters, still bent on one knee, turned their heads to glance at the newcomers. "I see you both are fit and well?"

"Indeed, my Lord," Snape said respectfully, going down on one knee. Draco did the same, and stared at the floor.

"Now, Draco," Voldemort chided quietly, descending the steps down the dais. "Is that any way to greet you Master? Look at me."

Draco unwillingly raised his eyes to meet Voldemort's, who was towering above him. "My Lord," he said, unable to think of anything else to say. It was all he could manage.

Voldemort smiled, and reached out a spindly hand to stroke Draco's silvery-blonde hair. Draco was completely and utterly repulsed, but passionately fought the urge to shudder and draw away. "Lucius' son is as valuable as Lucius himself," Voldemort said fondly, still stroking Draco's hair. "You will be one of my greatest servants, boy, did you know that? I have foreseen it, of course..."

Still smiling eerily, Voldemort pulled back his hand. "Arise, my friends."

Slowly, Draco and the other Death Eater rose. Voldemort began to stroll around where Draco stood, circling him like a predator. Draco felt like he was being inspected by a shark. "Turning out well, I see...going to be tall, just like his father....proud shoulders....and although hidden by his mask and cloak, Draco inherited his Veela looks from his mother."

He finished circling Draco, turned, and climbed the steps back up to the throne. Once settled, Voldemort began to address business. "Well, here we are - nearly at Halloween, my followers. No doubt you are all wondering as to what species the strange creatures prowling An Domhain belong to, and why they are here. They have joined us. I, the Dark One, have forged an allegiance with the great and powerful daemons, the race superior to all other beings except wizard life."

Bet he doesn't think so, Draco thought numbly, staring at the fearsome creature that appeared to be completely still on Voldemort's left.

"A vast army is camped in the main amphitheatre and surrounding caverns. Do not intrude their camps - they are now entitled to that part of An Domhain."

Vast army?

Voldemort was on his feet again, eyes glinting madly. "We are a great cause - expelling all Mudbloods and Muggles from Britain is our first goal! It will take time, my friends - much time and patience. But once we have taken Hogwarts and the Ministry, only Pure-bloods and those worthy shall rule Britain! None shall oppose us, and then we shall defeat anyone who dares to interfere!"

Voldemort was ranting. There was no other word for it.

One of Snape's quotes surfaced from earlier. Occasionally he acts like a drunken man, lashing out at the nearest object. There is speculation that mentally, he may not be entirely stable. Draco sucked in a short breath. Voldemort, insane? Well, he would have to be a sick, crazy man, after his reign that ended fourteen years ago.

But the way that Voldemort was acting, his plots, his endless use of pointless torture.....

His were not the actions of a powerful, sane man.

"The Dementors are our next favoured allies - they lurk, now, deep under An Domhain. I sent them into the Nameless passages, and there they dwell with the other Nameless horrors in the dark. But they will come, my faithful servants, they will come when they are called. And when we attack, it shall be ruthless! None but those we chose shall live! For with daemons and Dementors, and Giants - yes, those oafs are of use to us still - and Dark Creatures that our animal expert, Aiden, can conjure for us-"

Aiden inclined his head regally.

"-we shall be invincible! For not even the Ministry and Hogwarts can keep out every Dark Creature, every shadow. And one shadow, friends, is all it takes to plant a seed of doubt, a seed of fear!"

Some of the Death Eaters shifted, looking eager. "What must we do for you, my Lord?" cried Macnair, stepping forward. Behind him, other Death Eaters backed him up, begging for instructions. Voldemort looked even more triumphant. And it was then that Snape realised the purpose for the meeting - Voldemort was rallying them up. Stirring loyalty. Getting them eager for war.

"You must swear your fertility to me again," The Dark Lord hissed, standing on the top step. "You all swore me an oath many years ago, to love me and serve me until your death. But times change, and loyalties sway. I need to be sure that you are all sincere."

A babble of voices broke out; the Death Eaters protesting his words, swearing their service, fervently denying any betrayal.

Draco felt a wave of fear swamp over him. Please, God - don't make me go through that again. Please.

Looking like a cat who swallowed the canary, Voldemort smiled, satisfied. "You will swear me your oath once again. There is no need to imprint the Dark Mark......after all, you all have it, and it cannot be removed. That was how I perfected the charm, is it not? And you, Draco....." Voldemort turned his burning gaze towards the Slytherin boy.

Draco, under his mask, went pale. But nobody could see that, for which he was intensely glad.

"-you are young, and new in the Order. Your oath is strong - bound in blood and scars. I have no need to question your loyalty. Lucius raised you well."

"T-thank you, my Lord....." he managed to stammer.

"Now," said Voldemort, turning abruptly towards the far end of the chamber, which was cast in darkness. "There is another who must be present for this. Nagini." Then, Voldemort said something commanding in Parseltongue. There was a shifting noise, and the huge snake came into view. Draco had to remind himself that he liked snakes - this one was terrifying.

The enormous serpent slithered towards Voldemort, and the Death Eaters stepped back hurriedly to let her pass. "Form the circle, my friends. Draco, stand at my side, and you shall see the true markings of loyalty."

Soundlessly, the Death Eaters got into their positions, anticipation filling the atmosphere. Swallowing, Draco stood in his place next to Voldemort. The Dark Lord seemed very tall compared to him. "Macnair," Voldemort said quietly. "You shall be the first to renew."

And so it happened. Macnair got on his knees in front of Voldemort and swore the oath he had sworn all those years ago. He still remembered every word of it. The whole time, the Dark Lord was expressionless. When Macnair was finished, he bent down and kissed the hem of Voldemort's robes, and then backed away into his position. It went on - each member of the circle swore their oath, vowing to serve Voldemort forever, through all the fires of hell.

When it was Snape's turn, he did it so effortlessly and sincerely that Draco wondered if Snape was really on Dumbledore's side, or if it was just all a scam.

When the last person had sworn their oath, one of the massive doors opened. Lucius, Avery, and the other Death Eater entered. Lucius, for all he looked weary, was alert as always. "Forgive us for taking so long, my Lord," he announced, bowing deeply.

Behind him, the others did the same. "It took much longer than expected to store and organise the...ah....requirements."

Voldemort didn't look angry. "Indeed, Lucius? Most unpredictable. I have no doubt that you already know the events of this evening?"

Lucius bowed again. "I would not presume to know your mind, my Lord," he said. Draco inwardly sighed. His father was so fawning and so shrewd that it was sickening.

"A good answer. The Death Eaters are renewing their vows, Lucius. A most important deed....for their loyalty is now bound to me, stronger than ever before." Here, Draco looked at Snape out of the corner of his eye. The potions master did not twitch.

"We will swear it too, Lord!" Avery declared. "We are faithful to you!"

Voldemort raised a hand. "Well then, come forward, my faithful servants. Do not linger on the outskirts of the Circle. We are like family here."

Eagerly, Avery came forward and said his vow. Bowing and scraping the floor, he kissed the hem of Voldemort's robe, and backed away respectively. Then the next Death Eater, who Draco found out to be Blaise Zambini's father, said his vow. At last it was Lucius' turn. He lowered himself to his knees and swore his oath.

Lucius' cold blue eyes never left Voldemort's harsh red ones.

Draco stood at the side and felt sickened.

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"Daddy! Daddy, look at me!" the small girl called, giggling, as she ran onto the small frozen lake. The world was covered in glittering snow, and to a child's blissful, uncomplicated mind - it was a winter wonderland.

"Don't go too far," the young, kind-looking man cautioned, standing on the edge. "Come back here, it's not safe-"

A shrill scream broke the peace - the ice buckled, and then shattered underneath the child's weight.

"NO!" The man cried, skating on the bottoms of his boots, out to the hole.

The little girl was plunged into the icy cold lake. Her protective, warm clothing dragged her down, and she let out a scream that only took air from her lungs and caused her to swallow a mouthful of the freezing water. She sputtered, and kicked upwards as hard as she could.

She was nearly there, when her hand touched the ice covering the surface. So close! But through blurry eyes, she couldn't find the hole. Her hands only met ice. Her little lungs were bursting for air - all she could feel was the pressing cold around her.

Where was Daddy? Where was he?

Everything was so cold......so grey.....the light was gone....

"DADDY!"

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"DADDY!"

Danielle cried out, and toppled off her bed. She hit the floor hard enough to knock the wind out of her.

Zacharius opened a sleepy eye and observed his mistress sprawled on the floor. Silly human.

Gasping for air, Danielle slowly sat up. Her heart was pounding, and she couldn't stop taking in deep lungfuls of air. Air! Oh, how glad she was that she could breathe so easily! She couldn't stop shivering. It was like being chilled to the bone.....even though the fireplace had a merry little fire crackling away. Stiffly, Danielle got to her feet.

Her bed sheets were tangled; pillows had fallen off the bed. But somehow, Zacharius seemed to be untouched and unruffled by her antics. He stood up, stretched, and jumped off the bed to twine between her legs. Shaken but relieved, Danielle bent down and gathered the big, black tomcat into her arms. "I think I'm going mad, Zaccy-boy," she whispered. Zacharius purred in reply.

Carefully, she eased herself into the armchair in front of the fire, Zacharius in her lap. The dream had been so vivid, so real......she had been that little girl. She had been drowning in the freezing lake. That man had been her father. Daddy.

Daddy.

Just saying the word made tears spring to her eyes. It had been a long time since she had allowed herself to think of her parents. They had been murdered during the attack on her home-village. Her parents.....and her sweet little sisters. Danielle choked back a sob. She had been sixteen when her home had been attacked....she'd been at Hogwarts.

Tabitha had only been ten. Rose, nine. Her father had tried to save them, Danielle knew he would have....but a Muggle was no match for Death Eaters, Dementors and Giants. Her mother would have fought bravely, dying to protect her husband and children. Her mother had been a good witch, handy with curses. But there was no way that Samantha Rivendale would have lasted long in that type of battle.

Imagining her family made more tears well up, until Danielle was sobbing quietly. Zacharius purred louder, standing on her lap to rub his head against her face. His hair got up her nose, and she sneezed amidst her tears. She let out a watery giggle.

We've been through a lot together, you and I, she thought sadly, stroking the demanding cat. You're the one thing that's always come through for me. You'll never leave me, old boy.

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"Ron! Ron! You've got to see this!" Harry shouted up the stairwell to the boy's dormitories. In minute or two, Ron appeared on the stairs, looking sleepy and rumpled. It was still early, Harry remembered. He guessed that all of the nervous waiting and anticipation of the night before had tired Ron out so much that he had overslept.

Ron arrived at the bottom. "What's the deal, Harry?" he yawned. Then, Ron spotted a list pinned on the House noticeboard. "Is that-?" he exclaimed, dashing over to inspect it. He quickly scanned the parchment, and a huge, giddy grin spread across his face. He turned, awestruck, to Harry, who had been watching him with an equally huge grin.

"I've got Keeper," Ron said in wonder. He sank into a chair. "I've actually got Keeper!"

If anything, he seemed to be in a state of shock. Harry grinned wider and thumped him on the back. "Well done, Ron! I knew you'd get it."

"Yeah...right...hang on, who's Chaser?" Ron suddenly asked. He'd been so intent on looking at the Keeper position that he hadn't bothered to read down. Amused, Harry peered at the list, before blanching completely.

"What the.....?" He looked bewildered.

"What? Who is it?" Ron anxiously stood up.

"You won't believe it," Harry said, staring at the list. "It's Colin Creevey."

"You're joking," said Ron.

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By midday the news had spread - the new positions on the Gryffindor Quidditch team had been filled. Everywhere Ron went that day, he was congratulated by fellow Gryffindors who were confident that another Weasley on the team could only mean good luck.

Fred and George decided to get into the spirit by charming all of Ron's socks and ties to flash red-gold, and there was nothing that Ron could do to stop it. Hermione couldn't find the right spell to remove the charm, so he had to go to all of his classes with a blindingly bright tie and socks. McGonagall let him off, but Snape, being in one of his foul tempers, sneered about 'not following the school dress code' and deducted ten points from Gryffindor.

"Bastard," Ron muttered, as he, Harry and Hermione exited the Potions classroom when the bell rang. "He's always got to rain on my parade!" Hermione patted him on the shoulder.

Harry could easily tell that Ron loved all of the attention from the rest of the school. He had finally gotten recognition for something that had nothing to do with the famous Harry Potter or glory from one of his brothers. Harry was happy for him. That evening, Ron received a large batch of sticky treacle from his mother, and a letter of praise from Mr Weasley that made Ron's ears go red.

Colin Creevey was perhaps the biggest surprise of all. The small, mousy-haired boy spent the whole week beaming from ear-to-ear. Coming from an entirely Muggle family, and with limited experience on a broom, most people were astounded that Katie Bell had insisted he play on the team.

"But Colin?" Harry kept on asking Katie, resigned. "Why did it have to be him?"

"He's a good kid, Harry," she replied, amused. "He has talent. And you'll see that once you get to know him, Colin isn't so bad. Really."

Harry doubted this. After more than three years, Colin still hadn't lost his awe and hero-worshipping habits. Harry spent most of the week dodging Colin and his little brother Dennis, who had begun to trail after Harry like a puppy.

The first Quidditch training-session was held that weekend. Harry had been eager for a long time to get back into practise, and threw himself into rolling, twisting, and diving in the air. Missing a year of school Quidditch had left the team rusty, but with Katie's encouragement and vigour, Harry and Ron went away that evening with high spirits.

"I reckon we could win the cup again this year," Ron was telling Harry enthusiastically, as they made their way back towards the castle. "Fred and George are the best beaters this school's got, and Alicia and Katie are really good Chasers. Not to mention that we have the incredible Harry Potter, Seeker extraordinaire-"

Harry pulled a face. "Well, you are!" Ron persisted. "Nobody else can catch the Snitch as fast as you! And you're once of the best fliers in the school." There wasn't a trace of anything but admiration in Ron's voice.

"I'm not extraordinary," Harry corrected Ron, feeling embarrassed. "I can just fly well-"

"Always the modest one, Potter."

Ron and Harry turned abruptly. Draco Malfoy was leaning comfortably against a tree, mostly hidden from view.

Ron scowled. "Got a problem, Malfoy?"

Malfoy snorted. "Who do you think you're kidding?" he asked Harry nastily. "Pretending to be so ignorant about what you can do? It's sickening. The great Harry Potter doesn't accept praise, oh no. Why don't you try and be honest for once, Potter? Don't you ever get bored of acting like a good, modest, role-model-for-all little boy?"

In the fading light, Malfoy looked utterly relaxed. His school cloak casually swung over his shoulders, dressed in dark pants and a Slytherin jumper, Draco looked icy and confident. Harry suspected that he'd been spying on the Gryffindor Quidditch practise.

"I don't act like you," Harry informed the Slytherin coldly.

"Thank God," Ron growled.

Without bothering to wait for Malfoy's answer, Harry turned his back and continued on his way, back to the Grand Hall for dinner. Ron hurriedly followed him. Draco watched them go, with narrowed eyes.

Ron had to jog to keep up with Harry's intense pace. "Stupid prat," he panted, once they were out of earshot. "Bet he was sizing us up. Hey, slow down a bit, will you?"

Harry stopped. "I hate him," he said fiercely. "He's getting worse and worse, and sooner or later I'm going to have to fight him, I know it."

"But you have-"

"I mean, a real duel," Harry cut in. "Not as two kids sending stupid hexes at each other. Where we fight to hurt. Maybe even...." At this, Harry couldn't continue. Ron stared at him with wide eyes.

"You don't really mean that," he said worriedly. "I mean, we hate his guts and the same in his case...but you can't actually mean-"

"I do." Sighing, Harry resumed walking. "C'mon, I'm hungry. Dinner should be about ready."

Unconvinced, Ron hesitated, before falling into step with him. This isn't right, he thought uneasily. Harry never used to be like this. Harry wouldn't kill anyone - would he?

Ron didn't want to think too closely about his best friend's odd words. They were too worrying.

At dinner, Harry was quiet. Hermione was busy chatting about the Arithmancy essay she'd just finished, and didn't notice Harry's silence. Malfoy was in his usual chair over at the Slytherin table, looking undisturbed and in control. The other Slytherin fifth years were gathered around him, like members of his royal court. Scowling, Harry deliberately sat with his back to their table and concentrated on his food.

Remus and Danielle were sitting at the teacher's table, quietly engrossed in conversation. Snape sat only a few seats down, looking quite sour. Overall, it was just another typical dinner.

Harry felt that he just couldn't finish his food. Sighing, he pushed his chair back from the table, feigning weariness. "I'll see you later," he told Ron and Hermione. "Got to start my homework."

Ron just gaped, while Hermione looked quite gratified. "Well, if it's schoolwork...." she said.

Once Harry was gone, Ron rounded on her. "You didn't actually believe that, did you?" he asked her scornfully.

"What?"

"Didn't you notice how he was acting?" Ron demanded, before telling her about the small encounter with Malfoy. Afterwards, she looked grim. Glancing around to make sure nobody could hear, Hermione bit her lip.

"Maybe he's feeling pressured?" she ventured. "Being in the Order - although he hasn't really done much - and after what happened only - what? A month ago? - Harry thinks he has to live up to things. I mean, he and Malfoy have hated each other since about the time they met, right? I suppose they're each other's nemesis....."

Ron looked at her impatiently. "I know that, Hermione. But what are we going to do about him?" By 'him', Ron meant Malfoy. "Something's going on with Malfoy, I don't know what-"

"Exactly. And until we know, we can't do anything. Dumbledore's keeping an eye on him, I'll bet."

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The next Saturday was the first Quidditch match of the season. Tension was high in the school, with the first game being, ironically, Gryffindor versus Slytherin. That week, Harry trained Monday, Wednesday and Friday night, in preparation. Katie was driving them, determined to get them up to scratch.

"Don't worry about it," she said, when George pointed out Colin's inexperience. "You'll all be fine. You're the best team in Hogwarts!" Colin blushed bright pink at her compliment. Ron was also throwing himself into training.

"Got to beat Malfoy," he grunted, when Ginny, worried, asked him if he was trying to kill himself.

After the practice on Friday night, Harry went to visit Sirius. His Godfather looked pleased to see him. "Thought you'd forgotten about me," Sirius commented dryly, as he stood aside to let Harry past him. The painting of the lion swung back into place.

"Been busy with school and Quidditch training," Harry sighed, making himself comfortable on the wide, cushy chair in front of the fire. Winter was approaching quickly, and the wind was becoming bitterly cold. He rubbed his hands to warm them. Sirius sat beside Harry and observed him. His cheeks were ruddy from being outside. Green eyes were alert and bright behind those god-awful glasses. Harry sported a Gryffindor scarf wrapped around his neck, and had his school robes thrown over the top of Muggle clothing.

"I'll be able to see you play a real match," Sirius said after a while. "It should be a good game. 'Specially if Gryffindor beats Slytherin."

"I thought adults weren't supposed to be biased?" asked Harry, with a bit of a grin.

Sirius waved a hand. "Oh, but this is different. Old house loyalties, you know. And I've got my Godson playing, after all. That's enough to get a man's support." He scrutinised Harry for a moment. "Want something to eat?"

"Yes please," said Harry, feeling grateful. "I'm starving, actually."

Sirius stood up and moved over to a curious-looking piece of wood hanging up, with strange little knobs and keys on it. There was something that looked similar to a speaker in the middle. "You want anything in particular?" he called over his shoulder.

"Er....some soup, maybe?" Intrigued, Harry watched as Sirius fiddled with the knobs and twisted different keys. Then, to his absolute amazement, a squeaky voice emerged from the small mouthpiece.

"Yes sir? Do you require something?"

It was the voice of a House Elf, Harry was sure of it. Sirius threw a quick grin in his direction, before ordering a large canteen of chicken soup, two bowls and eating apparatus, and a large jug of pumpkin juice. "Is that all right?"

Harry nodded. Sirius thanked the House Elf and fiddled with some keys, before sitting back down again. Harry was impressed.

"What is that thing?" he asked, looking back over at the wooden board.

"Ah," Sirius said, looking a bit surprised. "I thought you knew? Never mind. It's called a Magi-Inceptor. Sort of like a switchboard for room service. They use them in hotels and things. Dumbledore installed one for me so I don't have to risk going outside."

"I've never seen them in The Leaky Cauldron," Harry said.

Sirius nodded wisely. "They're a fairly new contraption. Tom's a stickler for tradition. Probably doesn't believe in using one of these 'new-fangled' things.....prides himself on old-fashioned service, he does."

They didn't have to wait long. In no time at all, there was a rap on the frame of the portrait outside, and the picture swung open. A tiny House Elf stood there, with two trays bearing food floating along behind. "Your dinners, sirs!" it chirped. They set up the food on the small table and the House Elf bowed, before leaving.

Harry enthusiastically began to attack his dinner without question. Bemused, Sirius ate at a slightly slower rate. The evening passed pleasantly; Harry and Sirius were entirely at home with talking about small, everyday things. There was a feeling of warmth about sitting on the floor and discussing the possibility of Snape ever washing his hair, that couldn't be substituted with Ron or Hermione's company.

Eventually, Sirius ushered him out, insisting on a proper night's sleep for the day ahead. Reluctantly, Harry obeyed. "No reading in bed, either," Sirius said sternly, sending him off.

On the way to the Common room, Harry heard someone call his name as he walked by a classroom. It was Danielle. "I didn't see you at dinner," she said casually, packing away her things into a small book bag.

"I visited Sirius."

"Ah," Danielle said, before scowling. "He'd better have fed you or-"

"I'm fine, he did," Harry cut in quickly.

Still eyeing him wrathfully, like an eagle, Danielle slung the bag over her shoulder and walked out the classroom. "I'll take you back to the Common room, you're already pushing the curfew as it is." Harry tagged along beside her.

"Are you coming to the game tomorrow?" he asked, as they rounded a corner.

Danielle gave him a mildly outraged look. "Of course I am!" she said. Then, as an afterthought, she added, "If I didn't, I'd have to answer to Sirius and Remus. And I don't have the strength at the moment to fend off both of them."

Harry glanced at her. "You don't like Quidditch much, do you?"

She smiled guiltily. "Is it really that obvious?"

They reached the portrait of the Fat Lady. "Maybe I might be able to change your mind about Quidditch," Harry suggested, shoving his hands into his pockets. "It's brilliant, really, and there isn't another sport like it."

"Which is probably a good thing," Danielle interjected. "It's too dangerous for me, I'm afraid. Suppose I'm too old....but for a young, sprightly thing like you..." She grinned. "Look, I'll come along and cheer for Gryffindor. I may be firmly attached to the ground, but I still enjoy seeing the Gryffindor team beat everyone else."

She saluted him smartly, before strolling away down the corridor, whistling.

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"ALICIA SCORES! 50-10!" hollered Lee Jordan, as the Gryffindor section of the stands went wild with cheering. Alicia pumped a fist in the air as she flew past triumphantly, a scarlet blur on her broomstick. High above the game, Harry couldn't help but smile widely. Gryffindor was performing well, and the Slytherins had only managed to score one hoop, Ron only narrowly missing the Quaffle.

Malfoy was circling above the game at the opposite side of the Pitch, intent on beating Harry to the Snitch. Frowning, Harry watched the blonde Seeker sneer as the Quaffle was taken by one of the Slytherin Chasers. At one point, their eyes met; both gave each other extremely cold looks, before pointedly turning away.

Draco was fiercely determined to beat Potter. He hadn't caught the Snitch in a single match against Gryffindor, and it was time to change that.

Wait. There!

Malfoy was off like a shot, Harry not far behind him. The Snitch fluttered around the base of the northerly goal hoops. Draco dove sharply, gripping his broomstick tightly. He and Harry were side by side - Potter was gaining -

And then the Snitch darted away, shooting off back down the Pitch. Malfoy only just managed to pull up in time. Harry broke his dive so sharply that he skimmed the tops of the grass.

In the stands, Hermione had her hands planted firmly over her eyes. "He crashed, didn't he?" she wailed. Beside her, Neville Longbottom was doing the same.

"No, no, it's okay, they pulled up!" Seamus told them, peering through his set of binoculars. "They're still going after the Snitch!"

A Bludger suddenly appeared, aiming straight for Draco's head. He ducked it and focused completely on the tiny golden wings. Almost there...only a bit more...come on....

But then the Snitch zoomed upwards, directly into the bright sun. Blinded, Draco flinched and shielded his eyes. Harry shot past him. Cursing, Draco resumed his chase. Potter was now in the lead, and closing fast. He'd never be able to catch up....

The Snitch was flying high over the Pitch, almost too quickly for Harry to follow. The Firebolt was keeping the pace well, but the strong winds made staying on course difficult. Draco was only a few broomspans behind Harry, completely bent on catching up. There was no way he was going to let that blasted Gryffindor win....

Because Draco was behind Harry, he saw the Bludger coming before it reached them.

Harry didn't, too intent on following the Snitch.

It hit Harry square in the shoulder with a sickening crunch, the force of the blow throwing him completely off his Firebolt.

Almost in slow motion, Draco watched him fall. He could hear screams from the crowd; see the Gryffindors fly forward, foolishly hoping to catch him. It was useless, he realised dimly. They'd never get there in time.

Competitive green eyes flashed across Draco's vision. His stomach muscles tightened.

Without fully comprehending what he was doing, Draco dove again.

He caught Harry's limp body, just before he hit the ground.

With an effort, Draco kept his grip on Harry long enough to land on the ground and dismount his broomstick. The other boy was unconscious. Grunting, Draco slowly laid him on the ground, before sinking to the ground himself.

After what seemed to be an eternity, but in fact was only a few seconds, the rest of the Gryffindor and Slytherin teams landed, followed closely by Dumbledore and Madam Hooch sprinting across the Pitch. Following them were Lupin and Professor Rivendale.

It seemed to take even longer for them to all arrive and crowd around the two lone figures in the middle of the field.

"Harry!" Ron cried, pushing forward to kneel beside his best friend.

Madam Hooch brandished her wand. "Get back, all of you," she ordered. "He needs medical attention right now. Headmaster-"

"Yes, of course." Swiftly, Dumbledore conjured a stretcher. Carefully, he and Madam Hooch lifted Harry onto it as gently as possible. Draco was pushed to the side as Hooch, Lupin and Rivendale escorted the stretcher up to the castle, the rest of the Gryffindor team lagging behind worriedly. Frozen, Draco found himself confronted by Dumbledore, just before the old man was about to follow.

"Thank you, Draco," he said quietly. "You saved his life."

Standing quite still, Draco didn't say anything. The impact of what he'd just done was beginning to sink in. He felt partially in a daze. Dumbledore laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Come with me, Draco. You need to sit down."

And gripping his arm, Dumbledore led him up to the castle.

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