Rating:
R
House:
Schnoogle
Genres:
Drama Angst
Era:
Multiple Eras
Spoilers:
Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Prizoner of Azkaban Goblet of Fire Order of the Phoenix
Stats:
Published: 01/29/2002
Updated: 04/28/2007
Words: 322,203
Chapters: 11
Hits: 100,487

Resolution

Frances Potter

Story Summary:
When you've spent six years fighting evil, all you really want is a quiet time. But when your name is Harry Potter the chances of that are very slim. A series of vignettes chronicling Harry's final six months at Hogwarts. Exams, friends, lovers, Quidditch, the war and Draco all conspire to make the year end seem a very long way away. Slash (Harry/Draco)

Chapter 09

Chapter Summary:
res·o·lu·tion, noun -- solving of doubts, problems, questions etc.
Posted:
07/06/2004
Hits:
6,202

Chapter 9: The Art of Protection Harry and Snape talk more. Sirius takes Harry for a walk in the woods. Harry gets artistic. Draco submits

Dedication:
This chapter is dedicated to EVERYONE who has stuck with this story over the last two and a half years. Thank you for your patience and support.

Author's note: Resolution was started before the publication of Order of the Phoenix and is based on the canon of PS/SS, CoS, PoA and GoF. While certain canon facts from OotP will be incorporated in the story (such as spells and locations), the events of Harry's 5th year in Resolution are NOT the same as those in OotP.

Amongst other things, Resolution makes the following assumptions:

1. Sirius Black is alive.
2. Voldemort's return at the end of GoF is not common knowledge to the Wizarding world and many people, including the Ministry of Magic still refuse to believe it.
3. Lucius Malfoy is still considered to be a pillar of the community and any connections he might have with the Dark Lord remain a secret.
4. Draco Malfoy was never picked as a prefect.
5. Wizards and witches come of age at eighteen.
6. Wizards love to ski!

------------------------------

A resolution to avoid an evil is seldom framed til the evil is so far advanced as to make avoidance impossible -- Thomas Hardy

------------------------------

Chapter 9: The Art of Protection

Harry's Journal ... Sunday 22nd March 1998

We're back together. He's told me everything -- about his magic and about what happened in the storeroom. Afterwards he shagged me senseless and it was incredible.

I love the way he makes me feel and how for a little while nothing matters apart from him inside me. I can lose myself in him and forget about prophecies and magic and Snape and Dumbledore and what they all want me to do.

With him there, I think I could get through this. I wish he was the Morning Star's Child from the prophecy. But what are the chances of both of us being part of the same prophecy? Next to impossible.

The last few days have gone the full range from brilliant to frightening. The brilliant bit is that we've found places to meet all over Hogwarts ... I didn't realise there was a room behind the tapestry of Andros the Invincible in the North Tower, or that a cupboard appears in the Charms classroom on Fridays. Sometimes I just hold him and let him tell me what he wants to do to me. Once I thought I would come from him just talking to me. Other times I let him take me. But the great thing is that the urgency has gone. In the past we always seemed to do it because of some great cataclysmic happening -- like the argument in the Archive -- but now we've been messing around and it feels incredible.

The frightening thing is that I've been having nightmares about him. They're similar to the ones I had before when Voldemort Marked him and he then Marked me. I told him about the dreams last night, and that I don't think he should go home, but he keeps telling me not to be stupid and that his dad would never hurt him.

He knows about the prophecy now, but not the bit Hermione found out, and I've still not told him about the Earth Magic. I feel bad about that, but then I haven't told Ron that either, so as I'm not telling either of them it seems okay ... it's not like I'm lying by not saying anything just yet. Besides, both Sirius and Snape keep on at me about not telling people. I've got a lesson with Sirius later -- he said something about going out to the Forest. Then I've got to see Snape tomorrow. I think I've made up my mind about what he wants as well. I have to help him.

I wonder if I can do anything to help protect him from his dad and from Voldemort. Or does this magic only work when someone has already been Marked? Maybe I should ask Snape.

Then there's his birthday. What do you get an eighteen-year-old boy you've never given anything to in the past? I still don't know that much about him ... not even what his favourite food is. I bet his friends will throw a party or something before he goes home. Maybe I should talk to Hermione ... she sorted out things for Seamus and Ron, so she might have some ideas.

Maybe I should wrap myself up ... but he can have me whenever he wants.

********************

The Forbidden Forest....

"This is it." Sirius swept his arms in a dramatic arc, his grin growing at the look of awe on Harry's face.

"Wow!" Harry turned to his godfather, then back to the clearing they'd just stepped into. It was incredible to think that one moment he'd been deep in the darkness of the Forbidden Forest, and the next in this sunlit grove. It would have been easy to walk straight by, he thought, but then the Forest was full of surprises -- unicorns and enormous spiders, for example.

The grove was almost circular, surrounded by trees. A waterfall cascaded down a rocky outcrop into a pool of clear water, which took up most of the open area. It looked like, Harry decided, an idealised version of a fairy glade or of some subtropical paradise. Not only that, but the plants surrounding the pool shouldn't have been in bloom at this time of year, and the colours seemed to be brighter than normal.

And how had he missed the sound of the waterfall as they'd got closer?

"It's incredible. It doesn't look real."

Sirius had turned his face to the sun, basking in the warmth. "Oh, it's real ... in a magical way, of course."

"But why isn't it crawling with people? I know we're not supposed to come into the Forest, but people do. I can't believe no one's found it." Crossing to the pool, Harry knelt on the grass and dipped his hand in. "It's warm!" he gasped in surprise.

"I know." Sirius threw himself down on the ground, lying back comfortably. "It's incredible to swim in there."

"I take it you've been here before then." The humour in Harry's voice was clear. "Recently or back when you were at school?"

"Oh, this is one place the Marauders never found. Albus showed it to me the summer after your fourth year. I'd been on the run for two years by then and he thought it would do me good to rest here for a few days; as always he was right. As for people finding it, they can't. You have to be shown it by someone who knows about it. Albus showed me, he was shown by someone else, and now I'm showing you."

"So I could bring Ron and Hermione here?"

"Not quite that simple. The person you bring has to have a need, which could be anything. My need was that I was exhausted after all the years in Azkaban and then being on the run; I thought my body and mind were falling apart. Albus knew that being here would help and it did. You'll know when it's right to show someone else because if there isn't a need then you just wouldn't be able to find it." Sirius frowned thoughtfully. "Though that might not be the case with you."

Harry sat back on the grass, crossed his legs, and picked a blade of grass. "So, what is it? Some sort of healing spring?" He chewed absently on the grass.

"Can't you feel it? Feel the energy?"

"Mmmmm. It's really strong ... almost like it's making my fingers tingle. It's like...." He stopped as something whizzed past him. "What the...." Instinctively, he reached for his wand, but it wasn't there; Sirius had told him to leave it back at the castle. "What was that?"

Sirius was grinning when Harry finally looked at him. "Yes, Harry, there really are fairies at the bottom of your garden."

Something flicked past Harry again, and he had the impression of fluttering wings, but it whizzed away before he could get a better look. "Real fairies?"

"Yeah ... these ones are okay, but some can be a bit violent. They're attracted to the energy here." Sirius paused thoughtfully. "Or maybe the energy is here because they are." He sat up, suddenly looking very intense. "You may be part of the outside world, but this is your world as well, Harry ... this is your birthright."

The bemused expression on Harry's face wasn't helped by the fact he currently had one of the little creatures fluttering on his head. Sirius shooed it away.

"You know we've talked about energy points and how Earth Magic is connected like a web through and around the world. There's an energy point at Stonehenge and another at Glastonbury. This is the point for Hogwarts, and it's why the Founders picked this place for the castle. Lines of energy through the earth and air connect them all. Muggles can sometimes sense the lines ... they call them ley lines and they find them with divination devices and things like that. Magical folk can just tap into the energy and use it. Someone like you can tap into the energy here and not only use it but also control it. We don't know just how it works or what the effects are because it's been so long since there were any Earth Mages, so we don't know what's true and what's myth."

"Except for Voldemort. He can use it."

"Well, he doesn't really count. He craves the power but has never been able to get it to flow. Whereas you, Harry, have a natural affinity for it.

"But what am I supposed to do with it?"

"What the prophecy says -- The Lion will heal the land in the places Darkness has touched."

Harry snorted. "Yeah, right."

"You, my dear godson, really have no idea, do you? Do you want to give it a go?"

"What, now?"

"It's why we've walked all the way out here. You've been in touch with Earth energy already ... this is the same, but more so."

The piece of grass Harry had been holding had been twisted round and round his fingers to the point that it was limp and bruised. He dropped it to the ground and found himself wondering about Snape's potions and how they were supposed to enhance his connection to this strange energy. His life had changed completely over the last month since he'd found out about prophecies, Earth Magic and Dream Weavers. He'd arrived at school for his last year feeling dejected and confused after the summer and what had happened at the Burrow. Harry felt guilty for killing the Death Eater even though he'd done so in order to save Ron's life. It had made him come back a quieter and more introspective person than he'd been the previous year, because he had shocked himself at just how easy it had been to take another life.

Now, he was being told he was yet something else, with powers that could make the difference in the fight against the Dark Lord. He wished he could just run away and pretend he was someone else, but there would always be the scar on his forehead and his green eyes to give him away.

Plus Voldemort and his Death Eaters hunting him down, of course.

He looked at his godfather's expectant face and knew he couldn't let everyone down, even if he wasn't sure he could deliver what they wanted. Harry knew he needed someone he could trust and open up to ... someone who would listen and not come up with the same crap all the time ... You're the boy who lived, Harry, of course you can do it. Even Snape expected great things of him now, and suddenly Harry wished for the days when the Potions Master would gleefully tell Harry that he was a wilful child undeserving of his fame.

Finally with a little smile, Harry nodded. "I guess I'm willing to give it a go. Should I use the potion?"

Sirius glowered, clearly not happy with the idea of his godson using something made by the Potions Master. "Snape told me it would make a difference, and Professor Dumbledore wants you to try it. Personally, I think you're doing just fine without it."

"If it makes you feel any better, I made this one, and it was bloody hard work."

"That must be a first ... you admitting to working hard at making potions. I better get you out in the sunshine more. But as you made it, let's see if it does help." Sirius shifted closer and watched as Harry fished into his bag for a little flask. The boy drank the contents, grimacing slightly.

"They always taste so nasty. I think I will devote my life to coming up with potions that taste of Butterbeer."

"And end up like Snape? All greasy-haired and living in the dark?" The two shared a smile at the joke for a moment, waiting for the potion to take effect.

Harry finally nodded as he felt a distinct change in ... well, he wasn't sure. It was as if everything had become just a little vague. "Okay."

"I think maybe you should lie down." At Harry's questioning eyebrow, the older man smiled and ruffled the boy's hair. "Well, I'd rather you lie down now than collapse backward later."

"You think I might faint?"

"No, it's just that the magic is powerful and I don't know what your reaction might be to it, especially with that potion. Besides, I'm here to catch you. Trust me."

"Sure ... as far as I can throw you." Harry took off his glasses and dropped back onto the warm grass. It seemed to cradle him comfortably on the ground, almost soothing, like he was on a favourite blanket. "Okay, I'm ready."

"Good." Sirius reached for one of Harry's hands while his other hand cradled the boy's cheek.

Harry held on tightly, fingers entwining. It felt like his godfather was somehow anchoring him in the real world. "Don't let go."

"I won't." The fingers tightened briefly. "Harry, no one really knows what might happen next."

"That makes me feel better."

"Albus believes you can do this and so do I. I need you to remember our exercises, the ones where you reached out for the energy and let it work through you. This might feel a little different, so don't be surprised." Sirius' voice was quiet and soothing.

Harry soaked up the sound as he closed his eyes and reached his free hand out to touch the ground ... fingers spread, palm downwards ... and waited.

And waited.

"Nothing's happening." Harry opened his eyes, blinking into the sunlight. "I guess I'm just not ready for this yet, sorry."

Sirius didn't answer and Harry sat up with vertigo-inducing speed. The sensation made him feel sick and he screwed his eyes tightly shut, waiting for it to pass. When he finally managed to open them again, he realised his entire world had shifted.

"Sirius?"

All the colour had been washed out of the world, but he quickly realised it was more than that. It was as if everything had been carved out of ice ... frozen in a moment in time. Fairies hung suspended in mid-flight, ripples on the surface of the pool lay motionless, and Sirius sat in petrified stillness.

"Sirius...." Harry reached for the older man.

"Don't touch him, Harry."

He spun at the voice, recognising the tone but fearful of it in this place. The sound sent a shiver down his spine and made the hairs on his neck rise. It took him a moment to get his mouth to form the person's name, but finally he choked it out. "Draco?"

The Boy was sitting on a rock by the pool, trailing his long fingers in the water. Where he touched, the stillness seemed to melt and the colour came back. Draco wasn't ice, Harry quickly realised. He was colour in the washed out landscape, just as Harry realised he, himself, was.

"Sorry, I'm not Draco. I needed a form that wouldn't frighten you, so I picked something dear to you." The Boy took his hand from the water, shaking droplets from his fingertips. The droplets fell away, freezing in time to hang in the air.

"What have you done to Sirius?"

"Nothing, your godfather is fine. It's you that's changed. If you touched him, you'd be drawn back and we need to talk. Do you know what I am? Where you are?"

Harry took a calming breath, his hands twisting together nervously as if he needed the movement to focus his attention. "Well, if you're not Draco and this is somewhere else.... Then I guess the potion worked and I've managed to connect with the Earth energies."

"Clever boy."

"So are you -- um -- some sort of...."

"I'm a manifestation of the Magic in its purest form. I'm not a real person. I don't have a physical form. I just Am. You might be part of the other world, Harry, but this is what you truly are ... part of this magic. It's been with you since the day you were born, like the air that you breathe. They thought that making you live with humans would smother your birthright, but even that couldn't kill it completely."

"I don't understand."

The expression on the Boy's face was so like one of Draco's that it was difficult to accept it wasn't him. "I see this is going to be much more difficult than I thought it would be. Come here." He waved Harry over, who crossed hesitantly to the pool, sitting on the rock the long-fingered hand gestured to. "They say you are an Earth Mage, and that is as good a name as any for what you are. It means you are connected to the earth and ethereals in ways that humans and wizards can't begin to understand. You inherited this from your mother."

"But she was Muggle-born," Harry interrupted.

"She wasn't from a Wizarding dynasty, that's for certain. Trace Lily's maternal side back and you will find ethereals and users of Earth Magic. It's why you get to be mentioned in Elvish texts as well. It's part of your heritage."

"Really?"

"Really. Don't you believe me, Harry? Is it this form I've taken? Would you prefer something else?" The Boy's hair started to change to red and the grey of his eyes was swamped with a slash of blue. "I could be Ron...." A frown appeared on the Boy's face. "No, not Ron." The red hair changed to black and his eyes turned back to grey. "Sirius perhaps."

"No...." Harry held up a hand. Somehow having Draco here seemed right. "It was fine as you were."

The black was slowly infused with silver and the grey turned stormy. "As you wish. Lily's kind were persecuted so they joined the humans to hide away. Things don't change much, Harry; there is always a persecutor and the persecuted."

"You mean Voldemort and Muggle-borns?"

"Yes, but Wizarding folk can be very narrow-minded. They don't like change and they don't like things that upset the status quo. So people who are different ... like your mother's people ... are looked on with distrust."

"How do you know about that?"

"I'm omnipresent, Harry. I am the past and the present, and I know lots of things. The trouble is, I might know about things, but that doesn't mean I can do anything about them. They thought they knew what you'd inherited from Lily, so after she died, they put you in a place that would subdue your connection to Earth Magic. It wouldn't do to have all and sundry find out you were gifted, would it?"

Harry shook his head. He didn't understand what was happening, but if he was dreaming, then he might as well make the most of it. His mother was part elf? If it weren't so absurd, he would probably be laughing now. "I don't understand. Who are 'they'? You keep talking about them, and how can my mum be an elf?"

The Boy laughed. "I didn't say she was an elf. That really would be silly. Elvish and fairy folk are from a completely different species."

"But...."

"You must learn to listen and not make assumptions. I said you were mentioned in Elvish texts and that Lily could trace her line back to users of Earth Magic. Thousands of years ago, the magical community was divided into two types -- wizards and magicians." Harry snorted. "What's so funny?"

"Well, magicians. Aren't they just Muggle conjurors? You know, doing card tricks and illusions."

"I'm not talking about Muggles. The term isn't used in the magical world now, but it was the name given to someone who used supernatural powers to perform their magic. Believe me, Harry, these people had extraordinary powers and abilities. They were able to control and use Earth Magic without the need for wands or potions, and it was that which caused hatred and mistrust. Their fellow magical folk didn't like the fact that these people could do things they could only dream of, and the persecutions began. That's why they went into hiding and over the centuries, magicians have been hunted down and never spoken of. In fact, they have been written out of history. But they remained despite this and they were your forebears."

"Are they Earth Mages?"

"Oh no, Earth Mages are even rarer. To produce one of those requires just the right mix of wizard and magician, and James and Lily were just that." The Boy stared at the waterfall for a moment and was quiet for so long that Harry began to get nervous. When he finally spoke again, there was sadness in his voice. "Unfortunately, Tom Riddle inherited a connection to Earth Magic and he can control it in ways that ordinary wizards are unable to. But he isn't an Earth Mage quite like you; he wants that power and knows how to obtain it. Should he succeed, he will have the immortality he craves, and he will destroy the magical world as we know it." He sighed. "This isn't a dream, Harry. You know deep down that I'm telling you the truth. You know that there were times in your childhood that things happened for which there was no rational explanation. Being able to Apparate without any training. The days you wished for it to rain and it actually did. Or when your cousin's friends would chase you and you wished they couldn't see you. Didn't they run by as if you were invisible?"

"How do you...." Harry watched as the Boy smirked. "...oh, yeah, you're omnipresent."

"Now you're getting the idea." The smirk faded and, for the first time, the expression on the Boy's face wasn't one Harry had ever seen on Draco. "They ... people who know of your abilities ... are wary of you. They don't know just what you are capable of because the only other Mage they have knowledge of is Tom Riddle. They saw how he twisted his powers and that makes them fearful of you and what you are capable of. But I've been waiting for generations for this moment -- for you to be born and reach an age where you would be able to wield your magic. I need you, Harry, to help stop Riddle. His corruption of Earth Magic is slowly destroying everything. Without you, it will all wither and die. Come with me and I'll show you." The Boy stood and reached out his hand. "Don't be afraid."

Harry hesitated momentarily before taking the offered hand. It felt like flesh as their fingers connected, but they seemed to change shape beneath his own, the hand becoming larger.

Then suddenly he wasn't in the glade anymore but in another place. It was also bleached and ice-like, devoid of colour except, Harry noted, for an area that seemed blackened as though ravaged by fire. He frowned as recognition finally hit home. "This is the Burrow."

"Yes it is."

The voice was different ... deeper. Harry turned abruptly, gasping as he looked at the person now holding his hand. The Boy had changed and become James.

"Dad?" Harry nearly fainted. The reality of the image was overwhelming. It was Harry all grown up ... the hair, the shape of his face, even the build. The only things different were the brown eyes and lack of scar.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. It's difficult to keep an image going."

Harry took a breath, wishing it were Draco again. His dad? The image of a man plucked from the mind of a one-year-old baby. Was this how he'd last seen James ... just before his father had tried to save him from Voldemort? He swallowed, feeling his heart clench, both loving and hating his father at the same time for leaving him even though he'd done it to save his son.

"This is the Burrow," Harry repeated, unable to think of anything else to say.

"Yes it is. This is how it is right now in the real world. Your friends moved out after the attack, so it's empty."

"Why's that area different?" Harry pointed to the darkness that seeped along the ground, spreading like molten lava. It had consumed half the building and he had the impression it was creeping forward, inch by inch, to devour it completely.

"That's Tom Riddle. That's the all-consuming darkness he leaves wherever he touches. It blocks the magic, Harry, stopping it from being free flowing, letting it pool in places where he, alone, can access it. He is turning everything from pure natural energy to something that suits his view of how the world should be. Humans ... Muggles ... do it all the time. They pour their chemicals into rivers and the soil until it slowly eats into the structure of the Earth. I can deal with that, but this is different because the magic I am part of is being used against me. If he keeps doing this, he will despoil everything. Look over there."

The Man pointed towards the west and, for the first time, Harry realised that off in the distance, close to the horizon, there were rolling thunderclouds. "Is there a storm coming?"

"That's one way of putting it. The rumours are true. Riddle's forces are massing in the West Country, and he is creeping closer and closer. Let me show you...."

And suddenly Harry was in the air, floating high above the world. So high he was able to look down and see Britain spread out below him. He gripped at the hand still holding his. "Wow."

"Brilliant, isn't it?"

Harry turned, realising the Man had changed again, and the person now holding his hand was Hermione ... or at least her image. "I thought you hated flying."

"But this isn't flying," the Girl smiled. "Not really. See the patches of darkness below us? That's where Tom Riddle and his people have already destroyed the network that keeps the world working." She waved a hand, and a network of golden lines began to crisscross the landscape. "These are the energy lines ... well, at least the main ones. If I showed you them all, the whole of the country would be golden. It's like a network of intertwining roots feeding the energy so that things can live and grow, and magical folk can perform their spells." She smiled at him. "If people went to live in the Burrow at the moment, they wouldn't be able to use their magic properly, at least until the darkness is removed. They'd be able to do magic, but it would tap into their own intrinsic darkness which every living being has. The darkness that warps things and brings pain and anger and sadness. If it carries on uninterrupted, then the joy and light goes out of people's lives and they become bitter and twisted. They start to believe the things people like Tom Riddle tell them, and they see his way as the chance to get even with everyone they think has ever done a wrong to them. Does that make sense?"

"I guess." Harry looked down at the land below. It was like the pictures he'd seen of the British Isles taken from space and he could see places he knew, including Little Whinging. "Is that Hogwarts?" He pointed to a gold patch in Scotland.

"Yes. It's the power point where you are with Sirius. Can you see there are others over the country?"

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "There's more darkness than I thought." The patches dotted the country. Even London was smudged with it and he wondered if it was anything to do with Knockturn Alley.

"His people are everywhere. If Tom Riddle ever managed to have the connection to Earth Magic that you do, Harry, he would be unstoppable."

"How do you know I won't misuse it?"

"Because it's not in you to do that. Oh, you might play with it and indulge yourself, but you'd never do what he's done. Come on, let's go back."

With that, Harry was back on the ground, near a small stream, when the hand holding his had changed again. He realised he was scared to look, and that feeling didn't change when eventually he did. Green eyes looked back at him, and he realised it was his mother. His knees gave way and he sat down with a thump.

The Woman was much more graceful as she sat down next to him and ran a hand through his hair. "The prophecy is true, Harry, you can heal the land."

"But I don't know how." He leaned into the Woman's caress. It might not be his mother in reality, but she was here with him for this moment and he was close to tears.

"I'll help where I can, but the knowledge is in you and part of you, and you can do this. Will you try for me now?"

"Can't you do it? Didn't you say you were omnipresent?"

"That I am, but I'm not omnipotent. I can't do this on my own." She smiled at him.

"Okay." He looked to where the darkness was like a smudge on the ice-white landscape. "What happened here?"

"They tortured and killed a human."

"Who did it?"

"That doesn't matter. Your role isn't to bring them to justice ... others will do that. You are here for a special reason and that is to deal with what they have left behind. Imagine it like a stream that has become dammed with debris. It blocks the flow and the pool behind becomes silted up. Leave it for long enough and the water becomes stagnant, and all the life in the water will eventually die. But once the dam has been removed, the water will flow again and life in the river will return."

"That makes sense."

"It's simple really. But imagine that the river is the pure natural Earth Magic that keeps the world alive, and each piece of debris is its very antithesis -- a manifestation of the darkest magic. It blocks the Magic, tainting it into stagnant pools that Tom Riddle can feed upon. I can divert the flow, but as the darkness consumes more and more, my options become limited until there is no way left for me to keep the magic untainted. That is what has happened at the Burrow and where his forces gather in the west. Your connection with Earth Magic will let you cleanse the darkness and let the energy flow again."

"It's like unblocking a river?"

She nodded in response to the question. "Yes. Or even like taking down a wall brick by brick.

Harry watched the darkness fluctuate over the area. "Can you...." He took a hitched breath. "Can I see the Magic as well as the darkness?"

"Of course. I'll show you, but you can do that without me."

The world turned gold, and he could sense rather than see the magic. It was rich and pure, but as it reached the block, the gloss disappeared, leaving it to pool in a dirty brown puddle. On the other side of the block, the energy was thin and insipid, only returning to its previous brilliance some distance away. Finally, he looked back up at the Woman and nodded. "Okay. I'll give it a go."

"Thank you, Harry." With that the Woman pressed his hand to the ground. "I will guide you, but you're doing this ... it isn't me. I need you to reach out and feel the energy flowing through the ground. You've done it before and this is no different."

It was easy, Harry found, like it had been outside of Hagrid's cottage. He just let his mind drift until it connected with the energy and, the moment he found it, he was aware of it flowing around and through him, as if he was the hub of a wheel, and the energy the spokes moving out from him. He'd only been able to trace the magic for a short distance in the past, but under the Woman's gentle instruction, he realised he could reach out further and further.

It felt incredible and all-consuming.

It felt like he'd come home.

And then he touched the darkness.

The shock almost made him pass out and he gasped for breath, collapsing against the Woman. Arms wound about him, holding him safe and secure. "It's all right, Harry, I've got you. I've got..." The voice changed and he knew it was the Boy holding him. "You."

Harry clutched at him. "I don't know what to do." His face twisted with pain and his voice was hoarse. "It hurts."

"Shhh, just go with it Harry. Embrace the dark ... don't fear it. Try to understand what you are feeling. It's as much part of you as the light."

He lost track of time, and all Harry knew was that the darkness surrounded him as though he was swimming in it. It was full of all his fears ... every hurt he'd ever suffered ... every pain he'd ever endured ... every time he'd lost his temper ... every person he'd ever hurt. He was struggling, trying to get to the surface, trying to breathe, but each time he opened his mouth, it choked him.

He was drowning and there was no one to pull him out.

"Don't fight it, Harry."

The voice came from a distance, and he realised there was a flash of white in the darkness. It crawled through the shadows until it found him, nipping at his earlobe and Harry saw it was the ferret that had dragged him back to reality after he collapsed in Draco's room. This time the creature wore a collar and from it dangled a perfect crystal star.

As the animal snuggled at his neck, Harry realised he knew ... just knew ... what to do. He stopped struggling and in that moment the pain ceased. It was an acceptance ... an acknowledgement of the part of him he'd denied for seven years. The part of him the Sorting Hat had seen.

"Yes, I understand."

"It isn't just the light here, Harry, no matter what Albus and the others might think. Only in acceptance of your whole self ... the light and the dark ... good and evil..." the Boy chuckled, "Gryffindor and Slytherin. Only by accepting everything can you master your gifts. If you understand that, then you're ready, Harry. And if you're ready, then you will be able to obliterate the darkness."

"I don't know how to do that."

"Of course you do. Remove it -- stick-by-stick. Let each one dissolve in your hands until all that is left is the light."

"Yes."

"Then let the darkness wash away."

Harry didn't know how he did it or how long it took, but he remembered the feel of each stick as he picked it up, how difficult it was to make the first one dissolve and how it didn't seem to get much easier. The last stick proved to be almost as difficult as the first, but when he eventually opened his eyes, the smudge had gone and the icy landscape was pristine once more. He met the grey gaze, and the Boy smiled down at him.

"Well done, Harry, well done." The Boy stroked his cheek, the touch almost a consecration. "Come. Let's go back."

********************

The glade hadn't changed. Sirius was still there, unmoving and, Harry realised for the first time, his own form was there as well, lying on the grass, still clasping hands with his godfather.

"This wasn't real then ... it was a dream. I'm still there." He pointed at himself.

"Both are real ... just two different realities. You're both here and in the other world and that's why you need your Protector. You need someone to watch over you while you work and to keep you safe."

"Morning Star's Child?" Harry asked. The Boy nodded. "But I don't know who that is."

"Don't you? Are you sure?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. Can't you tell me?"

"No. It's important you work that out for yourself because that is how your magic will mature and grow." The Boy reached for Harry's hand and dropped something cool onto his palm. It was the tiny star the white ferret had worn around its neck.

He frowned. "This is...?"

"The Child's Star. You know who to give it to." The Boy cupped Harry's face. "It's time for you to go back. I will be here and I'll help when I can, but you'll know what to do and when to do it. Trust your own instincts, Harry -- they have always served you well in the past -- and remember that people might not understand about your gifts. They will want you to use them for their own ends ... even ask you to do things you might not agree with. Always listen to your heart, Harry, it really is the best counsel you have."

With that he leaned forward and kissed Harry on the forehead.

********************

Harry came to with a start, sitting up so quickly that he thought he might be sick. He was aware of the blood draining from his face and a light-headedness that made his head spin.

"Slow down, Harry." Sirius grabbed at him, easing Harry back down onto the ground again. "Just stay there a minute. You look as pale as a ghost."

Harry did as instructed, mainly because at that moment, he realised that if he tried to sit up again he would make a fool of himself. "How long have I been out for?" It felt like he'd been gone for hours ... days.

"About fifteen minutes." The relief on Sirius' face was obvious. "I was beginning to worry ... actually panic is a better word. I didn't know how to wake you up."

Harry gave an exaggerated sigh. "Now you tell me." He pushed himself up, more slowly this time. "I'm okay."

"Are you sure?" Harry nodded. "What about the magic? Did you connect with it? Feel the way it flows?"

"I think so." Harry shrugged. It all seemed dream-like now, as if it had never happened. The images of his parents and of Hermione and Draco were beginning to fade. If it wasn't for the star-shaped crystal held tightly in his fist, he might think the whole episode had been an illusion. Not wanting to discuss the star with anyone, he furtively pushed it into his pocket. "I can still feel the magic now. It's like I could reach out and follow those ley lines and touch what's on the other end." He flexed his fingers and then reached for his glasses. "Sirius, that thing about healing the land ... I think I can do it. Whatever this gift is, Sirius, it's not about killing ... it's about making things better."

"It's incredibly powerful magic, Harry. That's why Voldemort mustn't be allowed to get access to it."

"I know." He took a deep breath. "I'm scared."

"I'm here for you ... we all are. But let's not worry about it for now." Sirius gave Harry's arm a gentle squeeze and hauled the boy to his feet. "Come on, I think we both deserve a swim."

********************

Gryffindor Common Room ... later that evening

"All right, Harry?" Ron slumped down onto the sofa and grabbed at the book Harry was reading, checking the cover. "You're not still reading that one?"

Harry shrugged. "Blame Snape, not me. He told me to read another three chapters before my -- detention tomorrow. If I don't...."

"You get another detention?" Harry shrugged again. "The creep's really got it in for you this time. You should talk to McGonagall or Dumbledore. They'd stop this once and for all."

"It'll be over soon. What about you? Good day?"

Ron nodded earnestly. "I finished my defence project and spent the afternoon...." He leaned in and looked around the room furtively, making sure no one was listening. "Shagging Megan Jones."

Harry snorted. "Megan? She's not your usual type."

"Well, needs must." Ron shrugged. "What about you?"

"I wasn't shagging."

"Really? Did you know Seamus has opened a book on you?"

"What for?"

"Who you're shacking up with. He says you've been slipping away all the time just lately so you must be 'trysting with some femme fatale'." Ron's Irish accent was pretty hopeless. He sniggered, waggling a finger at his friend. "My god, Harry, I think he's right. You're blushing."

"I am not!"

"Sure." Ron leaned in closer, his voice a whisper. "You are allowed to have sex, Harry."

Harry finally closed the book. "I know."

"And you know you can tell me ... well, we've been friends for years and years, and ... well ... if you weren't attracted to the Megans and maybe preferred other sorts, then well...."

"Now who's blushing?"

The two boys looked at each other, then away in embarrassment, eyes locking on the same patch of the carpet.

"It wouldn't matter, Harry. It wouldn't change things ... us being friends."

Harry shifted slightly, his head still down but eyes raised enough to be able to see Ron's profile. Where the hell had this line of conversation come from? He sure as hell didn't want to come out to Ron in the middle of Gryffindor common room. "Ron...."

"Look, Harry, something's changed between us and I don't like it." Blue eyes met with green. "It feels like it was in fourth year ... the whole Triwizard thing. I know you've had the prophecy stuff and other things on your mind, but...." Ron ended up shrugging pathetically. "Have I done something to upset you?"

"What? Don't be such an arse!"

"Well, you don't talk to me anymore, at least not like we used to. Is it because I'm Head Boy now?"

"No way." Harry turned, facing his friend. "I'm sorry. You haven't done anything. I've just been...." Shagging someone you hate... How the hell could he be honest with Ron without telling him about Draco? And Ron was right, Harry had been lying to him -- or at least bending the truth, and now that they didn't have the Quidditch team to chat about he couldn't remember the last time they'd just sat and talked to each other. Recently, he'd been turning to Hermione for support where once it would have been both of them. "It's ... I don't know, Ron. It's exams and detentions and prophecies and everything. And I miss flying."

"So do I."

Now it was Harry's turn to look furtively around the room. The common room was almost empty and there was no one near them. "And, okay, you're right. I don't think I like Megans."

Ron frowned as if he'd forgotten his earlier comment. The look changed to realisation and Harry thought he saw something pass over the other boy's face, but it was so quick he wasn't sure if it was delight or horror. "Look, it doesn't matter, Harry. That doesn't change our friendship.... Does it? I mean you don't fancy me do you ... not in that way?"

"What?" Harry knew he must have looked shocked. "Of course not ... not like that. You're my friend, Ron, my first real friend. I don't want to lose that. But ... no, I don't fancy you."

The sigh of relief Ron gave was exaggerated -- almost comic. "That's okay then. It doesn't change anything between us and I don't mind. Though Ginny's going to be upset ... she still fancies you. And mum was looking forward to grandchildren."

"She thought I was going to marry Ginny?" Harry was shocked. He knew Ron's sister had had a crush on him for a couple of years, but he assumed she'd grown out of it by now.

"Well, either her or Hermione."

"I love Ginny ... but she's like my sister. I've never thought of her like that. As for Hermione ... well ... it was going out with her that made me realise that perhaps I didn't like Megans."

"So, is there someone you do fancy?"

"Ron!"

"Sorry, I was just thinking of fleecing Seamus and winning his book." Ron leaned a little closer, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. "Your secret is safe with me. But it could be just a phase ... you know ... and it'll change later. Bill once told me he fancied another boy while he was at school, but look at him now. Married with twins. So don't worry too much about it."

Harry felt a surge of annoyance knot around his heart. How dare Ron suggest that his feelings for Draco might be just some sort of adolescent passing phase. He realised the fingers of one hand were digging into the cover of the book. "Well, I'm okay about it at the moment. As for the future, who knows where we'll be in another year." His tone was much brusquer than he had meant it to be.

"Right."

A difficult silence hung between them. Harry opened the book again and Ron took to making a paper aeroplane out of a sheet of Harry's parchment. He set it sailing across the room where it landed in the fire. He let out a huff and finally broke the silence. "I've been thinking about your prophecy and the Dragon's Tears bit. How did it go? To the People he will return, reborn through Phoenix Fire and Dragon's Tears."

"And?"

"Well, what if the Phoenix Fire bit is to do with You-Know-Who?"

"Isn't it all to do with him?" Harry rubbed absently at his forehead, aware of his scar prickling with the beginnings of a headache. "You said before the Phoenix being reborn was me coming to Hogwarts."

Ron shrugged. "Even I can be wrong. What if this is to do with you ending up in charge after you've defeated him? What if this Phoenix Fire is some sort of magical power, something you're going to use in the struggle?"

"And the Tears?"

"Well, I still don't have that pinned down yet, but it could be the power as well. Maybe it's two things that have to come together to make you some awesome wizard." He took a deep breath. "Harry, have you ever thought of talking to someone else about this? Someone other than Dumbledore? He doesn't know everything. Maybe you could talk to Professor Lupin ... he's travelled and knows lots of things; perhaps he could help you sort this out. Or what about Sirius? Or even Snape? I know he has some sort of grudge against you, but he is on our side."

Harry wasn't listening. His mind had focused on Ron's words and he was now fervently thinking back to what the Boy had said out by the pool. That's why you need your Protector. Maybe Ron was right and those two things ... two people ... were needed for Harry to make Earth Magic work. His hand eased into his pocket and he fingered the little star the Boy had given him ... if it was Draco.... "I've talked to Sirius," was all he could think to say.

"And Lupin?"

"Not yet. I'll think about it, though."

"Harry...."

"Hello, you two. Had a good day?" Hermione sat down arm of the sofa next to Harry. The two boys fell silent. "Have I interrupted something? Shall I go?"

"We were...." Ron looked guiltily at Harry. "Does she know?"

"Know what? I am here. Hello?" Hermione said, in mock annoyance.

"She knows that I'm gay." Harry quickly jumped on that part of their conversation. He didn't want Hermione to mention the new part of the prophecy. In fact, he'd rather his two friends didn't discuss that together at all.

Hermione stared down at Harry, a friendly hand on his shoulder. "You've told him?"

"We were discussing it."

"You knew?" Ron looked peeved, as if he was annoyed to have found out after Hermione.

"We ... talked about it a couple of days ago."

"Oh, right. And you're okay with it?"

Hermione looked shocked. "Why wouldn't I be? He's still our Harry ... he hasn't changed."

"I know, but...."

"Ron, it's up to Harry after all."

"Excuse me. I am still here." Harry touched each of his friends, resting a hand briefly on their knees. He thought Ron flinched. "And what I do is up to me, okay?"

"Sure, Harry. If it makes you happy."

Desperate to change the subject, Harry held the potions book Snape had given him. "What does this mean?" He tapped the title Potions Preparation for the Dilettante.

"You're not still reading this?" She took the book.

"Blame Snape. Though I have to admit it does make things clearer. I should have read it ages ago."

"You do yourself a disservice, Harry. You always understood; it was Snape who made things difficult."

"So, what is it?"

"A dilettante? Well, it's someone who's interested in a subject, but only has a sketchy understanding of it. So that book is Potions for the Interested."

"Or Potions for Dummies." Ron sniggered.

"Or Potions for the Clueless." Hermione joined in, grinning.

"Thanks." Harry came to his feet and took the book back. "Thanks a lot. Now if you don't mind, this dummy still has another chapter to read, so I will bid you both goodnight." He made a theatrical bow and headed for the dormitories.

********************

In his room, Harry tossed the book on the bed. It was still stained with ink from his collision with Remus, and he'd been careful to always 'forget to take it' when going to see Snape. Maybe the Potions Master would forgive him if he did the Marking magic or maybe Harry could find another copy.

He frowned as he noticed something sticking out from the pages. It looked like a piece of parchment, but he knew it hadn't been there earlier, and his usual bookmark was a photograph of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Carefully, he prodded at the book with one finger until the parchment was closer and he pulled it out, holding it tentatively between thumb and forefinger. It was actually a small envelope, and he twisted it back and forth so he could see what was on either side.

One side was blank, but on the other side he recognised Hermione's handwriting -- He asked me to give you this. He tapped the envelope against his finger; Hermione must have slipped it into the book. As for the 'he'....

Harry quickly pushed his fingernail under the little seal and flicked the envelope open. Inside was a small cream coloured card on which was written in a familiar script Follow the dotted line. He turned the card over, and on the other side it said Mouse. The frown grew, this was stupid -- Draco had obviously sent him some sort of note via Hermione, and Harry didn't understand what the Slytherin meant.

Well, there was one way to find out.

Sitting down on the bed, he opened the drawer of the bedside table and took out a wooden box. Professor Dumbledore had given it to him during his fifth year, telling him it had belonged to Lily. The box was made of a dark wood and had a carving of a stag on the lid. Harry had often wondered if it had been a present from his father to his mother. It had become the home for the few bits and pieces he'd collected over the years ... things that were important to him ... his first train ticket to Hogwarts, one of Hedwig's feathers, a note from Sirius, a little photo of Hermione, Ron and himself, the badge from his first set of Quidditch robes, the letter from Draco asking him to go to Hogsmeade, his diary ... and laid on the top was the very tatty Marauders' Map.

He carefully unfolded it and studied the blank parchment for a moment before reaching for his wand. Then tapping the sheet, he said softly, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." As he finished speaking, the lines representing the castle began to scurry across the surface.

"Okay, Draco, just where are you?" Harry studied the map and the little representations of people. Hermione and Ron were still in the common room. The corridors were virtually empty and, for the first time, he realised how late it was ... it was gone 9 o'clock and most students were back in their respective Houses. He spent some time studying the Slytherin dungeons, going over and over that area of the map looking for Draco, but there was no sign of him. In fact, he'd almost given up when he found the name in an area of the castle he didn't think he'd ever been to, at least not since his first years in the school.

The little East Tower was, as far as he could remember, full of dusty rooms used mainly for storage. It was certainly too small for classrooms, and the only time people seemed to go there was on sunny afternoons when they could laze on the circular roof. Filch was always chasing students down from there.

He cleared the map with a quick "Mischief managed," and pushed it into his pocket before rummaging in his trunk for his Invisibility Cloak. The new note was added to the contents of the box and Harry quickly sealed it again before covering himself with the cloak.

The common room was more crowded now, and he passed through carefully avoiding bumping into anyone. He waited at the portrait hole until someone opened the entrance to the Gryffindor common room and was soon out beyond the portrait of the Fat Lady and into the corridor. It was there he saw it.

About a foot above the floor was a silver dotted line.

The shimmering marks continued into the distance, lighting the way along the corridor, and as he took a few steps, he realised the dots disappeared as he passed them. He found himself smiling more and more as he followed the marks down the corridor, through the school and up into the East Tower. It did occur to him to wonder how Draco had placed the trail of magical bread crumbs for him to follow so that no one else could see it, but he was so enamoured by it that he realised he didn't care.

The dotted line finally ended at a brick wall on the third floor of the tower. Harry stopped and the last little dot changed into a quill. It wrote Password in the air in front of him and he shook his head. "Password? What password, Draco?"

Harry stared at the wall for several minutes before realisation finally struck, and, with a grin, he spoke the word Draco had written on the card. "Mouse." The wall seemed to shimmer, changing slowly into an innocuous little door. Hesitating for a moment, Harry finally pushed it open and, as he entered the room, he could almost feel the doorway hiding itself from prying eyes again.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. He was in a small circular room that was illuminated only by a few candles. A large canopied bed took up most of the floor space and there was a fireplace with a crackling fire, near which was a second door. There were two comfortable-looking armchairs in front of the fire. Draco was sitting in one of them.

The boy smirked across at him, blond hair glinting in the firelight. "Hello, Mouse. I thought Granger might not give you the note and you'd never get here."

Harry glared petulantly at the other boy, but his tone belied any anger at the words. "What am I going to have to do to make you stop calling me that?"

"Tie me up and gag me?" The words were a question, but the look in Draco's eyes showed they were most definitely a statement. Harry's eyes widened in surprise and Draco smiled ... not a smirk, but a genuine smile.

Only too aware that Draco's comment had brought a flush to his face, Harry crossed the room, stopping behind the other chair. "So, what's this room?" There was a catch in his voice as he ran a finger back and forth over the chair back.

"You said it was a shame we didn't have anywhere in the castle to go." Draco spread his arms wide. "So I found this. Apparently this tower used to house guest rooms."

"Right." Harry looked around the cosy room and gestured at the second door. "What's through the door?"

"Bathroom. I got your favourite house-elf to sort it out. He'll do just about anything for Harry Potter."

"All the comforts of home. Do I take it that you've warded it just for the two of us?"

"Oh yes." Draco had come to his feet and Harry recognised the predatory gleam in those grey eyes. He could feel the visceral way Draco was watching him. It made the hairs on the back of his neck rise and a heat spread through his groin.

He took the couple of paces over to the bed and ran a hand up one of the wooden bedposts before turning around to lean back against it. "And you think I'm going to come here so you can shag me on a regular basis?"

Draco prowled across to stand directly in front of Harry, eyes raking over him. "Oh yes."

"Well," Harry looked directly at Draco, meeting the grey gaze with a knowing half-smile. "Squeak, squeak."

********************

Monday 23rd March 1998 ... Evening ... The Potions Classroom

"It was an accident."

In response, Severus Snape fixed Potter with one of his best withering stares and was pleased to see that the boy had the courtesy to look uncomfortable even if the green eyes still held a bit of defiance. He opened the ink-stained book at a random page, parchment held between thumb and forefinger. The ink had seeped into the pages, running down the long edge in a wavy line.

"We tried to get it out."

"We?" He lifted another page to find the ink had seeped even further onto the page. Potter shuffled his feet a little, some of the defiance gone, replaced by chagrin.

"Professor Lupin and me."

"Which explains the utter mess of the task." The defiance was back again, and Severus worked to keep a grimace of mild exasperation from his own face. He could read the boy like a book. Albus would be far better off teaching Potter to hide his feelings rather than bothering to instruct him in the Dark Arts. "If you'd brought the book back to me straight away, I might have been able to do something." The truth was that the book itself wasn't important -- he had another pristine copy for his personal use -- it was Potters's lack of care that annoyed him. It made him cringe to see students bending the corners of pages or breaking the spines of their books. "What happened?" His tone was suitably menacing.

Potter shifted again. "It was an accident," he repeated. "I didn't do it deliberately and I've read it all."

"Thank Merlin for small mercies. I would give you detention, but as I'm already spending more time with you than I care to consider, I will find some other way for you to make up for the damage." He turned and headed down the hallway to the door that led to his own private workrooms. Brewing Earth Magic potions in an open classroom was not something he wished to be caught doing. He might have the Headmaster's implicit approval, but if the Ministry found out, Severus knew he could lose his job. "Don't dawdle, Mr Potter. I don't have all night and we need to go over your reaction to the potion you used yesterday."

"I've made a decision."

The boy's voice cracked a little and Severus was reminded not for the first time that Harry Potter was still, in effect, a child. Some might consider him the Saviour of the Wizarding world, but he still wasn't old enough to vote for Members of the Council, and he wouldn't even come of age for another four months. Yet they all expected him to fight and, ultimately, kill Voldemort.

He turned back and studied the boy, for that was what he was ... a boy still small enough to have to look up to meet Severus' eyes. This was the boy Albus was pinning so much on. The boy who'd been lied to for years and who was still being kept in the dark. How was it James had once described Death Eaters? Like mushrooms ... kept in the dark and fed shit. For all he admired Albus, Severus knew the old man had his own agenda, and Dumbledore's army wasn't kept any better informed than the Dark Lord's.

And Sirius Black certainly didn't help matters either, as far as Potter was concerned. He needed to realise that however talented the boy might be, his godson had flaws and that he might explode at any moment if pushed too far. Severus had seen the look in Potters's eyes too many times over the years ... a look he'd only ever seen in one other person ... in the red/blue eyes of Lord Voldemort. It was a volatile anger, which could be triggered by the slightest thing, and it showed just a hint of the untapped potential in each of them, waiting to be released for good or evil.

How could this child beat Voldemort even with his newfound powers?

What would they do, Severus remembered asking when he had met with Dumbledore and Black the previous day, if Potter failed and Voldemort got what he wanted? Wouldn't it be better to take the obvious precautions and stop Voldemort's plans in its tracks?

Black had scoffed; telling him that his godson wouldn't fail ... it was as simple as that.

Albus had just remained calm, sounding as though he were a parent talking to an irritating child, as he told Severus that if Voldemort wasn't stopped now then the consequences didn't bear thinking about ... it was as simple as that.

Severus considered briefly telling Potter what Voldemort was planning, but he had given his word to Albus to hide the truth for just a little bit longer. But what if the Boy Who Lived failed and Voldemort got the power he craved? Who would be left to save them all then?

"Come with me." Without looking at Potter, he spun on his heel and headed to his private quarters where they had talked regularly over the past week, discussing potions preparation and Earth Magic. Neither spoke until inside with the door closed. "A decision about what?" Severus finally asked.

Potter straightened a little and Severus was sure the boy suddenly became inches taller. "I'll do what you want."

The steady gaze he kept on Potter belied the intense, almost sickening, feeling that surged through him. The Mark on his arm itched and he wondered if the Dark Lord was going to punish him yet again. It had been getting worse over the last week, as if Voldemort knew what his ex-servant was doing. He wasn't sure how much longer he could deal with the pain without others knowing ... without it rendering him next to useless. The potion he'd brewed with Potter had helped ease the pain, but to stop it completely ... he suddenly felt very needy, an emotion he hadn't experienced in many years. He quickly stamped on the feelings. "What do I want?"

The boy's sturdy finger pointed towards Severus' arm. "The Marking thing. I'll do it, but on one condition."

Severus gave a snort. "You wish to set conditions now?"

Potter held the older man's gaze, his chin rising slightly in a gesture Severus had so often seen in James ... a look of confidence he'd long ago termed 'Gryffindor smugness'. The boy shoved his hands in the back pockets of his jeans, his body language oozing defiance. "Only one."

"What do you want?" Severus folded his arms, hands hidden in the sleeves of his robes. "The key to my Gringotts account? No detentions for the rest of your time at Hogwarts?" He gave a hard smile. "A pass mark for your N.E.W.Ts in Potions?" Potter didn't reply immediately, but took his hands out of his pockets and folded his arms, mirroring Severus' stance. The Potions Master raised an eyebrow; how he would like to cuff the brat.

When Potter did speak, it was in a quiet commanding voice. "I want you to show me how I can stop someone else being Marked. Someone who Voldemort hasn't touched yet. I want to know what I can do to protect them."

"Who are you thinking of?"

"That doesn't matter. I just need to know what to do."

Severus waved Potter towards the sofa. "Sit down." There was no argument and the boy did as he was told, sitting in the same corner he always used when they talked. "Potter, this isn't something to be taken lightly."

"You want me to do it to you."

"That's different." He stood over Potter, wanting to be deliberately intimidating as if to remind the boy of what he was offering to do and what the consequences would be. They had both skirted around the idea of Marking during their conversations, but it had always been Potter who somehow managed to change the topic to something else. "I've already been Marked and you are carrying out what some might consider a rescue mission. Do you intend going around Marking people in an ad hoc manner? Doing it to anyone as and when the fancy takes you?"

"No! I told you, I'm not like him!"

"Then who are you intending to Mark?" He sat down abruptly on the sofa and stared hard at Potter, watching as the boy took a mental step back from him. "Granger perhaps? Though I think the chances of the Dark Lord wanting to Mark her are very remote. She is, after all, what he would call a Mudblood." Potter scowled, but didn't respond. "Or Weasley? He's a pure-blood who I'm sure the Dark Lord would love to have in his ranks, but do you think he would go willingly to Voldemort's side?"

"No, it's neither of them."

"Then who? This isn't a game, Mr Potter. If you put your Mark on someone, they will become your responsibility for the rest of your life." He watched as Potter's jaw dropped a little. "What's wrong? Hadn't you considered the consequences?"

"No ... I mean ... yes ... but Voldemort isn't responsible for the Death Eaters."

"Isn't he? We belong to him. Have you ever wondered what happens when someone becomes a Death Eater?"

"No. I just...." Potter shook his head. "You pledge yourself to him and take his Mark."

"If you can call it that." Severus didn't like to remember his own initiation. There had been a time he was proud of what had happened, but once he'd realised what Voldemort expected of him, it made him feel sick. "The initiate pledges himself to his new master. Then he must provide blood for the Marking."

"Your own?"

"No." Severus pinned his gaze straight ahead. "A fresh kill. The Dark Lord was particularly fond of Muggle blood." He heard Potter gasp softly. "In killing that person in front of witnesses, you are bound to the group. If you try to leave, details of your crime will become public knowledge. If the witnesses try to leave, they will be made complicit in the deaths they have seen."

"You killed someone?"

"Does it surprise you?"

"I...."

"And Voldemort uses the blood to bind the initiate to him and to the group. That bond is how he calls his followers to him and how he punishes or rewards."

"I don't want you to kill someone." The distress in Potter's voice was palpable.

"That was the Dark Lord's method, no doubt formulated over many years. The bond doesn't have to be forged in blood, other catalysts can be used, but the link will still be there. It is your choice as the creator of the spell what you use."

"And you still want me to do this? Even with this link thing?"

"Mr Potter, the Dark Mark is only one form this sort of link can take. The same magic is used by other groups but with no intention for it to cause fear and pain. It is used by secret societies or fellowships as a form of deeper understanding. These societies use potions or some form of personal commitment. The Marking you would use on me would be that type and I'm willing to accept the consequences, but what about this other person? Will you accept the responsibility that their Marking places on you? It will give you power over that person, because even if you don't want to exert control or exact revenge now, there might always be a time in the future."

"I'm not Voldemort. I won't be like him."

"I wonder if the Dark Lord ever thought like that." He watched as Potter tried to reply, but clearly he either didn't know what to say or wasn't sure if this was the right time to say it. "Imagine that you Mark someone ... me or your friend Weasley or even Draco Malfoy...." The boy's head shot up, surprise clear in the green eyes, and Severus got the final confirmation he needed that Potter and Draco were involved. "Then that one upsets you. You will have to control your temper and not use the Mark to punish."

"But you just said it isn't the same as Voldemort."

"I said his form is just one of the ways it is used."

Potter was staring at the floor, shoulders slightly hunched, and once again he looked like a little boy. The Golden Boy, thought Severus, was just a child who was desperate for someone to look after him ... in need of a father figure who would tell him the truth. Severus knew he wasn't that person, but he was suddenly loathe to make yet another demand of the boy in front of him.

"You may leave if you wish, Mr Potter, with no recriminations." His voice was uncharacteristically soft.

"What about the potions? I need to keep making them."

"Yes, for a while. Black told me they helped."

"I mean the ones for you."

Severus nodded. "They ... help." He watched as the boy wrung his hands in his lap. "As you wish, Mr Potter."

Potter studied his hands and when he finally spoke it was a whisper. "It's Draco."

"I know." He matched the boy's tone and Potter's face shot up, meeting his before quickly looking away again. "We can discuss that later."

"And I'll do the Marking. If it helps."

"It would be.... Yes. It would more than help. Thank you." A sensation of something close to relief washed through him, and he closed his eyes briefly as he pushed it away. He needed to remain focused for the moment because, while he trusted Potter to keep his word, there was always a chance something might happen to stop the boy before he could help either Severus or Draco. "There is a dark of the moon on Saturday. It would be a good time."

Potter nodded and glanced sideways at the Potions Master. "I killed someone ... last summer at the Burrow. He was a Death Eater and," his voice hitched. "I used the Killing curse on him."

Severus met the green for a moment and finally rested a hand briefly on Potter's shoulder before coming to his feet. When he finally spoke, his voice was almost gentle. "I know." The boy met the steady gaze and then nodded. When Severus spoke again, his voice was still gentle. "We have a lot of work to do, Mr Potter, so we'd best get started."

********************

Saturday 28th March 1998 ... Harry and Draco's secret room ... The East Tower

Standing in the shower, hands braced against the tiles, Harry let the hot water pound onto his head. The sharp jets beat against his skull, working away the tension and dissipating some of the pain that was pounding in time with his heartbeat. He tilted his head back, trying to get some of the water to take the pressure from his scar. It was cutting into him as though it were a knife, the zigzag feeling like a white light in his brain. He could put up with the water splashing on his face ... his eyes ... his mouth ... if it would help take away some of the pain.

The dreams had been getting worse over the last two weeks, particularly since he'd gone with Sirius to the pool in the glade and taken that trip to god-only-knew-where. It was as if something had opened the floodgates to his remembering the dreams, and while they weren't always clear, he knew when he'd had something prophetic because his head would feel like it had been crushed in a vice.

They were usually similar and normally involved someone being Marked. Sometimes it was himself, other times Draco. He'd even had one in which both Hermione and Ron were given Voldemort's brand. Last night it was Draco again. Harry didn't know whose hand had branded Draco, but he remembered both Dumbledore and Sirius were watching and afterwards the snake part of the brand had slithered over Draco's body.

He'd woken to the sound of Draco's screams and it had taken him a moment to realise they weren't real but part of the dream. Draco had been asleep beside him; totally oblivious to the fact his lover was currently suffering a nightmare. For about five minutes Harry had lain there, trying to decide whether to waken Draco or not, but in the end, he'd crept out of bed and had been in the shower ever since, hoping that the water would take away the pain as it had in the past.

It helped a little, but the images from the dream still pulsed in his mind.

"Harry."

He shut off the water and turned. Draco was standing beside the shower. Harry tried to smile. "Hello."

"Another headache?"

Harry nodded.

"Come on." Draco picked up a large fluffy towel and wrapped it around Harry, who was now shivering a little. He began rubbing at the towel, drying the body beneath with deft efficiency. It amused Harry that Draco knew when to dry him properly and when to make it part of his wonderful repertoire of foreplay.

"Thanks." The towel was rubbed gently over Harry's head, and he closed his eyes as Draco pushed his hair off his forehead. "I should get back before I'm missed."

Draco's finger brushed over Harry's scar. "Your public can wait for a little bit longer. It's only just light and it's Saturday so they won't be up for ages yet." He took the other boy's hand and pulled him back to the bed.

"I've got lots to do today." That was true. Today was the day he was supposed to do the Marking ritual on Snape. At the moment he didn't feel he could do so much as a Lumos spell, let alone serious Earth Magic.

"Sure." Draco pulled Harry onto the bed, wrapping his arms around the smaller boy.

"I'm still wet."

"I don't care. I like you wet."

********************

The Room of Requirement....

Harry hadn't been to the Room of Requirement for a while now. He didn't like to remember his last time there, because it had hurt so much afterwards and, if he were honest, it still did. As he stood in the middle of the room that had been created for his current 'requirement', he could still picture what had happened. He'd arrived back at school after the summer desperate to remember his own 'home' ... the place he had lived with his parents for just 457 days. So he'd come to the corridor with the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and his ballet-dancing trolls, walking back and forth past the blank stretch of wall three times. He'd concentrated so hard on wanting to see his home, that when he'd opened the highly polished door that had appeared in the wall and stepped over the threshold, he'd expected lots of things, but what he hadn't expected was to step through the door and find himself in the hallway at No 4 Privet Drive.

His home? No 4 Privet Drive?

He'd stood there for a long time without moving, staring down that oh-so-familiar hallway, and wondered why the Room should think that this was what he meant by 'home'. He would have been happy with almost anywhere ... Hermione's house, where he had spent his seventeenth birthday ... the Burrow, which he'd visited several times ... Hagrid's Hut ... Hogwarts ... but not this place. This wasn't 'home'; it was a 'place'. It was somewhere he'd lived for ten years and then occasionally gone home to during the summer.

Gone home to during the summer.

That thought had made Harry pause. He did call it home even if he hated the place with a passion. He didn't want it to be home ... nothing about Privet Drive or the Dursleys deserved to be thought of in the same breath as that word. Yet, he assumed whatever magic the Room used to create its interior must have looked into his mind and seen something from which it had conjured this.

Perhaps it was to do with the family magic Dumbledore had used to protect Harry. Whatever the source, this hadn't been what he'd wanted. He'd wanted his mum and dad and the place they'd been living in with him.

Harry had left, feeling disconsolate, but that night he'd dreamed of his mother. She had been reading to him and in the dream he'd known what the book was. But when he'd woken up, that part of the dream had disappeared and wouldn't come back no matter how hard he concentrated.

And he was back here, in the Room again now, but this time for a completely different reason.

The Room had been transformed to an outside clearing. There was grass beneath his feet and a soft sunset-streaked sky above. The air had that just-after-the-rain smell and somewhere from the treetops, he could hear a nightingale. There was even a crackling campfire.

It was, he decided, perfect. He could taste the magic in the air and feel it tingling through his skin.

Putting his bag down close to the fire, Harry sank to the ground and stared for a moment at the flames. He'd spent more time over the last week with Snape than he cared to consider, discussing the magic needed for the Marking, and now it was time to actually put what he'd learned into practice. It would be a lie to say he wasn't scared, but he was certain that he was doing the right thing, because always at the back of his mind was the fact that if he could help Snape, he might just be able to help Draco as well.

Draco knew nothing about what was going to happen to his Head of House. Harry had only confided in one person and that was Hermione, who had helped him with the arcane language of the spells. She understood what Harry was doing, but he couldn't decide whether she approved or not.

Well, for better or for worse, he'd made his decision. Now all he had to do was wait for Snape.

The sky had turned dark and was covered with stars before the door to the Room opened again. Harry looked up from the book he'd been reading by the light from his little round light sphere and knew it was Snape from the man's silhouette. Snape stood there for a moment and then walked in, closing the door again and cutting them both off from the real world of Hogwarts beyond the illusion of the Room.

The professor crossed silently on the grass, stopping by the fire as Harry came to his feet. He cast a look around the room and raised a sardonic eyebrow. "We could have gone outside if you'd wished for this sort of setting."

Harry shrugged, suppressing a smile. "It's blowing a gale and hasn't stopped raining since yesterday lunchtime. Plus, this is within the Hogwarts wards."

Snape nodded in what Harry hoped was approval. "Are you ready?"

"I think so." He gestured at the book on the ground. "The spell was difficult, but I think I've got it now." He tilted his head to one side, his expression thoughtful. "Are you ready?"

"You don't have to do this. You can walk away now."

"So can you, so maybe we should start before I lose my nerve."

This time when Snape nodded, Harry knew it was in approval. But it was more than that; there was a trust he never thought would exist between himself and the Potions Master. He wondered briefly what their relationship might have been like if the animosity hadn't been there from the beginning. This seemed to be the final instalment of a seven-year story. They might never actually be friends, but they seemed to have reached some sort of understanding. He just hoped that after it was done, Snape wouldn't hate him even more because of the hold the magic would have on them both.

Was it a coincidence, Harry wondered, that the two people whom he'd fought with for so many years had suddenly started to take important places in his life? He sat down and began taking bits and pieces from his bag -- a vial of potion, several quills, an inkbottle, his wand and a small shallow dish. With the bag empty, he set it aside and looked back up at the professor, surprised to see him taking off the dark robes he was wearing.

Snape folded them carefully before sitting down with a grace Harry hadn't thought possible. He was even more surprised to find the older man was now wearing a cream coloured sleeveless tunic which hung like silk. The Dark Mark was visible in the light from the little sphere, and Harry knew that it must have been used recently as the skin around it was reddened ... almost like the flesh had been burned.

They had discussed what might happen if Harry didn't succeed. Voldemort would know what had taken place and that someone who was an Earth Mage had tried to take Snape away from him. He wouldn't know it was Harry, at least not to start with, but Snape would be punished and from that, Voldemort would find out through his link to the Potions Master what had happened. Harry had asked whether the link could kill Snape. "If I'm lucky," Snape had replied.

So no pressure, Harry had told himself, no pressure at all.

"Have you decided on your Mark?" Snape's voice was quiet.

Harry glanced quickly at the complex skull and snake on Snape's forearm before giving a brief nod. He had thought about lots of things, but knew he could never damage Draco's skin with something like Voldemort's Mark. In the end he had decided on the one sign that everybody seemed to associate with him. "I thought I'd use this." His fingers touched the zigzag scar on his forehead. "It's simple and, well, it would just look like a scar on your arm." He picked up one of the quills, fiddled nervously with it. "What do you think?"

"It is not for me to think. It is your Mark. But you are right --at first glance it won't be as obvious as this." He glanced briefly at his arm before turning his attention back to Harry again. "You haven't brought a knife."

"No."

"Then it is good that I remembered to bring one with me." He reached for his robes, rummaging in the folds for the pocket.

"We don't need one." Harry picked up the quill. "You said we didn't need to use blood, so I've been reading the book you gave me on protection magic and have found something else to use." He briefly touched the book he'd been reading while waiting for the professor. It was the same book that had been on the table beside Snape's chair in his quarters the first time Harry had visited.

"Really." The tone wasn't so much a question as a jaded statement of fact. "Why am I not surprised? Very well, what have you come up with?"

"You're supposed to give something of yourself into the ritual. Voldemort used blood from the Muggle you killed, right?" Snape nodded. "Can you draw?"

The Potions Master pursed his lips into a thin line. "Would it spoil your plans if I couldn't? I still have my knife."

"Well, it doesn't matter, you can just use stick figures ... it doesn't have to be very good, it's the intent that's important. What I need you to do is draw the animal I remind you of and tell me why." When Snape didn't respond, Harry started to worry. It had seemed such a good idea when he'd found it in the book -- instead of blood, both parties gave something of themselves, something personal. It had mentioned using an animal form and Harry had liked that ... maybe it was magic similar to that used by Animagi, however Snape's reaction wasn't helping his confidence. "It's in the book." Harry reached for the volume, but the older man stopped him from lifting it.

"I know. It's ... a very powerful incarnation. And also very personal. Using blood would be easier."

"No. I don't want to use blood. This is my version and I want it to be different from Voldemort's."

"Very well, Mr Potter. As you wish."

********************

Severus sat back and watched as the boy poured some of the ink into the little bowl and added several drops of the potion mixture. The two liquids swirled together as he listened to Potter quietly incanting the words of the spell. He could feel the energy building in the space between them, surprised at how powerful it was ... at how powerful Potter was. No wonder the Dark Lord had wanted to kill the boy.

"Can I have your right arm?"

He looked at the boy's outstretched hand and realised Potter was going to draw on his arm. The incantation would work equally well with the drawing on parchment, which was then burned. He considered questioning Potter's reasons, but the ritual had already started. Instead, he moved closer, extending his arm and resting it comfortably on his own knee.

Potter held the arm steady with his left hand, and dipped the quill in the mixture of ink and potion. "I once thought of you as a bat, because of the way you seemed to swoop down on everyone. Then I wondered if you were a rat." Severus started at the admission. In a different time and place, he would have given the boy a detention for saying such things. "But you are a Slytherin ... there's no doubting that, so you must be a snake."

The ink flowed over Severus' skin in long smooth lines, the tail of the snake wrapping around his arm, and the creature's head on the back of his hand. Potter didn't look at him as he drew, instead concentrating on the task.

"Not any ordinary snake though ... but a King Cobra ... Ophiophagus ... that means 'Snake Eater'. They prey entirely on other snakes, Professor, and it's the largest venomous snake in the world. If a cobra gets startled by an intruder, it rears its head and spreads out its hood so it can intimidate the intruder. If that doesn't work, then it strikes quickly and fatally. And you've chosen to go up against the biggest snake in the world." Green eyes finally looked up, meeting Severus' gaze, before returning to the finished snake on Snape's arm.

Severus flexed his hand, watching as the snake's hood expanded with the movement. Then, throwing the quill into the fire, Potter spoke again, this time the words not in English. Severus recognised it immediately as Parseltongue, and the snake's tongue flicked out in response.

Eyes widening, Severus stared at the creature on his skin. It seemed alive ... was alive ... on the movement of his arm, but the response to Potter's words shocked him. It was all he could do not to get up and flee the room at the thought he might just be swapping one master for another.

"Are you ready?" Potter had bared his own right arm now and held a new quill out to him.

Severus took it carefully, staring at it for a moment as he tried to work out what to do next. It would be so easy to draw a lion or even a phoenix. He even considered a snake. All of those images were ones he'd heard people describe Potter, but none of them really suited the boy. And now, with the power surrounding them, they all seemed out of character.

He was reminded of James yet again and the Animagus stag the Gryffindor could turn into, but even as he considered that, he realised once again that under Potter's power and energy was a child who, over the years, did nothing but cause him trouble. As for drawing, yes, he was quite adept with a pen after years of illustrating his own potions texts, but an animal was a completely different matter. Not to mention having to articulate something like this in words ... admitting personal things to the boy who'd been the bane of his life. Almost tentatively, he reached for Potter's arm, mirroring the way Potter had held him, and dipped the quill into the mixture.

"When I was a child, we had a puppy. It was very badly behaved and constantly getting into trouble. Unfortunately, everyone thought it was adorable even when it was disobedient -- I always thought it was an annoying scallywag. The creature wasn't permitted in the bedrooms, for example, but it would always manage to find its way into one anyway or it would steal shoes. I would often get into trouble because it was assumed I let it into rooms. It would manage to get out of trouble every single time it did something wrong."

"You think I'm a cute puppy?" There was amusement in Potter's voice.

"They thought the animal was charming. I wanted to kick it and make it behave." Severus continued with the creature, which looked like it was running up Potter's arm. The puppy tongue was lolling out and it looked like it was smiling. "When it was older, it became...." He paused. The dog had become his constant companion in later years, and he had taken it when he had left home to join the Dark Lord. Voldemort had wanted it, and Severus could not have denied his master anything at that time.

"What happened to it?"

"It ... died, as all things do." The Dark Lord had killed it because the dog had never liked him. One day, when he had punished Severus, the dog had struck back and Voldemort turned his wrath upon it. "I have finished." He threw the quill into the fire as Potter had done and watched the boy wiggle his fingers. The drawing came to life. "The puppy's name was Zephyrus."

Potter ran a finger over the drawing. "What does that mean?"

"Zephyrus was the West Wind in Greek mythology. 'We two can fly as swiftly as Zephyrus who they say is fleetest of all winds; nevertheless it is your doom to fall by the hand of a man and of god'. So said Xanthus to Achilles in The Iliad."

The boy looked surprised. "You've read Muggle literature?"

"Of course. You know what The Iliad is?"

"Of course, it's a book." Potter grinned. "Thank you."

Severus stared at Potter. "For what?"

"For telling me about your dog." Potter picked up a new quill. "And for not kicking him ... or me."

"Contrary to any misconceptions you might have, I don't kick students." Severus ran his fingers over the snake. He could almost feel it coiling around his arm, as though something in Potter's magic had made the creature alive. Did the puppy feel alive as well, he wondered. "Do you want to continue?"

Potter nodded and there was just a little uncertainty in the movement. "Do you?"

"Yes." Severus realised that Potter's hand was shaking as he tried to unscrew the little vial of potion again. He shifted closer, not meaning to touch the boy, but their knees brushed and Potter looked up, the child rather than the Mage staring at him. "You know you are capable of doing this. I can sense your magic now. It's all around us." He reached out and took the vial from the boy's hand, removing the stopper easily. "It is still raw and unrefined and you need to be trained to use it properly, but you have the ability to learn how to control it if you persevere. And you can do this now."

"Once I touch your Mark, he'll know I'm here."

"Then shield yourself to start with."

"Okay." Potter took the vial back and dipped the new quill inside.

Severus watched as Harry's eyes closed. He felt something wrap around him and knew instinctively that Harry had warded them both. It felt like he was inside a bubble. The boy didn't open his eyes as he reached for Severus' left arm, and they remained closed as the quill flicked over his skin, leaving in its wake a silver lightning bolt over Voldemort's Mark.

The eyes flashed open ... brilliant green as though he'd been struck by Avada Kedavra ... as Harry dropped the quill and clamped his hand over the Mark. If the boy used an incantation, Severus didn't hear it; instead all he was aware of was the feeling of the lightning bolt sinking into his flesh and spreading through his skin. He hissed in pain as it moved beneath the Mark, as though trying to cut through the tendrils that bound him to the Dark Lord for the past twenty years.

If the pain of Voldemort's punishments were bad, then the pain as the lightning bolt ate away at the Dark Lord's Mark was intolerable. He wondered if he cried out ... if he did he didn't remember. His whole universe was condensed down to the Mark on his arm and an inner struggle for control between two people much more powerful than he.

It hurt in ways he couldn't describe.

He was aware of falling backwards ... and falling ... and falling....

"Professor. Professor Snape!"

It was like being woken up suddenly from a very deep sleep. As if he were in water trying to swim to the surface, with the air in his lungs rapidly running out. He could feel hands on his shoulders, shaking him, fingers tapping at his cheek, trying to rouse him.

"Please, Professor, come on, wake up. Please."

He grabbed at the hand as if it was an anchor to reality, something to lead him back from the depths, and allowed himself to be pulled back to the present.

"Are you okay? Did it work? No, don't sit up yet."

He didn't try to move. Instead he lay where he was trying to slow his fast-beating heart and to stop hyperventilating. He could feel the weight of a hand on his chest, the warmth soothing, taking away the pain.

"Professor...."

Finally, he looked at the person leaning over him and realised it was Harry, and that it was the boy's hand on his chest. As soon as they made eye contact, the hand was pulled away. "Potter?"

"Yes. Are you okay? You passed out. Should I get help?"

Severus carefully pushed himself up, first resting on his elbows and then finally sitting up again. "No, that won't be necessary. I am ... quite well."

It felt ... different ... strange ... and it took him a moment to realise what it was that was different. For over half his life, the tenuous link with Voldemort had been part of him. Even when the Dark Lord had been in limbo after he'd tried to kill Harry, the link had still been there in his subconscious. It had been how he'd known Voldemort was still alive.

Now it was gone. He could no longer feel it gnawing away at him, ever present until it was as much a part of him as his heart or his brain or the very air he breathed. He wanted it gone, but he felt curiously bereft by the absence. It felt like a part of him had been taken away. He found himself searching for it within himself, almost panicking because it was gone, replaced by....

He looked at the expectant, worried, tired face before him and realised that there was a little spark he didn't recognise as being part of himself. It had to be from the new Mark that Harry had given him, and he finally looked down at his left arm. Voldemort's Mark was still there, but it looked like a shadow on his skin. He had been interested in archaeology as a child and remembered reading about robbed out trenches and parch marks in the soil -- marks where there had once been a wall and only the ghost of it remained. It was as if the skull with the snake coming from its mouth was just a memory, almost imperceptible in the half-light of the fire. But slashed over it, like an old scar, was the lightning bolt Harry had drawn earlier.

"I think it might fade a bit, or maybe I used too much of the potion when I drew it." Harry's finger prodded at the Mark, then, as if suddenly realising what he was doing, he pulled away. "Sorry. Do you think it worked?"

Severus took a breath ... the first free breath he could remember taking in a very long time. It felt exceptionally good. He nodded. "Yes, Harry, I think it worked." He did his best to smile, but it had been a long time since he'd done that as well. "Fifty points to Gryffindor, Mr Potter."

********************

Somewhere in Cornwall...

Lord Voldemort stared thoughtfully at the map spread out on the table before him. It showed Wizarding Britain overlaying the areas of Muggle Britain that interested him, the three-dimensional images complete with buildings and even the locations of prominent wizards and witches. He could tap his wand on an area and it would levitate and grow, showing more detail, and with a whispered word he could view different aspects ... locations of known Dumbledore sympathizers, for instance.

There were still too many of them -- idiots willing to fight beside the old man. But he was dealing with them ... one by one. As for those who didn't bend to his will, well, they would go the way of all traitors -- he would give them the most exquisite deaths.

He tapped a long bony finger on the map, watching it shift and change to a new view, this time of Muggle Britain. It disgusted him to see how much they spread ... like vermin ... destroying the land and leeching it of its magic. Soon he would put a stop to that as well ... locking them out of the magical world once and for all. And he would see that Dumbledore's little army were locked out as well.

For good.

Red snake-like eyes looked down at his hand. He detested what Dumbledore had made him become. The old fool might not have been directly responsible for the body he had been reborn into, but it was Dumbledore who had let him fall into the trap when Harry Potter had sent him into limbo, Dumbledore who had taken away the Philosopher's Stone, Dumbledore who had prevented his return via the Chamber of Secrets.

Dumbledore ... and Potter.

No matter. Soon, very soon, he would have all the power he needed and the illusion he lived in most of the time would finally be real. A real, solid, beautiful, immortal body that would never age and always be desired and desirable.

He paused as something touched at his mind, connecting with his own magic so briefly he wondered at first if he had mistaken the sensation. But no, it was there. Something tapping into his Earth Magic ... something....

The map changed again, all the Muggle references disappearing to be replaced with ley lines and Earth power points. He traced them, trying to find out where the person who dared to play with his power came from. He hissed as the location finally came into view. Of course, Hogwarts. Where else could it be? And who else but Dumbledore?

His teeth clenched as the sensation flitted though him again. No, not Dumbledore -- he knew the old fool couldn't tap into Earth Magic like this -- it had to be someone else. Voldemort flexed a hand over the map, trying to connect with the person.

A wash of green colour, like a ghost image, solidified over the map condensing briefly into a flickering bolt of lightning before dissipating from view. Voldemort's fingers flexed and he let out a hiss of anger. Not the Potter brat! How could that happen? His Shadow and his Cloud were supposed to have drawn all the boy's magic from him and left him next to useless. Wasn't that how Potter had been when he had seen the boy in his room at Hogwarts? They would pay for their failure, he would see to that.

But even worse, how could Potter have managed to tap into Earth Magic and who was there to teach him what to do and how to use it?

No matter. Once his own plans for Draco Malfoy were complete, the Potter boy would be nothing but an insect to be swatted. But he would give Potter something to keep him occupied ... something to make the little Gryffindor worry and fret over.

Voldemort allowed the map to change, once again showing those who supported Dumbledore. One of them would pay the price for Potter's foray into Earth Magic. And what better way to destroy the boy's confidence than to make him believe he was responsible for the deaths?

Red eyes glinting, Voldemort's finger circled over the map. "So, which pitiful fool will it be today?"

********************

Gryffindor Common Room...

"Come on, sleepy head, you should be in bed, not sleeping down here."

Harry groaned, shifting slightly on the big sofa in front of the fire. "Not asleep," he mumbled in a clearly drowsy voice as he rubbed absently at his eye. "I'm thinking." He pulled his feet up, making room for Hermione to join him on the sofa, and reached for his glasses.

"At three in the morning down here in the common room? What's wrong with your own bed?"

"Well, what are you doing down here?" He gave a lopsided grin. "At three in the morning?"

She smiled, leaning against Harry's bent knees. "I left my magazine down here and there was a very interesting article I wanted to finish."

"Magazine? Which one is it? Transfiguration Today or Enchanting Charms?" He moved slightly, letting Hermione rest more comfortably against his legs. "Or perhaps you've been secretly reading Predicting the Unpredictable." He grinned, waggling his eyebrows at her.

Hermione playfully punched his arm. "Not likely. Leave that rubbish to Parvati and Lavender." She took a deep breath. "Harry, what happened earlier? Did it work?" When he didn't answer, she continued. "With Snape?"

"Shhhhh." He looked quickly around the room.

"Oh, there's no one else here. I've already checked."

Harry gripped his bent knees with his hands. "It was ... okay I guess."

"Only 'okay'? Did it work or didn't it? What animal did Snape draw? What did he think of the snake?"

"He thinks I'm an annoying puppy." Harry pulled up his sleeve. The puppy was beginning to fade now, but the drawing was still visible.

Hermione stared at it, clearly having to bite back a laugh. "Harry ... that's Spot the Dog!"

Harry stared at it for a moment. "It isn't!"

"Yes it is! He hasn't drawn the spots, but you must know what Spot looks like."

"Of course I do. Dudley had the books."

"I've still got my copy of Where's Spot? It was a Christmas present from my godmother back in 1980." She rubbed her thumb briefly over the drawing. "You have to admit it does look like Spot."

Harry sighed. "I refuse to think Snape thinks I'm Spot."

"I think it's cute."

"You would. I'm supposed to be a brave lion."

She smiled and ruffled his hair. "Poor Harry. So misunderstood. But anyway -- did it work? The ritual?"

"Snape seems to think it did," he responded with a shrug. "I guess we won't know without asking Voldemort to punish Snape and see if anything happens."

"But Professor Snape must know. He must feel that something is different."

"Hermione, contrary to what you might believe, we haven't suddenly become best mates, sharing everything. He didn't really tell me anything; he just said he thought it had worked and gave me fifty points."

"Fifty?" Her eyes opened wide in amazement.

"Not real points, Hermione. He was probably being a bit patronizing." Harry huffed a little. "I bet he hates me even more now, especially if he thinks I've finally got some sort of hold over him."

"You know, Snape can be okay. If he were really being patronizing, he would have just said five points. And if he didn't think it had worked, he would have said so. You must have felt something. Choirs of angels? Hordes of demons? Great rumbles of thunder?"

"Nope, not a thing and that's the problem, Hermione. One minute Snape was sitting up and then he collapsed." Harry rubbed absently at his right arm and let out a groan of annoyance. "Sirius, Snape and Dumbledore have been on and on about how powerful this magic is. Even you've gone on about it. So why, if I'm doing something that is supposed to be that intense, didn't I feel a thing?

"Hmmm. Perhaps that's the way it works. You know, the giver doesn't feel what he's doing, but the receiver does. If Snape collapsed, that has to mean something."

"I don't really want to think about it. Not yet anyway. Can we talk about something else?"

"Well, there is something I've been considering asking you since you first told me about this...."

"What?"

She began picking at the hem of Harry's jeans leg. "Harry, what about if you were to Mark me?"

"No!" The single word was spat out.

"But...."

"Don't even ask, Hermione." He tried to pull away from her but was effectively trapped against the sofa. "I'm not going to start doing this to everyone."

"I know, but...."

"He's not going to Mark you, is he? You're Muggle-born so you're safe from that. The only reason I did it for Snape was because of what Voldemort was doing to him." Green eyes flashed dangerously. "I am not going to round up my own little Death Eater army. I've been sitting here for ages thinking about what I did to Snape and whether it worked, and if I should have done it or not. You know, the longer I sit here, the more I think about using my Mark on him in some way just to see if I really did create a link with him."

"Harry...."

"And the longer I sit here the angrier I'm getting at him for even asking me, and that makes me want to hurt him." He watched Hermione's shocked expression for a moment. "Oh, not a lot, just enough to let him know that I'm here and I know what he's made me do. I hate myself for feeling like this, and I don't want to feel like that with my friends." And especially not with Draco, Harry admitted to himself. His head dropped to his raised knees.

Over the last week, he'd talked to Snape about Draco and whether it was possible to keep him away from Voldemort. Snape had even given Harry some rituals and potions that would be suitable ... incredible protection magic that had awed Harry with its beauty and power. As the discussions had continued, it had never occurred to Harry that he shouldn't take any means possible to protect Draco. After all, who wouldn't want to be kept out of the Dark Lord's clutches? It hadn't even really concerned him when Snape had told him how important it was for Draco not to know what was happening....

"You may tell Draco about the protection rituals, but you must keep the fact you are Marking him a secret. If your Mark is first, then anything the Dark Lord does to Draco should be ineffective, unless the boy asks to be Marked as I asked you. But if Voldemort realises what you have done, he will find a way to circumvent your efforts. The only way to prevent this happening is for Draco to be unaware that you are Marking him."

So, Harry had planned to persuade Draco to let him do some protection magic during which he would Mark him in the same way he'd Marked Snape. Then, once it was clear Harry's magic had thwarted Voldemort's attempts, he would tell Draco, who would be happy that Harry had protected him, and all would be fine with the world.

But now that he'd performed the magic on Snape, Harry was becoming more and more concerned about the whole plan. His black-and-white ideals had suddenly changed. Once all that mattered was saving Draco no matter the cost, but now things seemed different. Even if Draco didn't want to join Voldemort, did Harry have the right to make an arbitrary decision without discussing it with Draco first and getting his permission?

He was torn between a desperate need to protect Draco and the awful possibility that whatever happened, Draco would end up hating him again.

Harry didn't think he could stand that ... to lose the person who'd so quickly become such an important part of his life, and that was what he'd been sitting here contemplating. He was desperate to keep Draco safe not only from Voldemort but also Lucius; but did he care enough for Draco to let him go? To do the protection magic with the knowledge that although Draco might escape Voldemort, he would end up detesting Harry for what he'd done?

Could he let Draco go to Voldemort if that's what he really wanted to do? Of course Draco had said he didn't want to be part of Voldemort's army, but was that the truth or was he just saying what Harry wanted to hear?

And it didn't help that at the very moment he contemplate the idea that he might end up losing Draco, Harry was also coming to the realisation that he might actually be in love with him.

He felt a hand in his hair ... not the way Draco would play with it, but the gentle stroking he was used to from Hermione. She continued with the gentle caress for several minutes before finally breaking the silence that had settled between them.

"Look, I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't mean to upset you. I just thought...." The movement stilled. "Well, I had this idea that if there was some sort of link between you, Ron and me, we'd all know that the others were safe."

Harry finally looked up at her. "And I'm sorry. I didn't mean to shout." He leaned into her touch. "It's been a hell of a day and I'm worried about this magic as it is. Snape already hates me, so it doesn't matter if he hates me a bit more, but what if I did this to you and you ended up hating me? I couldn't bear that." He reached out and took her hand.

"Oh, Harry, you know I could never hate you."

"Never is a very long time, Hermione."

"Yes, I guess it is." She smiled. "So, let's change the subject, shall we? Have you sorted out what you're going to do for Malfoy's birthday? I know that's causing you as much grief as the magic."

Harry finally managed a smile. "I have no idea. He's not mentioned it. What if he doesn't want anything?"

Hermione gave a snort. "This is Malfoy we're talking about. He would see it as his right to be made a fuss of."

"But I've never had a party, except for the one at your house last year, and as for presents, what can I give him he's not already got?"

"Oh, Harry, sometimes you're so silly. What would you like if it was your birthday?"

"Um."

"Look, it's a Hogsmeade Weekend, so you can both disappear without anyone really noticing. I'll cover for you with the Gryffindors. The weather is supposed to be good, so take him on a picnic ... you know Dobby will sort food out for you, and I bet he knows what Malfoy's favourites are. He was their house-elf for long enough."

"But what if it rains?"

"Harry Potter, sometimes you are just so dense." She waggled a finger at him. "Then you have the picnic indoors, at Hagrid's cottage, for example."

"He could have already arranged to go with the Slytherins."

"And you think he won't change his plans? If it was nearly my birthday and you invited me to a party, I'd change my plans."

Harry looked at her, his expression one of feigned surprise. "Hermione, I can't believe you are egging me on like this. I thought you hated him."

"Oh, I do, but you don't and I'd rather have a happy Harry than a miserable one."

They both fell silent, Hermione still leaning against Harry as they watched the glowing embers of the fire. He was very lucky, Harry decided, to have Hermione as his friend; she put up with so much, yet was always there whenever he needed her. She even supported his relationship with Draco despite the fact he knew she still hated the Slytherin.

"Hermione," he reached out, touching a lock of her hair. "I've been wondering if he's Morning Star's Child."

"Well." The single word was spoken on a long breath.

"What?"

"I came across something. I was looking at the meaning of names and how their use affects spells as part of my Charms project ... and I happened to check out a few names."

"And?" There was no response. "Hermione!"

"Morning Star is one of the meanings for Lucius. Others are Bringer of Light and Daybreak." She gave a shrug. "So it could very well be Draco Malfoy."

"Fuck me, thank god." The words were whispered as Harry heaved a sigh of relief. He looked at Hermione. "I thought it was going to be Snape."

"Before you get too excited, remember, I might be completely off here. It might have nothing to do with names. I mean Ron's name means advisor to the king. An advisor is a counsellor, but you wouldn't assume that the Lion's Counsellor who will turn to the Serpent is Ron, would you?"

"No, of course not. But it makes sense, doesn't it, that the Morning Star's Child is Draco ... what with all the mentions of dragons in the prophecy as well."

"True, but maybe you should hold off a bit before telling him about this. You need to be sure."

"I know. What does 'Hermione' mean? Maybe it's you."

"My name's boring. It means 'of the earth' and 'messenger', so I don't think I'm your protector."

"Well, I'd be happy if you were."

"Rather than Malfoy?"

"As well as Malfoy." He reached forward and hugged her. "Thanks."

Hermione hugged him back, her hand gently rubbing his shoulder. "As always, I come up with the answers." She sighed as she pulled back and reached down to pick up a magazine, which had been pushed halfway under the sofa by passing feet.

"Cosmopolitan? You're reading a Muggle women's magazine?"

"I like to keep up on what's happening in the other world and, Harry, you might not have noticed, but I am, in fact, a woman."

"Um, I know ... I ... that's not what I meant." He felt himself redden with awkwardness. "Of course you are."

She peered at him. "You know, maybe you should read some of the articles in here."

"What?!" Harry's disbelief was almost palpable. "No way. That's for girls. What am I going to find to read in there?"

"Well, there's an article in this issue you might find useful." She was grinning wickedly at the look of dismay on Harry's face as she tossed the magazine onto his lap. "I doubt Malfoy has different likes in that department than, say, Seamus."

Harry's mouth dropped open in horror at the headline on the cover ... Your guy's body ... four secret pleasure trails every man has. "What?" The word came out as a squeak.

She patted his knee in an almost maternal manner, clearly enjoying his embarrassment. "Why don't you give it a read?"

********************

Monday 30th March 1998 ...

Closing the classroom door behind him, Ron was immediately aware of magical wards closing around both himself and the room's other occupant. He moved quickly to the desk. "I got your message."

Shadow stared at him for a moment, arms crossed as he leaned back against the desk. "Well, what have you found out?"

Shifting from foot to foot, Ron finally met Shadow's face. His lip twitched in a small smile as he basked in the man's power for a moment. "Nothing. Harry won't talk to me. I know he confides in Hermione, but she's tight-lipped about anything he tells her."

"You don't know what he's been doing in his detentions with Snape or his lessons with Black?"

"No, but he's stopped complaining about the detentions and he's even been reading potions books." Ron looked up, blue eyes glinting. "Black's taking him away over Easter ... Harry's all excited about it."

"Really?"

"And he's...." The blue eyes darkened and he clenched his fists reflexively. "He's spending time with Malfoy. They've got somewhere in the East Tower they meet up. I've tried to follow Harry, but I keep losing him."

"Draco Malfoy's part in this isn't of any concern to you. David knows and he has plans."

"But...."

"We all have to play our parts, Cloud, and yours is to watch Potter." Shadow pushed himself from the desk and moved round to stand behind it. He opened one of the drawers, and pulled out a small box, which he held out to the boy. "David has a new spell he wants you to use on Potter. Open it."

Inside the box were seven gold rings, each engraved with a Gryffindor lion with ruby red eyes. He picked one from the box and studied the words engraved on the band, Chaser on the outside and Gryffindor Quidditch Team -- 1997-1998 on the inside. Eye widening, he searched through the box until he found the one with the word Keeper on it, his smile broadening as he saw it also said Captain. "Wow, they're like the professional team rings ... the ones they give out at the end of the season." Ron started to slip it onto his ring finger.

"No! Don't." Shadow snatched it away. "You will receive these next Monday via owl post at breakfast. Then you can put it on."

"Sorry. I just wanted to see if it would fit."

"They will fit perfectly, shrinking and growing as necessary. The other captains will receive a set as well, with a message from David Morrello saying they are a gift for the team. There will also be a story in the Daily Prophet about a scholarship programme he is initiating with the professional teams."

Ron's face had dropped. "Everyone gets one?"

"Of course. How odd would it look if only Gryffindor received them?"

"Oh, okay. So what has this to do with Harry?"

"Once Potter has his ring, you will place a shadowing charm on it. That way we will know where he goes."

"But I can't make him wear it all the time. Harry's not the sort of person to wear a ring."

Shadow held out his hand for the box, which Ron reluctantly returned. "All the rings have been imbued with a charm that will make the wearer want to keep them on." Ron frowned. "Except yours, of course. The shadowing charm needs to be cast once Potter is wearing it."

Ron nodded, accepting a piece of parchment from his mentor. He studied the complicated charm written on it. "Can I keep this?"

"No, you will learn it now and then destroy the parchment. David is pleased with your progress, Cloud. As a reward he is going to take you to your first Order meeting." Ron's eyes lit up. "I'm arranging for you to take a field trip yourself over Easter."

********************

Tuesday 31st March 1998 ... Lunchtime ... The Great Hall

"So are you still planning to get away for Easter?" Remus ripped his bread roll in two and dipped part of it into his soup.

"Yes," Sirius nodded, stirring at his own bowl. "I'm going to take Harry off to Glastonbury for a few days."

"Very nice ... if the weather holds up." He grinned. "Remember when we went there that summer for the festival?"

"Oh yeah." Sirius' expression took on a wistful look. "How can I forget. 1979. James' last gig as a free man. The Marauders, 12,000 Muggles, Genesis, Peter Gabriel, Tom Robinson, Steve Hillage and the UK Subs." He let out a long sigh. "It was some stag weekend."

Remus' expression mirrored his friend's. "It really was good. I hope you're not thinking of taking Harry to something like that."

"Who, me?" Sirius placed a hand over his heart and feigned injury. "Remus, I am hurt that you would think I'd do something as irresponsible as that. Remember, I am now a very serious Auror and a responsible Hogwarts professor. Would I take my impressionable teenage godson to something like that?" He sniggered and Remus grinned back. "Well, okay, I might, but I'm not sure I could cope with it anymore. All that mud and sleeping in tents ... even if it was a wizard tent."

"So what are you planning?"

Sirius shrugged. "Just a trip. I thought he'd like to see what Muggles think of as magic and things like that. Have you got plans? Or has Dumbledore co-opted you to look after the kids staying here?"

"Oh, I don't know. I need to get down to Diagon Alley to collect some bits for next term. Want some company at Glastonbury?"

Sirius fiddled with his spoon for a moment. "Remus, normally I'd love for you to be there, but I need some alone time with Harry. He still hasn't talked about what happened at the Burrow, and I think he might finally open up with just me there." He frowned. "You don't mind do you?"

Remus sighed. "That boy is carrying far too much responsibility on his young shoulders. And no, I don't mind. It'll be good for you both. We can take him to a festival later. Maybe Ron and Hermione as well ... they'd both like it."

Sirius nodded, staring thoughtfully down the Hall to where Harry was having his lunch. "Remus, there's something that maybe you should know. Harry's...."

"Sirius." Both men looked up at the new voice. It belonged to Minerva McGonagall. "The Headmaster wanted me to remind you about the meeting you have with him."

********************

Albus Dumbledore was flying very close to the wire and he knew it. The plans he'd been working on for so long were slowly coming to fruition, but he knew that there were still too many variables to expect things to flow as seamlessly as he had hoped.

He didn't like the fact that he was playing into Tom Riddle's hands either, having to be reactive rather than proactive. He hated having to hold back the truth from so many people, but if there was one slip, it could end with Voldemort getting the power and immortality he craved.

It didn't help that Riddle was sweet-talking all and sundry. He seemed to have learned from his failure sixteen years before and in the guise of David Morrello, people now considered him to be something of a Wizarding saviour. What would people think when they found out who he really was?

You-Know-Who. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. The Dark Lord made flesh once again.

Albus looked up as the door to his office opened and nodded at Minerva and Sirius, gesturing them towards seats. "Thank you for playing along with Minerva, Sirius -- I needed you to get here as quickly as possible but without arousing too much attention. I have received some very distressing news. Davey Gudgeon and his wife were both killed by Death Eaters last Sunday."

"Gudgeon?" Sirius frowned. "Wasn't he at school with me?"

"Yes he was, and he's been a dear friend of mine over the years. It looks like that was why he was targeted. The Death Eaters left the Morsmordre over their house. We know that they have killed people recently, but this is the first time they have made sure everyone knew who was responsible."

"People will be scared when they know You-Know-Who is active again." Minerva was shaking her head, tutting silently to herself.

Sirius snarled. "Well, it's about time they admitted he was back. Fudge is the worst. If he'd listened three years ago, we wouldn't be in this situation now."

"Voldemort left a note with the bodies," Albus quickly interrupted, not wanting the discussion to become sidetracked. "Fortunately for us, Kingsley Shacklebolt found it so it isn't common knowledge. But if what's in the note gets out, Harry might well be blamed for these deaths." He held out the note to Sirius.

"What?" Sirius was on his feet, taking the note and quickly reading it. "This says that Harry's responsible ... that his wand cast the Morsmordre. That isn't possible."

"Of course it isn't. No wand was found at the location, so there is no proof as to who cast the spell." Albus shook his head. "But that isn't the problem. It is public opinion, Sirius. The deaths will be plastered all over the Daily Prophet tomorrow, and if the contents of the note were published as well, we all know that people would read and believe it to be true. Then in several weeks time when the truth comes out ... that Harry wasn't involved ... they have already made up their mind. We should be grateful Kingsley got to the note first and has managed to keep it from the official record."

"But Harry...."

Albus pointed at the note. "This must be kept from him. Only the four of us must know Voldemort is trying to implicate Harry ... Minerva, Kingsley, Sirius and me. That is the way it must stay."

********************

Wednesday 1st April 1998 ... Professor Snape's private workrooms ...

"I think this is ready." Harry dipped the spoon into the small cauldron and let some of the liquid dribble from it back into the bowl. "It's changing colour."

"Then get it off the heat before it starts to separate like last time." Severus stared over the boy's shoulder as Harry pulled the cauldron away from the flame, cursing as he burned his finger. "Now cool the cauldron down. Quickly, Potter!"

Harry scrambled for his wand, nearly dropping it in his rush. "Um. The spell. I can't remember."

"Think, boy. I taught it to you in your first year."

"Right. It's ... Tepesco confessus. No!! I mean confestim ... Tepesco confestim." Green eyes stared into the cauldron, the look willing the potion to work. Slowly the colour changed as a large bubble floated to the surface. It popped with a lazy raspberry sound and the surface became infused with what looked to be an oily mess. Harry finally looked over his shoulder, his expression sheepish. "I wasn't quick enough."

Severus had been standing directly behind the boy, and he was surprised at how Harry shied away from him. If he concentrated on Harry, he could sense as well as see the tiredness that was clearly visible on the boy's face. There were dark smudges under Harry's eyes and the scar on his forehead was a vivid rose pink, standing out starkly against his pale skin. "You need to concentrate and be aware of the exact moment the colour change begins. That is when you need to cool it down."

Harry pushed at his glasses, rubbing at his eye with a finger. "I know." There was none of Harry's normal annoyance in his response, just a sense of dejection. "I don't think I'm ever going to get this. The potion I made for you was much easier. Can't I use that?"

"No." Severus reached for his own wand and tapped it against the cauldron. The mess inside seemed to quiver like a jelly as it shrank to a hard lump the size of his hand, which he removed, adding to the other failed attempts for safe disposal. "If you want to carry out the protection magic you have chosen, then you need to master this." Harry opened his mouth to speak. "And no, I cannot make it for you. The caster has to produce the potion." He raised a sardonic eyebrow. "Unless you would prefer I carry out the ritual on Mr Malfoy."

"No, I can do this." He moved back along to bench and started sorting through the ingredients again. "I'm running out of time to get it right."

Severus didn't move for a moment, just watching as Harry concentrated on the task. It was very late -- nearly midnight -- and he should send the boy back to his dormitory, but there was something in Harry's face that let him carry on. He stepped to Harry's side. "Slice the Mandrake finer. It will give you more time to cool the mixture."

Harry nodded, cutting at the strands. He let out a sudden yelp of pain as the sharp knife cut into the fleshy pad at the base of his thumb. "Damn it!" He dropped the knife, the hand instantly moving to his mouth.

Severus grabbed at Harry's hand. "No. Not with Mandrake residue on your skin." He pulled the boy over to a sink and held the hand under the running water. "That is enough for today."

"But...."

"Enough, Harry. You can continue tomorrow."

"But I'm running out of time," he repeated.

"Wash your hands with this." Severus handed Harry a cleaning lotion. "Then come to my rooms. I'll prepare a dressing for the cut."

He was rummaging through his medical supplies when Harry slipped into the room. There was a bloodied cloth around the injured hand.

"It won't stop bleeding."

"That is because of the mixture the Mandrake has been steeped in. Sit down."

Harry perched on the edge of the sofa and held out the hand. Several drops of blood splattered on his jeans before the salve-coated dressing was placed over the cut. "What if I didn't do the protection magic and just did the Marking?"

"That is up to you, of course." Severus applied pressure to the dressing, mentally counting at a measured speed. When it had been in place for a minute, he carefully pulled it off. The bleeding had stopped. "The protection magic you have chosen will shield Mr Malfoy from most spells and incantations for several weeks, maybe even longer. It will not hinder the use of any charms already in place. You are including the Marking in your ritual to prevent the Dark Lord from placing his own Mark. The additional protection will prevent him from trying to circumvent your Mark, unless, of course, Mr Malfoy asks Voldemort specifically to Mark him, as I asked you."

"Okay." Harry peered at the cut. "Did it work?" He looked up, meeting the Potions Master's black gaze. "What I did to you?"

Severus continued with his ministrations, replacing the used dressing with a fresh one and then bandaging it in place. "Keep this on until the morning." Coming to his feet, he turned away and crossed the room to his desk. How, he wondered, could he ever express to this boy just how well it had worked without sounding like a bumbling fool? He now woke in the morning without the pressure-induced headaches that had plagued his life for longer than he cared to remember. He was even beginning to relax a little, no longer tense as he waited for Voldemort's next punishment. Mercifully, the Dark Lord was no longer there, lingering like an unpleasant memory just in the back of his consciousness. That sensation had been replaced by something else -- a lightness, like a clear winter morning rather than the dark cloying morass that had been Voldemort.

He didn't look at the boy, not wanting to see the eyes that reminded him of Lily or the face that was James'. "Yes, it worked. It has made a huge difference and I am still coming to terms with the result." He took a deep breath. "Harry, I know we have not seen eye-to-eye, but I have always tried to do what I thought was best for you. You are a natural wizard, but like your father you need to be pushed in order to get the best out of you. I owed your father a wizard's debt for saving my life, and I chose to watch over you while you were at school. Now you have done this for me ... taken away the link with the Dark Lord ... and I know that I am now in your debt. I think I owe it to you to tell you about my relationship with your parents and with Black and Lupin...."

Severus turned as he spoke, his mind reeling as memories from his childhood came forward. He waited for Harry to speak, but there was no reply and when he finally looked at the boy he let out a sigh that was a cross between relief and irritation. Harry was curled up in the corner of the sofa and was clearly asleep. He wondered how much the boy had heard and whether he would ever find another time to talk to Harry about his parents.

Watching the boy, he debated whether to wake him. Harry had told him earlier about the nightmares he had been suffering and it was clear that he was overtired. If he let Harry sleep for a while now, would it do any harm? And maybe if he had another nightmare while someone who knew what to look for was there to see, then the cause of them might become clearer.

Reaching for a throw, he pulled it over the boy. Then, returning to his desk, Severus began marking the third-year Potions homework.

********************

Friday 3rd April 1998 ... Breakfast

"Going to Hogsmeade tomorrow?" Vince Crabbe loaded his cereal bowl to overflowing, more interested in talking to Greg Goyle than in the amount he'd tipped in. He lifted his bowl briefly from the tabletop, and with an apologetic look at Draco, pushed the spilled flakes away. By the time he looked back at Greg, the mishap had been forgotten. "I need to get to Zonko's -- I promised my cousin some Exploding Chicks. His mum won't get him any -- says the feathers take too long to clear away." The two boys sniggered and began plotting out their day.

Draco watched, shaking his head slightly. Greg might be older than him by a few months, but both Greg and Vince had never really acted their age. In fact, sometimes they were both more like fourth-years or even younger. The conversation they were currently having, about getting the first-year Hufflepuffs trapped in one of the dungeons, was the sort of trick he would have played years ago. He gave a little smirk. Well, maybe not years ago, but at least his tricks had a bit more maturity and style.

He glanced over to where Ron Weasley was having an animated conversation with Harry and found his smirk turning to a thin-lipped pout of jealousy. He hadn't managed to find any time to be with Harry since the previous Tuesday, so seeing the Weasel all over his Harry now just added insult to injury.

Maybe he could do something to get even. He leaned in towards Vince. "Can I give you a shopping list?"

Vince leaned slightly, not looking round, but answering his friend clandestinely. "Anything in particular?"

"I was thinking of some of Zonko's special sweets. The ones with side effects."

"Any particular ones?" Vince was following Draco's line of sight. "Something for Potter?"

"No, I was thinking of a gift for the Head Boy. Something with slugs maybe."

Vince sneered. "You know, you could do something with his badge. Make it so it says something else to everyone but him."

"Nice one -- but for now, let's just make him uncomfortable."

"Anything for Potter?"

"No, I'll sort him out. Oh, and don't forget my party on Monday night."

Greg leaned around. "Not much chance of that. Just hope Snape keeps away, especially with the firewhisky and all."

"If he comes by it will be early on, then after that the kids can be sent to bed and we can enjoy ourselves."

Draco glanced back at the Gryffindor table, briefly catching Harry's attention. Green eyes glared at him, the look of old animosity now carrying a sexual undercurrent that Draco hoped only he could read. He smirked back and could tell from the tilt of Harry's head that the meaning passing between the two of them was perfectly clear. His sneer grew as Weasley leaned in and questioned Harry before snarling across the room at Draco.

Let him snarl, Draco thought, it's my bed Harry will be in later.

That thought made Draco pause. Did the Weasel fancy Harry? They'd been dorm mates for nearly seven years, and Draco knew that Harry had holidayed at the Weasley hovel on more than one occasion. He looked back at the two boys, feeling the pangs of jealousy rise again. It could have all been different if it hadn't been for Weasley ... he and Harry could have been friends from the beginning.

Draco returned to his breakfast with probably more vengeance than he meant and had just finished ripping a slice of toast to pieces when two owls landed on the table in front of him. The first was a Malfoy family owl with a message from his mother telling him that his robes for the birthday party had arrived -- pale blue, almost grey, with stitching in silver. The colour had looked okay when he'd chosen it from Romano's Robes in Hogsmeade, but he knew that if it were a shade too pale it would make his complexion looked pallid. However, if it was just as he had chosen he would look like an angel and the cut of the robes should give him wings.

A smirk twitched at his lips at the thought of the Evil Slytherin Child looking like an angel ... now that would be a photograph for the Daily Prophet's society pages. That his party would make the pages, he had no doubt. He was, after all, a Malfoy and this was his coming of age.

The second bird looked like a school owl or a post owl, and he plucked off the message, expecting it to be a bill or some general correspondence. It was a small roll of parchment, sealed with a red blob of wax, which popped open as he slid a fingernail under it. It unrolled easily and he stared down at it, turning it back and forth in surprise.

It was empty. He raised an eyebrow and glanced surreptitiously along the table. It could be from his father, but normally there would be some indication before he opened it, and the parchment wasn't Lucius' normal quality either. In fact, it looked like the sort of paper Flourish and Blotts sold to students. He dropped it onto the table; he'd check it with some disillusion magic later and see if there was a hidden message.

Morning, Draco.

Looking up with a start, Draco's eyes flicked across the room. The voice had been so clear ... it was Harry's and it sounded like the Gryffindor was standing right beside him. Harry, however, was still at the Gryffindor table, sipping from his teacup. Draco pushed at the scroll with his finger.

It's okay; no one else can hear me. This is just for you. How do you like it? It's a rather nifty bit of magic I think. Of course, I bet you know all about it already.

Draco picked up the scroll and shoved it in his pocket. It wasn't a spell he knew, but he intended to find out just how it worked ... it would be great to be able to send messages back and forth. Clandestine messages across a crowded room. He pushed his chair back and came to his feet. If Harry was sending him some sort of secret message, he didn't want to listen to it in the middle of the Great Hall.

Oh no, you get to listen to this here. If you try to leave, the voice will change and it will sound like Goyle ... and guess what, Draco, everyone will get to hear it. See, I can be cunning too.

'Yes, Harry, you certainly can! How did you ever end up in Gryffindor?' The thought swirled round Draco's mind as he sat back down, picked up his spoon and fixed his eyes on his bowl of cereal.

Good boy. Actually, I hope you think this is a nice message. You see, I want to invite you to a picnic tomorrow for your birthday. Unless you have other plans, of course -- I know it's a Hogsmeade weekend, and I guess you might already have arranged things with your friends. But, if you want to come, just say the same password we use for our room at midday tomorrow and the instructions will appear on the parchment.

He gave a little smile and looked stealthily across to where Harry was watching him. Carefully he gave a single nod, which he watched Harry mirror.

I've got a few things planned for you, Draco, so I hope you're going to come. Oh yes, that's one of the things ... making you come, I know you'll like that. Would you like to know what I've got planned, or shall I keep that a secret? Well, you know, this really is too good an opportunity to miss, isn't it? You in the Great Hall, and me talking dirty to you. I love it when you do that to me ... tell me what you want to do ... so I hope you like it as well. Of course, you could leave and everyone will hear Goyle telling you what he wants to do to you. So I guess you will just have to stay and hope no one notices you getting hard.

The green eyes were watching him ... Draco could feel them even though he was deliberately not looking in that direction.

First, I'm just going to touch you ... you know, the way you like it ... soft fingertips over your shirt and trousers. Eventually, that will make your nipples hard if I keep it up long enough. If you want, you can wear that red shirt ... the one I made down in the Archive ... you know how much you like silk being rubbed on your nipples. Then when I know I've got your attention, I'll undo all those little buttons ... one at a time, while you get all impatient because it's taking so long. When I've finally finished doing that, I'm going to lick and suck at all the nice places on your chest ... that little hollow at the base of your throat, I know you like that, then your nipples until they are hard and wet and sticking up from your pale skin like little buds. Oh and when you start to groan and hold onto my hair, I'm going to suck at your navel.

Draco could feel a heat building inside him. What the hell was Harry playing at? He was going to make the Gryffindor pay for this. He let a hand drop almost casually down into his lap, aware of his growing hardness. Let this end now, he thought, before I make a real fool of myself.

By now you'll be getting hard....

'Too right,' Draco moaned mentally.

And I will be able to see the bulge your cock is making in your trousers. So I'll get that button on your waistband open and the zip down, and then I'll slip it out from your underwear. Hmmm, I wonder what you'll be wearing. Nice loose boxers or those dark soft cotton briefs which will already have a little wet patch on the front. Maybe I should send you a pair with little Gryffindor Lions all over them.

Of course, by now I will have my hand around you and you'll be hard and erect as I do things that make you whimper.

He could feel his erection pushing against his underwear, tenting his trousers almost painfully. Harry had done exactly the same thing to him only a few days ago. Pulling himself closer to the table in an effort to hide what he was doing, Draco let his hand cup himself, pressing hard against the bulge in his trousers.

And then, Draco, when you finally beg me to, I'll use my mouth....

"Draco, are you okay?" Greg stared at him, a frown on his forehead. "You look all flushed."

"I'm fine," Draco snapped, as he reached for his teacup with his free hand, trying to hold the cup without his hand shaking. "Too much pepper on my eggs."

Mmmmm, do you fancy that, Draco? Would you like me to do that to you?

He was staring at Harry now, and knew the wicked grin on Harry's face wasn't aimed at anyone at the Gryffindor table. Harry must be a Slytherin, Draco decided. No Gryffindor would have the audacity to make him suffer like this. He could feel the way his erection was pushing against his hand and knew that if he didn't leave soon he'd probably come right there, in the middle of the Great Hall.

Well, Draco, we'll see what happens tomorrow, won't we? This is the end of my little invitation, so you can go if you want.

Draco got quickly to his feet, pulling his robes about him to hide himself, and started towards the door.

Oh, there's one more thing....

He stopped at the door, but chose not too look back.

A question, Draco. When I've got you hard for me, how would you like me to make you come?

Carefully, Draco reached for the edge of the door, fingers clutching at the wood as he took a calming breath. Then he looked back over his shoulder. Harry was watching him with his meek, innocent little boy expression under those smouldering green eyes. He met the gaze with a look he knew would devour Harry on the spot. The look said one thing ... Draco would make Harry beg and beg for release and when he allowed him, Harry would come so hard he wouldn't know what had hit him.

********************

Saturday was exactly as Harry had hoped -- a glorious spring day, just warm enough in the sheltered glade for a picnic. He had considered going to the pool, but somehow it didn't feel right to go there at the moment. Sirius said Harry would know when a person needed to go there, and to use it for nothing but a picnic seemed out of place now.

He spread out the blanket Dobby had found for him. The house-elf had listened carefully to Harry's request for a picnic basket, and the large wicker hamper contained enough for a long, lazy afternoon in the early April sunshine. All that was missing now was the guest of honour. Harry settled himself against the trunk of a cherry tree under which he'd spread the blanket. The branches were heavy with pink blossom, dappling the ground beneath as the sunlight filtered through the leaves. His eyes were closed now as he let the warmth of the sun seep into his body, happy to just listen to the sound of birds. The glade was far enough from Hogwarts to require a broom ride to get there, and Harry had already placed a few quick displacement wards around it so that if anyone other than Draco came near the area, they would walk straight by without realising what they'd missed.

Of course, Draco was late, but Harry wasn't particularly concerned. Draco was never good with time keeping when it came to being with Harry. Sometimes he thought Draco did it deliberately to keep the expectation heightened, and Harry knew that it did just that. He'd tried the same trick on Draco a few times, but it never had the same effect ... Draco would just be sitting there, waiting, normally engrossed in a book and acting as though Harry being there was some sort of afterthought.

As for the picnic, Draco hadn't actually said he'd be coming. Oh, there had been the quick nod when Draco had heard the message, but no other mention of it even though they'd spent the morning in Potions together. Harry opened his eyes, staring absently at the petals and watching as they occasionally spiralled down to the ground like little pink snowflakes. What if Draco didn't come? What if Harry had gone too far with his message?

Sometimes Draco was difficult to read and Harry knew there were still power games going on between them. Which wasn't surprising really, considering everything else that had happened between them over the years. He knew he enjoyed having Draco take him ... that feeling of someone else in control ... of not having to live up to the expectations of others as some sort of leader. But when he watched Draco in that moment ... that second ... of completion, when those pale features contorted with passion and pleasure and Draco would tremble from the strength of it, Harry felt like he was the most powerful person in the universe. That he could make Draco feel like that was stunningly beautiful to him.

When it was the other way round ... with him taking Draco ... the beauty of it was equally as stunning. To feel Draco giving himself so completely was awe-inspiring. He felt like each thrust was a revelation ... like his heart was singing. To watch those grey eyes, bright with passion, looking at him as if he was the only person in the world ... that he was all that mattered.

And to know that at that moment, it really was all that mattered.

He was distracted from his thoughts by a dark speck in the sky which grew bigger and bigger, and he knew it was Draco astride his broom -- the silhouette was so familiar. Draco flew with a grace Harry knew he would never match; even the way his red shirt billowed in the wind was graceful.

Draco landed beside the cherry tree, climbed off his broom, and leaned it against the trunk. He shook his head, the blond hair settling around his face as he reached down to kiss Harry before turning his attention to the area in front of the tree.

"You've been busy, Potter."

Harry didn't answer. He was shocked by the unexpected casual possessiveness of the kiss. Draco had never kissed him like that before ... the sort of kiss he'd watched Mr and Mrs Weasley or Hermione's parents give in passing, something once described as 'a peck on the cheek'. His kisses with Draco had always been linked with passion rather than anything else, but this one was different ... as if Draco had done it simply because he had the right to.

He watched as Draco settled down on the edge of the blanket and reached out a hand for him. Harry took hold of it and let Draco pull him away from the tree and to his side. This time the kiss was the expected one of passion and he sighed into Draco's open mouth, luxuriating in the taste and feel. Draco tasted clean like peppermint, and he smelled of cinnamon and spices.

Like Christmas.

Harry pulled back, a little breathless, and studied Draco for a moment. "You wore the shirt." He fingered the silk.

Draco's eyebrow rose sardonically. "You asked me to. And let's face it, Harry, it's not exactly something I can wear any place else. Gryffindor colours and a huge Harry Potter lightning bolt on the front."

"True." Harry traced the yellow zigzag. "I'm surprised you kept it."

"Why?"

"Well..." he shrugged, "I don't know. I just thought...." Another shrug.

"You kept the one I changed. And this ... reminds me of something I want to remember."

"I could change the colour."

"No. I like it just the way it is."

Harry smiled and settled himself cross-legged beside Draco. "I wasn't sure you'd come."

"Really? After that message? I'm intrigued to see if your actions meet up to your promises. And besides," he shrugged, "it was either this or being dragged round Hogsmeade for the millionth time."

"So I'm just the lesser of two evils then? A picnic with me or Hogsmeade with your friends?'

Draco smirked. "Something like that, Potter." He looked around the glade before reaching up to take a cherry blossom petal from Harry's hair. "Is this one of your hideaways?"

"Not really. I found it back in my second year, and I'm pretty sure no one bothers to come out this far from school. It takes about 30 minutes to walk here."

"You've walked it?"

"Once ... flying's much easier." He found himself drawn to the fingers of Draco's right hand, which were currently running back and forth over the front of the red silk shirt. As the material stretched with the movement, Harry was sure he could see the hardening nub of Draco's nipple. "Flying only takes about five minutes." He swallowed. "But you know that."

The fingers swirled on the silk. "Yes I do."

Harry shifted closer. "About my message."

Draco tweaked his own nipple. "Mmmmm?" His eyelids fluttered closed briefly and when he opened them again, his pupils were dilated.

"Would you like me...?"

"Mmmm." Draco dropped back gracefully onto the blanket, arms spread out from his sides.

Harry watched him for a moment, wetting his lips at the sight of Draco spread before him. Then leaning over his body, he lowered his mouth to the already hard nipple, sucking at it through the silk. Draco moaned quietly, but he didn't move and Harry moved over to the other nipple. It was smooth against the silk, but quickly tightened as Harry worked it, while his free hand trailed down Draco's stomach to pull the shirt from the waistband of his trousers.

Pushing his hand under the silk, Harry stroked at the exposed abdomen, feeling the muscles shift and clench beneath his fingers. "How's that?" He nuzzled briefly at the hollow at the base of Draco's throat.

"You're getting pretty good at this, Potter." Draco's voice was a rough whisper.

"Tell me what you want." Harry followed the curve of Draco's jaw, tasting the clean sun-warmed skin. "It's your birthday party. What do you want me to do to you?"

"I want...." Long fingers pushed into Harry's hair. "I want you to do what you said in your message. Every little thing."

"Yes." Harry hissed as he shifted slightly, briefly kissing Draco before turning his attention to the shirt buttons. He carefully unfastened each one, letting the tips of his fingers brush over Draco's chest as he journeyed down until the shirt slithered off his skin to pool at his sides. "God, Draco ... you're exquisite." Harry leaned over the bared flesh and sucked at Draco's navel. "What do you want me to start with?"

For the first time, Draco moved, lifting his hand to touch his own groin, cupping himself. "I want your mouth."

"To do what?" Harry watched as Draco's hand tightened.

"To suck me."

"Oh yes. But you need to undo yourself first." Harry pulled back a little, watching as Draco pulled at his fly and wriggled his trousers down over his hips. He kissed the parted lips, feeling Draco's panting breath against his mouth. "And take yourself out."

Draco reached into his tight-fitting briefs, flipping the material down to expose himself. He plucked reflexively at the other boy with his free hand. "You should be undressing me, Harry."

"That wasn't part of the message was it?"

"Yes it was."

"Well, I'm busy with other things at the moment," Harry purred as he started moving over the smooth chest, pausing at each nipple again to suck and tease them back to hardness. "I need you to hold yourself, Draco." He trailed little nips along one clavicle and then the other.

"Nooooo!" Draco pouted. "You should do that."

"Hold yourself, Draco," Harry whispered against the other boy's mouth

He did, fingers reaching round the base of his erection as he felt Harry's breath on him. "Harry."

"Yes, Draco?" The words puffed over skin.

"Are you going to make me toss myself off?" Draco's long fingers were moving up and down.

"No. I told you to hold it ... not stroke it."

All movement stilled and Draco found himself waiting. And waiting. He whimpered, the need to move his hand battling with what Harry had just said. Hips wiggling, he shifted, pulling at his trousers with his unoccupied hand in an effort to free himself a little more. He was hard now, his straining erection tilting towards his stomach, and he let go. "Harry!" The word was a whine.

"I'm here."

Draco found himself engulfed in the warmth of Harry's mouth. He groaned, bucking slightly as Harry swirled his tongue around. Pushing, he tried to get Harry to take more in, but to no avail ... as he pushed up, Harry drew back.

"Like that?" Harry asked as he licked him.

The usually articulate Slytherin could say nothing, his entire world reduced to Harry's attentions. He was just feeling like he might come ... the familiar warmth building deep inside ... when Harry pulled away. Eyes wide, he looked to where the other boy was sitting, saw him take a mouthful of something and plunge back down onto him again.

The shock of ice cold made everything tense and contract. He hissed and shouted and grabbed at Harry's hair in an effort to pull away from the ice. But it was more than just cold, tiny bubbles burst against his skin ... tormenting ... tantalising. "Fuck, Harry!" The words were a cross between a moan and cry of pain.

When Harry finally released him, he trailed his cold tongue quickly up to Draco's navel, breathing icy breath into the little hollow.

He gave a sob as the breeze touched his skin, making it prickle from the cold, but he only had seconds to get used to the cold before Harry was on him again. This time he was surrounded by soft, thick warmth that seemed to cling to his skin. Where it touched it tingled and as Harry's tongue swept over him, the warmth spread.

Harry pulled away and scrambled back up Draco's body and kissed his gasping mouth, pushing his tongue between parted lips. Draco tasted warm honey and ginger on Harry's tongue and he sucked greedily at the mixture, hands clutching at the other boy as he pushed his hard erection against Harry's thigh.

Next time Harry kissed him, there was liquid ice and bubbles in his mouth ... coldness that somehow managed to set him aflame as that tongue tussled with his own. Draco lost track of how many times he was surrounded by the warmth and cold, but it held him perilously close to the edge for longer than he thought possible. He clutched alternately at the blanket, then Harry, and back at the ground again, cursing and panting as Harry took him repeatedly the edge but dragged him back over and over again.

As Harry pulled away one more time, their eyes met down the length of Draco's body. Green eyes sparkled as he licked Draco once more. Teasing with his tongue, Harry finally spoke, asking the same question he had posed the previous day in the Great Hall. "How would you like me to make you come?"

Draco whimpered almost incoherently in response. He was teetering on the edge, his whole body trembling with effort, and Harry wanted him to answer. Clutching at black hair, his hips bucked automatically as he desperately tried to push towards Harry.

This time there was no ice or fire in that mouth, just the warmth that was Harry. As Harry continued his attentions, Draco felt his insides tighten up. His vision fractured into white and pink ... sunlight through cherry blossom ... and he came with shuddering brilliance.

Draco's world came back into focus slowly, and it took him a moment to realise that he was on his back looking up at the sky through the branches of the tree. He was aware of his heart beating fast and his breath coming in shallow puffs, but it was the warmth along his side that finally made him move. Harry was lying beside him; one hand gently playing with Draco's hair. Reaching up to Harry, he pulled him down into a long, lazy kiss. There were still traces of honey on Harry's lips, and he carefully licked it away.

"Mmmm, where did you learn that, Harry?"

"Oh," Harry shrugged, a shy smile lighting his face. "I have my sources. Did you like it?"

"What do you think?" He kissed Harry again, delighted by the flush creeping over the other boy's face. "So, I know what the heat was ... honey and ginger ... but what was the cold?"

Harry rolled away from him and reached into the hamper, pulling out a small bottle. "It was supposed to be vodka, but I couldn't get any, so I used this." He held out the bottle.

"Elderflower champagne? Well, that explains the bubbles." Pushing himself back into his underwear, Draco adjusted his trousers and finally sat up. He reached for the bottle. "Maybe you could try it with proper champagne one day."

Harry blushed and retrieved his own half-full bottle, snapping off the top. "I would have, but they wouldn't sell me anything else."

"Well, next time let me try." Draco watched as Harry lifted the bottle to his mouth; head tilted back slightly as he swallowed the cold liquid, throat working as beads of moisture on the glass slid down his fingers. "I wonder what it would be like with Butterbeer?"

Harry gave a little choke. "Draco!"

"Or Firewhisky? Or maybe that stuff I found back at Hagrid's. We can try that sometime." He reached out a hand, feathering it across Harry's knee. "Melted chocolate?"

This time Harry smiled. "Well, I don't have melted chocolate, but...." He reached into the hamper and pulled out a bar of Honeyduke's Finest. Snapping off a square, he held it out to Draco who took both it and the tips of Harry's fingers into his mouth.

Keeping the fingers in his mouth, Draco held the chocolate square against them with his tongue, feeling as it softened. Then, holding Harry's gaze, he licked the sweet from the other boy's fingers. "Tell me, Harry, are you hard for me?"

Harry whimpered, squirming as Draco broke off another square and fed him it to him. The hand then dropped to cup the obvious bulge in Harry's trousers. He squeaked and reached down to cover Draco's hand with his own, pressing hard.

"Do you want me, Mouse?" The dark head nodded vigorously and Draco leaned in to lick the chocolate from Harry's lips. "Then here you are." He pulled away and turned onto his hands and knees, aware of the way his trousers moulded to his arse. Harry's eyes were fixed on him; he could feel him staring and knew that red mouth would be open, tongue running over those lips. "I'm all yours."

Harry wasn't sure how long he sat looking at the round globes of Draco's arse encased inside the cloth of his trousers and as Draco spread his knees more, Harry could do nothing but crawl across the blanket towards him. Almost with trepidation, Harry rested a hand on the curve of Draco's arse, letting out a groan as Draco pushed back against him. He'd fucked Draco before, but not like this.... Never....

"Harry." Draco spoke the name as a breathless sigh as he wiggled back, pressing against Harry who was now kneeling behind him. "Harry."

"Oh god." He was already hard ... had been since Draco had come ... and now to have Draco pressing into him.... Quickly Harry pulled Draco upright to rest back against his chest, and, with shaking hands, stripped Draco's arse bare. Then he gently pushed him back onto his hands and knees. Harry slowly ran his hands up over the curve of each buttock and then over the other boy's back, pushing at the silk shirt as his fingers grazed over the pale skin. The red silk slithered forward, pooling around Draco's shoulders and Harry marvelled at the butterfly shape of Draco's shoulder blades before tracing the sharply defined lines of each scapula with his tongue.

Draco moaned softly, his back arching into the touch as he pressed into Harry's caress. The hands pulled back down to Draco's sides, firm fingers feeling his ribs, the grip almost painful, before they slipped underneath to rub fingertips over Draco's nipples.

Harry leaned over Draco, pressing against the straining back, curling himself around the body beneath him as he nuzzled into the sensitive spot on the back of Draco's neck along the base of his hairline. Draco tasted salty-sweet, and he sucked at the spot as his hands roamed over the other boy's chest.

He pulled back, straightening and letting his hands run back down Draco's spine. His breath hitched as he let his fingers creep into the crevice between the perfect smooth globes before pulling away. Draco moaned as he spread his legs as far apart as the trousers around his knees would let him.

"Now, Harry. I want you inside me now."

Trembling, Harry quickly removed his own trousers, tugging at his boxers to release his achingly hard erection. He didn't dare touch himself for fear that he might come straight away. "I brought some oil...."

"Good! Then use it, or so help me, Harry, I'm going to fuck you right now!"

Slicking his fingers, Harry reached again for Draco, his breath catching as he leaned forward to kiss the base of Draco's spine. "Are you ready?"

"Oh yesssssssss," Draco hissed, and then moaned. "Harry, now."

With his hands on Draco's hips, thumbs on the boy in front of him, Harry joined himself to Draco.

It felt incredible. "So good, Draco ... so good. You feel amazing."

"So do you." Draco suddenly rocked forward, only to grind back. "Touch me...." he whispered.

"Where?"

"Everywhere!"

And Harry did, his hands roving over the exquisite muscles of Draco's back, enthralled by the way Draco curved into his touch. He couldn't believe he was here, doing this to Draco, watching as he moved. Listening to the words spilling from that sweet mouth. Feeling Draco move against him in response, seeing the way he trembled as they moved together.

Finally, he came. He knew he cried out ... heard Draco cry as well ... and he fell forward, curling around the body beneath him, holding on as if his life depended on it.

********************

"You never cease to amaze me, Harry."

Turning a little, Harry snuggled closer to Draco. The two boys were lying on their backs under the cherry tree, Harry's head resting on Draco's shoulder, one of the blond's arms slung around him. They had cleaned up and the spring sunshine was hot enough for them to wear just shirts and underwear. "What have I done now?"

"You seem to have come prepared."

"What?"

"Well, considering this is supposed to be a picnic. Or do you carry a vial of oil with you all the time now?"

Harry grinned, but there was no hiding the flush on his face. "It didn't seem to worry you earlier." He reached for Draco's arm, threading his fingers with the other boy's. "There really is food though, if you're hungry."

"In a while." Draco turned, just enough to rub his cheek against Harry's hair. "I just want to lie here for a bit."

"Mmmm."

They both fell silent, enjoying being together in the afternoon sun. It was Harry who finally broke the silence. "I've got you a present."

"You have?" Draco shifted onto his side and he grinned. "Do I have to keep it until the day?"

"Well, no. Not unless you want to, that is." Harry disentangled himself from Draco and quickly rummaged in the hamper. Rather shyly, he handed over two packages and watched as Draco grabbed at them. Clearly, receiving presents was something Draco enjoyed and the reaction settled Harry's nerves a little. He still felt like grabbing them back, however, not sure he was ready for Draco's reaction to either item. Needing to do something, he reached into the basket and pulled out a bowl of strawberries. "It isn't much, just a couple of things."

The wrapping paper on the first package -- an oblong shape about six inches by three -- didn't last long. Draco was clearly a 'ripper' rather than an 'unwrapper', and the paper ended up in torn shreds on his lap. As the last piece fell away, he stared down at the carved and inlaid box in his hands. He turned it over, looking at the images of mythical creatures on the sides.

"I thought you could use it ... you know, to keep things in."

"It's nice. Thanks." Draco made to open the lid, but it didn't move. "It's locked."

Harry finally smiled. "It's a puzzle box. Well, actually it's Muggle magic."

"This is Muggle?" For a moment it looked like Draco was going to drop it, but after a moment's hesitation, his grip tightened again. "Muggles don't have magic."

"Well, not magic like we have, but they have their own version." Harry shifted closer. "It's a puzzle box and you have to work it out to find the key. I could show you, but where's the fun in that? I will give you a clue if you ask me nicely." He reached for the box.

Draco snatched it away and something rattled inside. "There's something in there."

"Open the box and you'll find out what it is. Do you want a clue?"

"No! I'm a wizard, this is Muggle, and I can get inside." He shook it again. "Is it breakable? The thing inside ... is it breakable?"

"No, you can rattle it all you like. Oh, and it won't open with a wand, so don't even bother trying."

"You are evil, Potter."

"The clue?"

"No!" Draco put the box down on the blanket and kept giving it surreptitious glances as he reached for the other package. It was soft and gave beneath his fingers as he squeezed it. "Not breakable?"

Harry was grinning now, eyes sparkling with pleasure. He took one of the strawberries and held it up to Draco. White teeth bit into it, leaving just the green stalk in Harry's fingers. "It shouldn't be, but then you haven't seen it yet."

The paper was ripped away and for several long minutes, Draco did nothing but stare at the small, stuffed lion in his hand. Finally swallowing the last of the strawberry, he looked at Harry. "It's a lion."

"Well, yes."

"Harry, I'm a big strong Slytherin and in four days I'm going to be eighteen. Now, a nice stuffed snake or even a dragon I could understand, but a lion?" He peered at it again, shaking it. "Is this Muggle as well?" Harry nodded. "Is it another puzzle?"

"Possibly."

"Are you going to be all enigmatic on me and say it has some deep spiritual meaning that I'm supposed to work out? I get enough of that sort of thing from Dumbledore."

"No, just...." Harry reached for Draco's knee. "It's to remind you ... when you go home."

"Of what?"

"That there's something to come back to."

********************

It was a sudden spring shower of rain that finally forced the two boys to seek shelter in Hagrid's cottage. Draco had noticed the large black cloud approaching, but his mind had been otherwise distracted by the fact he was lying naked under the cherry tree with Harry straddling his hips.

As the rain began to fall, Draco clung onto Harry, holding him still. He watched the raindrops slide over Harry's tanned skin, mingling with his perspiration to run in little rivulets down his torso to collect between them. Harry gasped with each movement Draco made, his face a picture of concentration as he focused on what was happening, totally oblivious to the rain.

They came together as a crash of thunder echoed around the glade.

In the afterglow, Harry collapsed on top of him, their hearts beating a violent tattoo against each other as they both gasped for breath, the rain soaking them. The 'moment' finally broke with another crack of thunder and, giggling like little kids, they quickly dressed in clothes as wet as their bodies, gathered up the picnic things and fled to find somewhere dry.

"You've forgotten your lion!" Harry called as they both kicked off from the ground on their brooms.

Draco spun back round, flying low to the ground, boot caps scraping the grass as he reached for the toy. Scooping it up with his free hand, he pushed it into his shirt. Then swooping back to Harry's side, he held out his hand. "I'd never forget my lion."

********************

They lounged in the huge bath for ages, the water perpetually warm, clean and full of wonderful bubbles.

"If you had to describe me as an animal, what would it be?" Harry asked as he washed Draco's hair.

Draco cradled himself back against Harry, one hand lazily stroking at Harry's leg under the water. "That's easy. You're a lion ... typical Gryffindor. Well, maybe a lion cub, all huge paws and falling around the place." Harry tried to push him under the water. "A great big kitten always getting into trouble and hanging by its claws from the curtains." He pulled the dark head towards him, kissing Harry thoroughly. "Or maybe you'd have to be a mouse."

"A mouse?" Harry pushed at Draco's shoulders, threatening to send him under the water again. "I am not a mouse."

Water splashed on the floor as Draco finally got free. "Okay, okay, you can be a lion ... sleeping at the moment and waiting to be woken up." He grinned and then, staring into green eyes, asked, "What about you? How do you see me?"

Harry tilted his head thoughtfully. "It has to be a dragon, doesn't it? Draconis. Proud and breathing fire."

"Not a snake then?" Draco chuckled.

"No, you're a Chinese dragon ... they think dragons are lucky, you know. And they're often shown with a phoenix."

"Really? Chinese Muggles have dragons?"

"Like I told you earlier, Muggles have their own forms of magic."

********************

Skin glowing from being briskly rubbed dry with huge fluffy towels, the two boys finally left the bathroom for the sofa in the lounge. As the rain continued to pit patter outside, Harry curled up on one corner while Draco stretched out along the length of the sofa, his head resting on Harry's lap. Harry fed Draco with the last of the strawberries and seedless grapes before licking the syrupy sweetness off Draco's lips.

"Draco...."

Neither had spoken for some time, both content to drift in the peaceful quiet of the room, listening to the crackling of the fire and the rain on the roof. Draco's eyes opened, his gaze heavy, and he looked up at Harry.

"Yes?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure." His hand slid down Harry's leg, catching gently at his ankle.

"Do you...." It was clear Harry was struggling, not sure how to phrase his question. He finally looked away, focusing on the fire for a moment before looking back. "Do you want to follow Voldemort?"

The shift from tranquillity to serious conversation and the directness of the question took Draco by complete surprise. "Harry ... I...."

"Look, it doesn't matter, you know. If you say 'yes', it's not going out of this room. I just need to know."

Draco sat up suddenly, twisting to sit side-by-side with Harry and fixing him with a stare. "It doesn't matter? After all the things we've talked about, after I've told you I don't want to go to him, you still have to ask?"

"Draco, look, it's just I need to know that you're doing this because you want to and not because you think it's what I want. I don't want you to change. I've told you that before and I mean it. I just need to know what you see as your future."

"And if I tell you it is to be at the side of the Dark Lord?"

"Then...." Harry took a deep breath. "Then I'll know, won't I?"

Draco frowned, eyes narrowing as he scrutinized Harry, looking for something -- anything -- to understand the question and how he should answer it. He was used to giving answers that others wanted to hear ... his father had taught him well how to read people and appease them. The easy answer to this question would be that he had no intention of following Voldemort. Whether it was true or not didn't really matter because this would be the answer Harry wanted to hear and it would keep the status quo between them. That way they could continue having exquisite sex until they went their separate ways after finishing school. Harry would then take the path Dumbledore and Black expected, and Draco could return to his life ... the one the last eighteen years had been preparing him for.

Or he could tell the truth and take whatever the consequences of that might be.

"Yes, you would know, wouldn't you?"

"Will you tell me?"

"How do you know I'd be telling the truth?"

"Because...." Harry reached out, pushing his hand into Draco's hair. "I trust you."

"You trust too easily, Harry." Draco reached for Harry's hand, pulling it from his hair but keeping hold of it. "If I said I was going to him, would you still trust me?"

"Until you went."

"And then?"

Harry's answering sigh was long and heartfelt. "And then I would probably have to face you on the battlefield."

"Yes, you probably would." Draco pulled the other boy's hand to his mouth, kissing it before letting it go. "Do you need me to answer?"

"Is answering that hard? Can you trust me enough to be honest?" This time it was Harry who took hold of Draco's hand to raise it to his lips, kissing each finger.

"Harry, I don't want to be like..." My father. "...like his followers. I don't want to go to his side or to follow in his path."

"Then don't go home."

"What?"

"Don't go home on Tuesday. Stay here ... with me."

"Harry, we've talked about this. I'm going home for my birthday, not to some sort of execution." They had discussed the matter several times, mainly when Harry had been awakened by mind-ripping headaches and the memory of his nightmares.

"I know. It's just those dreams I've had. The ones with Voldemort...."

"It's not going to happen." Draco didn't know when he'd gathered Harry into his arms, but the other boy's head was against his chest and he breathed in the smell of his hair ... his body. "Voldemort...." He'd said it ... he'd finally said it. "Voldemort isn't going to be the guest of honour and I'm not going to get Marked. I'm going home to talk to my father and explain things ... tell him I'm not ready to make a decision yet."

"And you think he'll listen?"

"Of course. He's my father." The statement was made as a simple fact, which was not open to dispute.

"Then will you humour me?" Harry pulled back, meeting grey eyes again.

"Are you going to make some sort of brave Gryffindor statement now?"

"No."

"Yeah, right." Draco gave a little snort.

"I want to do something for you."

"Oh?" Even with the seriousness of the conversation, Draco couldn't prevent a hungry light from suddenly flaring in his eyes.

"No, not that. At least not yet anyway." A hand rose, resting flat over Draco's heart. "If you insist on going home, then please let me do some protection magic on you."

After everything else Harry had asked and said, this was the last thing Draco had expected. Protection magic? Harry wanted to do protection magic on him? The concept wasn't foreign to him of course; he'd been doing his own defence spells since he was old enough to use a wand. But no one had ever asked to perform the magic on him before, not even when he'd been involved in some of the more difficult or dangerous arts. He studied the green eyes watching him ... at the expectation in them, hiding just a little bit of fear.

Why not? If Harry wanted to cast a few quick spells, then who was Draco to stop him? After all, a bit of protection magic could work wonders. Then he remembered the magic Harry had wielded in the Archive ... the strength of it ... and he realised that the other boy might just be able to cast something more powerful than a general spell. "Protection magic?" Harry nodded, his hand plucking reflectively at Draco's chest. "And have you been practicing this?"

"Well, a little."

Draco couldn't suppress a smile. Typical Gryffindor. If the conversation had been the other way round and Harry had asked him that same question, Draco would have said 'yes' with archetypal Slytherin conviction. The little soft voice Harry now spoke in didn't exactly fill him with confidence. Finally, he responded with a simple nod. He could deal with anything Harry did wrong.

Then Harry smiled. Draco thought his heart might break, or that he might stop breathing, or that if his heart did break, it might pierce his lungs as well. He'd never seen Harry smile like that before, never seen him look at anyone so openly, and Harry was doing it for him ... just for him.

Draco leaned forward and kissed the smile, wanting to drink it in like fine wine. He felt Harry's hands link behind his neck, holding him gently close as the kiss deepened lazily, the other's tongue filling him with its sweet, familiar touch. He loved their passion-filled kisses, which inflamed his body and mind, but ones like this ... slow ... languid ... heartfelt ... always stirred something else in him. Sometimes it would be possessiveness, sometimes joy. But today it was a sense of belonging and, over and above the passion, a feeling that what he needed was right here in front of him.

With a mutual sigh they pulled apart, spending a moment just looking at each other as if wanting to remember the shape of an eyebrow or the colour along a cheekbone.

"Will you let me do this?" Harry finally asked.

Draco gave a little nod. "If you want."

"You need to want me to do this, otherwise I can't. It won't work if you don't want me to."

Draco pushed a hand into Harry's hair, clutching at the black silk. "Of course I do. You have my permission." An indulgent smile played briefly on Draco's lips before he touched them to Harry's forehead, feeling the raised skin of the zigzag scar against the tip of his tongue, as though giving some sort of benediction.

"Okay." With difficulty, Harry extricated himself from the tangle of arms and legs. "I'll just get my things."

Frowning, Draco watched the naked boy rummage in a drawer of the bureau. "Things?" He'd assumed Harry would speak a few incantations, maybe wave his wand, and then it would all be over. "What things?"

"It's a bit complex."

When he turned back, Harry held a small lacquered tray on which was a matching flask and bowl. There was also a small cup, about the size of an eggcup, several quills and Harry's wand. Harry put the tray on the floor in front of the fire and knelt down as Draco scrambled over, reaching out to pick up one of the quills.

"No, you mustn't touch anything. Not yet anyway."

Draco snatched his hand back, the authority in Harry's voice halting him in his tracks. He sat back on his heels, studying Harry thoughtfully. "Okay..." The single word was long and drawn out. "Harry, what are you doing?" It wasn't that Draco was worried ... oh no ... Harry might know some nifty magic, but in a duel Draco was convinced he would always best the Gryffindor. What he didn't like was not knowing and the fact that Harry must have been planning this for some time.

Harry picked up his wand and spoke a quick incantation. The rug rose a little from the floor, seemed to shudder for a few seconds, and transformed into a low couch, complete with soft covers and a pillow. Then carefully he poured some liquid from the flask into the bowl. It shimmered silver ... like liquid metal or mercury. He beckoned to Draco to sit on the couch. "I'm going to need you to lie on your front in a minute."

Draco didn't move; instead he peered closely at the liquid Harry had just poured. He made no move to touch it, knowing full well that you didn't touch potions like this when specifically told not to. "Are you going to tell me what you're planning or not?"

"I've been studying protection magic with...." Harry paused as if unsure what to say. "With Sirius and Professor Snape...."

"You've been doing extracurricular studies with Snape?" Draco frowned. Snape working with the Golden Boy ... the person he'd spent nearly seven years tormenting with detentions and punishments? He knew Snape had once been a Death Eater, but was currently out of favour with the Dark Lord. So why would he want to teach Harry things like this? "That's a first. Haven't you spent most of your free time in detention just recently?"

"Well, yeah, I know. This is ... this is different."

"And I thought you were doing Animagi training with your godfather."

"Um ... that as well."

"Busy boy." Draco watched as a little flush of colour spread across Harry's face and for a moment he wouldn't meet Draco's eyes. He's lying, Draco mused, wondering whether to push the fact. In the end he chose not to. "And you've come across this little ritual?"

Green eyes flickered up to meet his gaze. "Yes. There are protection symbols used in it." Harry picked up one of the quills and pantomimed putting it in the silver liquid and drawing something. "I'm going to draw them on you."

Draco wanted to laugh. In fact, he felt a strange desire to laugh out loud and it wasn't because he thought the idea of Harry drawing on him was funny -- he actually found the idea quite erotic. The laugh building inside of him, though, was the kind used to mask fear or worry. He wasn't sure which ritual Harry was planning to use, but he'd read about some using this method, and once had watched his father perform something similar -- the symbols and incantations had to be rendered almost perfectly for it to work properly. This wasn't the simple run-of-the-mill protection spell, but something extraordinarily deep and powerful. It was also not the sort of spell you came across in a book and decided to 'have a go'. It took planning and preparation and care.

And a very deep concern for someone's safety. His stomach give a little flip. Was Harry really that worried about him?

He didn't like the fact Harry was being so evasive about things. Was Harry really experienced enough to perform rituals like this? Even with his own extensive knowledge of ritual, Draco wasn't sure he could do it. What if it went wrong? And the potion -- that wasn't the sort of thing you could buy off the shelf. Of course, if Harry had been working with Snape and they had made it together, then it should be okay; Draco had no doubts about the Potions Master's abilities. What he wouldn't have given to be a fly on the wall when Harry had asked about creating it.

But then Harry would have had to explain to Snape why he wanted it. That might explain the way Snape had been looking at him lately.

The green eyes were watching him ... expectantly ... hopefully ... nervously.

"Are you sure about this, Harry?" he finally asked. "You don't have to do this."

"I want to. Please let me."

"Okay." Draco spoke quietly, the full implications of letting Harry do this sinking in -- if he let Harry continue, he would be committing some element of his own safety to a boy who didn't look strong enough to protect himself, let alone anyone else. He realised suddenly that this was what the whole day had been about ... it had been leading up to this moment. Even Harry washing him so carefully had been part of the whole rite.

"It's going to take a while."

"Well, I'm in no hurry."

"Good ... okay ... right."

"You don't have a knife."

"I don't need one."

"But isn't this a blood rite?"

"No, I've made some changes to it ... well, not changes, I found a different way of making the personal pledge bit."

"Harry, you can't just change rituals."

"Why not? When the ritual was first being created someone must have made changes and things to it. I didn't want to use a blood rite, so I looked for something else." He held out the quill to Draco. "Can you draw?"

Draco took it silently. It wasn't often he was lost for words, but the fact that Harry had the nerve to change an ages-old ritual and to appear confident about it left him feeling confused. All his training had been aimed at learning the specifics of spells and to render them perfectly. And here was Harry turning everything on its head. He finally looked at Harry and gestured with the quill in silent question.

Harry shifted closer, placing the little dish between them. "Remember we talked about animals earlier? And you said you thought I was a lion?" Draco nodded. "For the ritual to work, we both have to give something of ourselves to it. This is instead of blood. I need you to draw it...." He rested his right arm on the edge of the couch, "... here on my arm.

Pursing his lips, Draco stared at the tanned flesh. "And you're going to draw a dragon on my arm?"

"Well, to start with. It means we've both given our intent to what's going to happen. It doesn't have to be a good drawing."

Draco's lip curled slightly. "I'm a Malfoy -- I only do good."

Still on the floor, Draco scooted over to the couch and leaned against it. For a moment he stared thoughtfully at Harry's arm, as if studying the tanned skin; then, dipping the quill into the bowl of silver liquid, he started to draw.

When he finished, Draco sat back and nodded to himself before added a final flourish to the lion -- a tiny lightning bolt mark on its forehead. "There." He looked at Harry. "Leoninus ... the lion."

Harry smiled at the rather impressive creature, with a suitably shaggy mane, now adorning his right forearm. The creature's rather magnificent tail twisted behind his elbow before wrapping around his bicep, with the tufted end flicking over his collarbone. "You're right, Draco, you do only do good." Frowning, he pointed down to one of the lion's rear paws on which a tiny mouse sat. "What is this?"

Draco shrugged as Harry glared at the addition. "I decided it couldn't hurt to hedge my bets."

"No, I guess not." Harry took the quill from Draco and threw it into the fire. Then picking up a fresh quill, he dipped it into the potion. "Now it's my turn.

Draco watched as Harry created a dragon on his arm, the silvered ink contrasting with his pale skin. This wasn't one of the dragons he'd seen in his books or in person, but something almost mythical. "Is it a Chinese dragon?"

"Yeah, sort of. Remember ... for good luck." He finished it with a little blast of fire from its mouth, the flame arching up Draco's thumb. "Draconis ... my dragon."

"That's how you see me?"

"Well, the inner Draco anyway."

Draco frowned, blinking quickly a few times. That's not what I meant, he wanted to say. Do you think of me as yours? But he couldn't bring himself to ask that ... afraid of what Harry's response might be.

When he finally looked up again, Harry was holding out the little cup, now filled with the silver liquid, to him. "Ready to carry on?" Draco nodded. "I need you to drink some of the potion."

"I thought you were going to paint me with it, not ask me to drink it." He was surprised to find his voice a little rough with emotion and he cleared his throat.

"It's safe. I promise. Look..." With that Harry raised the cup to his own lips and swallowed the liquid. It sparkled on his normally pink lips, turning them iridescent and, for a moment, Draco thought that the same metallic shimmer flickered in his eyes ... over his skin.

It's just the light, he quickly reassured himself. Just the light.

Harry refilled the cup and held it towards him. "Please take it. You need to drink it of your own free will."

Draco was surprised to find the little metal cup felt warm to his touch, as though the liquid inside was heating it. He sniffed at it suspiciously before finally raising it to his lips.

At first it didn't really taste of anything, and even though it looked thick and unpalatable, it actually was quite pleasant. It was warm in his mouth ... a slightly spicy flavour, but when he swallowed, there was an aftertaste of lemon ... a sharpness that reminded him of Harry ... of his skin and the taste of him on his tongue. He licked his lips, wondering if they sparkled as Harry's had and what the liquid would taste like in Harry's mouth if he kissed him.

The liquid slipped smoothly down his throat, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake that seemed to permeate through his entire body. When his eyes rose to meet those of the dark-haired boy again, he felt strangely relaxed -- not sleepy or light-headed, but a little hazy. As though he was watching himself from a great distance. There was something else, something he couldn't quite define in his current state of mind, but it felt like a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

"Let me take that, love."

Draco blinked, remembering that he was still holding the little cup. He looked down at it and watched as Harry's fingers reached out and took it. Harry had called him 'love'. His fingers were still curled as though they were holding the cup, and he watched the space where it had been as if it might hold the answer to every question he had ever wanted answered.

People didn't call him 'love', at least not anymore. His grandmother would call him 'love' and 'darling' and 'my little angel', but people didn't call grown-up boys that did they?

He remembered his father saying he loved him when he was five. They had been out in Malfoy Park and Lucius had picked him up, swinging him round and round until they had fallen to the ground in a giddy tumble. He remembered picking up a handful of grass and dropping it onto his father's face. Lucius had gathered him into his arms and told him he loved his son no matter what happened.

He also remembered his mother saying she loved him when he first left for school. He had been in his room at the manor trying on his new school robes the day before leaving for his first year at Hogwarts and she had looked at him and smiled. "Look at my lovely boy -- all grown up."

Draco looked up and reached out the cup-shaped fingers towards the person who had called him 'love', as though trying to give something ... a gift ... himself. He thought the person had green eyes, but it was all a bit hazy now. A hand took hold of his, gently squeezing with a warm pressure.

"I miss her so much."

"I know," the iridescent lips shaped words. "It's going to be okay."

"I'm scared," Draco whispered, as he felt lips brush against his cheek, trailing their iridescent sparkle in their wake.

"You don't have to be ... not any more. I've got you." Harry ran his hand through the soft silk of Draco's hair. "I've got you."

Draco released an audible sigh as Harry's hand stroked soothingly over his shoulders, the strong fingers moving over his muscles. He knew he was handing himself over to Harry's care and suddenly it seemed the right thing to do. "I know -- don't let me fall."

Harry nodded. "I won't. Come on, Draco, I need you to lie down."

Strong arms cradling him, Draco let Harry help him onto the couch, lowering his unresisting body down to the covers. He didn't resist as the Gryffindor rolled him over so that he was on his front, instead content to relax and give himself over to the sensual caresses.

********************

Continuing to pet and stroke, Harry watched the boy for a moment. He was feeling more than a little nervous now. The potion didn't affect him as the caster, but it was supposed to relax the other person, so that they would remain quiescent during the ritual. However, Draco's reaction was much more than he had expected. The recipient was supposed to agree to the procedure, not drift away in some dreamlike state the whole way through. Draco was so out of it that he wasn't sure whether it would be a good idea to do the protection magic, let alone the Marking. Harry had been tormented by that part of the ritual, but he had at least expected Draco to be lucid during the whole thing.

But then, Draco had finally admitted to not wanting Voldemort's Mark, so Harry felt he somehow had Draco's implicit permission to carry on.

Harry placed the flat of his hand on the small of Draco's back, as if by doing so he might be able to sense what was going on in the muddled mind. Maybe, just maybe he was already too late. Perhaps Voldemort had already gotten to Draco and no amount of magic would keep him safe. Perhaps this was a direct reaction to something the Dark Lord had already done to him.

He watched as Draco sighed again, settling on the bed. His head was turned away from Harry, and both arms were lazily slung upwards, hands towards the pillow end of the couch. Slowly, Harry ran his hand down the leg closest to him -- Draco's left -- it was straight, while the other was bent slightly. He let his fingers rest lightly on the trim ankle. "Are you still with me, Draco?"

There was a little delay before Draco answered with a long, "Ummmm." And then, "Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

The response made Harry heave a silent sigh of relief; Draco at least sounded rational, if a little like he'd been drinking. "Yes, of course I do. Don't you trust me?"

"I never trust Gryffindors." The words were a little mumbled. "I think this pillow is a Gryffindor. It's trying to suffocate me."

"You can turn your head, it's okay to do that."

"Oh, right." There was a pause and then the voice was clearer. "That's better. Remember that, Harry, never trust pillows."

"Okay," Harry laughed, "I'll try to remember that." He leaned down to kiss Draco's ankle.

"Am I allowed to go to sleep?"

"I'd rather you stayed awake, just for the minute anyway."

Draco let out a huff, the breath tightening the muscles across his back; Harry wondered if he'd ever seen anything quite so erotic in his life. He traced his fingertips back up the leg, over the taut curve of Draco's arse and finally rested his hand at the base of the spine. Then, carefully, he let his mind reach out to the Earth Magic woven into the very fabric of the building and used it to construct a place of safety for them both. While he knew how long it had taken to carry out the Marking on Snape, he had no idea how long the additional protection ritual might take and with Draco clearly incapable of helping him at the moment, Harry wanted to make sure they were both safe.

As he finished, he remembered the first time he'd tried to produce a place of safety ... out there in the Forbidden Forest with Sirius. His godfather had asked who he was protecting and Harry had answered, "The Dragon." Here he was now, with his dragon, using the same magic but for real this time.

"Are you a fairy?"

"What?" Harry leaned forward and kissed the soft skin between Draco's shoulder blades. "Well, I didn't have wings last time I looked."

"You don't need wings; you've got a broom."

"Maybe you should go to sleep after all."

"I remember when we were at Hagrid's that first night ... New Year ... do you remember?"

"I remember." Harry's fingers had reached Draco's neck, and he marvelled at the way the blond hair curled against the curve of the nape. He only had vague recollection of most of that evening, and he suspected Draco was the same ... they had both drunk a considerable amount of Hagrid's liquor.

"I remember thinking that your ears..." Draco paused, suddenly very interested in the edge of one of the sheets. He finally pushed himself up on one elbow so that he could see Harry. "You did magic like that before."

"Like what?" Harry brushed the hair from Draco's face.

"What you've just done to this room, I can feel it -- you did that when you came to me down in the dungeons. Remember?"

"Oh yes, I remember." He poured some more of the silver liquid into the bowl.

"And you had some sort of sprite with you ... it found your glasses. I saw it. If you can talk to ethereals, then you must be part fairy or something like that." Draco watched intently as Harry carefully dipped the quill into the liquid. "What are you doing?"

Harry paused and stared thoughtfully at Draco, remembering what the Boy at the pool had said about his mother. It had never occurred to him that the little light he'd asked to find his glasses was anything but an extension of his own innate magic. But it wasn't the question of his ancestry that focused his attention now, it was amazement at how open the potion seemed to be making Draco, and he wondered just what type of questions the blond would answer in his current state.

"I'm going to start the ritual now. Will you lie down and relax for me?"

"Okay." Draco kept looking at him for a moment, thoughtfully chewing on his lip. "Will you kiss me first? I like it when you do that."

Harry tried to swallow, sure that tears were welling up in his eyes. He quickly put that down to the stress of all the magic he was working with. "If you want."

"Please."

He put the bowl and quill down and leaned across the lithe pale form, supporting himself on his hand. His other hand moved to caress the back of Draco's neck and, at the touch, his eyelids fluttered closed. Harry moved closer and placed a quiet, chaste kiss on the forehead, then one on the throat. Finally, he met the soft open mouth. Draco sighed against his lips. "Was that okay?"

"Mmmm." Grey eyes flickered open. "Okay, you can get on now."

"Thank you."

"I love you."

A breath hitched in Harry's throat at the three words, and he stared at the person who had just uttered them. Mouth opening and closing he found himself unable to actually speak. Had he really heard Draco say that? People didn't say that sort of thing to him. His family hated him ... lots of people hated him. His housemates liked him, some people admired him, others accepted him as some sort of saviour, but the only people who ever said they loved him were Hermione and Sirius. Harry swallowed, torn between wanting to respond and needing to ignore the words ... to put them down to the potion rather than any real feelings. "Draco..."

But the boy had already resumed his position, back to the restful sprawl he had been in earlier.

Harry stroked a hand back down the boy's body, resting it again on the small of Draco's back. "I love you too," he whispered so quietly that he wasn't even sure if he'd spoken the words. "That's why I'm doing this. I don't want them to hurt you."

It took him a few minutes to gather his composure again and he sat quietly, staring out of the window, content to keep contact with the warm skin for a little while before continuing. He could feel the change in Draco's breathing ... it became slower, deeper ... and he let his own pick up the pattern as he reached for the unused quill.

Harry bent down and kissed the base of Draco's spine, then, chanting softly under his breath, he began to draw on the soft flesh. Slowly it turned into a sleeping lion, the silver potion changing colour on contact with the skin, losing its luminescence and becoming more muted. Finally satisfied, he sat back, studying the creature before whispering, "For protection." He watched as the lion stretched, front paw extended, shook its heavy mane and curled back around Draco's spine. It dozed as a shaft of late afternoon sunlight filtered through the raindrop covered window ... waiting....

As the lion settled into sleep, Harry began his worship of the sleeping dragon. The first symbol was drawn on Draco's ankle and from that point he slowly and methodically covered the pale skin in silver. He fell into a routine ... a soft kiss on an untouched patch of skin... quiet, precise articulation of an incantation ... careful rendering of the appropriate symbol, the quill sliding easily over the warm skin.

It was one of the most intimate things he had ever done.

Harry lost track of time, and it was only after he had turned Draco over and had covered the rest of his body with the symbols that he realised it was dark and that he'd been working by the light of the fire. Candles flared into life and he turned back to find grey eyes watching him. There was a calmness in those eyes, as though Draco had accepted whatever might happen to him. Did he know, Harry wondered. Did he realise that the next thing Harry would do was to brand him as Voldemort would? He looked at the soft skin of Draco's inner arm -- the only untouched area of skin -- and ran his thumb over it. Could he do this?

It seemed wrong. Oh, he'd gained permission for the protection magic, but not for the Marking and while he understood what Snape had told him ... could see the rationale ... it didn't seem right for him to do this without Draco's permission. What if Draco hated him afterwards? What if Voldemort didn't try to Mark him? What if even after all of this Voldemort still managed to take Draco as one of his own?

What if...

He met the grey eyes again and spoke out loud for the first time in an age. "I'm sorry."

Draco smiled. "Don't be."

He didn't need a wand to do this. The Earth energy running through him was already so focused in his hand that he could feel it flowing as he'd drawn the symbols. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't."

The quill felt like an extension of his fingers now and he looked at it ... saw how the tip shimmered in the light ... how the silver potion seemed alive. Holding Draco's elbow steady, he began to draw the final symbol. The silver liquid flowed onto the paleness and this time it remained shining bright as Harry slashed a lightning bolt zigzag on the skin. He could feel the dragon come alive on Draco's arm, as if it knew what he was about to do and without looking he could sense that the tail of the lion on his own arm flicked across his collarbone, and the one on Draco's back woke up, shaking its heavy mane.

Harry carefully put down the quill and held his hand over the innocuous symbol. The liquid remained on the surface, not sinking into the skin at all. He could almost feel its shape, the texture, and the way it flowed around the fine downy hair that barely marred the flesh. The grey eyes still watched him and Harry thought he felt Draco flinch slightly.

"This might hurt."

"Okay." The eyes closed.

And Harry's hand settled on Draco's skin.

The reaction wasn't what he had expected and nothing like it had been with Snape.

He could feel the shape of the Mark on his palm. It felt like it was expanding ... reaching into him as it buried itself into Draco's arm. With Snape the connection had seemed tenuous at best, but with Draco he could feel the energy flowing through him, linking and joining them. As the magic flowed from his hand and into Draco, he realised that for a moment he was Draco and Draco was him. He knew that he was hurting the other boy because he could feel the pain; he could feel the Mark moving into his body, could feel that shape ... each and every millimetre of it as if a cookie cutter was slicing it into his own flesh.

When Draco let out a small cry, it was as though it had come from his own lips. The sound was like a benediction ... the sound of his own heart as it had wept and cried away his childhood, looking for an answer without ever knowing what the question was supposed to be.

As he drew his hand away from Draco's arm, he saw the Mark ... a livid red slash against the pale skin. He saw it mirrored on his own palm and he knew what the question was.

It was 'Draco'.

And the answer was 'Mine'.

********************

Harry didn't remember falling asleep, if sleep was what it was, but when he roused again, his head was nestling on Draco's stomach. The other boy hadn't moved, and Harry could tell from the way he was breathing that Draco was dozing as well.

He slowly sat up and looked down at the boy stretched out on the couch. He looked like a sacrifice, Harry mused, with his body covered by magical symbols ... there were even marks on his eyelids, his penis, surrounding his nipples, colouring his lips.

But it was the zigzag mark on his forearm that drew Harry's gaze. If he'd performed the magic right, it would disappear, hidden from sight and magic. If he'd made a mistake, it would be a ragged raw scar on Draco's skin for the rest of his life.

Kneeling over the still form, Harry kissed Draco....

Forehead ... eyelids ... cheeks ... throat ... chest ... hands ... navel ... feet ... lips.

As he made the last kiss, returning to Draco's forehead, he felt the magic change. Each of the symbols turned liquid again, flowing over the skin until Draco seemed to be covered in silver. Then, the silver sank into the flesh, like water being soaked up by sand.

As if woken from a dream, Draco opened his eyes and he gave a sleepy smile. "All finished?"

Harry nodded as he ran his finger over the place he'd Marked Draco's arm. The skin was clear and clean. He almost sobbed in relief and for a moment didn't trust himself to speak. Instead he just reached for Draco, hanging on as if the other boy was his lifeline. When he finally did speak again, it was with a voice thick with emotion. "All finished. Are you okay?"

"Mmmm, fine. Harry...."

"Yes?"

"I'm not going to him. Ever."

Harry's sharp intake of breath caught in his throat and he found it hard to swallow. When he finally spoke his voice was gravelly. "Thank you." He knew the response wasn't enough ... nowhere near enough ... but he couldn't think of anything else at that moment.

"And Harry...."

"Yes?"

"Will you kiss me again?"

"Sure. That I can do." Sliding an arm behind Draco's neck, Harry pulled him up a little, kissing him gently. Then, casting a levitation spell, he slipped his other arm under Draco's knees. "I think you need some sleep."

He straightened, cradling his lover's body against his chest, and carried Draco into the bedroom.

********************

Malfoy Manor ... Tuesday 7th April 1998

The entrance door to the manor opened as Draco reached it. He knew that it always opened when he approached, but he'd never given much thought as to how or why it did it. The manor was his home; it knew him and reacted to him as he walked through it.

Without even bothering to take off his travel cloak, he climbed the main staircase two steps at a time, and reaching the first floor, he strode along the landing. At the far end, where the building looked out over the manicured lawns at the rear of the house, was a room he knew so well ... his father's study. He paused for a moment, hand on the doorknob, before opening the door.

"Father."

The man at the desk looked up and smiled. "Hello, Draco." Blue eyes glinted with a flash of red. "I'm sorry, Lucius isn't here at the moment, but I can't tell you how pleased I am to see you."

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Don't ask me what you know is true
Don't have to tell you
I love your precious heart
I was standing, you were there
Two worlds collided
And they could never, ever tear us apart.

Never Tear Us Apart - Joe Cocker

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Part 2 -- Worlds Colliding:

Chapter 10: 8th April 1998: Draco's birthday party and Harry's trip to Glastonbury.

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Author's Notes

When I first started this story, I had planned six short chapters. Over the last two and a half years, it has taken over my life and developed into this monster. Nine chapters ... 270,000 words. With Chapter 9, Resolution has reached its halfway point and the end of Part 1, which I've decided to call If there were no Barriers.

Part 2 is to be called Worlds Colliding and, as the above lyrics say They could never, ever tear us apart.

Thank you ALL for sticking with me through the long delays. Thank you for your continued support and inspiration. Thank you for taking the time to review and write.

Special thanks

To my Betas (in alphabetical order): Golden Snitch, Kupukello, Milena, Olivia, Nancy, Plumeria, Stacey and Verdant. I don't know where I would be without these people. Special mention must go to Plumeria for her help with the perennial ratings problems, and to Verdant for pulling things together at the last moment and for the hours of excellent conversation.

Artwork:

I am very lucky to have several new pieces of artwork drawn for this chapter by Mijan (some of you might know her as PhoenixSong). The detail in her artwork is just lovely. The art by Lisa Rourke wasn't actually drawn for Resolution, but she has been kind enough to let me link to it. All artwork is linked in the appropriate places throughout the chapter. I was also delighted to get a picture from Brightsun for chapter 3 of Harry in his Valentine robes. If the links don't work, you can check it out here: http://www.worlds-colliding.co.uk/Artwork_index.html

Lisa Rourke's artwork: Tom Riddle

Mijan's artwork: Harry and Sirius at the pool, Harry Marks Severus.

Brightsun's artwork: Harry at the Valentine's Ball.

The photo of Harry with his wand is from The Prisoner of Azkaban. It is copyrighted to Warner Brothers.

There are two Yahoo groups associated with my stories:

The adult group for Resolution can be found at: Worlds_Colliding: The Restricted Section

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/HP_Worlds_Colliding_2/

The general group can be found at Worlds_Colliding. The R-rated version of Resolution and my non-slash story Coming of Age can be found here.

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/HP_Worlds_Colliding/

Any reviews are more than welcome, either here on the Fiction Alley Board (click on review), to me at [email protected] or feel free to post your comments at Worlds_Colliding.