The Cloak of Shadows

It was 2:00 a.m. and Harry was up to his elbows in, well, toilets. He bent over the ceramic bowl, blowing hair out of his eyes and praying his glasses didn't slip off into the water. After a moment, he straightened up, stretching his back and wiping a forearm across his sweaty forehead. He and Draco had been cleaning bathrooms since midnight, and it looked like they would be at it for the rest of the night. McGonagall hadn't been kidding when she said she would make them scrub every toilet in the school. As there were approximately 50 bathrooms randomly placed throughout the sprawling castle, it made for quite a lot of porcelain.

"I'm never going to the loo again," Draco moaned. Harry looked over to where the boy was standing, a look of disbelief and disgust etched on his attractive features. Harry had to chuckle. Draco had impaled a sponge on the end of his wand, and seemed to be prodding a urinal with it, as though the combination would be more effective.

Shaking his head, Harry turned back to the toilet, gave it one last polish, and satisfied that it was fit for even the Queen Mother's royal bum, stood up and walked over to Draco. The boy had now begun to wave the sponge-wand at the urinal, and was muttering under his breath. McGonagall had forbade them to use magic, but Harry could vaguely hear Draco utter nonsensical spells, such as "Expecto Cleano!" and "Petrificus Urinalis!"

"Nice try, Draco," Harry said wryly. "Don't you think it might help if the sponge were soapy? Or at the very least wet?"

Draco scowled. "I'm sorry I wasn't brought up to perform menial labor, Potter," he snapped.

"Ah," said Harry quietly. "So we're back to 'Potter' then, are we?"

Draco's eyes softened a bit. "Just get over here and help me, will you?" he said, but his voice was gentler. Harry walked over to him and, smirking slightly, removed the sponge from the end of Draco's wand, holding it up in front of his face.

"Spooonge," he said exaggeratedly, pointing at it with his other hand. He then gestured toward a bucket that was sitting, unused, on the floor at Draco's feet. "Waaa-ter," he said in the same tone. He turned and bent over, making a show of dipping the sponge in the soapy water, and ignoring the fact that Draco's eyes were anywhere but on the bucket.

Flushing slightly, Harry stood up and began vigorously washing the urinal. After a moment, he stopped and stood back to admire his handiwork, his breathing noticeably heavier.

"And that's how it's done," he said, still firmly ignoring Draco, who had moved behind him and was peering over his shoulder, his warm breath tickling Harry's ear.

"Mmm," Draco breathed softly. "Very nice, Harry."

"Th-thank you," Harry said, cursing himself for stumbling over his words.

"You're very good at that," Draco said in the same silky voice. Harry jumped slightly as Draco's lips barely brushed against his neck.

"Yeah, well, I've - er - I've had lots of practice."

"Oh, I'll bet you have." Draco was practically purring now; Harry could feel the boy's chest rumble against his back. Harry was finding it increasingly difficult to cope with the slightly pleasant, slightly nauseating flutter in his stomach. He wanted to step away from Draco, but as he was having trouble remaining standing, he thought the wisest choice was just to stay as still as possible.

"I'll bet you could have all these finished in no time, couldn't you?" Draco placed a slender hand against Harry's side, causing the boy to suck in a quick, shuddering breath.

"I - well, yes. I used to do this all the time at the Dursley's." Harry spoke in a rush, not wanting Draco to hear the quaver in his voice.

"Well, why don't I just get out of the way and watch a master at work?" Draco's voice was low and sultry, but his words hit Harry like a pail of ice water. Harry turned and gave Draco a sweet smile, wrapping his arms around the boy's slim waist.

"Draco?" he said softly, still smiling.

"Hmm?"

"Are you trying to seduce me into cleaning all the toilets?" He was still speaking in the same saccharin tone of voice.

"Is it working?" Draco replied, just as pleasantly.

"Hm, what do you think?" Harry lifted an eyebrow, and Draco cocked his head, smiling quizzically, obviously contemplating whether or not his ruse was still working. Harry lifted his hand behind Draco's back and grinned broadly, leaning in close so that his lips nearly brushed the other boy's.

"Here's your answer," he whispered, and with that, he wrung the sponge out over Draco's perfectly coifed head.

Harry had never heard such an unnatural shriek come from another human being. Draco ran around the bathroom, clutching at his hair, yelling madly. Harry could make out bits that sounded like "dirty toilet water," and "never feel clean again," before he collapsed on the floor laughing.

Draco whirled on him. "You!" he said, pointing a finger at Harry, who was wiping his eyes mirthfully. "You are evil, and you will be punished." He tried to blow a strand of sopping wet hair out of his eyes, but it plastered itself to his nose and refused to budge.

Harry chuckled, wishing he could take a picture to preserve this moment forever: Draco Malfoy - his former enemy - the smartest, most attractive, most untouchable boy in school, dripping with the water they had used to scrub the toilets! It was just too perfect. Harry closed his eyes, hoping the imprint would remain etched in his imagination. He briefly wondered how long his happiness would last, but he pushed the thought away in favor of more pleasant imaginings concerning Draco and that bucket of water.

"Come sit down," Harry said, patting the hard stone floor beside him.

"And why would I do that, Po- Harry?" Draco said resentfully.

"Because I want you to." Draco pondered this for a minute, looking as though he were having an inward struggle with himself, and then finally moved gracefully to the floor, still maintaining his distance. He gave Harry a cool look, but didn't pull away when Harry slipped a hand clumsily over his own.

"I'm sorry," he said, a grin still tugging at his lips.

"No you're not," Draco said sulkily.

"Okay, I'm not. But you deserved it."

"Did not!" Draco exclaimed indignantly.

"Draco! You were manipulating me into doing your work!"

"Well, you were letting me."

Harry sighed, exasperated. "Fine, you win. It was all my fault."

Draco smiled smugly. "I know." Harry threw the sponge, which was now nearly dry, at him, but it missed and landed on the floor beside him with a soft flump. Draco toyed with the edge of the sponge, smiling down softly at it. Harry still wasn't used to seeing his face devoid of its typical malice. He couldn't get over how breathtaking the boy was.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked.

Draco shrugged, still staring at the sponge. "Just that this is the first fight we've ever had that didn't involve serious physical assault or injury."

Harry laughed softly. "I guess we've come a long way."

"Yeah, I guess we have." Draco edged closer to Harry, pressing his knees against Harry's thigh. Harry glanced up at him from under his lashes, and noticed that Draco's lips had parted slightly, and he was breathing erratically. Harry, having never had such an affect on anyone, except maybe Ginny, who didn't count since she had been so young, felt all the blood rush out of his head as he tipped his face closer to Draco's, leaving him with a vague feeling of lightheadedness. As he leaned in, all he could see was Draco's perfect mouth - with his bottom lip that jutted out ever so slightly, giving him that perpetually pouty look, and the way his top lip dipped in the center to form a perfect cupid's bow - Harry had almost closed the gap between them...

"Erm, Draco?"

"Mmm?"

"Don't you think maybe you ought to... um... wash your face or something? I mean, you've got toilet water all over yourself."

Draco's jaw twitched slightly, but he said nothing. He rose from the floor, and before Harry could utter another word, he unclasped his robes and let them fall to the floor. He stripped off his shirt next, and tossed it alongside the robes. Giving Harry a look, he disappeared behind the shower wall at the other end of the bathroom. A moment later, his best school slacks came flying out, landing in the ever-growing pile of clothes. Harry heard the water begin to spray, and soon the room was so thick with steam he could barely see.

Ten minutes later, Draco strolled out of the shower, hair dripping wet but smoothed neatly back, clad in plain black boxers. He walked to the stack of clothing, pulled on his shirt and stepped into his pants, and then resumed his seat on the floor next to Harry, who hadn't moved.

"Better?" he asked.

Harry shook his head and grinned. "You are a piece of work, Draco."

He quirked an eyebrow. "And here I thought I was just a piece of -" But before Draco could finish his rude remark, Harry had pulled him into a tight embrace, cutting off all circulation below his shoulders.

"Harry," he wheezed, trying to wriggle out of his grasp. "Harry, I'm having some trouble breathing here." Harry loosened his grip minimally, but still held tightly to him.

"I don't want you to go," he whispered.

"Go where?" Draco asked, confused. "I'm right here, Harry."

"No. Tomorrow. I don't want you to spy on your father. It's too dangerous. You could be hurt."

"Harry," Draco said sincerely, "I'm not going to be hurt." Harry pulled away and looked in his face, his eyes bright with unshed tears.

"You're not?"

"No. If I'm caught, they won't bother hurting me. They'll just murder me and have done with it -"

"That's not funny!" Harry shouted, pushing Draco away from him.

"Harry, lighten up."

"Lighten up? You're serving as a spy in the war against the Dark Lord - against your father - and you tell me to lighten up?" Harry was livid, his cheeks flushed a deep crimson.

"Oh for God's sake, Harry. Didn't you listen to anything Dumbledore said?" Harry was, for a moment, taken aback by being told what Dumbledore had said by Draco Malfoy of all people, but he managed to shake his head. "He said that if we let them steal all our joy, then they've already won." Harry wondered what this had to do with anything, but he kept his mouth shut and listened. "Don't you see?" Harry didn't. "Look, I don't know exactly what's going on between you and I, but I do know that I haven't felt this good in years. And I'll be damned," he said angrily, "if I let Voldemort - or my father - take that away. To hell with them. They won't mess this up, Harry." He grasped Harry's chin in his hand, turning his face and forcing Harry to look him in the eye. "They won't." Saying this, he pressed his lips to Harry's, who wasn't as stubborn as Draco and yielded almost immediately to the kiss. The two of them fell into one another, and forgot about Voldemort, about the war, and about the one hundred or so toilets that had yet to be scrubbed.

Minerva McGonagall found them a few hours later, curled up under the pale early sunlight filtering through the window, fast asleep in each other's arms. Though she would later lecture them sternly and assign them extra detention, she watched them now with a mother's loving eye, praying that whatever bond had formed between them would be strong enough to last through the worst of what was coming.

***

Harry woke in his own bed, not knowing how he got there. He looked around sleepily, searching for Draco. He found him sleeping peacefully in a chair, a book open in his lap and his fair hair spilling over his face. Harry smiled, remembering the previous night. He didn't understand his feelings for the boy, but he wasn't about to start questioning it. That would have to wait until he had the time to sort it out.

Draco's eyes blinked open and immediately searched Harry out. "Morning," he said, with a small smile.

"Morning," Harry replied, a bit awkwardly. He wasn't used to falling asleep or waking up with Draco, but he suddenly thought it was something he could grow to enjoy. "Erm, how did you sleep?"

"Not well. I got up a couple hours ago to read. By the way," he said, holding up the book, "why are you reading about boggarts?"

Harry shrugged off the question. "Just interesting, I guess," he muttered.

Draco seemed to find this answer satisfactory. "What time is it?" he asked.

"Dunno," said Harry. "Late, I think. I'm sure we missed breakfast. How did we get back here?" Draco flashed him a grin.

"McGonagall found us in the bathroom and woke me up." Harry felt a flush creep into his face. McGonagall had discovered them? Like that? "She looked absolutely murderous," Draco continued happily. " I think she's waiting for us both to be conscious before she starts yelling."

Harry smiled at this. "So how did you get me back here?"

Draco's cheeks colored a bit. "I carried you," he said quietly, not meeting Harry's eye.

Harry's jaw dropped. It seemed like such an intimate act, and so not Draco. "You carried me?"

"Well," Draco said quickly, obviously uncomfortable, "I had to use a feather light charm."

"Are you calling me fat?" Draco's head shot up and he stared at Harry, wondering whether or not he was serious. Harry laughed, and the awkward moment was broken.

"Well," said Draco, in mock seriousness, "you could stand to lay off the chocolate frogs -" He was cut off by the pillow Harry chucked at him.

The boys laughed easily together, until Harry remembered what was happening today. "When do you leave?" he asked suddenly.

The smile faded from Draco's lips. "I'm taking a portkey to the Manor grounds after lunch, I think."

Harry felt nauseous just thinking about this, but he didn't want Draco to be worrying about him when he should be concentrating on his mission, so he simply nodded firmly. "Right then. We should probably get downstairs. I'm sure it's nearly time for lunch." Draco seemed relieved that Harry wasn't going to make a fuss, and the two got ready quickly and made their way to the Great Hall.

Everyone was already seated when they arrived, though lunch hadn't yet been served. Crabbe and Goyle were talking at the Slytherin table, and they both looked relieved when Draco walked in. He motioned for them, and in an instant they were by his side. He shot Harry a look that clearly said I'm only doing this for you, and took a seat at the Gryffindor table. Crabbe and Goyle hesitated for a moment, and then took their seats on either side of him. Harry sat across from him, raising an eyebrow slightly.

Hermione and Neville looked surprised, but said nothing other than hello. Draco was polite and winning, complimenting Hermione on her hair and challenging Neville to a rematch of wizard chess.

Hermione managed a stunned "thanks" before turning to gape at Harry, who gave her a wink and a smile, saying nothing. The meal passed without incident, but Harry thought it was over much too soon. McGonagall walked over to them and placed a hand on Draco's shoulder.

"It's time, Mr. Malfoy." Draco nodded and stood up, telling everyone he'd see them soon and giving Harry a significant look. He then turned and exited behind McGonagall. Harry fiddled with his napkin for a moment before muttering a hasty excuse and quickly walking out.

The four remaining students looked at one another in confusion, wondering what on earth had come over the two former enemies. Finally, Crabbe broke the silence. "So, how about those Cannons?" Neville let out a sharp laugh and Hermione smiled. It seemed they were all wondering the same thing: Slytherin and Gryffindor - an unlikely alliance, but a welcome one just the same.

From the head table, Dumbledore smiled softly.

***

Harry came to a halt just outside the doors of the Great Hall. Draco was standing there, staring intently at the ground. Harry glanced down and saw what he was looking at - a shining gold galleon, winking up at him from the stone floor. "It's the portkey," he said softly. Harry nodded, not knowing what to say. Instead he glared at the galleon, wishing he could just hex it into oblivion, wrap Draco up in his Invisibility cloak, and spirit him away to a place no one could find them.

Of course, he did none of this. He merely glowered harmlessly at the Galleon until Draco softly cleared his throat.

"Erm, Harry? I have to be going now." Harry looked up quickly, green eyes meeting grey. There was something in those grey eyes, something Harry had never seen before. He had seen those eyes fill with nearly every emotion; he knew the way they turned stormy and dark with anger, and the way the became as silver as the stars with desire. This was different. With a jolt, Harry realized it was fear. He'd never seen Draco afraid, not like this. This was pure, naked fear, and it sent a chill down Harry's spine.

I promised myself I wouldn't make a fuss. It won't help if I go to pieces now. I have to be strong for him. I have to help him know that everything will be okay. I have to -

Harry grabbed Draco's shoulders fiercely and yanked the boy to him, planting a firm kiss on the lips that had now gone cold with fear. Harry willed every ounce of bravery and courage he possessed into the other boy, hoping it would be enough. After a moment, he released Draco, his breathing ragged. "Go," he whispered hoarsely, pushing Draco away almost roughly.

Draco nodded, his eyes having almost returned to normal, and he turned again to the Galleon. Almost as an afterthought, he turned back to Harry and ran a hand across the boy's cheek. "I'm sorry," he said softly.

"For what?" Harry asked, confused.

"For all the years of hurt I put you through. I hope you can forgive me for it someday."

"I don't need to," Harry replied quietly.

"What? Why not?" Draco looked bewildered, but Harry merely smiled softly and gestured to the Galleon. Draco gave him one last look before bending to pick up the coin.

An instant later, he was gone.

Harry stared at the spot where Draco had stood a moment before. "Because I already have," he whispered. "There's nothing left to forgive."

***

Harry wandered back up to his room after Draco left, wanting to be alone with his thoughts. Crabbe, Goyle, and Neville were all involved in a game of exploding snap, and though it seemed as if they were having a jolly time, he politely refused their offer to join them.

He went to the chair in his room and picked up the book on boggarts, noticing with mingled irritation and fondness that Draco had dog-eared the last page he read. Harry smoothed out the bent corner and began to read.

"The nature of a boggart sighting is frequently so traumatic that the witness is often in need of medical and psychiatric treatment after a severe encounter. Dr. Bryant Drehd, Chief Psychiatric Healer at the aforementioned St. Mungo's, has noted a handful of cases in which the witness of the boggart fell into an immediate, and ultimately irreversible, coma. He goes on to say that the most typical result of prolonged exposure to a boggart without magical defense is acute dementia, manifested by unfounded fits of laughter, perpetual talking to oneself, and the inability to feel rational fear. This can, if left untreated, result in the patient ultimately inflicting harm on him/herself, by attempting physical feats that would typically cause them fear. By stealing all the fear of its prey, the boggart leaves the victim unable to do so, to his/her detriment."

A soft knock at the door interrupted Harry's reading. "Who is it?" he called, praying the boys weren't inviting him to another game. He simply wasn't in the mood.

"It's Hermione." Harry was surprised to hear her voice inside the boys' rooms, but he found himself wanting to talk with her just the same.

"Come in." Hermione poked her curly head through the door and looked around before entering.

"So, this is where you and Malfoy make all your evil plots. Nice setup. Let me guess - the enormous, plush bed is not yours?"

Harry smiled and shook his head. " No. Dra - I mean, Malfoy claimed it on the first night."

Hermione thought for a minute. "I wonder," she said slowly, "why Dumbledore would furnish this room with two grossly different beds?" Harry shrugged and looked back down at his book.

"I dunno," he said. "Maybe Dumbledore wants us to share." He glanced up just in time to see Hermione's eyebrows shoot to the top of her forehead.

"Why in the world would Dumbledore want you to - to share the bed?" she stammered.

Harry flushed, realizing his poor choice of words. "That's not what I mean," he said, almost too quickly. Hermione waited for him to explain. "Well, what I mean is... of course Dumbledore wouldn't... he wouldn't expect us to... would he? No, no of course not."

"Harry?" Hermione said gently.

"Yes?"

"I've no idea what you're trying to say."

Harry took a breath and decided to start over. "What I'm trying to say is that, what I mean to say is, Dumbledore probably just wanted to see if Dra - Malfoy - and I could compromise and come to an agreement on the bed situation," he finished in a rush, sucking in a large gulp of air.

Hermione sighed slightly and gave Harry a somewhat exasperated smile. "Harry, you've obviously underestimated my intelligence."

Harry was confused. "Of course not, 'Mione. You're the smartest witch in school -"

"That's not what I mean, Harry, and you know it."

"It isn't? I do?"

"No. And yes. There's something going on between you and Malfoy, and you're afraid to tell me about it."

Harry stared at the pretty curly-haired witch, his mouth agape. How does she know? he thought. Have we made it that obvious?

"It's obvious, Harry."

Oh Merlin, help me.

"You and Malfoy have become friends, but you're afraid of my, Ron's, and Neville's reaction."

Harry was stunned silent with relief for a moment before he regained his senses. "R-right, Hermione. You're absolutely right."

Hermione smiled triumphantly. "You shouldn't have felt bad, Harry. It'll take some getting used to, but I think we can all see that Malfoy's changed. Lunch was a smart move - it gave us all a chance to get to know each other better. Though it was quite shocking. Speaking of lunch, where is Malfoy? The both of you left in an awful hurry. And why was Professor McGonagall acting so odd about her lesson with him?"

"Erm, Malfoy had a lot of work to do. I think he's in the library."

"No, he's not. I was just there."

"Oh, right." Harry racked his brain for another excuse. "Um, I think he may have gone down to the dungeons to talk with Snape."

"Nope, I just passed Snape in the hall. He's in a foul mood, by the way."

"Well then, McGonagall -"

"Huh uh, she's still in the Great Hall with Dumbledore."

"Hagrid," Harry said desperately, knowing there was no way Hermione would believe Draco was spending quality time with the half-giant.

"No-"

"Bloody hell, Hermione!" he roared. "Must you know everything that goes on in the castle?"

Hermione looked a bit taken aback, but she quickly recovered, giving Harry an unabashed grin. "Well, Harry, keeping up on current events is part of being a knowledgeable person."

Harry glared at her. "You're worse than Rita Skeeter," he muttered.

"Watch it, Harry," she said warningly, "or I may begin to take offense." Harry shook his head grumpily and Hermione laughed. She took a seat in the chair across from him and rested her chin in her hand.

"So, care to tell me where Malfoy really is?"

Harry sighed. He knew Hermione wouldn't let it drop until she had the truth, and she had already proven to Harry that his lame excuses wouldn't work. Besides, he thought, she's fighting this war too. It's only fair that she knows what's going on.

Harry took a deep breath. "He's gone to Malfoy Manor to spy on his father and he's an animagus so he'll be going as a cat in the hope that Lucius won't recognize him," Harry said in a rush, hoping it would be less painful that way. He was wrong. As he spoke, a burning lump rose in his throat.

Hermione's face registered shock as she processed this information. "But, that's so dangerous," she whispered. Harry nodded, afraid his voice would betray him if he spoke. "Surely someone else could have gone instead." This was met with silence, and Hermione pondered it for a moment. "No," she said finally. "No, I don't suppose anyone else could have gone." Harry's eyes traveled up to her face, questions burning in their green depths.

"It's quite simple, really," Hermione said. "Malfoy Manor is enormous. Malfoy probably knows it like the back of his hand. It would take anyone else ages just to get into the place, when he could probably get inside and find his father in a matter of minutes. Plus," she added, getting that gleam in her eyes that meant she was solving a puzzle, "Malfoy probably didn't become an illegal animagus until the end of last school year, which means there's less of a likelihood that his father will recognize him. It all makes perfect sense."

Harry let out a sharp, barking laugh, very much like that of his godfather. "Maybe to you," he spat out bitterly.

Hermione seemed surprised by his outburst, but then a look of sudden comprehension dawned on her face. "You really care about him, don't you?" she asked gently.

Harry nodded, feeling uncomfortable. "Well, yeah. Like you said, we're - we're friends, and I'm just a bit... worried. That's all."

Hermione looked up at him suspiciously, as though she wanted to say something, but wasn't sure she should. "Harry," she began tentatively, "you and Malfoy haven't been sharing the bed, have you?"

Harry nearly fell out of his chair. "What?" he shouted, his voice cracking. "Merlin, Hermione, what kind of a question is that?"

"I'm sorry, Harry. It was silly of me to ask-"

"Bloody well right it was," Harry said tersely. Hermione had the good grace to look contrite, and Harry suddenly felt bad for snapping at her. He sighed. "I'm sorry, 'Mione. I'm just in a bad mood right now. Sorry I'm acting like such a prat." He gave her a small smile, and she returned it.

"It's alright, Harry. I understand completely." If only you did, 'Mione, Harry thought. "I feel the same way about Ron." Maybe she understands better than I think. "I worry about him, about what he's doing for the Light, but at the same time, I'm so proud of him." Harry smiled, genuinely this time, knowing how she felt. He couldn't help but be proud of Draco's bravery in betraying his family, not to mention the Dark Lord.

"Well," said Hermione, sensing it was time for her to make an exit. "I'll be getting back to my research now. I'll see you at dinner, Harry." He opened his mouth to protest, but Hermione gave him a sharp look, and he snapped it shut again. "Harry, you need to eat. You barely touched your lunch. I'll see you there."

Hermione got up to leave, but paused when she reached the door. "He'll be okay, Harry."

Harry, feeling much more emotional than he was comfortable letting on, nodded and turned quickly back to his book, staring at the last sentence without seeing it.

"The most extreme effect prolonged exposure to one or more strong boggarts can inflict is by far worse than dementia or a comatose state. Left unchecked, constant contact with these creatures can result in death."

***

Draco crouched low behind a shrub on the outskirts of the Manor grounds, waiting for night to fall. The stars had begun to peek out, but it was nearly impossible to tell due to the dense grey clouds that obscured the sky. A light rain was falling, and Draco told himself it was because of this that he was shivering uncontrollably.

One thought had invaded his mind, and he repeated it like a mantra, wrapping the words around himself like a security blanket.

Get back to Harry.

He didn't even want to begin to analyze what this meant, or where his suddenly strong feelings for the boy had come from. He only knew that the one thing keeping him sane as he prepared to fully give up the only life he had ever known was the thought of Harry and his fathomless green eyes, waiting for him at Hogwarts.

Draco was snapped out of his thoughts of Harry by the sound of crunching leaves in front of him. He moved deeper into the brush surrounding him, holding his breath and praying his pounding heart couldn't be heard in the stillness of the falling twilight.

A figure, clad in robes the color of pitch emerged from behind a tree and peered around, his face hidden under a hood. The figure gestured behind him and set off at a quick pace, heading in the direction of the Manor. Draco straightened slightly, steeling his resolve. He watched after the retreating figure, his grey eyes darkening.

"Hello, father," he whispered.

Moments later, he was gone. In his place stood a sleek, midnight-black cat, it's eyes gleaming silver in the moonlight.

He didn't notice the shadow that emerged from behind the tree and seemed to glide away, following the same path Lucius had walked moments before.

***

Harry tossed his book to the floor, frustrated. He'd been reading for hours, and the only useful information he could glean from it was that if he kept encountering that boggart, he was sure to go nutters.

If I'm not already there,

he thought, and laughed at himself.

He threw on his robes and headed down to the Great Hall, afraid of Hermione's wrath if he didn't show up to dinner. In truth, he was far too worried to keep any substantial food down, but he was going stir-crazy, keeping himself shut up in his room.

Upon entering the hall, Harry immediately noticed something was amiss - there were far too many people seated at the tables. In fact, most of them were nearly full. Harry recognized many of the faces. Looking around for Hermione and Neville, he spotted a familiar red head.

"Ron?" he said, wondering why the boy had been summoned from the Burrow. However, the face that turned to greet him was not that of his best mate. It took Harry a second to place the man, as he hadn't seen him in some time.

"Charlie?" Harry said, bewildered.

"Hi, Harry," Charlie said, smiling in spite of the worry lines etched around his eyes.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked. "Is everything okay? Has something happened to Ron?" Harry was starting to feel panicky. What were all these people doing here?

"Ron is fine, Harry." Harry breathed a sigh of relief and smiled at the older Weasley.

"It's Bill," Charlie said, and the smile died on Harry's lips.

"Is he -"

"He's alive."

"Oh, thank God."

"He's being held hostage at Gringott's."

"What? What happened?"

"Well, you know he's a code-breaker for them, right?" Harry nodded dumbly. "He went in, thinking he could make a deal with them - he breaks a few codes, gives them some money, and they let the hostages go. Unfortunately, it was all a trap. They're forcing him to break the codes of all the vaults, including a few we'd rather they not gain entrance to. Yours was one of them, Harry."

Harry brushed this information aside with hardly a second thought. His fortune didn't seem to matter much anymore. "So, what's happening now?" he asked.

"Well, they've been sending us owls, telling us they'll only keep him alive so long as he's useful, since they know we can't afford any ransom." Charlie's voice broke as he said this, and Harry, not knowing what to say, placed a hand on his shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture. "Mum's going bonkers," Charlie continued, with a brittle laugh. "She says she's not going to sit around in hiding while her oldest son is in the hands of Death Eaters. Dad's having a time with her." Harry smiled softly, imagining Molly Weasley on the rampage.

"So, what exactly is going on? Why are all these people here? Does it have something to do with Bill?"

Hermione looked up at him then, tears glittering in her eyes. "It's begun, Harry," she whispered.

"What has?" he asked, looking from Hermione to Charlie and back. It was Charlie who finally broke the silence.

"The war, Harry," he said, he voice tired and full of emotion. "The battle against Voldemort has begun."

***

Draco-the-cat sat behind an armchair in one of his father's studies, his tail swishing impatiently. He had overheard Lucius tell Narcissa to stay out of this particular study, as he had an important meeting there shortly.

However, no one had shown up, and Draco-the-cat was getting bored. He toyed with a bit of string that had come loose from the back of the chair, batting it around between his paws. His feline self was wishing a nice, fat mouse would wander across his path, while the human boy self shuddered and told the cat to focus on the job at hand.

Suddenly, the door creaked open, and Draco-the-cat saw two pairs of feet enter the room. He could hear the voices of his father and someone else, speaking low, and he strained his well-trained ears to make out the words.

"The plan for tonight is set, then?" said the unfamiliar voice. It was low and rasping, and it sent a chill through Draco.

"Yes," answered his father. "Everything is in position. Dumbledore and his followers suspect nothing."

"Very good," said the voice, dripping with poison-laced honey. "You have done well, Lucius."

"Thank you, my lord." Draco froze. Voldemort? The man to whom his father was engaging in what seemed like casual conversation was the man who had the power to destroy everything Draco held dear. And here he was, lounging in a plush chair in Draco's home. The thought sickened him.

"When will the plan be carried out, Lucius?"

"Any time now, my lord. Goyle is coming to give the word when it is done." Draco felt a rush of disgust and anger rise up in his throat at the simpering, pathetic tone his father adopted when speaking with the Dark Lord. And he calls himself a Malfoy.

"Good. And as for the other... development?" Voldemort's voice contained a malevolent glee that made Draco feel as though he would throw up.

When Lucius spoke, his voice was filled with disgust and loathing. "True, I'm afraid. Our informant has seen them together on two separate occasions."

"And during this time," Voldemort continued, sounding as though Christmas had come early, "they were acting... romantic?"

"Yes, my lord," Lucius spat. "Harry Potter was seen - kissing - my son."

Draco felt his blood go cold. How did they know? How could we possibly have been discovered?

"Excellent, Lucius. Bring the boy to me. Potter is a heroic fool. He'll surely come to his lover's rescue, will he not?"

"I have no doubt, my lord."

Voldemort's voice lowered to a near-hiss. "And when he does, the prophecy shall be fulfilled. I will live forever, and Harry Potter will die."

Neither of them noticed the feline shadow creep across the study, dart out the door and begin running. Draco didn't stop when he reached the grounds. He didn't stop as he effortlessly transformed back into a human, clutching his side and trying to stop the scalding tears that ran down his cheeks.

***

Harry sat at a table, idly chatting with the Weasley twins, who had shown up right before dinner. The hall was full of adults and former students, making quite a racket as they discussed the impending war.

Among them were several of Harry's classmates, including Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnegan, and all the rest of the members of the D.A. who were of age. Cho was there too. She and Harry had exchanged awkward smiles, but hadn't spoken.

Harry toyed with the food on his plate, but he didn't dare eat any of it. His stomach was in knots, and he was afraid of what might happen if he ingested anything more than pumpkin juice.

Just then, a familiar voice interrupted him. "You know, Mum always punished me when I played with my food."

"Ginny?" Harry said, astonished.

"Hey," she replied, nudging Charlie aside so she could sit down next to Harry.

"What are you doing here?"

"I've come to fight," she said, her blue eyes glinting dangerously.

"Absolutely not!" Harry exclaimed, nearly upsetting his goblet. "Ginny, you're too young! You have no business fighting a war! Charlie? Fred, George - aren't you going to say anything?"

Charlie turned the same blue eyes on Harry. They held a look of mingled exasperation and pride. "She got special permission from Dumbledore, Harry. There's nothing we can do."

"What?" Harry shouted. "Has he gone mad?" Ginny placed a hand on his arm. When she spoke, her voice was soft, but firm.

"This is my fight too, Harry. He's hurt my family too much, and I'm going to do whatever I can to stop him. I will fight, Harry. Don't try to convince me otherwise."

Harry opened his mouth to do just that, when the doors to the Great Hall opened. There, dripping wet and shivering, stood Draco, his eyes wide and staring. Harry was up and moving so fast he nearly knocked Ginny from her seat, but he didn't care. Didn't care what people would say, what they would think. All that mattered was making sure Draco was alright.

"Draco!" Harry gasped, throwing his arms around the boy's sagging shoulders. "Are you okay? What happened?" There was no response. "Draco? Talk to me!"

Draco shrugged him off and began walking toward the head table. "Need to talk to Dumbledore," he muttered, his voice hollow and emotionless. Harry started after him, but Hermione grabbed his arm and held him back, shaking her head wordlessly.

Draco made his way to the headmaster and began speaking with him in hushed tones. Dumbledore looked concerned, but he remained quiet, calmly eating his dinner.

Just then, Remus Lupin burst into the hall, panting heavily. Everyone fell silent as he ran to the headmaster and gently pushed Draco aside. What happened next seemed to Harry like some awful dream he couldn't wake from. Dumbledore had raised his fork to his mouth when Remus bent over and whispered something in his ear. The fork clattered to the table with an echoing clink.

Dumbledore rose slowly from his chair, looking as though he had aged years in the past few moments.

"It is my sad duty," he said, his voice shaking, "to inform you that Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, has been murdered by Death Eaters."

An eerie, stunned silence fell over everyone seated in the hall.

"Tomorrow, we prepare for battle."