Adamo Mortalis

A/N: Dedicated again to Linguistic Loralei for letting me use her computer and being both constructive and funny in beta-ing AM. Also, thanks to all my reviewers from the first three chapters--Srox4690, Ashfae, HarryNZ, Lucy-Liza, athipsou, gilaesther, BabyXtreme, greenfairy, Sierra Black, niffler77, Liz R., Flame, Lana Love, Lolli Malfoy, Virginia Telcontar, carrottop, day1i11y, anmsmom, MythX, Joyce Cohen, lilahp, Crystal Music, GryffindorMandi, Lily Vance, flower0519, and Charlie. Keep reading, reviewing, and enjoying.

Adamo Mortalis

Chapter 4

***

After returning from Diagon Alley, Ron was too tired to join in the informal Quidditch practice that Harry, Fred, George and Charlie were currently participating in. He sat on an old, rotting treestump and watched as Fred and George ganged up on Charlie to pelt him in the back of the head with decaying apples, and Harry laughed so hard that he nearly fell off his broom. Ron was glad for Harry; he had been a little afraid that Harry would be too deeply scarred from the Triwizard Tournament and everything surrounding the end of it to want to do things like play Quidditch and laugh.

But every once in a while, Ron wished that he was the center of attention, not Harry. Nights of sleeping badly were beginning to wear on him, and even Fred and George had noticed that he was crankier than usual and refrained from doing anything to push him over the edge. The twins were leaving Ginny alone, too, although that wasn't hard today since she'd run up to her bedroom the moment they all returned to the Burrow and locked her door. Secretly, Ron was a little jealous that Ginny was getting all the attention from the Weasley parents--he felt as if they should have noticed that something was amiss with their youngest son by now and at least asked if he was all right.

Sighing loudly, Ron closed his eyes briefly and wondered absently if the dull pain in his temples was going to turn in to a full-blown headache. He knew it was from the lack of sleep; with the headaches had come irritability during the day, and dark smudges beneath his eyes that made him look haunted. He had been stunned to look in the mirror earlier in the day; he looked years older, and exhausted.

He was also reconsidering his decision to keep the dreams to himself. If things kept going on like this...well, he'd never make it through the school year. But he was still reluctant to approach his friends or family--it all seemed like a test to him, a trial to see if he was tough enough to handle some adversity. He didn't want to give up after a couple of nightmares.

Hermione, who had been watching Harry, Fred and George with amusement, came to sit at Ron's feet. "Knut for your thoughts," she said, watching him carefully. "Why aren't you playing?"

He shrugged and kicked a pebble with his shoe. "I'm just tired, I guess. Thinking about going back to school next week just wears me out."

Hermione peered more closely at him. "Have you been staying up worrying about it, or something? You look terrible."

"Thank you," he replied bitterly. "Jeez, Hermione, I don't insult you when...well, when you're tired from studying too much, I guess. I just...was...reading a Quidditch book last night until late," he lied quickly, and added in a sarcastic tone, "Surely you can understand what it's like to not be able to put down a book."

Her dark brown eyes were still studying his face, watching expectantly. "I've never seen you look that tired before, even after missing an entire night of sleep. What's wrong?"

Ron rested his elbows on his knees, and put his head in his hands. Should I tell her? He wondered, almost dizzy with anticipation. It's Hermione. She won't make fun of you. Well, she might at first, but she's always helped before...

"I've been having nightmares," he confessed, all of it rushing out in a stream. "I can't remember them, but I wake up...well, just feeling horrible, and out of breath, and freezing cold, and absolutely clueless as to what's doing it to me. It's been happening since...since the accident at the Quidditch convention this summer."

"Ron!" Hermione was shocked. "That was several weeks ago...nearly two months! Have you told anyone else?"

He shook his head miserably. "No...I mean, you were with Krum, and Harry was with the Dursleys, and my parents..." his voice trailed off, and he swallowed, and started again. "My parents have been dealing with Ginny. And obviously they're not the best people to go to, after what they did to her today."

Ron still hadn't looked up, but he felt her hand come to rest comfortably on his knee, and there it remained while she thought aloud about possible solutions to Ron's dilemma. "I know there's a potion you can take that will make you remember your dreams...it'll probably be easy to find, but it might take a while to brew. A lot of potions like that, ones that apply to very specific things, like recent dreams, involve very specific ingredients, like...well, like a moss that's only visible during the full moon, for one. I know that's in the potion that gives you happy dreams...anyway, I'll look it up for you, and start gathering ingredients. When we go back to school, you might be able to get a potion from Madam Pomfrey that gives you dreamless sleep until a couple of days before the one I'll brew will be ready...if you can't, I know that's fairly simple to concoct, and I can do that for you too."

Raising his head, Ron stared at her in astonishment. "You're amazing," he said finally, running his hands through his scarlet hair, a familiar gesture for when he was particularly surprised.

Hermione smiled and patted his knee. "Thank you. In the meantime, I think you should tell Harry. I mean, he'll figure it out eventually, staying in the same room as you at school, and it'll be better if you tell him first."

Ron's heart plummeted. "But I--I mean--"

Hermione looked sympathetic. "I'll come with you, if you want. But I honestly don't believe he'll think any worse of you afterwards. Nightmares aren't something you can help."

"But--I know he has them sometimes. I hear him in the dormitories. He doesn't go around complaining to people."

"Sometimes, Ron. Not every night. If Harry looked like you do, I'm sure he'd finally tell one of us so that we could help him." She pointed at him, pictured against the background of the fading sun, laughing at Charlie, who was too slow to catch Fred or George on a broomstick. "But he's obviously sleeping a lot better than you are. You look like you haven't seen a bed in weeks. As a matter of fact, I'm surprised Harry hasn't noticed himself."

"Harry has his own worries," Ron said gruffly. "You know he hasn't heard from Sirius--and Hedwig hasn't come back. He probably doesn't--"

"He does care," Hermione interrupted gently. "He will, once you tell him. You know that."

"I know."

"Do you really know it?"

"I know it."

"Do you know the thing that knowing all knowledge will know?"

"I know the knowledge with all my knowing knowness."

They both laughed at the odd turn their conversation had taken, then were silent for a moment, watching the antics of the twins, Charlie and Harry in the sky. Finally Hermione stood, and pulled Ron to his feet too. He stumbled a bit, and she looked at him with concern, but he caught himself and gave her a lopsided grin. "Guess the nightmares are affecting my coordination, too."

Hermione punched him affectionately. "Sure they are. I think you were just that clumsy to begin with."

He smiled again. "At least I don't look like some small animal just died on my head."

"What?" Hermione exclaimed, outraged. "You're going down, Ronald Weasley!" she yelled, and began to chase him when he dodged her grasp. He made it back to the Burrow first, and stuck his tongue out at her as she followed, panting. "Oh, very mature, Ron. How old are we? Eight?"

He was laughing now. "Sometimes I'm not sure." His blue eyes sparkled, and even with the shadows underneath them, he looked happier than he had all day.

***

Ginny woke up in what seemed like the middle of the night, and, her mind fuzzy, wondered if she'd gone blind, because she couldn't seem to open her eyes.

Finally, feeling her face with her fingers, she realized that her eyes were nearly swollen shut because she'd cried herself to sleep.

Fumbling, squinting to see the best she could, Ginny made her way down the creaky stairs that led to the living room, nearly tripping and falling over a box left on the floor, and entered the kitchen. She didn't bother to turn on any lights, because she knew her own house well, and could hardly see anything anyway. She got a plastic bag, filled it with ice cubes, wrapped a dishtowel around the bag, and stumbled back up to her room.

As confused as her mind was, her physical sensors registered only one thing: the cold compress she had laid over her eyelids, and the soothing feeling that followed as the cool began to penetrate and hopefully reduce the swelling. It made her mind feel slightly calmer too.

Just as she was about to relax, Ginny heard footsteps outside her doorway. Reluctant to stop icing her eyes, she pretended to be asleep until she heard Charlie whisper, "Gin? Was that you getting up a minute ago?"

She tried to nod, but it made the cold compress slip down her nose, so she just replied, "Yes."

She felt him come sit on her bed by the shift in her mattress. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she said, but as she spoke he removed her wrapped ice with nimble fingers. She flinched at the loss of her soothing compress.

"What's this for?" he asked, and then she just barely saw him glance at her through the tiny slits that were her current vision. "Oh, Gin, honey, you look like you got punched by a...well, I suppose it's not important, but what happened?"

"I...I was just upset, all right? Sometimes I..."

"This is from you..." his voice trailed off as he realized what she meant. He was quiet for a moment, and lightly settled the cold compress back over her aching eyelids. "Mum told me what happened this afternoon. I'm sorry. I didn't know she was going to do that."

"Charlie, I...I just want to go to sleep. I'm really tired, and my eyes hurt." Ginny tried to keep the trembling out of her voice.

She thought he was going to say something more, but the silence stayed until he bent over to squeeze her shoulder. "All right. Goodnight, then."

"Goodnight." Ginny hoped she sounded calm, although she felt far from it. But, as usual, she just wanted to be left alone.

***

As Remus silently stared off in to space, Sirius wondered if his friend was planning to talk eventually or if he was purposely keeping quiet. The pair had been sitting mutely since Sirius had asked Remus what happened, and still Remus hadn't said a thing.

Sirius shifted restlessly on the bed. He had been waiting a month, an entire month, to hear what was going on, and that was just since he'd found Remus. He'd been searching for a couple of weeks before that, too.

As instructed by Dumbledore, Sirius had planned to stay with Remus and keep quiet. He had been looking forward to a few months of rest while he and Remus contacted the old crowd of Aurors and others that had fought Voldemort in his last rise to power. However, upon arrival at Lupin's home, Sirius had found it torn to shreds and in shambles, completely unlivable. He'd quickly found some other place to hide out--the old shack where the two of them were now--and had gone ahead and contacted Figg and Fletcher and the others, asking each one of them when they'd last heard from Remus. Apparently Remus hadn't kept up on his correspondence very well--many of them were surprised to hear that Remus was still alive, much less that he had been a professor at Hogwarts for a year and that now he had gone missing.

That was when Sirius had started to search.

He took a deep breath and sighed, still anxious to hear of Remus' misfortune, but not wanting to press his friend. Remus heard his sigh and turned to gaze at him, gray eyes sober and calculating. Finally Remus spoke. "How much do you want to know?"

"Everything. Of course I want to know everything."

"It will take some time."

"That's all right. I don't have anything else to do at this point. Haven't heard from Dumbledore since after the Tournament."

Remus turned away from Sirius, to stare at the window that overlooked a thick clump of trees. "In May, my Wolfsbane potion didn't arrive on time." He paused at Sirius' confused expression and added, "Dumbledore's required Snape to brew it for me monthly, and send it by owl, ever since I left Hogwarts. It was the day before the full moon and there was no package. The potion is a very difficult one to brew and even if I had all of the ingredients, it'd be nearly impossible for me to concoct." He smiled fleetingly. "Potions never was my strongest suit."

Sirius nodded; he remembered this from the duo's days at school many years ago.
"I waited. I mean, it'd always been on time before--exactly two days before the full moon, just in case. I wondered if the owl had gotten lost, or delayed by the weather, or if Snape had somehow forgotten or something like that."

Snape. Sirius felt his shoulders tense at the thought that Snape had caused all of this. He thought about it more carefully, though, and decided that it wasn't like Snape to do something quite so intentionally dangerous, and not right under Dumbledore's supervision. But Dumbledore--

"Why didn't you contact Dumbledore?"

"By the time anyone received anything I'd sent, it'd have been too late. I would've changed already, and you of all people know how dangerous it is.

"I decided to make a cage. I used twice as much magic in that one day as I had in the entirety of the last year--Summoning steel, and chisels, and saws and the like; and then I fused the joints with my wand. That evening I locked the door with myself inside--I figured there wasn't really anything else I to do."

Sirius fingered the bridge of his nose. He was getting a headache.

"I fell asleep, I recall, rather quickly that night, and awoke sometime in the early hours of the morning to someone breaking in to my house. I figured there was nothing I could do--I'd purposely left my wand just out of reach, and charmed the cage to stay intact specifically for the amount of time I would be in werewolf form--you know, so I could get out when the full moon was over. I stayed quiet, hoping that whoever it was would realize that I had nothing of value and leave." He smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Who'd want my ratty old furniture and books?"

"I like your house," Sirius objected. "You know, before it was torn to shreds and all that."

"Yes, well, now it's not exactly homey. So anyway...the footsteps didn't seem to go away. They grew closer and closer until they reached my kitchen, where I was in the cage. It was so dark couldn't see a thing.

"Whoever it was obviously could tell where I was, because they found me rather quickly. They put a hand around my throat, and pulled my neck and face up to a space between the bars.

"'This,' they said, 'is for the Potter boy. Just so you know.' They tried to shove some liquid down my throat, and it burned, and I choked on it, because they were still holding me by the neck, you know, but I swallowed a little of it. They laughed and said, 'Enjoy your last few hours as a human, for after this you will be werewolf forever.'"

Sirius shook his head. He could see where this was going, and it was not a happy place.

"I was horrified, of course, but also curious. You know, I'd never heard of such a potion before, that kept a creature stuck in his transformed shape--there is Polyjuice, of course, but we both know that's not permanent, and certainly not for an entire lifetime. "After that..." Remus trailed off, as if struggling to recall something. "There are only bits and pieces." Remus shook his head. "I remember tearing up my house, once I got out--the cage I built stayed, at least until its time ran out."

He fell silent for a moment. Sirius waited patiently until Remus said, "I remember--there was a boy."

Sirius knew, in that moment, that Remus had killed the child as he was accused of in the newspaper. Thoughts exploded in his mind: that Remus would have to hide for the rest of his life, and wouldn't be able to help with the resistance effort, and the child's parents, and how lucky Sirius had been that Remus didn't tear him to shreds--and then that thought stuck in his mind, and he voiced it. "Why didn't you attack me?"

"I recognized your scent," Remus replied calmly. "That's likely the only thing my werewolf mind can wrap itself around: smells. I knew you were somehow familiar, I think, and after seeing you as a dog I knew you weren't really human. At least, I think that's what mostly happened--I don't remember all of it."

Sirius nodded, deep in thought, then glanced at Remus, who looked exhausted. "Go to sleep again," Sirius said calmly, not showing any of his inner turmoil. "I'm going to...er...find something to eat. I'll be back later."

He left the room, his head spinning, centered around one fact: Remus, his last best friend alive, had killed someone. A boy. A boy probably not unlike Harry. He shuddered.

Then the irony struck him--was this how Remus felt when he had heard of Sirius' murders that had sent him to Azkaban?
Only this time, Remus himself had confessed the crime. When Sirius had been accused, at least he himself had known he was innocent.

Now, even Remus realized that he was guilty. Sirius felt nauseous at the thought of Remus being sent to Azkaban. He couldn't let that happen--he had to somehow prove it was an accident. Because there had obviously been some foul play--the Wolfsbane potion hadn't arrived, and that wasn't Remus' fault.

Sirius frowned. Whose fault had it been?

***

At eleven o'clock on the night before they were all to take the train to Hogwarts, Hermione was wide awake. She lay, covered in blankets, on the cot she was borrowing from the Weasleys, which was currently located in the Weasleys' third attic. The night before they'd gone to Diagon Alley, Hermione had slept in Ginny's room, but woke up in the middle of the night to Ginny's screaming and didn't particularly want to repeat that experience. But now, Hermione would have been glad to have someone, anyone, to talk to; she would have accepted anything as a substitute for laying in bed alone worrying about going back to school.

Sighing not for the first time, Hermione rolled over on the narrow cot, tangling herself in blankets and sheets. She lay satisfied with her new position for approximately thirty seconds, and then began jiggling her leg anxiously underneath the covers. Hermione rolled over again, and fell off the cot on to the dusty attic floor with a thump, quilts wrapped messily around her.

"Oh for--" Hermione gave up, and, annoyed, flung all her covers in a corner and got up. Her feet were cold, so she dug out some thermal socks from her bag, and quietly padded down the attic stairs to the second level, and then all the way down to the kitchen. She sat at the table, unsure of what to do, and absently stared at the Weasleys' clock. All the hands were pointed towards home. Frustrated, Hermione laid her head down on the table in frustration. She wrinkled her nose--it smelled like wood polish--but didn't move.

That was the position she was in when Harry entered the room quietly a few moments later. He watched her curiously for a moment, but then stepped on a creaky spot on the floor and she jerked up too quickly, hitting her head on the back of her chair.

"Are you all right? I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. What're you doing down here now?"

"It's all right." Hermione rubbed her eyes--she knew she was really quite tired, deep down--and focused blearily on Harry. He had come to sit across from her, wearing a white t-shirt that had obviously been too small for him for years and a pair of blue-striped pajama bottoms. "I couldn't sleep. Couldn't you either?"

He shook his head. "Ron keeps thrashing about in his sleep, and we've stayed up past this time every night anyway, so I'm used to it. I was laying there thinking about school tomorrow and then I heard a thump from the attic, and I figured it was just the ghost--"

"That was me, falling off the bed," Hermione said, smiling wryly. "After that I just sort of gave up on sleeping for a while, and came downstairs. Do you know..." she trailed off, looking sheepish. "Do the Weasleys have hot chocolate? I mean--I could conjure some--but we're not supposed to use our wands outside of school, and I already got a warning from the Ministry for hexing Malfoy--"

Harry looked thoughtful. "You could probably make some--just warm some milk on the stove. I'm sure they have milk. I can look for chocolate, if you want..."

He trailed off as they both spun around, hearing a voice from the doorway. "In that cupboard, there." Ron pointed at one near Hermione. "My mum keeps it for when we're upset." Ron slumped heavily in a chair, yawning and massaging his neck.

"Oh, this is wonderful," Harry said dryly, opening the cupboard and locating the chocolate. "We'll have an 'I-can't-sleep' party." He frowned at Ron. "I thought you were asleep. Were you tossing and turning just to annoy me?"

"I was asleep," he replied, his voice thick with tiredness. "Then I woke up."

Hermione, stirring milk at the stove, turned to catch him with a piercing gaze. "Nightmare again?"

Harry was still frowning at Ron. "Nightmare again? Are they a regular thing?"

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed. "You told me you told him three days ago!"

"Oh, right. I lied."

"Ron!"

"What are these nightmares about, anyway?" Harry interrupted, hoping to prevent a fight from breaking out. "How long have you been having them?"

"He doesn't remember," Hermione answered for him. "And since the Quidditch convention this summer."

"That's nearly two months ago," Harry commented. "And you still can't figure out what they're about?"

Ron shrugged, and laid his head down on top of his crossed arms on the table, closing his eyes. Hermione, now looking sympathetic, gave the stirring spoon to Harry and went to stand behind Ron, rubbing his neck with her fingers. Ron gave a sort of mmmph that sounded affirmative.

They stayed like that in relative silence for several minutes; the only sound that of Harry stirring the warming milk on the stove. He took a spoonful and sipped it cautiously, then turned to Hermione. "I think it's warm enough."

She stepped away from Ron, who didn't move, and got out mugs for all three of them. "Good. There should be enough for all of us. Where'd you put the chocolate?"

He offered it to her and she put small lumps in all three cups, stirring until the milk became suitably brown. Taking a sip and closing her eyes, Hermione could almost feel herself relaxing. "My mum used to make this for me when I couldn't sleep," she said, hardly realizing that she was talking. "Sometimes the house-elves will bring it to me, too, although I tell them they don't have to. I haven't had it since last term, though."

"'S good," Ron said. He was leaning back against his chair, the circles under his eyes looking ghostly in the low light. He could feel Hermione's pitying gaze on him, but he didn't look at her.

Harry exhaled, running a hand through his hair, leaving it spiky and mussed. Then, "Why couldn't you sleep, Hermione?"

"I was worrying about school tomorrow," she admitted, wrapping both her hands around the warm mug. "I don't know why, exactly, because I know all of my teachers and classes, and now that we're fifth years, this should all be old hat, but..." she shrugged, pulling her faded cardigan more closely around her narrow shoulders. "Classes will keep getting harder, and now that I'm going to be a prefect, I'm not sure I'll have time to do everything, and with all the crazy stuff that happens to us always, I just hope that I'll be able to get everything done. Especially at the end of the year, with the O.W.L.'s coming up...and we'll have a new DADA teacher, and there might be more homework, and of course I'll have to go to the Quidditch matches, and things like that--"

"Hermione?" Harry interrupted gently. "You're rambling."

"And getting way too worked up about this," Ron put in, looking only slightly more awake after drinking part of his hot chocolate. "You worry too much."

"I know, but I really have to get good grades on the O.W.L.'s, because they go on your record when secondary wizarding schools are looking at your resume. And since I don't know exactly what I want to go in to yet, it's important to do well in everything, and that means I'll have to be studying all year long, plus doing class work. I'm not sure--"

Harry cut her off again. "If anyone can do it, you can. You're at the top of our class--"

"And you took all those extra classes third year. This can't be more work than that," Ron added. He covered his mouth to yawn.

"Never mind the fact that it nearly killed me in the end," Hermione said. "Don't you remember how I was rushing around like crazy, and forgot to go to a class once? That year was awful."

"But you survived," Harry pointed out helpfully. "The point is, you made it, and if it gets a little hectic around exam time, you won't panic. Well," he added hastily when Ron's eyebrows shot up, "you might panic, but it won't affect your exam scores. You work so hard that everything will turn out all right in the end."

Hermione smiled weakly and sipped her hot chocolate. "I hope you two are right."

"We weren't trying to cheer you up," Ron said, eliciting a glare from Hermione. "Just stating the facts for you, ma'am."

Finished with her mug, Hermione washed it and put it back in the cupboard, then turned to Harry and Ron. Harry, eyes closed, was leaning with nearly all his weight on the counter, looking as if he might sort of gradually slide on to the floor if no one moved him. Ron was nodding off, although he jerked back in to focus once Hermione looked at him.

"Come on, boys," Hermione said gently, taking one of each of their hands despite their protesting groans and beginning to drag them up the stairs. "Time to go to bed. Let's all go upstairs--we have to get up early tomorrow."

"Yes, Mummy," Ron tried to say sarcastically, but he was cut off by a yawn. It brought a fleeting smile to both Harry and Hermione's faces.

"Hogwarts tomorrow," Harry said sleepily as he climbed back in to bed after ascending the stairs. Hermione was standing at the doorway, looking like a proud mother hen, as Harry and Ron collapsed in to their own respective nests of sheets and blankets.

"Goodnight," Hermione whispered, and trailed back up the second flight of stairs, where she similarly curled herself in bed and fell quickly asleep.

***

All while he was taking a shower and getting dressed and combing his hair and eating breakfast (a bowl of Sugary Crunchy Bits o' Evil In a Box), Draco thought about Ginny. To be honest, he had no idea exactly how well his plan was working thus far--the owl he'd sent with the roses had always come back empty-clawed, and without a reply note. Although, he thought to himself, that was by Draco's orders; he had directed the owl not to wait as soon as he'd delivered the parcel.

The piece of his plot that he was unsure of was exactly how and when to tell Ginny that he liked her. Should he reveal it in one of the roses? Corner her in an empty hallway? And before he told her, he had to gain her trust somehow--likely by being nice to Potter and his sidekicks, he thought with an internal groan.

"Draco! The carriage!" Draco's thoughts were interrupted by his father's controlled yell, signifying that it was time to leave to go to the train station to board the Hogwarts Express. Draco sighed aloud and glanced around his fairly plain bedroom--stylish and expensive without being over-the-top, he liked to think--to make sure he had everything. All of his trunks were loaded, and had been stacked in the carriage by servants hours before.

Draco ambled down the stairs, not wanting to seem like he was in much of a hurry to follow his father's orders. He was stopped at the bottom by Lucius Malfoy's cold hand on his shoulder, his grip like steel. Draco would have winced, but he knew better.

"Draco." His father's eyes bored into him, the same color as his own when he was angry, that of thunderclouds or polished granite. "Do not forget your..." -he raised his silver-blond eyebrows at Draco--"purpose at this school. I'll be paying attention, as always, to see that you are doing well, and carrying on the traditions of the Malfoy name."

"Yes, Father." Draco was submissive, as had been drilled in to him.
"I and my" -the eyebrows again--"friends are considering your acceptance to a particularly prestigious group, an organization that should already be familiar to you. You would not want to wreck your chances with a frivolous mistake, or there will be grave consequences." Each word was perfectly enunciated, and Lucius Malfoy didn't even blink, locking his gaze with his son's.

"Yes, Father."

"Do not forget this. Study your lessons, and practice your Quidditch, and play your little tricks on the Gryffindors." His grip on Draco's shoulder tightened. "Just remember why I sent you to Hogwarts."

Draco waited until he felt his father's grip relax on his shoulder, and calmly walked away. His heart was pounding inside, but he had learned from years of experience and watching his father to easily mask his emotions. He desperately wanted to uphold the family name and to please his father--he would have to try harder to employ the qualities his father desired.

For, as Lucius Malfoy had not spoken directly but implied, Draco had one single purpose not only at Hogwarts but also in life, and that was to do as instructed by his father.

***

Harry boarded the Hogwarts train with a measure of relative calmness. It was his fourth time taking the train to school, and since there had been no mishaps along the way as of yet, he felt rather confident about the beginning of the school term. It was a confidence that he was nearly positive wouldn't last, but he wanted to hold on to it for as long as he could.

Hermione, Ron and Ginny followed Harry in to the nearest compartment, and they all stacked their luggage in the space provided above their heads. Ron looked as if he wanted to whine about having to put up with his younger sister, but she looked so pitiful, exhausted and on the edge of tears, that no one had said a word to her save Hermione, who had tried but failed at starting several conversations along the lines of neutral topics. Ginny just simply seemed to not want to talk.

"So," Hermione began brightly as the rest of the group slumped down in to the train's ancient but comfortable seats, "We're fifth-years now, can you believe it? I can't. I so clearly remember meeting you both--Harry and Ron, that is--on the train on the way here, and Ron trying to perform that awful spell on Scabbers, and finding out who Harry was, and searching for Trevor--"

"We were there, Hermione," Ron said, glancing at her through half-lidded eyes. "We don't need to hear a rendition of 'Greatest Hits of Ron, Harry, and Hermione."

"I think that Harry, Hermione, and Ron sounds better," Hermione sniffed disapprovingly, then added, "I just can't think of anything else to say, and it's so quiet." She paused, and was right: the silence seemed to overtake them all. The train hadn't left yet, but already Ginny was staring morosely out a window on the other side of the compartment; Ron seemed to be zoning out, absently watching one of his shoes; Harry was fiddling with the window-lock on the opposite side of the cabin from Ginny; and Hermione was spending a considerable amount of time playing with the clasp to her prefect badge and reminding everyone of Percy.

Finally, the train started with a lurch, throwing everyone slightly forward in their seats. As the countryside began to swirl by, Harry looked out the window, watching the trees and fences and occasional house whip by behind the layer of glass.

It was silent, except for the low murmur of the train engine, when somebody burst in the room, panting. Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny all glanced up simultaneously, and were surprised to see Neville, leaning against the doorframe to their particular compartment with an expression of mingled terror and trepidation.

"Neville, what is it?" Hermione asked quickly, still fingering the prefect badge in her hands. Harry thought she, too, looked a little apprehensive.

When Neville finally spoke, his voice was shaking. "I--someone--this--just before--the train--" His sentences were garbled and incomprehensible, and he continually gestured with an antique-looking envelope in his hand.

"Take a deep breath and explain what happened." Hermione's voice was soothing. "It'll be all right."

Neville tried to calm himself down as Harry and Ron moved over so that he could sit down. Exhaling slowly, he said, "Just before I got on the train, someone in a black robe approached me and asked if I knew who Harry Potter was. I said yes, and they ordered me to give this to you." He held out the envelope with shaking fingers. "Harry, I wouldn't open it, though--when the man pulled it out of his sleeve, I saw the Dark Mark on his arm!"

Harry felt his eyes widen in horror, and saw that everyone else looked similarly shocked. Ginny looked even closer to tears than she had been before; Ron noticed and, standing up, in the manner of overprotective older brothers, walked across the compartment to sit down by Ginny and hold her hand.

"Don't open it," Hermione warned Harry unnecessarily. "Even though it's highly unlikely that anything physically threatening could be in the envelope, you still shouldn't touch it. Most curses have to be performed directly by a wizard with a wand, but some poisons can be transmitted through touch and can be fatal even in just the quantity that could be placed unnoticingly on a single sheet of parchment."

Harry quickly dropped the envelope on the seat beside him, noting that although it didn't feel like it could be holding anything more than a letter; he didn't want to be the one receiving it.

"I'll do an Aperit spell," Hermione said. "That should get it to open itself without any of us touching it and we can see what it is without harming ourselves."

"I'm not sure--" Neville, who was still sitting with Ron and Harry, began, but Hermione was already pulling out her wand and paying no attention to him. Harry edged away from the envelope a little, and noticed Ron doing the same, as if he was afraid something would jump out and bite him.

"Aperit!" Hermione said, and the envelope opened with a tearing sound. Out came a folded piece of parchment. It seemed to hesitate for a moment before it opened, displaying something that, although it may have seemed expected, shocked the five witches and wizards that viewed it.

As for Harry, all he remembered later was seeing the Dark Mark on the paper, a blinding pain in his scar, and blackness quickly descending upon him.

***

Sirius checked on Remus and found, as he had expected, that Remus had fallen back into a fitful sleep. I'd sure be anxious if I were him, Sirius thought dryly.

Hands shaking, Sirius found a scrap of parchment and began to compose a letter to Dumbledore. He paused occasionally and drifted off in to thought, leaving large, messy splotches of ink here and there on the paper. Once he had to stop and put his head in his hands to keep himself from crying, or screaming, or physically destroying the old shack they were in...

He didn't want to think about it.

An hour later, Sirius had composed an extensive note to Dumbledore, detailing Remus' story and asking for both help and news of what the Ministry was doing with the case. He folded it, and sealed it, and then stood up to--

Do what, exactly? Obviously, he hadn't been thinking clearly. He didn't have an owl, or a fireplace, which was why he hadn't contacted Dumbledore before now.

He would have to risk a trip to town. There was no other way. Sighing, Sirius sat back down in the old rickety chair that had been inside the shack when he'd found it. Roughly, he ran his hands across his face, feeling the stubble that he hadn't bothered to shave in the past two days. After Dumbledore had sent to Ollivander's to get a replacement wand, which worked passably, although not perfectly, Sirius had been managing to get along well enough by trying to unobtrusively Summon the absolute necessities. (Once, due to a mistake of the wand, it Summoned him a tennis racket instead of a winter jacket. That had made him laugh for the first time in months.) But he'd been tired lately, and too anxious to perform everyday tasks like shaving--he had been so distressed about Remus, and with next-to-nothing to occupy him with, all he had been doing was worry and sleep poorly. When he felt especially tense, he would change to dog form and run around in the forest until he could barely move anymore, because that made him temporarily forget everything.

Which, despite his already-fatigued state, he felt like doing now. If he were to risk getting to a post office to obtain an owl, he would need to be as inconspicuous as possible and unless he distracted himself, he knew he would be nervous.

Sirius transformed, and, with the mentality of an actual dog, bounded off in to the forest, to chase rabbits or birds or butterflies or possibly falling leaves, if there was nothing better to do.

***

Ginny felt the blood drain from her face as she watched Harry's eyelids flutter closed and his body slump and slide to the floor. She felt frozen, stuck in place, numb with shock as she watched Hermione drop to her knees and feel Harry's limp wrists. Ron's hand clutched Ginny's tightly; she could feel him shaking.
"He seems all right," Hermione said tightly. "Other than the fact that he'd unconscious." She looked up, cheeks flushed, and set her hands on her knees. "Should I...get someone?"

No one responded. Finally, Neville, who looked as if he'd had about all he could handle in terms of stress for the day, offered, "Are there any teachers even here?"

Hermione looked thoughtful. "Professor Lupin rode the train with us once, third year..." she trailed off as Harry began to stir in his prone position on the floor, and blinked a couple of times.

"Wha?..." he asked confusedly, and tried to prop himself upright. His outstretched arms folded, as if he could not gather the strength to sit up.

"Here, Ron, help me," Hermione said, and took hold of Harry's upper arm on one side. Ron let go of Ginny to assist Harry, and suddenly she felt very alone and invisible.

Harry was trembling visibly. It appeared as if he was trying to stop it, but even Ginny could see that he was deeply shaken.

"Where's the paper?" Harry asked hoarsely. "Is it still here?"

Ginny glanced to the seat where it had fallen, forgotten, until Harry brought it up again. As Ginny watched, Hermione dug in her bag for a bar of chocolate and offered it to him. He took it weakly, but some of the color came back in to his cheeks as he ate it.

"What should we do with it?" Neville asked, voicing the question Ginny had just been internally considering. "I mean...can we touch it...or...or should we save it as evidence or something?"

"Wingardium Leviosa," Hermione said firmly, and directed the parchment to fold itself and slip inside a pocket in her bag. "I'll test it for chemicals later, and won't touch it until then. Harry, are you all right?"

"I'm fine," he said, a little too quickly. "I'm not hurt. I don't need to see Madam Pomfrey or anything. I just--my scar hurt, like it does when Vold - I mean, You-Know-Who - does things or is nearby."

This revelation caused Ron, Ginny and Neville to glance around the train compartment nervously, as if Voldemort might suddenly jump out of nowhere and attack them. Neville said shakily, "But, I mean, he's not around, right? I mean...whoever it was that gave me that message left. I saw him leave. And he couldn't have snuck on the train, right?"

"Probably not," Hermione said, always the voice of reason. "I doubt that You-Know-Who is actually here. It's more likely that Harry's reaction was caused by seeing the Dark Mark."

Ron spoke, for the first time since Harry had passed out. "It didn't happen before." He glanced nervously at Neville, but apparently decided to keep going. "Last summer, when we saw the Dark Mark in the sky at the Quidditch World Cup. Nothing happened to Harry then."

"I'm not sure why, then," Hermione said thoughtfully. "Maybe--maybe this one is connected with a hex or spell of some sort."

"Oh, that's great news." Harry was sarcastic. "Voldemort performs an evil curse, and just wants to let me know with a happy little telegram. What am I supposed to do about that?"

Ginny stared at Harry in surprise. He didn't usually speak so carelessly about defeating the most evil wizard in the world--he seemed the hero archetype to everyone: the noble, courageous boy that everyone figured would win out in the end. Harry had never seemed resentful of his identity and expectations before.

He hastily spoke again to correct his words. "I mean--I just hope it's not like that."

Hermione sighed. "I'll research it and see if anything like this has ever happened before. Neville, you don't have to stay if you don't want--I'm sorry you got caught up in all of this."

He nodded. "I think I'll go back to sit with Seamus and Dean. They were talking about Quidditch."

Harry smiled faintly at this. "That sounds more enjoyable than discussing the next sinister plot of You-Know-Who."

"I'll see you at school," Neville said, and made a hasty retreat. The other four returned to their previous places, albeit more tense than they had been before.

"So much for a less chaotic school year," Ron said. "Looks like this one is going to be just like normal: more death plots from You-Know-Who."

Ginny turned back to the window, and, ironically, returned to thinking about Tom.

***

It didn't take long for Draco to spot Harry, Ron and Hermione together in the crowd of students making their way off the Hogwarts Express. The infamous trio was huddled together, talking quietly, and Ginny stood just outside their circle, looking as if she felt left out. A thought flashed across Draco's mind: that it must be difficult to be outside that friendship looking in, especially for Ron's sister.

Draco could just barely hear the undertones of their conversation as he approached.

"Are you sure you're all right, Harry?" Hermione was asking. "Because you still look peaky."

"I'm perfectly fine," Harry protested, jerking his shoulder away from her hand, which she had placed in a concerned gesture on his shoulder. "Leave me alone."

Draco wanted to smile. A split within the trio? He wished that he could just stay and listen to them disagree, but knew he would soon become noticeable standing around a bunch of Gryffindors.

"Harry." Draco approached him confidently. "How are things going?"

"Okay," Ron said in an undertone, "either he's on drugs yet again, or had a full frontal lobotomy performed."

Draco ignored this, shooing down his internal desire to throw a punch at the slimy git.

"Fine," Harry said tonelessly, still looking apprehensive and following Draco slowly with his eyes, which today seemed to burn the emerald rage of a Welsh Green.

"That's good. I'm really looking forward to starting Quidditch practice, how about you?"

Harry shrugged. "Sure." Now that Draco looked at him more closely, he did look paler than usual. Had something happened on the train to make Hermione ask if he was all right?
Draco smiled. "How's your Firebolt doing? I've always enjoyed riding mine."

"It's fine. I...er...take very good care of it." Harry appeared to be thrown off by Draco's line of questioning.

"And I assume you've been studying all summer, Mud - Hermione?"

There was a flash of fury in her intelligent eyes. "I'm all ready to get better marks than you again," she said coolly.

Managing to control his anger, Draco forced another smile. "I've always admired your work ethic." He turned to Ron. "So. Ron. Still poor?"

Harry had to restrain Ron from physically lashing out at Draco, although he did so verbally. "You slimy son of a--"

"I was just asking." Draco held his palms up in surrender. "You know, I can always loan you money if you need it--if you want to have a good time in Hogsmeade, or something. In fact, I've been thinking I should take you out for drinks sometime."

Now Ron just looked confused. "What's wrong with you?" he asked finally.

"I've had a change of heart," Draco replied, trying to look angelic. "I'm trying to bridge the gap between the houses--it's more important now than ever to not let petty things like house rivalries get in the way of friendships." Nice one, Draco, he told himself.

They all stared at him. Other students moved around them, making their way towards the carriages that would take them to Hogwarts, but Harry, Hermione and Ron simply looked at Draco as if he had just sprouted a second head from his elbow.

"We'll see you around," Hermione finally said, faintly, and led Ron and Harry away. The boys both turned to continue looking at him, brows furrowed.

Ginny had watched the whole ordeal with a look of faint interest, although she hadn't really seemed to care all that much, even when Draco had insulted Ron. Now he turned to her, hoping he looked suave and mature. "So. Ginny, right?"

She nodded, looking surprised to be addressed at all. He continued, smiling his most charming smile. "It must be tough to watch Harry and his friends together all the time."

A slight color rose to her cheeks in indignation. "They're nice to me."

"Of course they are," Draco said smoothly. The faint blush made her look pretty, going well with her flaming hair and lightly freckled skin. Really, Draco thought to himself, she's quite pretty, considering she's a Gryffindor and a little girl. "I just meant that it must be tough for you, sometimes, to see the three of them getting all the publicity."

Confusion formed in her brown eyes. "What are you getting at?"

Draco shrugged elegantly. "I just wanted to say that if you ever need someone to talk to, I'll be here. You can find me in the Slytherin common room anytime you want--I'll make sure that the others will let you in."

Baffled, Ginny nodded. "I...I'll..."

"I'll see you around school," Draco said in a friendly tone. To her great shock, he gently grasped her small hand and raised it to his lips. It was an archaic gesture, he had decided, but one he thought he could pull off. He was pleased to see that she looked both embarrassed and flattered at the same time.

Draco went back to the group of Slytherin students with an even more exaggeratedly confident swagger than usual. He had pulled that off superbly, he felt, and was definitely making some headway towards getting the Gryffindors to trust him. Eventually, he would be able to tell Ginny about the roses, and once he had won her love--

Then he would let her down hard, and watch her fall.