Prisoners of Our Minds

That is the true season of love, when we believe that we alone can love, that no one could ever have loved so before us, and that no one will love in the same way after us.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Ron yawned loudly as he sauntered down to the Great Hall. The room was mostly empty since it was a rather chilly Saturday morning. The Hall's usual throng of people were nowhere to be seen. A few early risers sat sparsely between the four long tables, silently staring into their porridge with disinterest. Ron scanned the Hall for his friends and quickly spotted Ginny, Seamus and Dean, eagerly discussing the upcoming Halloween Feast at the Gryffindor table. Rumour had it that Dumbledore was planning something spectacular to replace the ritual Halloween dinner. Ron watched from the doorway as a dreamy looking Luna glided over to Ginny for company, seeing as there was no one at the Ravenclaw table. Ron's younger sister glanced up at Luna and flashed her a charming smile before gesturing for her to join them. Ron's gaze travelled further up the Gryffindor table and caught sight of Harry and Hermione huddled at the other end, deep in conversation. From a distance, Ron could make out Hermione holding up a parchment before Harry and pointing emphatically at a crude drawing of a forest. Ron squinted at the pair from afar, trying to decipher their conversation through his mediocre skills at lip reading. A moment later he jumped back in shock, gagging at the air that was choking him. To his horror, Harry was leaning in towards Hermione until they were dangerously close to one another; his hand was upon her palm, gently tracing ghostly shapes along her fingertips. Their noses brushed intimately; still they leaned in closer, slowly ever so slowly, until their silhouettes melted into one. Hermione opened her lips in anticipation and closed her eyes with a small shudder. It can't be! His mind screamed. They wouldn't do this to me. I have to stop this! I have to!

"Oh hi there Ron," Harry said with some surprise in his voice. He looked up at his startled best friend tottering at the edge of the Gryffindor table. "Would you like to join us?"

Ron looked down at Harry in surprise. He had no recollection of crossing the Great Hall. He looked down at his two best friends in disbelief, opening and closing his mouth like a suffocating goldfish. "What were you two doing?" he asked accusingly, having recovered his voice.

"Practicing a Sensory Charm," Hermione said calmly, giving Ron an odd look. "It's part of the Charms homework due on Monday. I hope you've started."

"It's rather neat," Harry beamed. "Look at this Ron." He turned to Hermione with a grin and took hold of her hand again. She closer her eyes expectantly as Harry began to trace intricate patterns against her palm. Ron watched as she shuddered under Harry's delicate caress, furrowing her brow under the intensity of the magic coursing through her body. Harry leaned in towards Hermione and placed his forehead lightly against hers, his hands continued to stroke hers gently until blue sparks appeared between his wandering finger and her soft palm. A moment later, Hermione let out a small gasp and pulled away from Harry.

"I think it worked," Hermione whispered excitedly.

"The charm gives my mind control over her sensory nerves," Harry explained. "And so I can do whatever I please, like tickle her for as long as I'd like!" Harry laughed mischievously as he concentrated upon the act.

From across the table, Hermione began to squirm uncontrollably. "Stop it! It worked it worked! Fi--finite incantatem!" she managed to giggle out while clutching at her side. Harry chuckled delightfully but obediently released his mental hold over her. Hermione turned to Ron with her warm brown eyes, a familiar smile curving at the edge of her mouth. "You should try it," she said.

Ron looked at Hermione gloomily. "Maybe later, what's that?" he asked, gesturing at the open map on the table. Harry looked at Hermione and shot her a concerned look before turning to Ron with a wavering smile.

"Nothing," he said casually as Hermione rolled up the parchment and thrust it into the depth of her satchel.

"Right," Ron muttered darkly, "that was a poor attempt at a lie even for you two! Fine, have your secrets. I don't care!" With that, he stalked away from Harry and Hermione. A surge of anger rose inside of him as he headed for the door. Behind him, the two remorseful Gryffindors called out a half-hearted apology, but Ron was too angry to reply. He bolted out of the Great Hall and wound his way down to the quidditch pitch where he could clear his head in peace.

The damp grass glistened under the rising rays of the sun. Each step he took sunk deep into the loosened earth, ripping up a trail of mud through the sea of green in his wake. He quickened his step until the landscape blurred into a mirage of convoluted colours. He was walking away from the castle, down a path that had no end, no diversions, no way out. And deep within his heart he acknowledged the unspoken truth, that all his life he had been running, always running down the same path; the path that had no end, no diversions, no way out.

"There's no way out!" he screamed pitifully to the barren pitch. But nothing stirred, save the distant symphony of ravens, singing mournfully in recognition of his pain. Ron fell to his knees and cradled his head between his shaking hands. Why? He asked the clear, cloudless heavens. Why must I feel this for her? Why must I love her? Why must I suffer the accursed anguish of love unfelt, unrequited?

But the impassively majestic sky had no answers for the tormented boy. The infinite universe created mankind eons ago when the world was but a turbulent sea. And in its' haste to give life to man, the secret wisdom of creation was lost. So it is mankind's fate to suffer forevermore, blinded by those who had created them; forsaken and doomed to endure the relentless torment of life that never abates in its' fury. Love, what is love but another trial, another trick of nature to render the senses worthless and hearts weak? What is love but a misery when it remains unfulfilled?

The sun shone brightly in its' unperturbed sky, bringing light to the welcoming land, bathing it in a rich golden glow. Tears trickled down his cheeks, winding its' way along the trail of freckles that he so hated. Slowly he wiped them away on the sleeve of his robe until the motley coloured fabric turned several shades darker. He stood up and stared at those tiny droplets, dumbfounded. Am I really crying? How did she drive me to this? He wondered in disbelief. Shakily he dropped his arm to his side, not wanting to think about the rising panic within him. He broke into a jog and headed even further away from the castle, away from the place that harboured all his fears.

~*~

Not far from the shores of the ancient lake sat a girl under the shades of the willow tree. Her face was buried in the musty pages of Petrach's love sonnets, her eyes danced across the cursive words with delight. Her breath hitching with every image played out vividly before her. How passionate the words! Laced with wind and fire, storm and ice. And the heroines, all so amorous, so beautiful that one could envision their entrancing smiles lingering in the halls of time. Susan Bones shivered and drew her cloak closer around her body. Desire coursed through her like a kindling fire, burning constantly within. Absently, her hand reached for her pendant. It rested just below the hollow at the base of her neck. He had held it, she thought with a reminiscent smile. My family heirloom had been in his hands, in the palm of the one I love. Could it have been a sign? She wondered with hope shining brightly in her far away eyes. Dear protectress of the lovers, I need another sign. May you bring my love to me, may I hold him forever in my enfolding arms of love where he will be eternally safe from the woes of the world.

"Susan," a voice gasped from behind her ear, his breath tickling the nape of her neck. She jumped involuntarily and promptly fell off the large rock on which she was sitting.

"Eep!" she squeaked as her body met the pebbled shore of the lake. Soft patches of sunlight filtered through the sparse leaves of the tree above and fell into her eyes making it difficult for her to see. Susan squinted up at the figure that loomed over her in wonder.

"Are you alright?" he inquired. "I didn't mean to scare you."

A firm hand grasped her right wrist gentle and pulled her from the ground. When she finally looked down upon her upturned hands, she noticed small wells of blood gathering where the skin had been scraped away from flesh. She grimaced momentarily at the sight then winced from the pain.

"I'm so sorry," he spoke again, his voice compassionately soft to her attentive ears. "Have my handkerchief."

Susan looked up into his concerned brown eyes and gasped. "It can't be you..." she stammered disbelievingly, scarcely daring to breathe lest the vision faded to nothingness.

A look of confusion crossed Ron's face. "What do you mean?" he asked. "Of course it's me, Ron. Who were you expecting?"

"I just didn't think..." Susan began hesitantly, not knowing how to explain her feelings. She struggled with her mind for a constructive sentence, but none came to her. The silence unnerved her terribly and was beginning to make her blush a deep shade of crimson. Clearly the silence was affecting Ron too and soon, to her dismay, he looked thoroughly annoyed.

"Of course, you're disappointed it's just me aren't you? After all, I'm just the tag-along that everyone puts up with. I'm just one big waste of space. Sorry for disturbing you," he spat. "I'll disappear now and leave you in peace. With any luck a chasm will swallow me and I'll never have to face this world again!"

"A chasm?" Susan echoed slowly. "Where are you going to find a chasm?"

Ron blinked and stared at her incredulously as if a second nose had sprouted from her face. "It was a figure of--oh never mind. Go back to your book," he grumbled as he turned away from the lake.

Susan watched his retreating back with a sense of loss. She couldn't bear to see him so dejected, so alone. Without a second thought, she ran after him, her hand still stinging under the cotton handkerchief.

"Wait!" she called out. "Where are you going?"

He did not turn around. "What do you care?"

"Please slow down!" she panted, unable to keep up with his long strides. Ron slowed down a little to allow her a moment's grace to catch up. She smiled up at him gratefully.

"Why don't you tell me what's bothering you?" she suggested kindly. "All this anger, it isn't like you. You can't mean those things you said."

"I don't know," Ron mumbled sadly, kicking at the dirt trail before him. Susan knew he was hurt but she couldn't determine the depth of his pain. She sighed and turned away. If only I had the power to help him, she thought dismally. If only he would let me.

"Sometimes I feel as if I have no use in this world," he began to explain, his voice wavering slightly under the struggle for control. Susan listened attentively. "Harry and Hermione are so, well, close I guess that I sometimes feel like an outsider trying desperately to gain admission to their secret world. I don't know why I feel this way." He sighed and ran a hand through his flame red hair. A crease at the corner of his despairing face made his sadness all the more pitiful. Susan wanted to reach out to him, but prudence held back.

"I'm sure they don't mean to leave you out of things," she said softly. "They're both your friends after all."

A knot hitched in Ron's throat. He turned to look at Susan, but his eyes were distant and unfocused. "Do you believe in fate? That some people are just fated to be, though they may not know it?" he asked faintly.

"I--," she began, but couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence. Her heart was beating incredibly hard against her chest, struggling desperately for the freedom to speak the truth.

"Because that's what I believe when I look at Hermione," he said. "We're destined for one another. I don't understand why she can't see it. Isn't it obvious?" he asked imploringly, but didn't wait for her to reply. "She loves me, I know she does. She's just too frightened to admit it, too insecure to give in to her feelings I guess. I don't know. All I know is that I love her and I'd do anything to see that love mirrored in her eyes."

Ron let out a shuddering sigh and stopped to watch a butterfly flutter down the path they were heading, its' pink wings beating steadily against the light breeze. "Is there anyone you love Susan?" he asked.

What is there left to say? She wondered sorrowfully. I've been living a foolish lie. You've never loved me, nor will you ever love me. What is love but a powerless victim in the face of loneliness? She looked up at Ron and felt the heat of tears stinging her eyes. Why must you torment me so? Why can't I quell this sadness, subdue this love? Why must I weep until blood replaces tears for your affection? And even then, I know, you will not show me the devotion that I so desperately seek. I am so lost in this misery that I cannot see my way out. I think I'm drowning, Ron, do you hear my cry? Do you even care?

Susan blinked back the torrent of tears that threatened to break free. Now was not the time to cry. She still needed to be strong for him because despite his words, she still loved him. Such is the nature of love; one always places the needs of the other above that of one's own. She smiled bravely and told him what he wanted to hear, though she no longer believed her own words.

"No Ron, I have never been in love. But should that day come, I'll be in control of my destiny. I don't believe in fate, truly I don't, because I believe in choices, and that life is what I make of it. When I do fall in love, I'll never let it go, and the one I love will be a part of my life forever. And for him, I will never give up hope."

Ron paused to consider her words and seemed to be cheered by them. He walked over to her slowly and kneeled before her. She shivered at their close distance, unable to look away from his searching brown eyes. "Do you really believe that?" he asked.

"I do," she whispered, not regretting the lie. Then suddenly, she felt Ron close the distance between them to place a gentle kiss upon her upturned cheek. Before she could react, he had pulled away. The moment was lost.

"Thank you," he said sincerely.

"You're welcome," she said smiling as he turned back towards the school. She watched as he walked away from her silently, and didn't stir until he merged with the infinite horizon beyond.

At first the tears came in single droplets, but soon she found it impossible to retain the sorrow within her hollow heart. When dusk finally overshadowed day, she made her way back to the school. The common room, by then, was filled with the sound of laughter and noisy crackles from the exploding snaps. The festivities that usually drew in the amiable Susan now held no attraction to her. Quietly, she made her way to her bedroom, dodging friends along the way.

She expected the room to be empty as it was too early in the evening for sleep. But to her surprise, a small barn owl inhabited the bedroom that she shared with four other students. The patient creature was sitting by the windowsill with a red envelope attached to its leg. Susan looked around the room inquisitively as if expecting someone to jump up and claim the letter. But the letter was for no other than her. Hesitantly, Susan crossed the room to the window. The owl hopped forward excitedly upon seeing her and dutifully held out its leg. Susan extracted the letter and gave the owl an affectionate pat before sending it away.

She looked down upon the letter questioningly for it bore no return address. The messy scribble of her name on the envelope informed her that it wasn't from her parents or Auntie Amelia, but from one she could not fathom. She extracted the letter gently from the envelope and unfolded the creased paper. Her eyes widened when she recognised the illegible scrawl upon the scented rose pages. It can't be, her mind reasoned. I'm losing my mind! But eventually reality set in and she could no longer deny the truth. Between her closed fingers was a love letter, from none other than Ronald Weasley.

*

Ginny guided her broom to a soft patch of grass on the edge of the quidditch pitch and landed gracefully. She hopped onto the finely trimmed grass with a satisfied grin. Practice had been fruitful, though it was also sorely needed for the upcoming game with Ravenclaw. She shook her flame red hair free from the ruffling wind and bounded excitedly over to Luna by the stands. Luna, who had been watching the practice with a detached expression, suddenly caught sight of Ginny waving to her with an exuberant grin. A moment later, Ginny bound up the stairs towards Luna, almost tripping over an uneven step in her haste.

"Did you see me Luna?" Ginny asked excitedly. "Eight out of ten quaffles in the hoop! Harry says it's the best he's seen in a chaser. Isn't that great?"

Luna looked up at the high-spirited girl with a familiar dreamy smile. But something was different in her usual carefree and detached appearance. Her pretty light blue eyes reflected the thunderous grey sky before an inexorably violent storm. It was surely a sign of trouble to come.

Ginny paused to study her pensively silent friend with a sinking feeling. "Luna? Did you hear me?" she asked uncertainly, bring her hands before Luna's unfocused, expressionless face. She waved a few times, seeking a reaction, but to no avail. Luna continued to stare at the tiny moth-like figures on the distant field, flying faster than mortal eyes could follow. She paid Ginny no mind as she craned her head towards the distant Forbidden Forest, as if she were listening to the nightshades grow. A look of intensity fell across Luna's face momentarily before a placid smile replaced her expression of anxiety. Ginny leaned against the handle of her broom and stared at her strange, incomprehensible friend with feelings of bewilderment and concern.

"He will seek solace in the Forest tonight," she spoke at last in a hushed tone. "And there he will repent, by the sacred spring he will weep. But why does he need to be there in the darkness...he hides his thoughts so naturally that even I cannot read his fate. What will he be holding in his tearstained hands? A letter? Yes it must be, from the eagle owl that frequents his room late at night. He will be in despair, irrepressible sorrow, but he fears the alternative, should he disobey his father. He will fight his tears lest he shows his weakness, but he will not win against the inevitable."

A moment of silence passed between the two girls before Luna turned towards Ginny with a look of confusion in her eyes, it was as if she couldn't recognise the figure before her. Then slowly realisation dawned upon her clouded mind as she whispered to her attentive friend, who was mesmerised by her every word. "He is capable of anything from this point on. Which path will he choose, darkness or light? What will bind him, duty or love, fear or courage? His path is shadowed from us who seek the light. So long as his path remains hidden, our fates hinge on uncertainty. We may never know what is to be until the deed is done, and never know the outcome of our lives until we have played our many parts on the stage of fools."

Luna smiled at Ginny calmly, treating her eerie soliloquy as nothing more than a part of an ordinary conversation. She folded her hands complacently in her lap and looked up at the shifting clouds that cast a patchwork of light and shade over the autumn landscape. "The weather is most temperamental today," Luna commented absently.

Ginny felt both shocked and exasperated. What was one to say to such banal banter when a moment ago a prophesy of the most important nature was pronounced? She sat down on the marble bench beside Luna. The cool stone sent a shiver down Ginny's spine not unlike the sensation she had experienced during Luna's frightening soliloquy.

"Luna," Ginny whispered softly, "about what you'd just said." She paused. "Whom were you talking about?"

Luna turned her pristine blue eyes to Ginny; the unfathomable grey had evaporated as quickly as it had gathered in those large, unreadable orbs. "I cannot say," she replied simply. "It's just...this feeling."

Ginny tried to suppress a retort that was building up at the bottom of her throat, but before she had the chance to utter a coherent syllable, Luna interrupted with an effective jingle of her birch twig bracelet.

"Harry's coming this way," she said omnipotently. Ginny squinted out at the vast pitch straining to focus her eyes on Harry, but the distance was too great for her eyes to distinguish the raven haired boy from the other Gryffindors.

"Can you see him?" Ginny asked incredulously.

"No," Luna replied, standing up. "It's just this feeling that tells me he is coming. I shall leave you alone now. He won't be long."

With that, Luna turned away from a bewildered looking Ginny and headed back towards Hogwarts. But before she ventured beyond earshot, Luna stopped suddenly and turned to address Ginny once more. "He may not tell you all that is on his mind. After all, Harry is the silent guardian of many secrets. Do not try to force the truth from him. The truth will unravel when it is due and that is as certain as the passing of time."

Ginny watched as Luna disappeared from sight, her blonde tress fading along with her well of cryptic secrets. The landscape dimmed to dull ebony as the sun retreated the tall cypress trees. Ginny pulled her robes closer as the north winds howled around her. Most of the team had landed their brooms in fear of the ferocious gale and were steadily heading for the change rooms. But Ginny remained on the bench, patiently awaiting Harry. She laughed inwardly at her irrational behaviour. After all, Luna had created the entire scene in her mind; there was no assurance that Harry would even appear. He was probably in the warmth of the Great Hall enjoying dinner alongside Hermione and Ron. Ginny chuckled as she brushed away a strand of hair from her chilled face. Her fingers wrapped around the soft red threads that Dean loved so much and tugged gently. The first drops of rain frosted her eyelashes like the morning dew clinging to the petals of a rose. A smile crept onto her face at the thought of Dean. Dean with those loving lips gently brushing over her ivory temples, Dean with his lean arms encapsulation her slim waist in a warm embrace, how he loved her. Ginny sighed and gazed out at the green expanse. Her smile quickly transformed into a sorrowful frown.

"Ginny?" a voice called out from far away. "What are you doing here sitting in the rain?"

So deeply immersed was Ginny in her thoughts that she at first ignored Harry's words.

"Ginny?" Harry tried again, his voice growing with concern. "What's the matter?"

The young girl raised her head to the boy and smiled languidly. "I'm fine Harry," she said, brushing away the rain running down her soft cheeks like tears. "I was just thinking."

Harry looked at Ginny uncertainly through his unkempt fringes that framed his silver round glasses. He leaned against his Firebolt and shifted his weight from foot to foot nervously. "What's on your mind?" he asked.

Ginny grinned wistfully. "Many things. Life, war, you," she whispered.

She sensed Harry tense beside her. She didn't have to look at him for her to know that he had widened his eyes at her in disbelief and was now tugging at the side of his robe uncomfortably. His mind would be busy searching for the right words to answer her surprising comment. She had observed him so closely through all those years of torturous infatuation that she could anticipate his moves.

Slowly, Ginny turned to look at Harry, the boys she feared to love, but loved none the less. He was the one boy who would never look at her the way she looked at him. No, she scolded herself. You love Dean. You don't want Harry anymore. You're happy, wonderfully happy with Dean. What could Harry possibly offer you now that you have Dean?

But suppressed in the deep recesses of her heart was a longing for Harry that would forever hold its place. She could bury the truth from others with a contented smile or a physical gesture of her love for Dean, a kiss here, a hug there, it was enough to keep the spectators happy. But she could not sustain the lie from herself: that she loved two boys, perhaps one above the other. Ginny closed her eyes briefly. She didn't want to think about it anymore.

Harry averted her eyes to scrutinise the damp dirt beneath his shoe. "About me?" he mumbled finally. "Why were you thinking about me?"

Ginny chucked and stretched out her legs to receive the life giving rain. The soft droplets rolled down her smooth skin to greet Mother Nature below. She watched the cleansing rain fall with interested.

"I was just thinking about your health. You're looking tired so often lately. Have you been sleeping well?" she asked, hiding her true feelings expertly.

Harry blinked in surprise and adjusted his glasses that were sliding down his wet nose. "Just a lot of school work," he mumbled unconvincingly.

Ginny raised a fair eyebrow at Harry before looking away. "You're lying to me," she said simply. "But I won't pursue it any further. The truth will come out in due time."

As Harry nodded bashfully, Ginny couldn't help but recall Luna's omnipotent prophesy. She shook her head in wonder at the incomprehensible mysteries of life.

"Please don't be upset," Harry pleaded. "It's just that...there are things I can't discuss...I've made promises--"

"Alright suit yourself," Ginny interrupted forcefully. "We'd better get going or we'll get sick out here in the rain, and you've been in the infirmary too often for one lifetime."

She rose, grabbing her broom swiftly, and walked away from the marble seat. Harry followed closely but always remained a step behind her. Ginny felt self-conscious having Harry stare at her when the soaking robes clung so tightly to her back, revealing her figure shamelessly. But it's Harry, she thought wickedly. He needs to know him what he's missing so that he'll appreciate you. A small triumphant smile adorned her ghostly pale face as she sensed Harry faltered in mid step behind her. Could it be that he finally felt something for her? Even the smallest spark of emotion could be fanned into an uncontrollable and irrepressible flame. Ginny closed her eyes and shuddered; she would gladly foster the smallest sign of hope if it would bring her Harry. She opened her eyes slowly, adjusting to the darkness around her.

A tall blonde boy suddenly appeared before her blurred vision, he who bore that familiar insufferable smirk; in one hand, he held a pair of black dragon scale gloves while in the other, his broom. Ginny glowered at Draco Malfoy, who was standing calmly in the torrential rain.

"What do you want Malfoy?" she snarled menacingly.

But to her surprise, Draco ignored her completely, and instead, turned to Harry who had come to a stop behind her. A look of contentment crossed the Slytherin's face when his cool, grey eyes came to rest on Harry. Ginny blinked in surprise. Could it be? Malfoy's actually pleased to see Harry? She thought disbelievingly. But the look of happiness quickly faded from Draco's face, almost as quickly as it had appeared. Soon a look of cruel indifference took hold of his expression. He pushed passed Ginny and walked away swiftly, his blonde hair bedraggled under the weight of the water, his posture hunched under the invisible burden of his tumultuous mind. She watched as Draco disappeared from view. Although the heavy rain clouded her sight, Ginny found herself still squinting into the distance, all the while searching for Draco with interest. Harry walked up beside her and looked out to the quidditch pitch. The rapid falling rain had blanketed his glasses completely.

"He needs to be alone," Harry whispered, barely audibly above the thunderous storm. Ginny watched as he struggled with his glasses, trying vainly to keep the water off them.

"Who care's about Malfoy?" she asked sharply with a shake of her head. "He can freeze if he chooses and good riddance if he does! We should hurry back." Harry opened his pale blue lips as if about to argue but then thought better of it. He closed his mouth quickly and followed Ginny back to the castle.

Although Ginny thought no more of Malfoy at that moment, she later found herself reflecting up the incident in the dry warmth of her room. Something was imperceptibly different about Harry when he's around Malfoy. Something had changed within him, as if he had finally found a purpose to his torturous existence. It was almost as if he had found peace in Draco. Ginny was greatly perplexed when she looked upon Harry's serene face, the same face that had held such sorrow after Sirius' death. What could have caused such a transformation? Or who? Ginny questioned as she looked back at the miniscule speck that was Malfoy, gliding effortlessly on his broom in the unrelenting wind.

Beside her, Harry was also watching the sky, earnestly following Malfoy's every move, every dive, every turn. She could sense the intense curiosity within Harry. What Ginny failed to notice was Draco looking intently back at Harry through remorseful eyes.

*

The rain came to a stop sometime before dinner. The enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall changed from a formidable blanket of grey to a clear velvet black decorated with thousands upon thousands of bright, sparkling stars. Draco trudged into the warm, noisy hall where the students had gathered, eagerly anticipating the arrival of dinner. He sighed inaudibly at the happiness that emanated from the four walls of the room. Such happiness he had never known; such innocence he had never felt. And he will grow to know neither love nor compassion so long as the guilt of death clung to his fragmented soul. He shook his head. He didn't want to think about it. Stop it Malfoy! He scolded inwardly. Now is not the time to be weak. Enjoy what little time fortune has graced upon you before the Dark Lord calls you to do his bidding. Draco shuddered at the thought of his fate that the Dark Lord so masterfully controlled. He tried desperately to suppress the sense of remorse building steadily within him. Composure! He heard his father's voice bark. A Malfoy must never, at any time, fall into discomposure. Must I Crucio you again for you to understand?

Draco held his head up high like the way his father had taught him and approached the Slytherin table with as much dignity as his name brought him. As he sauntered up to his housemates, all eyes turned to him immediately. A hushed whispered travelled through the students at which Draco snarled menacingly, baring his sharp canines at those who had the audacity to look him in the eye. The all shrank back in fear, eyes now lowered bashfully to the empty table before them. The constant whispering is getting ridiculous, Draco thought irritably. They already know I'm a Death Eater, it's no longer a secret. After all, most of the Slytherin girls had witnessed the protruding Dark Mark after long nights of intense passion, and knowing their love for gossip, had shared every intimate detail of his body with those who were curious. Draco grinned mischievously at the thought of his nightly escapades and instinctively turned to leer at Tracey Davis. The hapless girl squeaked unbecomingly and blushed with shame. Her easily cuckolded boyfriend Theodore Nott, who was sitting on her right, failed to notice the exchange.

"Let me guess, your latest conquest?" said a lilting voice, so soft, so inviting.

Draco widened his grin and turned to face Blaise Zabini his one true friend. All his troubles lay forgotten for the moment. "Wasn't much of a challenge," he answered smugly.

Blaise rolled her eyes heavenward and shook her vibrant red curls in wonder. "You never cease to amazing me Draco Malfoy. Just how do you manage to balance school and mischief making with ritualistic orgies? Surely you must sleep?"

Draco laughed at her words and cupped her pretty oval face in his elegantly slender hands. "My dear Blaise, when will a cunning, devious Slytherin come along and ravish some sense into your chaste little mind? Sleep is for Binns' tedious and farcical history classes, where as the night is always ripe for mischief and revelries, frenzied lovemaking and drunken sordidness. Pleasure comes at a price and I'm almost willing to sacrifice anything for it." Draco grinned at his childhood companion wickedly.

Blaise began to blush furiously at his words, much to the amusement of Draco. Not wanting to suffer his taunts any further, Blaise quickly hid her face behind her voluminous red hair.

"For your information, I am quite happy being a maiden until the day I wed," Blaise said indignantly, recovering some of her lost pride.

Draco shook his head in mock despair, eyes twinkling playfully all the while. "You're not a true Slytherin, pity."

"I am a perfect manifestation of our house!" Blaise retorted heatedly. "I prize honour above all else, ambition over friendship, success over pleasure, and expedience over love. It is you that shame the name of Slytherin, behaving more like an over-friendly and indulgent Hufflepuff."

The twinkle of mirth did not fade from Draco's eye as he absorbed the insult good-naturedly. "Sigh!" he voiced melodramatically. "All reason is lost on you! Face it mademoiselle, you're just not evil enough for us dark, manly, sexy Slytherins."

At that remark, Blaise feigned a howl of disgust and launched a pea in Draco's direction.

From afar, Pansy Parkinson glared at the giggling pair with an intense look of hatred burning in her eyes. It was widely known that she fancied Draco desperately and was vehemently jealous of any girl deemed worthy of Draco's affections. And Pansy knew that Blaise wasn't just an ordinary girl; she was a goddess reincarnate. There wasn't a single boy in Slytherin that didn't dither at her approach or blush furiously when basked in the warmth of her smile. All wished vainly that she would look in their direction but once. Every boy, that is, save Draco. The thought of Draco's oblivion to Blaise's many virtues gave Pansy a small sense of triumph. That could only mean she still had a chance with Draco, and she was certain that one day he would be within her grasp. Patience bid her to wait till fortune favoured her, and so in the mean time, she ignored the hot pangs of jealousy that assaulted her senses. Pansy flashed her friends a sweet smile, perfectly masquerading her frustration. She then returned to stroking Goyle's beefy forearm shamelessly in the hopes of arousing the thick skulled lumber to do her bidding that night. After all, she needed something to occupy her body and mind.

The merriment at the other end of the table died down when Draco called a truce. He insisted that they conduct a respectful burial for the sadly departed vegetables and other scrumptiously innocent food that had perished in the heated crossfire. Blaise giggled girlishly at Draco's feigned solemness during the short ceremony. She gazed fondly at the laugh lines crinkling at the corner of his eyes. They're new, she thought, for Draco never smiles with his eyes. The large grey orbs were reserved for malicious glares or derisively reprimanding looks, seldom were they used to betray humanly emotions like joy or sympathy or sadness.

Draco turned to her once he completed the ritual. He met her soft brown eyes and attempted to grin, but the look fell short of sincerity. The happy moment was gone. Blaise searched Draco's face imploringly, her eyes filled with sorrow and worry. Now that the façade was gone, the mask of happiness fallen from his face, Blaise could see the effects of the Dark Mark taking hold. The poison of the Dark Lord's powers was slowly dissolving his will, his resolve to fight the evil that controlled him. Her dearly beloved Draco was fading before her eyes.

"How are you really?" she asked, barely audible above the excitable chatter of the students.

"Just fine," Draco said, trying desperately to sound believable.

"Liar," Blaise whispered. A lump rose in her throat making her neck ache from the strain. "You've been drinking far too much and pacing a great deal too. You've been neglecting sleep to do his bidding. There are circles under your eyes and you're terribly thin. I'm worried Draco," she whispered urgently. "I sincerely pity your mother and grieve for her fate, but Draco, should anything happen to you as well--I--I just can't bare to think of it!"

Draco watched the ordinarily composed girl break a part before him, her manner falling into discomposure. He didn't know what to do. The only other time that Blaise had to battle her emotion was in his bedroom before his initiation as a Death Eater, but even then she had held onto the last remnants of calmness. I cause her such pain, he thought sadly. Must I destroy all that I touch?

He glanced around anxiously, hoping that nobody chose to tune in on their conversation at that particular moment. "Come on Blaise, pull yourself together love, please," he pleaded quietly. "Let us be happy one last time."

Blaise took in a deep shuddering breath and dried her tears. She smiled up at him bravely, wrapping his icy hands in her warm fingers. "Last time?" she asked sadly. "No, there must be no last time. We'll grow old together and be happy til death takes us. You must come back to me. Do you understand Draco Malfoy? Promise me now."

"I will come back," he said firmly, with conviction. But his heart recognised the lie and wept. Dear Blaise, he thought earnestly. How can I return to you when I have lost myself? When after tonight I will only be a lost shadow, trapped in a world that hates me? How do I get out of this? Dear Merlin please help me! I don't want to be a slave of the Dark Lord anymore. I no longer want to live in despair. How do I emancipate myself? Who will help me? Who will care?

Blaise looked up at the impassive boy beside her who was rapidly turning into a man. She couldn't read him anymore; he had closed his heart to her, to the world. She sighed and lowered her gaze. "Liar," she whispered in a wavering voice, not daring to say more.

Before Draco could reply, Dumbledore had rose from the head table, evidently ready to make a speech. The Hall quieted curiously and awaited the announcement.

"Students of Hogwarts!" he began. "May I be so bold as to interrupt your dining and friendly chatter for just a moment. I have a proposition that might interest a great number of you." An excitable twinkle shone in his eyes. "For the first time since the founding of this prestigious school, Hogwarts will host an Inter-House Christmas Ball to which all years are welcome to attend."

A soft murmur ran through the Hall. Draco raised a faint eyebrow. The prefects were not informed of the event; many teachers seemed similarly surprised. All years are invited, Draco mused, surely this is a ploy to keep students in school during the Christmas period. Dumbledore raised a hand to silence the noise.

"Those attending the ball must bring a partner from a different house so that the fraternal bond between the four houses will grow stronger." Another round of murmuring circled the tables like a serpent, this time much louder.

"Inter-House?" Crabbe grimaced, making the fat in his chubby face fold like great mountain chains. "I don't know any girls outside of Slytherin."

"Make one out of cardboard," Draco drawled. "She'll be perfectly intelligent and compatible for the likes of you."

The great hulk looked at Draco stupidly while Blaise concealed her giggles in the fold of her napkin. Draco grinned in relief, for the moment the agonising tension between them evaporated.

Dumbledore then raised his hand and spoke up a final time. "It is my sincere wish that most of you will attend this unprecedented and spectacular ball. Professor Flitwick has graciously offered to organise the entire event. I'm sure you will find it a most delightful night. That's all for now, so please return to your meals!" he said with a clap of his hands and sat down.

"So who are you going with?" Blaise asked Draco after the Hall settled into an excitable buzz.

"I don't know," he said, stealing a look at the brown haired Gryffindor girl who was conversing with a boy he assumed was Euan Abercrombie. He could always take Hermione, considering she was the only girl from another house he could tolerate for an entire night. No you fool! His mind interjected quickly. People will get suspicious and talk, then world will get back to Lucius. He shook his head fiercely. He could not risk exposure.

"Want to go with me?" he asked Blaise casually.

She frowned as she ran her fingers through her long silky red curls. "It's Inter-House, we can't go together."

"Of course we can!" Draco insisted. "Slytherins aren't the fraternising sort and a Malfoy always does what he pleases." He grinned devilishly at the graceful beauty before him and held out his hand with an elaborate flourish. "So my dear lady, is it to be yay or nay?"

Blaise considered the proposal for a while then placed her small dainty hand in Draco's open palm with a smile. "I shall be delighted," she answered.

"Good, good!" Draco said, glancing down at his emerald encrusted pocket watch. It's nearly time, he thought. The floo grate opens in a few hours. I must be going. He stood up suddenly making several eyes turn to him in question. "If you'll excuse me, there's something I must attend to immediately," he said to Blaise. "Until later then dear Blaise, take care of yourself."

As Draco disappeared hurriedly out the door, Blaise realised that he hadn't eaten a thing during dinner. She sighed despairingly before turned to join the nearest conversation at her table. She laughed and gasped according to the theme of the gossip, but never once did she voice the subject that occupied her heart-- the infamous Draco Malfoy. He was not just one of her many friends, but her only love; he was the only boy that would never consider her anything more than a dear sister yet he was the only boy she wanted more desperately than any mother. It was evident that someone else has his heart, his soul, his love, and Blaise was only too aware of it. But a part of her still bore the seed of an illogical hope; perhaps one day would embrace the Draco she loved not as a friend, but as a lover.

~*~

Draco walked briskly down to the dungeons and hovered around the staircase directly adjacent to his bedroom. Far away above the cold dank dungeons were the cheerful voices of deliriously happy students, still gathered in the Great Hall discussing the upcoming ball. But he was never a part of the festivities for preciously little cheered him these days. Draco frowned and consulted his pocket watch again. They would not appear for another quarter of an hour. Sighing impatiently, Draco replaced the watch to its' manticore skin pouch and waited for the arrival of Neville Longbottom and Susan Bones, his two innocent and oblivious victims.

The floo network was scheduled to open at ten o'clock that night. He had received a letter from Lucius earlier in the evening which informed him that all was in order. His mother was to remain in the custody of the Dark Lord so that his loyalty could be assured through blackmail and fear. But unbeknownst to Lucius and the Death Eaters, Draco was already aware of the Dark Lord's scheme and knew of his mother's condition. And so he only complied with their orders until time allowed him to act. Draco sighed and wished that it would all be over soon. His conscience would never recover from the knowledge of his evil deed.

The dim torchlight flickered eerily in the sombre corridor, as if mournfully anticipating the hideous crime that would take place in its' halls. Draco shivered and pulled his long robe sleeves over his numbing fingers. There was no guarantee that the pair would appear, and yet Draco was so certain of his trap that he didn't doubt what was fated to be his success. They must come, he thought starkly. They must for my mother's sake.

And so he waited, concealed in the shadows, gazing expectantly out at the silent, empty corridor. For days he had paced the floor of his bedroom, wearing the carpet thin, hoping that a successful plan would enlighten his troubled mind. Then fortune graced her gift upon him and at once he formulated an audacious plan that satisfied his purpose flawlessly. It was simple enough a plan: to make the two appear at a convenient location so that he could hex them then transport them effortlessly to the floo grate. Draco elected the dungeon corridor just outside his bedroom as the most promising location where he could stun the unsuspecting prey without fear of detection.

The skeleton of the plan came together easily, but the method in attracting the pair to the dungeons soon became a difficult conundrum. Then one day, as if a veil had suddenly been lifted from his eyes, Draco began to notice the intricate relationships between the parties concerned. Unrequited love had blossomed in quite a few aching hearts. In the Great Hall, his sharp grey eyes followed Neville's chubby face as it strained in the direction of Susan Bones. But she, Draco noticed, was always stealing secret glances at that abysmally ugly and culturally uncouth Ronald Weasley. At Hogsmeade, Draco spotted Neville in Scrivenschafts, fretting over Susan's Christmas present. Then later that day, he chanced upon Susan conversing with Ron and Harry outside the Three Broomsticks with that sickly adoring look in her eyes, reserved for none other than that oblivious Weasel.

Having discovered their most intimate desires Draco set to work, wielding the newfound knowledge to his advantage. He stole parchments from Susan and Ron that bore their handwriting and mirrored the strokes until he could masterfully recreated them effortlessly. Soon he produced scores of fraudulent letters, all beautifully crafted, elegant in verse and poetic in its' declaration of love. He knew exactly what each victim wanted to hear, and so he found it easy to weaken their malleable senses with his cunning devices. But as the plan progressed, he found an irritating voice floating about him, constantly questioning his action--his conscience was speaking to him at last. However, luck for Draco, he had been trained at a young age to suppress all emotions that rendered men weak and hindered expedience. Love, fear, joy, anguish, Draco had learned to bury them all. Guilt was easily to handle. Without a further thought for the sad fate of snivelling Longbottom and freckled Bones, Draco went to work. He never imagined that one day he would feel the bitter regret of his actions.

A few days ago Draco watched as the first letters reached his unsuspecting victims. Neville's eyes had widened like that of a startled goldfish, scarcely believing that Susan could have concealed such ardent feelings from him, especially when she ignored him most of the time and paid particular attention to a certain Ronald Weasley. And I thought Hufflepuffs were thick, Draco smirked inwardly at the memory of Neville's elated face. Trying to quell lovesick Neville's fervent wish to meet had been difficult. Draco found he needed to be sweet yet firm with the boy. The Susan in his letters argued that they needed more time to acquaint at a distance before anything physical should take pace. She claimed to be shy and voiced concerns for her honour. Being inexperienced with girls and over-anxious to please, Neville believed the lie wholeheartedly.

Draco had connived the same scheme in dealing with Susan, though she was harder to fool. He coaxed her, flattered her, seduced her to openly admit her affections for Ron. In return, he, or rather he as Ron, pretended to return her affections. At first Susan was extremely suspicious and asked shrewd questions like what had changed in his feelings for Hermione? Why did he chose this moment to come forward and admit his feelings for her? Why was he unwilling to meet and discuss things? Why did he maintain an air of indifference when around her?

Draco had pondered for sometime for a satisfactory answer to dispel Susan's misgivings. He often chewed his quill down to the nub and wracked his brain till dawn over the conundrum. Then finally he created an elaborate yet believable lie: that he, Ronald Weasley, was incapable of choosing between the two girls that have so enraptured his heart. He never dreamed that she would have such an effect on him. He could not eat, think or sleep without seeing her at least once in a day. Her sweet words played like sensual ballads in his insatiable mind day and night without beginning or end. When he chanced to steal a glance at her smile, the most intense sorrow filled his heart, for her beauty always reminded him of her absence, making him crave her company all the more desperately. Oh how he desired to profess his love to the world! But alas he could not, not until he was sure of his feelings. And for his senses to mature, he needed time. He pleaded with Susan to be patient until he was certain that he no longer felt anything for Hermione.

Slowly, the cautious girl began to trust the impostor. She sent owls to him almost daily, gently coaxing him to make up his mind quickly. Letters poured in by the dozens from both Susan and Neville, often bearing nauseating perfumed pages embedded in hideous pink envelopes. It was enough to drive Draco mad! Then finally, the merciful time came for him to dispose of the two foolish and gullible students. He informed both that it was time to meet and that the dungeons were the safest place after hours. There they would be undisturbed, secluded and free to spend the night in perfect companionship. Naturally the two acceded without question. They were too delighted at being able to meet at last to feel suspicious.

And so on that day, Draco found himself crouching in the formidably cold corridor just outside his room impatiently awaiting the arrival of those two individuals. He hopped from foot to foot in agitation, praying to any deity that would listen for a successful catch. But then, on second thought, he doubted that any deity with an ounce of integrity would listen to his unscrupulous prayer. Draco pulled a face. There's no time for regret now, he reprimanded. Morals must be pushed aside for the sake of his mother. And so Draco steeled his heart and waited.

At precisely ten o'clock, a small light appeared at the end of the corridor accompanied by the soft pattering of uncertain footsteps. Draco peered out from behind a column and spotted Susan Bones inspecting the darkness expectantly, obviously hoping to see Ron. She soon realised that the boy had not yet arrived and so set to work fixing her hair, checking her reflection in a hand held mirror and arranging her robes into neat folds. Draco rolled his eyes. Girls are always so fastidious about their appearance, especially the ugly ones. It's unbearable, he thought maliciously.

Suddenly, a loud wheezing sound from the opposite end of the long corridor heralded the arrival of Neville Longbottom. He hurtled into the darkness red faced and clutching a bunch of freshly picked daisies. Susan's eyes widened at the sight of Neville, her mouth dropped in utter disbelief.

"Neville?" she gasped incredulously. "What are you doing here?"

But before the boy could answer, Draco stepped out of the shadow with his wand drawn.

"Glad you could make it," he drawled softly, coldly, sinisterly--what he did best. "Unfortunately I don't have the time to explain what is going on, but I'm sure you both realise by now that you've fallen for a rather nasty trap. There's nothing more to say except bon voyage and stupefy!"

A jet of fiery red light shot out of Draco's wand rendering the bewildered Susan unconscious. Then immediately, Draco turned on Neville and performed the same curse before his opponent had the chance to draw his wand. The two unconscious students fell unceremoniously onto the cold slate floor, limbs sprawling in all directions, faces devoid of life. Draco took a shuddering breath to recollect his nerves. Be strong now, he commanded. You didn't come this far to fall apart.

Once recovered from the initial shock of his action, Draco levitated the two lumbering bodies into his room, then into the fireplace.

"Malfoy Manor!" Draco enunciated clearly.

A moment later, the three cramped figures reappeared in Lucius' study. Draco's regal looking father was sitting in his majestic leather chair with his eyes fixed on the new arrivals. He didn't seem surprised to see Draco, nor did he seem pleased to see the lifeless figures before him.

"They're not dead I hope," he said without preamble, voice laced with venom.

"No," Draco replied coldly. "That was not part of your orders."

Lucius rose from his chair wordlessly and strode over to inspect the captives. He slapped Neville's chubby cheeks disdainfully. "Stunned," he concluded, turning away from Draco with a mere wave. "You may go now."

But much to Lucius' annoyance, Draco would not budge. He turned to glare at his disobedient son, pulling back his thin lips into a sinister snarl. "I told you to get out," he hissed.

"Not until you tell me what you plan to do with them," Draco replied stubbornly, pointing to the unconscious pair.

"That is none of your business," Lucius barked, hands gripping his wand, preparing to expel Draco from the vicinity with force.

"Yes it is," Draco stated squarely, "for I am a Death Eater like you, and I have the right to learn the objective of my delegated duty. If you won't tell me then I'll go straight to our Dark Lord, for whom I have made a most prized catch."

Lucius paused to consider his son's reasoning. At last Draco was thinking like a Death Eater, and one that's shrewdly aware of his worth as well. Lucius grinned wolfishly at the younger Malfoy. "Very well," he replied. "It is time that you understand the infinite greatness of the Dark Arts."

Lucius extracted a musty volume from his impeccably kept library and offered it to Draco. "Eons ago, Salazar Slytherin left behind a legacy of unimaginable power, one that remains unsurpassed in darkness and treachery to this day. It is known as the Scroll of Slytherin. The Scroll was created to bind the world of the dead to a living master who, with the aide of this scroll, would have the power to rule the infinite armies of the Underworld. Nothing could possibly stand in his way. Nothing! Our Dark Lord will become invincible for he shall be master of two worlds, that of the living and that of the dead. The Scroll fell into obscurity through the Dark Ages and there it remained until Grindelwald's time. It was a pure stroke of luck that the Scroll passed into the noble and most ancient house of Black." Lucius paused to show Draco a portrait of a severe looking Count clutching a tight bundle of scrolls in his left hand. "The great uncle of Phineas Nigellus, Count Vladmir de Morte, allotted the old Headmaster his most prized scrolls in his will. But because the Scroll was disguised and bore no markings, Phineas ignored it and passed it on unceremoniously to his descendants. What became of it no one knew, that is, until now." Lucius paused to raise his head proudly. "I have been enlightened since those days. Through carefully deduction, my calculations tell me that the Scroll ultimately passed into the hands of those detestable Potters, presumably through the treachery of Sirius Black. We salvaged an unsigned letter from the ruins of their house in Godric's Hollow that bears mention to the Scroll. Unfortunately, the Scroll itself no longer resides within the dilapidated ruins. Two Aurors were assigned the duty to investigate the vicinity shortly after the murders; one was Frank Longbottom, the other was Amelia Bones. Both were involved in clearing up the wreckage and boarding up the place upon the conclusion of the investigation. It is more than likely that they are aware of the Scroll's whereabouts. It is most unfortunate that they have tampered with the Dark Lord's plans." Lucius chuckled maliciously. "These children here will help me extract information from their unwilling minds."

Neville groaned softly from the floor but remained unconscious. The sound stirred Draco out of his thoughts with a start. Necromancy! His mind cried out nervously, his heart palpitating to an unusual rhythm. So that is the Dark Lord's plan, necromancy in its vilest form! Indeed, it's worse than necromancy. He's trying to assert control over the Realm of the Dead. Draco began to shudder uncontrollably at the thought. Resistance shall be in vain should he come to possess the Scroll of Slytherin. It mustn't happen!

"Now you know our most intimate plans," Lucius drawled softly. "It would be most imprudent to divulge it to anyone else. The Dark Lord does not look kindly upon traitors. Do not incite his wrath, for he knows how to make men crave death as if it were the sweetest release."

Draco nodded faintly, not really registering all that Lucius had said. A painful sensation was writhing in the pit of his stomach asserting control over his body. It was a familiar feeling, and one that he loathed. Not again! His enfeebled mind shrieked. I will not give into you! I will not let you divulge secrets to that wretched creature! I will fight you Salazar Slytherin! I will not let you speak! But it was too late. The stranger from an ancient past seized his body and rendered his will helpless. The nauseating taste of death clung to his dry mouth.

"Foolish Lucius," he hissed. "Always so cocksure, yet always so wrong."

Lucius froze, his icy glare turned into an expression of surprise. Before he could speak, Draco reared up his head and resumed his taunt. "You are not worthy to set eyes upon my greatest creation! After so long, it still remains in the hands of my enemy. Imbeciles, the lot of you! To be so outwitted by a mere child!"

"Where is it?" Lucius demanded, stumbling towards Draco with hands outstretched. "Give it to me!"

Draco laughed coldly. Lucius shivered in fear, he had never heard his son emit such a horrendous sound. "It is no longer mine to give. Perhaps it is fitting that he should have it, he who vanquished me," the voice said, somewhat sadly.

"Who?" Lucius gasped in great earnest.

Draco tensed; his grey eyes gazed out unblinkingly at his father. "The one who will defeat you and command the future. The reigning darkness will soon give way to light, and then, then you will know the true meaning of pain."

Before Lucius could utter another question, the veil lifted from Draco's eyes. He slumped forward and collapsed upon the cold floor. Every nerve in his body screamed for relief. But you must go! His mind urged. You are no longer safe here. Not when he know what you have been hiding from the world! He crawled up onto his knees, then shakily onto his feet.

"You--But it's impossible, how--" Lucius began, but seemed incapable of finishing the sentence.

Draco looked up at his father and blanched. A calculating look had settled upon Lucius' face, he was beginning to understand the implications of Draco's words. Without hesitation, Draco bolted for the fireplace.

"Hogwarts!" he bellowed. A dizzying moment later, he was free of the hellish prison, leaving behind the maniacal screams of his father and the lifeless bodies of his schoolmates. Draco crawled out of the fireplace and stumbled into bed, his stomach still churning uncontrollably, his heart still racing frighteningly fast.

There, in the tranquil quietness, the unrelenting wave of remorse suddenly descended upon him and submerged him in a sea of grief. How will I ever repay what I owe the world? He thought mournfully. And Longbottom and Bones, what is to become of them? Their blood has stained my hands, and I shall never be clean again. They are but innocent victims, like my mother, helpless prisoners, damned souls that must endure endless torture. Their families must also suffer the anguish of knowing that their loved ones are in peril, but are helpless to alleviate their pain.

Draco sighed and placed an arm across his closed eyes. He hated himself. He hated what others must think of him. He was no longer young and mischievous, he was now mature, and in that maturity he had become despicable, evil, barbaric. What would Hermione think? More importantly, what would Harry think? Harry with those wounded green liquid orbs, always studying him, always searching him, those eyes he could never look into without losing himself. Draco stood up shakily and headed for the door. He didn't want to think about Harry, why was he thinking about Potter of all people? But at the same time he could not fight his thoughts; his soul cried out for him, Harry, his despairing saint. Slowly, he staggered out of the portrait hole and proceeded unsteadily towards the Forbidden Forest. There he could escape reality for a precious few hours and repent in secrecy before first light.

He shuddered as the cold air of the Forest seized upon his vein. It was to be a dangerously chilly night, and yet he did not wish to be in the comfortable warmth of his room. He needed to get out, to purify himself. He felt so unclean, so worthless, so degraded, as if the very blood in his body was tainted. He smiled wistfully at the irony of his thoughts; a Malfoy with tainted blood, unheard of! Draco sighed as he came to stop before the sacred brook deep in the heart of the Forbidden Forest. He crouched down beside the trickling water and gazed up at the infinite stars beyond. Is there a saving light up there for me? He wondered. But only the silence greeted him. He nodded despairingly. I thought as much, all that is good and all that is pure has spurned me. The universe cares nothing for my plight.

A soft wind brushed past his ear and rustled the tranquil night beyond. It bore mystical secrets imperceptible to mortal ears. Somewhere in the distance a twig snapped. Draco raised his head to the sound like a fox sprung in a trap. Although he was startled, he was unafraid of the stranger. He found that he did not need to see the person hiding behind the dense branches to recognise his identity. Those reflective round glasses, that slow steady breathing, that mop of dishevelled raven hair, it was all too familiar to him. Draco released a tight smile that slowly made its way to his eyes.

O how you mock me great heavens above. I ask for a saviour and you bring me my arch-nemesis. Is there no end to your cruel and selfish taunts? He thought bitterly, but not without a hint of amusement.

The hesitant boy stepped out of the shadows looking confused and abashed. He did not know what force had called him into the foreboding Forest. He was even more surprised when his eyes settled on a penitent Malfoy prostrating before the stream. But before Harry could retreat back into the darkness, Draco had risen to his feet. Their eyes met, and for a long time, neither could pull away.

*

Harry hurtled out of the dungeon gasping for air. His back was soaking in sweat, his whole body aching under the pressure of Snape's mind. He winced at the harsh words of the Potions master, still lingering in the air around him. "Concentrate Potter! The Dark Lord can read and control every thought in your mediocre mind. Your weaknesses are a danger to us as all. You're nothing but a liability, a puppet. To him you are a slave, ready for the taking. He will use you, bleed you, torture you until he no longer needs you. He will kill you, like the way he killed your parents. There is unimaginable suffering Potter, you can't even begin to understand."

"No!" Harry had gasped from the floor, his face slammed against the cold slate. "I'm stronger than him. Voldemort will not triumph over me!"

Snape grinned coldly, yet a look of admiration touched his eyes. "Really Potter? Then show me..."

So Harry tired to block Snape's barrage of thoughts that prodded, taunted and provoked his most intimate secrets and fears. At times it was almost too much to bear. More often than not, Harry surrendered to Snape's assault. But there was one thing that his fragile mind clung to and protected from exposure: Draco's secret. It was a mystery to Harry how he had sustained that fortress of secrecy from Snape's mind. Part of his strength could be attributed towards his slowly progressing Occlumency skills. But that wasn't all, and Harry was secretly aware of it. Since the day Hermione revealed Draco's fate, he had felt an odd sense of closeness towards the Slytherin. It's as if I'm bound to him. His secrets have become my secrets, his pain, my pain, he mused. The feeling seemed absurd, yet he could not dispel its hold over him. Harry chuckled to himself quietly, the sound reverberating off the empty halls. Be careful their, he chided inwardly. It sounds as if you're starting to like Malfoy.

Harry felt exhausted, and so banished all thoughts of Draco. He ran up the Gryffindor Tower two steps at a time and came before the Fat Lady. He quickly and announced the new password, "Elvish Equality." The portrait swung open to reveal the spacious common room within. Harry hid a smile when he saw Hermione busily knitting a miniature red scarf by the fire. Ron, who was sitting opposite the brown haired prefect, scowled irritably.

"That's a really stupid password," he muttered darkly, ignoring Harry's presence.

Hermione looked up from her knitting to glare at Ron. "No it's not. I believe it's important to bring awareness to the plight of house elves. Did you know that every year, one in three--,"

"I don't care!" Ron shouted rudely. "Why can't we have something normal for a password?"

"Like what?" Hermione snapped back sharply. "Chudley Canons Glomps? Quidditch! Quidditch Quidditch! Weasley is our King?"

"I didn't choose the last one!" Ron insisted, turning red.

"It doesn't matter," Hermione said reasonably. "If you get to choose any password you like then so am I. I thought we agreed to take turns in making up the password independently, that means, without any interference from the other party."

Ron pouted and slumped back into his armchair. He stubbornly ignored Hermione and looked up at Harry with a pained expression. Harry blushed with embarrassment; he hated being caught between he two best friends. Things were extremely volatile between Ron and Hermione these days. Less than two days ago Ron had stormed out of the Great Hall during breakfast with such an intense rage that no one dared approach him. He then flatly refused to speak to either Harry or Hermione for the entire weekend. Harry had pondered the cause of such reaction but could not fathom a plausible explanation; surely it was not over the secret he shared with Hermione? But then again, Ron was more than over-protective when it came to Hermione, and he often became incredibly suspicious when she didn't tell him things. It had been an awful couple of days before Ron saw fit to apologise for his childish actions. Hermione, who had lost much sleep since Ron's unexpected explosion, quickly forgave him and was grateful that all could return to normal.

Seeing as all had finally settled down, Harry was more than anxious to maintain the peace. "So have you found your dress robe?" Harry asked Ron conversationally, trying to dispel the tension.

"Wha--?" Ron asked while munching on a chocolate frog. He had only just noticed Harry hovering behind Hermione's chair.

"You know, dress robe for the Christmas Ball?" Harry reminded him.

"What Ball?" Ron asked in surprise.

"Of course you don't know!" Hermione exclaimed, suddenly realising that Ron hadn't been at dinner. Harry nodded for it just occurred to him that Ron, along with Dean and Seamus, had disappeared that evening for extra quidditch practice.

Hermione set down her knitting needles and prepared to explain. "Dumbledore announced that a Christmas Ball would be held this year to encourage inter-house fraternity. Personally, I think it's a strategy to keep students in school. There has been a flurry of Death Eater activities in Wizarding communities and Dumbledore must be concerned."

"Inter-House?" Ron asked, his enthusiasm for the Ball quickly fading. "But what if you don't want to go with someone from another house? What if you want to bring someone from your own house? Not that I have anyone in mind or anything," Ron said hurriedly.

"It would be highly disrespectful, not only to Dumbledore but to the other houses. It'll only be one night and besides, it's time we got to know people from outside our house a little better," Hermione said reasonably.

"Sounds like you've made up your mind about this," Ron said suspiciously. "Who are you planning to go with?"

Hermione pushed aside her knitting needles and fished out her Arithmancy homework from her satchel. "Justin Finch-Fletchley," she mumbled quietly as she buried her head in the calculations before her.

Harry hazarded a look at Ron and noticed his friend growing redder by the second.

"I KNEW IT!" he exploded suddenly, making Harry and Hermione jump up in shock. "I knew he would be a Hufflepuff! That's why you've been hiding the truth from us all this time. I told you Harry, didn't I tell you? All that dashing to the library at night, I knew you were up to something scandalous! And with a Hufflepuff no less, really Hermione, I thought you had better sense!"

"Ronald Weasley, do shut up!" Hermione barked with a ferocity that frightened Harry. "Firstly, there is nothing wrong with Hufflepuffs, secondly Justin and I have not been seeing each other, he and I are only friends and thirdly, my love for the library and books should no longer come as a surprise to you! I have not been up to anything scandalous!"

Ron looked sourly at Hermione and slumped back into his armchair with a loud huff. Harry looked at the two helplessly.

"So," Harry mumbled softly, trying to divert Ron's attention. "Who are you taking to the ball Ron?"

"I dunno," the flame-haired, irate Weasley mumbled. "What about you?"

Harry shrugged. He hadn't given it much thought. There weren't any girls he liked in particular now that he had gotten over his silly crush on Cho. Perhaps it would be gentlemanly of him to reconcile with her but his heart was not in it. After all, she had lost faith in him first and found comfort in someone else almost immediately. Harry grimaced. It would be much better to forget the whole incident and avoid each other.

"I don't know either," Harry replied.

Ron rose with a sulking expression. "I'm going to bed then, wouldn't want to be tired for the game tomorrow," Ron said.

"Have you had any dinner?" Hermione asked with a concerned voice. Harry realised that she was attempting to make peace with Ron, but his best friend was in such a foul mood that he ignored the conciliatory gesture.

"What do you care?" he snarled.

Before Hermione could bite back with a reply, Harry interjected.

"You'd best have a look in your prefect bedroom for that dress robe. I don't think it's in our room," Harry reminded gently.

Since Ron had been allocated his own bedroom like the other prefects, he had transformed the living space into a storeroom for his assorted paraphernalia. Ron had a soft spot when it came to collecting junk which made him incapable of throwing anything out. The spacious room had become so cluttered that Harry could barely squeeze a foot between the gaps on the floor. Many things disappeared under the growing collection of debris and were never seen again. Since as he couldn't fit a bed into the room, Ron opted to sleep in his old room instead. There the boys exercised some control over his messy habit and ordered him to clean his side of the room at least once a week.

At the thought of sorting through his junk, Ron frowned at Harry pitifully. "Maybe I won't go to the ball," he muttered darkly before turning to glower at Hermione. "There's no point now!" Without another word, Ron marched out of the common room.

Hermione shook her brown curls in despairing anger. "Honestly! What is wrong with him?" she cried.

Harry coughed to hide the sudden urge to laugh out loud. It's a wonder that she, the brightest girl in all of Hogwarts, could be so oblivious to Ron's feelings. It's a wonder that I can see things so clearly while they are so short sighted, he thought humorously.

"Won't you sit with me?" Hermione asked, looking up at Harry who was still hovering behind her chair.

"No, I think I might go for a stroll," he said vaguely, a sudden urge to be outside had seized him like a desert storm.

Hermione threw him an odd look and consulted her pocket watch. "It's past ten. Shouldn't you get some rest? There's that game against Ravenclaw tomorrow."

Harry considered her words without being swayed in the least. The desire to wander the deserted corridors of Hogwarts grew stronger within him. It was as if an invisible hand was pulling him towards an indescribable wonder. He was completely ensnared in the mysterious force that coaxed him towards it.

"I'll be alright," he said absently as he headed for his room, bounding up the stairs with Hermione's voice echoing behind him, saying something that didn't really interest him. Harry pushed open the door quietly and slid into the room. He quickly crossed the floor and knelt down beside his bed to extract his Firebolt from beneath it. Then stealthily, he retreated out of the room and walked back down the stairs.

Back in the common room, Hermione greeted him with concerned eyes. Though she looked worried, she knew better than to dissuade him any further. She was well aware that her words would be wasted upon deaf ears. So Harry crept out of the common room and entered the cold, still corridor with Hermione's disapproving eyes hovering behind him.

At first he was didn't know where to go, but then suddenly, an idea occurred to him. The Forbidden Forest, he thought longingly, how I yearn to weave between the dense, dark trees, skim along the trickling brooks, glide across the ancient cypress canopy while gazing up at the shooting stars. Yes that's where I'll go, the Forbidden Forest. With vigorous strides, Harry headed for the cold forest.

His boots trampled the dead leaves underfoot noisily as he entered the darkness. Everything appeared in ghostly silhouettes. Small shafts of silvery moonlight illuminated the swaying branches in the cool autumn breeze. Small tendril of his raven black hair floated towards the sky, moving hypnotically in the whispering wind. Harry walked along the Forest ground cautiously, relying completely on an indescribable feeling to guide him to that unknown destination. Yet he trusted the feeling explicated. Someone at the end of the journey was waiting for him, Harry knew it; there was no shaking intuition when it came to him.

The soft pearly clouds parted to reveal a waning moon. The silver shafts of light reflected upon the pristine stream that ran through the heart of the Forbidden Forest. Before the rocky shore of the sacred brook sat a troubled blonde boy whose features remained in shadow. Harry parted the thick branches hastily and crept closer towards his summoner. The moonlight illuminated his golden tress, a haunting look captured his unreadable eyes, his figure was hunched over the gently flowing water as if he were prostrating before the Lady of the Lake. He looks like a despairing sinner, Harry thought, so beautiful. Before Harry could shake the thought, Draco looked up at the sound of rustling branches, his gaze penetrating Harry's disguise. The look of penitence threaded with guilt vanished from Draco's eyes.

"Come out," he beckoned quietly. "I've been expecting you."

Harry blinked in shock. Now that he came face to face with Draco, he suddenly felt uncomfortable being there. He questioned his motives from coming and wondered what powers had possessed him to wonder into the Forbidden Forest at night. It makes no sense, he thought dismally, fiddling with his robe in agitation. I shouldn't be here, not here with Malfoy. How in the name of Merlin do I get out of here?

The wispy clouds curtained the enchanting moon. Draco stood up with a sigh, grabbing his broom with his left hand. "Go back to bed Potter," he said in a tired voice. "You shouldn't be here."

Harry looked at the pale Draco in silent surprise. It was as if Draco could read his mind, as if they were somehow bound to one another in thought. Stop it already! He chided irritably. This binding thing, it almost sounds perverted.

"You brought your broom," Harry commented slowly, the words falling clumsy against his tongue.

"Good to know you still have enough brain capacity to state the obvious," Draco drawled. He mounted his Nimbus 2001 and kicked off from the ground. Harry watched as Draco hovered a few feet above the ground, stopping to put on his black dragon scale gloves.

"I'm patrolling the castle tonight. I guess I'll see you next week for that meeting with Granger," Draco said preparing to leave.

"Wait!" Harry called out suddenly, uncertain of what he was about to say. "Can I come along?" he managed weakly.

Draco shot him a derisive smirk and watched his green orbs lower to the ground with embarrassment, his cheeks red from the silent scrutiny.

"If you want to," Draco decided finally. "But don't get in my way and don't slow me down."

Harry grinned and mounted his own broom, kicking off swiftly from the ground. He shot up into the scented night air that left him breathless and elated.

"I'm a far better flier than you Malfoy, and you know it!" Harry exclaimed once he had surpassed Draco.

The blonde boy growled before speeding up his broom exponentially. A moment later the two boys drew level above the canopy of the Forbidden Forest. "We'll see Potter," Draco drawled with a wicked grin.

Wordlessly, Draco pushed his broom forward and ascended towards the clouds. Harry watched as he disappeared into the engulfing night. He shook his head with a chuckle and followed, guided by the vague sensation that he and Draco were somehow interconnected, two parts of a whole that yearned to be complete. Yet their brief parting was not a breach but an expansion, like the unravelling of a single thread over a great distance. Harry flew gracefully towards the sky in pursuit of Draco.

A moment later, Draco's broom loomed into view. Gradually, Harry crept up until he and Draco were flying parallel to one another. Together, they weaved between the feather-like clouds, ducked below hanging branches, spiralled dizzyingly along arches and corridors of dense forest before dancing elegantly upon the lake, sending small ripples through the moonlit water. Harry didn't want the night to end; such was the intense pleasure that had captured him.

Draco came to a stop on the empty quidditch pitch and dismounted. Harry obediently followed, his feet sinking into the marsh like field below. Silently, his heart cried out for the freedom he had felt just a moment ago with Draco. But all good moments pass and Harry knew it. Sighing dejectedly, he turned his attention to his disobedient hair. He wrestled with it doggedly, trying as hard as he could to flatten the windswept locks.

"Don't bother," Draco said arrogantly. "Your ugliness has nothing to do with your hair.

Harry glowered. Naturally Draco looked immaculate. His rich, velvet robes folded neatly around his lean yet muscularly frame, his hair remained obediently in place and his expression was that permanent fixture between an arrogant smirk and a cold scowl.

"Arrogant git," Harry muttered as he trudged back towards the castle.

"Have I hurt precious Potter's feelings?" Draco taunted.

"No Malfoy, that would imply I actually listen to you," Harry growled.

"If you're not interest in what I have to say then why did you come out here tonight?" Draco persisted, clearly enjoying the situation.

"I don't know," Harry grumbled. "Why were you expecting me?"

Draco shifted as if suddenly uncomfortable with Harry's presence. But the change in his cool demeanour was barely perceptible. Harry missed it entirely.

"I wasn't," Draco replied coolly, regaining his composure. "You really must stop stalking me. First in Hogsmeade and now here, you know, I'd say you fancy me."

Harry coughed loudly, choking on the very air that filled his lungs. He looked up to see Draco smiling at him smugly. "What did you say?" he asked in abject horror.

"You heard me. I think you fancy me. Not that I blame in the least, I am quite irresistible--"

"Shut up Malfoy!" Harry shouted furiously and prepared to pummel the arrogant boy senseless.

"Now, now don't get upset just because it's true. I see the way you look at me Potter, stealing a glance in my direction over the water goblet in Transfiguration, before a spell or two in DADA, through the reflection of a bubbling potion and even behind the tail of a Hungarian Horntail in Care of Magic Creatures. You scarcely pay attention to the classes because you're too busy looking at me; too busy studying me. Tell me Potter, do you fantasise about me at night? Is that why you came out at this heathen hour, hoping for a snog or two under the cover of darkness? Come on, you can tell me, I won't tell a soul, I promise," Draco jested with a wiggle of his fair eyebrow.

Harry moved back in fear. He felt like a trapped animal, too frightened and angry to break free. How his words stung! How his words burned in his chest! Don't fall for his taunts! It's just Malfoy with his words of poison; they are nothing but wasted breath to a well-ordered mind. Don't give into him! His thought screamed desperately. But to no avail, his heart would not listen to reason. Something within him had snapped, and he relinquished all control.

"I SAID SHUT UP YOU DESPICABLE, PERVERTED GIT!" Harry howled, his voice echoing around the barren pitch. "I don't fancy you. I don't even like you. In fact I hate you. Let us be clear on that point. Do you honestly think I could forgive you for all the misery you've caused me over the years? You are nothing but vermin, your mere existence makes my skin crawl. If it weren't for the sad fate of your mother, I wouldn't even spit in your direction. You are so far beneath me, so detestable to me that I would gladly die than be your friend! You should know your place Malfoy, light and darkness can never be one. There can only be one victor, and for as long as I am alive, it won't be you. I will vanquish you, it is what the Fates have dictated, and when the time comes for me to act, I won't hesitate. You and your Death Eater father will rot in the depth of Azkaban until life leaves you. Outside, there will be rejoicing. The world free of your terror will celebrate peace. And with the passing of time we will forget you. You who have known no love and shown no love will depart this world, alone."

Harry heaved a rasping breath once he had finished his angry barrage; his heart was beating thunderously in his ears. He looked up at Draco, who had listened to him rant wordlessly, not once raising his voice to defend himself. When Harry had calmed down sufficiently, Draco nodded in defeat and turned away from him. Harry watched as he walked into the silent darkness with an evident sag in his shoulders. At that moment, Harry almost felt sorry for Draco and regretted what he had said. Idiot! He scolded himself. You've gone too far.

Harry sighed and ran after Draco, his boots sinking deep into the mud with every step. "Look I'm sorry--," he began once he had caught up to Draco.

"Don't," Draco replied, all trace of emotion gone from his cold voice. "You're right, we've always hated each other, let's leave it at that."

The growing guilt in Harry's heart dropped to his stomach. "I really do want to help you," Harry said weakly.

"Really?" Draco snarled, turning on the sorrowful looking boy standing a few inches taller than he. "Is that before or after I'm dead?"

"I didn't mean--" Harry tried desperately.

"No! Don't lie!" Draco screamed. "You meant every word of it! And you believe it all too you damned fool! You're always the majestic hero, isn't that right? And I am always, always the evil Death Eater's son who has sold his soul for a bit of power. Isn't that what you keep telling yourself Potter? Isn't that what you want to believe? You love these clear-cut roles so that you don't have to confront the convoluted world around you! Nothing is dark and light alone, nothing is black and white. Everything is grey, everything's a bloody mess in this world, but you don't want to believe that! How can you accept the truth of the world when everyone tells you that you're bloody well perfect, that you can't make mistakes, that you're their brilliant fucking saviour! You love the role and you lap it up at every given opportunity; the brave traumatised boy, they all say, so deprived yet so pious that he throws himself into the path of death to avenge his long dead parents. The shining light of the Wizarding world, the champion of the helpless against the Dark Lord, is that what you think you are, Potter? I can tell you now that it isn't, and even you know it deep down inside. I can see it in your eyes, the doubt, the fear that you won't live up to expectations, that maybe you are just an ordinary wizard with a bit of luck and a fancy prophesy. You are a self-indulgent idealist who believes that the world can be stripped of all evil with the mere wave of your wand. Well it bloody well won't happen!"

Harry backed away; his eyes round with the very fear Draco had described. He didn't want to hear anymore, and yet he could not tear himself away from the sound of his harsh voice. He shuddered and brought a trembling hand to his head.

"You mope around as if the world has deprived you of your soul when in reality it has blessed you with unimaginable freedom," Draco muttered, his voice now filled with such bitterness that made Harry want to weep in despair. "I pray to Merlin every dawn for the Furies to take Lucius to their halls of justice and punish him fittingly. How I have longed for someone to come and avenge me, to end my suffering, to bring some light into my meaningless existence. And yet my pleas go on unanswered in this world that has forsaken me. Do you not think that I wake every day with emptiness in my heart? Do you not imagine that I long for love to bring me some warmth through the crippling winter that is my life?" Draco emitted a wavering sigh, a lock of blonde hair falling into his crystal, silver eyes. "You are the greatest fool Potter. Your triumphs are worthless, they cannot bring back the dead nor can they prevent the inevitability of death. Most of your friends will perish before the war is over, then you will learn the true meaning of loneliness. But even in the depth of your despair, you will still be the master of your own fate. And that is a luxury I can only conjure in my dreams."

"No, it won't happen, I--I--won't fail them," Harry gasped.

"Oh yes," Draco insisted unfeelingly, "you will fail to save the, and one by one they shall die. It has already begun with Sirius Black and it shall continue with my mother. But don't let her death affect you, she means little to you after all."

"Please, don't say that!" Harry said sincerely, grabbing Draco's left wrist in a pleading gesture. He sensed Draco wince, but he didn't care. He needed him to stay. "Don't say that, don't give up yet. I will do all that I can to save your mother."

Draco pulled away sharply, leaving Harry to grasp at the thin that that sheathed their bodies.

"Do not enter the real world when you are not ready for it. Cling to your precious black and white cave of illusions if it gives you comfort. To you I will always be the Death Eater's son, a creature of darkness and evil that thrives on cruelty and lusts for blood. But you, Potter, are a child of the resistance, the sole survivor of the Dark Lord's curse, the light for the frightened rabble of impudent witches and wizards. I am the despair to your hope; I am fear while you are courage. I am irrepressible hatred that can never co-exist with your incandescent love. We are the two faces of the moon, one forever in darkness the other forever in light. So it what you say makes no sense Potter, why would you wish to help me when I am all that you deplore?"

Harry blinked in confusion, his mind no longer functioning to support his thin strand of reasoning. Draco had brought such confusions to his powers from which he could not escape. Draco stood serenely in the ghostly moonlight, his hair glowing a radiant silver. He was waiting patiently for Harry to reply. Such calmness had descended upon the boy that Harry was left speechless in his company. What do I say? He wondered dismally. What do I say to him when it is he who has brought me out of confusion? How do I tell him that it is too late, that I am now in the real world with him? How do I go back? I can't. I can't ever go back. What do I do? What can I do, now that I am helpless?

Harry shook his head. No, I am not helpless for those are the words of a coward. They are not my words. He looked up at Draco with determination. Real world or not, he would not give up on hope. "You are none of those things, and I am far less than perfect. You are right, I have been hiding from the real world for too long. But real world or not, there is still hope for peace, for happiness. Hope is for everyone, and it is not yet lost to you."

The words seemed to take affect. Draco shifted slowly, as if coming out of a long dream. A gust of wind danced playfully around his dark silk robes, making his form seem even more brittle than before. There was such sadness in his pale, gaunt face. Despair, Harry thought balefully, that's all I can read in his eyes. He shivered as he stared into Draco's solemn grey orbs clouded with disillusionment and self-pity.

"That's all well and good," Draco whispered. "But why do you care? What is my happiness to you? Can you explain that?"

"I--," Harry began, desperately searching for the right words. "I care be--because I am bound to you."

At the moment, once Harry had uttered those words, something changed in the infinite universe around them. The ancient spirits of the earth flocked to the two young wizards and watched with bated breaths anxious to gain a glimpse of the future. What would the future hold now that the secret has been revealed? A flurry, a whisper, a soft hum in the air heralded the awakening of an ancient magic that would change the will of the Fates.

They were so different, yet so inseparable, the spirits marvelled, like ying and yang moulded to perfection. They stood facing one another, complimenting one another, so perfect as one. The goddess of dawn came down from the mountains to see the boys, and was so pleased by what she saw that she blanketed the world with the rising sun, unblemished by clouds.

Harry and Draco remained standing, each entranced in the sight of the other as the first rays of Helios illuminated the eastern horizon. It seemed like they had reached the end of eternity before Draco spoke. His voice came out as a soft rasp, like a sorrowful ballad.

"As I am bound to you," he whispered. Slowly he closed the distance with easy strides and reached out to Harry with a tentative hand. He cupped Harry's face in his outstretched palm uncertainly.

But Harry did not flinch, nor did he pull away in surprise. The moment seemed so natural to him, so expected, like a repeated scene in a forgotten play. He felt the gentle caress of Draco's fingertips against his skin and wished that the feeling would never leave him. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the wave of warmth that enfolded him. But the moment was fleeting, and soon it was over. Draco removed his hand; the warmth vanished, and Harry was left with nothing but loneliness.

Draco smiled wistfully at Harry's reaction. His grey eyes begged for understanding, compassion, forgiveness, though he knew he would never receive it from Harry. What he was about to do would be unforgivable.

"One day," Draco said remorselessly, voice now cold and emotionless, "I will make you regret that you are bound to me and you will blame hateful fate for this cruel curse."

Before Harry had the chance to construct a coherent reply, Draco turned away from him and mounted his broom. Without looking back, he set off for the castle, pushing his broom as fast as it would go. Now who's running from the real world, Harry thought bitterly as he watched Draco's silhouette fade from view. Once he was certain that the Slytherin had departed, Harry turned from the barren pitch and headed for the castle. He crept through the silent corridors and into his room with a heavy heart that was full of sorrow. He was a fool to have trusted him, and yet he knew he could not have helped it. He cared for him too deeply to have backed away; he could not have fought their entwined destiny. I am bound to him for he has become a part of me. How did this happen? How can I care so much that I can't even hate him! He thought bitterly, a wry smile curving at the edge of his parched lips.

He crawled onto the soft mound of his welcoming bed with a satisfied sigh. The gentle snoring of his roommates assured him that they were still asleep. Though he felt exhausted, he could not will himself to sleep. His thoughts were occupied with that blonde Slytherin with impenetrable grey eyes and invisible wounds. Those wounds never heal, Harry mused, and it's killing his soul.

The sun rose higher, and soon the castle began to stir; students slowly wandered down to breakfast then onto class. As Harry fell asleep to the melodic humming of a bustling school, Draco sat on the edge of his bed, head bowed in penitence. His eyes yielded silent tears that only his four walls would witness. The empty room would forever hold the secrets of the sinner.