White Horses

WHY COULDN'T HARRY WAKE UP from this nightmare? He wanted to wake up and find that the past year had all been just a fancy - nothing more than a cruel construct of his mind. Voldemort wasn't back. Cedric wasn't dead. Sirius wasn't dead. Dean and half the other Muggleborns at Hogwarts weren't really leaving the school.

He would wake up and tumble down into the vibrant, crowded common room where Ron and Dean would be arguing about football versus quidditch, Hermione would be laughing in exasperation, and maybe Sirius would even pop in for a conversation through the fireplace...

The reality of it was that the Gryffindor common room was oddly echoing and gloomy, and the group who wended their way down to the Great Hall for Dumbledore's speech was listless and subdued. They huddled together as they went to take their seats at the long house table, as if trying to disguise the absence of their housemates. Most sat in their usual spots, the empty areas where their fellows should have been made all the more glaring by contrast. There were significantly fewer of these holes at the heads of the tables, where the upper levels sat, compared to the nearly empty ranks of their younger underclassmen. Yet these few absences were more deeply cutting, as the teens who had sat there had all grown together from children into young adults over the past five, six, seven years.

There was no single reason to explain why the various students weren't present for the speech. Many were Muggleborn, and were even now contacting their families to arrange their escape into the Muggle world. Some were half-bloods, but leaving for similar reasons. A disturbingly large group of those absent had lost family members and friends in the attack, and then there were those students who had abstained from the school-wide announcements to comfort their grieving friends and classmates. Voldemort had chosen his target well.

Dumbledore was at the front of the room, addressing the students from behind the staff table as he would have at any feast. He surveyed the four house tables laid out before him; a sea of angry and fearful faces turned to him for direction.

The Gryffindors, who were so stubbornly leaving spaces for their absent friends.

The Hufflepuffs, whose table was the least populated, with a great many of its members choosing loyally to stay in their house with their grieving friends.

The Ravenclaws were almost all in attendance, looking for any new information that the Headmaster could give them about the horrific events of the previous day.

And the Slytherins...

The Slytherins were a much more complicated group.

Some had come out of genuine concern, but not many. Others appeared to have come merely to gloat and scoff at their fellow students and the staff. An equal amount had, or so it seemed, stayed away to give a different message. A message of disregard toward Dumbledore and what he had to say. A declaration of just where they stood in this war.

Dumbledore was most interested to see Draco Malfoy seated among his small remaining court, consisting primarily of Miss Parkinson, Mr Crabbe and Mr Goyle. While Mr Malfoy employed his well-practiced blank look, Blaise Zabini had arrayed against him his own ruling party - consisting of himself, Miss Bulstrode and Miss Davis. Yes, Slytherin house was complicated these days.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, looking sombre and drawing the attention of the quickly silenced assembly. He said to the gathered students, "I thank you all for turning out this morning. Though there is of course no grudge against those who are not present. As I know you are all aware, it has become undeniable that Voldemort launched an attack yesterday on both the Muggle world and the Wizarding world.

"Madame Pratchett's School for the Gifted was a well-known and respected primary school for both Muggles and Wizardingkind alike. Because Muggles attended the school as well, this incident has been reported in their news and has been quite accurately described as the heinous act of a terrorist group calling themselves the 'Death Eaters'. For those of you who may not have heard the term 'terrorist' before, it is a word that the Muggles use to describe people who use undue violence and intimidation in order to further their ideologies. The name 'Death Eaters' is of course the moniker that Voldemort's most loyal servants have taken upon themselves."

Many looked ill at Dumbledore's frank description of the Dark Lord and his supporters. There was also a buzz of questioning among the Muggleborns (and even from some students born into Wizarding families) about Madame Pratchett's curious school. Noticing this, Dumbledore explained, "If you are not familiar with the Madame's former establishment, it was a most fine institute. Although many Wizard children - as were many of you, I'm sure - are taught at home or in informal classes, many also attend schools such as the former Madame's, which welcome also those of mixed heritage, squibs, and regular Muggle children as well. These Muggle children do not realize the extraordinary abilities of some of their classmates and often live in areas so highly-populated by wizards that they are accustomed to strange happenings."

As he turned back to the dark events of the previous day, Dumbledore's voice grew heavy once again. "As you have all heard, I am grief-laden to confirm that there were no survivors from the attack. Voldemort and his cohorts heartlessly dispatched every student and staff member. The most recent report is that seven hundred sixty-eight individuals died in the attack. Hogwarts sends our sympathy to the families and loved-ones of the victims. I would like to ask you all to bow your heads with us together, as we give a moment of silence to honour these poor souls." Even the Slytherins didn't dare say anything as the entire hall fell into a hushed reverence beneath the wild looking clouds that roiled in the enchanted ceiling.

The headmaster waited several whole minutes before continuing, "The backlash of such attacks will surely echo throughout the world and even here at Hogwarts, they cannot be ignored. Many of your fellow students will be leaving us, either of their own volition or by the wishes of their families. The Hogwarts Express will be making a special unscheduled trip this Saturday, to take those leaving back to London. Yet I assure all of you that Hogwarts will remain safe, and will always be a haven for those who desire her protection." If any of the students thought it odd that he was watching the Slytherin table as he said this, they didn't ponder on it long; their hearts and minds were too bowed with grief to consider much else. "Do not fear for your safety while you are within these walls. Hogwarts will not fall."

THE GRYFFINDOR SIXTH YEARS HAD been huddled in front of the entrance to the boys' dormitories for a number of minutes, hissing at each other in consternation, before Harry was finally ungracefully shoved forward by Lavender as their representative. He rapped on the door a few times and then called out hesitantly, "Dean? You in there, mate?"

His entreaty was met with silence and he had just turned back to his year-mates to ask what to do next, when a pale Seamus pulled open the door in front of them. He motioned them all inside and went to resume his seat on his bed across from Dean's, avoiding looking his best friend in the eye.

The Gryffindors all trooped in silently and while the girls would have normally made disparaging comments about the untidiness of the boys' dormitory, they didn't bother on an occasion such as this. The conversation was stilted, as everyone avoided talking about what was really going on. Hermione was the first to dare broach the subject, and asked hesitantly if Dean knew how he was getting home.

The quiet, artistic Gryffindor nodded and said softly, "Yeah, my mum and dad will be at King's Cross."

He didn't elaborate any further and the conversation died for a moment. Suddenly, Seamus broke out in a frustrated voice, "God damn it! Why did You-Know-Who have to come back?"

Harry looked away quickly, knowing his guilt would show. After the article last year, everyone else knew and surely remembered his part in bringing back the Dark Lord.

"Seamus!" Ron hissed at the Irish boy under his breath, but it was all too loud in the silent room. The Weasley turned to Harry, smiling forcefully, "Now, Harry. Don't go beating yourself up about it. You know Seamus didn't mean it like that. It's just-"

Before Ron could even finish, everyone was suddenly piping in, trying to cheer Harry up. He felt wretched. They were supposed to be cheering up Dean and once again he'd become the centre of attention, without even asking for it.

The Gryffindors had lost some of their tension, since commiserating with Harry and his guilt was a rather regular pastime in their house, and were talking and teasing in an almost normal manner before long. Harry simmer quietly in anger, frustrated at how they could just ignore everything that was going on and forget Dean and his problems. Then he caught sight of the dark boy.

Dean Thomas was smiling at him serenely, his dark eyes shining as he watched his year-mates act as was normal for them, in the rambunctious loudness that so characteristic of Gryffindor house. Harry felt the anger dying in him as he realized that maybe this was what Dean needed. Maybe he needed someone else to be the centre of attention, lest he break down in front of his long-time friends. Maybe he needed normalcy.

Happy to ignore the situation as it was, the Gryffindors were much more comfortable comforting Harry. He was the Boy Who Lived after all and had saved their world and their own lives so many times over that he was sure to beat You-Know-Who again - surely if anyone could beat Voldemort, it was Harry. Or so they tried to convince him, as he let himself sink under the weight of their familiar litany. Maybe this really is what they all need, he thought to himself, just before he heard Lavender exclaim fastidiously, "God, this room is filthy. Don't you boys ever clean?"

HARRY WASN'T ALL THAT SURPRISED when McGonagall came to him in the common room that evening, saying that the headmaster wished to speak with him. He simply nodded and resignedly made his way to the office hidden behind the great phoenix statue, sparing no thought for how unusual it ought to be for a student to be so familiar with the venerable old wizard, so far as to know his passwords.

Dumbledore was in the observatory when Harry arrived, examining the stars curiously through his gigantic, ornate gold telescope. He started when he realized that Harry was in the room. "Ah, my boy, I apologize for bringing you up like this. You were probably expecting to meet with Professor Snape this evening?"

Honestly, Harry hadn't even thought about his nightly meeting once that day. But it made sense that he might meet with Snape, since Pomfrey had taken Snape's place the night before, in the Potions Master's absence. But that would mean that Snape was back - which brought a new possibility, that hadn't occurred to Harry in his addled state:

He remembered his assumption that Snape had been called away yesterday for a Death Eater meeting. Could it really be that big of a coincidence, or had Snape taken part in the attack?

Harry swallowed heavily and asked the headmaster, "Did Snape..." He floundered, as Dumbledore's bright blue eyes bored into him. "Was he... Did he know about the attack?"

Dumbledore turned away then, but was most emphatic when he replied, "Nothing of the sort, Harry. I'm afraid that Severus's position among the Death Eaters is presently rather... uncertain. Voldemort didn't trust him enough to give him knowledge of the attack beforehand, nor did he allow him the privilege," Dumbledore's lip curled in disgust, "of aiding in the attack. I'm afraid that Professor Snape is in the Hospital Wing now, because Voldemort decided to test his loyalty in a more unpleasant manner."

Harry didn't know what to say to the admission that his least-favorite teacher had been tortured to the point of serious injury, but Dumbledore continued, "No, my boy, it's due to a different matter, though one not completely unrelated, that I called you here tonight.

"You may recall my mentioning in passing the enclaves that the Order of the Pheonix is helping to create?" Harry nodded uncertainly, he didn't know any details but the project had been mentioned to him. "Let me refresh your memory and perhaps provide you with some new particulars. The idea of these enclaves is not a new one. It originally came to be during Voldemort's first reign, though it luckily never had to be put into practice. Since the end of your fourth year, Harry, we have been toying with the idea again. It was rather a minor project of ours, until the last few months when Voldemort's attacks have been increasing in both their ferocity and their frequency. We now have several sites ready for settlement. These sites have all been made Unplottable, just like Hogwarts is, and a Secret Keeper protects each, as well.

"There will be no risk regarding these Secret Keepers," Dumbledore quickly assured, knowing Harry's aversion towards that particular form of protection. "Each Secret Keeper is trusted implicitly and will be safe from Dark influences, as each resides in an enclave that is protected by another Secret Keeper. They will create an unbreakable web to protect one another and not a one of them can be found as long as the web is intact.

"Those wizards, witches and families who wish to take refuge in the enclaves must go through a number of tests, including interrogation under Veritaserum. This is in fact why Snape has entrusted his sixth and seventh year N.E.W.T. classes to try a brew so powerful. Normally, school-age children would not be allowed to make Veritaserum, but we will need large reserves of the potion for these interviews and the great many more that will be sprung randomly upon the inhabitants to ensure their continued virtue."

Harry was a bit uncomfortable as he heard all this and so he asked Dumbledore just what he was hoping for, in divulging this information now.

"I need your help, Harry," the Headmaster looked over his spectacles at the boy, as he laced his fingers together and laid them on the desk. "Specifically, I need the help of your defence club. You have a very bright and dedicated group there, Harry, and it's a resource that our side cannot afford to ignore." So that's why he allowed us to continue to meet, Harry thought to himself. Oh god, we've become his little Junior Order of the Phoenix. Harry felt that familiar annoyance growing as Dumbledore described how he wanted the D.A. to help them by finding and researching locations for new enclaves.

He assured Harry benevolently that once the Order of the Phoenix saw how proficient and trustworthy the D.A. was, they might even get more 'assignments,' and when the time came they might even be able to help the casters of the defence spells, by volunteering their own magical power as well. Harry didn't particularly like the idea of using his friends like disposable batteries, though he knew that in the past he probably would have been hugely flattered and pleased with such an offer. Now he just felt as if the old man was manipulating everyone better to his own use.

Harry worked himself into quite a snit by the time Dumbledore dismissed him, and he was still silently fuming as he stormed down to the dungeons to meet Malfoy, as they had planned on Sunday past.

He stopped in front of the tapestry, which concealed the entrance to the room he had discovered. After he had wandered down into this unused section of the dungeons a few weeks ago, he had finally gotten around to checking it on the Marauder's Map. It seemed that his father's group of hooligans hadn't strayed into the dungeons much, as the map didn't detail these tunnels at all and were quite inaccurate. The drawing was incomplete and ignored a whole 200 metre stretch of corridors. This section seemed, by Harry's reckoning, to be under the Dark Forest and perhaps it had fallen into disuse because it was so far separated from the rest of the school.

Ignoring the fine, surely antique tapestry which depicted the Hogwarts Founders in a rarely portrayed bit of congeniality, Harry took a deep breath. He was trying to shove his anger down where it wouldn't show, when a thin hand darted out from under the hanging and yanked him forward into the concealed room.

Malfoy was grinning recklessly at him and slammed shut the door that was normally hidden behind the hanging, drawling, "You know, Potter, I wouldn't think you'd forget the entrance to your own secret room. Though I've got to hand it to you - this room does have a certain convenience to it. Quite clever for a Gryffindork."

He gestured blithely to the wall whose door Harry had come stumbling through, which appeared solid stone from the outside, but could be seen through like a window by those inside. It was thanks to this wall that Draco had seen Harry paused outside and had decided to lend a helping hand.

Harry roughly pulled himself from Malfoy's grasp and, remembering that this was Malfoy and not one of his friends whom he should protect from his anger, he snarled, "Hands off, Malfoy. I didn't tell you about this room to impress you, I just didn't want to be seen with you anywhere in the castle main."

Draco didn't loose his smile, it just became a bit more of a smirk now, "What's got you so riled up, Potter? And if you want to keep this room as secure and secret as you think it is, you might want to ward it with at least a password."

Pushed by Malfoy's blase attitude and Dumbledore's manipulations and the last week and the last year and perhaps his entire life, Harry whipped out his wand. For a second he thought he might have seen apprehension widening those cool grey eyes, but it was probably just wishful thinking. Tracing a complicated rune in the air with his wand, he spoke harshly one of the spells he had found in his private studies, "Gwedh ster gwhen, epi al-nem!"

There was a huge soundless explosion of light that rocked both Harry and Malfoy on their feet and left each with a peculiar feeling of pins dancing over his skin, almost like the feeling when your foot falls asleep but everywhere at once and not truly like that feeling at all. Malfoy sucked in a shocked breath and was left with the metallic aftertaste that only strong magic left behind. He was still blinking away the spots that obstructed his vision as he exclaimed, "What the bloody fuck was that, Potter?!"

Harry felt slightly better now that he had let off some of his excess energy and managed to ruffle the ever-controlled Malfoy. He shrugged infuriatingly, only telling Malfoy, "Well, now no one but the two of us can enter this room. Is that secure enough for you?"

Malfoy was shaken up by having unknown magic performed on his person (and if he were being honest with himself, which he generally tried not to be, he was a bit shocked by the power of Harry's spell), and so he said icily, "I don't know what your problem is, Potter, and I don't give a damn either. But you will not perform strange archaic spells on me without my permission, or this deal is off." All traces of a smile, albeit mocking, were completely gone from each boy's expression as they faced off.

"You don't give a damn what my problem is? Well, why does that not surprise me? You don't give a damn about anything other than yourself. Not even the hundreds of people who died this week would be worth your notice, nor would the fact that a third of our school is leaving occupy a moment of your valuable time, eh, Malfoy?"

The blonde's expression couldn't grow any colder, instead it became more remote and unfeeling. He asked flatly, "Why should I give a damn about a bunch of Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers?" Seeing Harry's shock at his coarseness, Malfoy's face became as blank as it was whenever Snape turned on him. "I hope you didn't misunderstand the situation, Potter. I am not on your side. I do not think like you do. I am only here because you know things that I want to know, and I know things that you want to know. I don't give a damn what happens to the Muggles and those foolish enough to associate with them."

Harry was incensed that he could have ever believed in any subconscious part of his mind that Draco Malfoy could actually become a semi-decent person. He must have thought so, somehow, or this wouldn't have come as such a shock. He asked, bitterly, "Why don't you sign up for the Junior Death Eaters, then, Malfoy - if you feel like that? There isn't anything for you here."

Malfoy's face was still as blank as a clean slate as the Slytherin went to the door and said over his shoulder, "I said that I don't give a damn about the Muggles, and whether they live or die. I certainly don't care enough to go out killing them myself." With that last statement to muddle Harry's wits even further, Malfoy slammed the door behind himself.

HARRY SAT ALONE IN THE room for nearly three quarters of an hour. As his anger slowly faded, he was shocked to realize that his whole outburst with Malfoy hadn't even taken five minutes. Prior to today, it had seemed that he might be able to spend time with Malfoy without killing the slender boy (who was, Harry had noticed as they faced off, just slightly taller than Harry - just enough to be able to look down maddeningly at him when they were standing close) but maybe there was just no hope for a Gryffindor and a Slytherin. At least, not when the Gryffindor was The Boy Who Lived and the Slytherin was a Malfoy.

Of course, Malfoy hadn't been as virulent as he could have been. In fact, he'd gone so far as to admit that he didn't actually want to kill Muggles. He didn't object to their being killed, which was almost as bad, but it had seemed like he didn't necessarily object to them continuing to exist either. So maybe he wasn't a miniature Lucius Malfoy clone, as Harry and the rest of the Gryffindors had always imagined. Perhaps he shouldn't write the Malfoy boy off just yet.

IT WAS DUE TO AN almost guilty feeling that Harry sent an anonymous message to Malfoy the next morning, with one of the school owls. It must have been guilt about him not using every possible resource to learn wandless magic, because he surely couldn't be feeling guilty about judging and lashing out at the other boy. If anyone deserved a good judging and lashing, it was Malfoy.

If the Slytherin was at all surprised to get a letter from an anonymous barn owl, written in a familiar angular scrawl, he didn't show it. He read the short missive without his expression changing, then set it aflame.

Harry swallowed hard, not sure if this was a sign of Malfoy's rebuff or just Slytherin paranoia. Then Hermione asked him why he was staring at the Slytherins so intently and he guiltily turned back to his own table, where everyone was trying to act normal. The result was a brittle sort of forced cheer that was grating on Harry worse than just plain old gloom would have.

Finally the Gryffindors broke up to go to their individual classes. Harry arrived at N.E.W.T. potions with the rest of the triumvirate and reluctantly went over to Malfoy's table. At least next week they would unveil their potions, once the moon was full again, and this paired work would be over.

As Harry dropped his bag onto the ground next to their desk, Harry sneaked a glance at Malfoy from the corner of his eye. Although it was outside the peripheral of his glasses, from what he could make out of the slightly blurry Slytherin, Malfoy didn't seem to be giving any sign of either continued anger from the night before or even acknowledgement of Harry's brief note this morning. Of course, it hadn't been that provoking, simply reading, "Malfoy - Same time, same place?" And beside that, Malfoy had never once dropped his blank face in Snape's N.E.W.T. class - there was no real reason for today to be any different.

They worked in almost complete silence for the entire class period. Finally when everyone was packing up and cleaning their equipment, Harry asked in what he hoped was a casual voice, "Got a bit of mail this morning, Malfoy? What, did you finally get into the Git Hall of Fame?" He knew it sounded positively idiotic but couldn't think of any better way to bring up the subject.

Malfoy looked over at him through those flat eyes of his and said blandly, "Hardly, Scarhead. Just another declaration of love from one of my many admirers." Harry felt a minute stab of something like panic. Had his letter not been delivered to the evil blonde, had it gone to someone else, would they recognize his writing? Seeing Harry's face, Draco's mouth started to quirk up on the sides, but he licked his lips and any sign of emotion was immediately wiped clean from his face.

Harry watched this action in fascination, then Draco lifted his bag as everyone started to inch toward the door, saying easily, "Yeah. Poor girl was just desperate to get her hands on me again tonight. Suppose I ought to meet with her, she's so pathetic - wants to beg my forgiveness for acting like a git last night."

Harry caught the glint in Malfoy's silver eyes and at last understood what the Slytherin was saying. He began to smile in response to the goading smirk that he knew Draco didn't dare show, "Begging your forgiveness? Really? Well, you wouldn't want to miss that. You ought to meet with the poor, misguided child, Malfoy."

No one seemed to notice the odd conversation between the two rivals, since the rest of the class was caught up in the fervour of being free from Snape for the next five whole days. Except for Harry, of course, who would have to meet with the Potion's Master again that night.

THE HOGWART'S POTIONS MASTER (WHO was also Albus Dumbledore's most valued spy, but not many knew about that) looked rather stiff and pained when Harry met with him Wednesday evening. He had put up a good front in class, but apparently didn't see Harry as worth the effort.

He remained seated in his chair and gestured to Harry with a sheaf of parchment. "Here are the ingredients and instructions for tonight's brew, a flesh-eating potion that can be used to great affect when it is aerosolised." That seemed the extent of his lecturing tonight and he fell back into silence as he watched Harry gather ingredients.

Once the Gryffindor was set to work and dicing up acidic bubotubers, Snape asked him suddenly, "What's going on between you and Malfoy?"

Harry nearly sliced off his thumb.

He looked up nervously at the professor as he said in a voice that seemed unnaturally high even to his own hearing, "Going on, sir? There's nothing going on. We're just as bitter enemies as ever; no one hates each other as much as we do." Thinking about Malfoy reminded him of the Slytherin's confusing comments of the night before and Harry bent further over the desk, happily letting his hair cover his eyes as he pretended to be rereading the instructions, and asked, "Why the interest, professor? It seemed to me that you've been quite unconcerned about Malfoy the last few weeks." This was the most Slytherin way Harry could think of to ask just why the Head of Slytherin House had been so cruel to his star pupil this year.

Snape looked at him calculatingly and snorted, "A good stab at cunning, Potter, but you've got a long way to go yet. So, you want to know why I behave the way I do toward Draco? You don't think it is simply because the boy is insufferable?"

Harry didn't say anything, as there was nothing he could or would do to deny Malfoy's unique personality - unique like hydrochloric acid.

"Well, that is certainly a part of it. I no longer need fear Lucius Malfoy's wrath, should I treat Draco as less than a pampered prince. But it is more a part of my facade as a loyal Death Eater." Harry was surprised, as Professor Snape had never spoken so frankly of his duties as Dumbledore's spy - at least, not with Harry. "Most all those loyal to the Dark Lord will not dare show kindness to the Malfoy boy, not since the Dark Lord made it common knowledge that he doesn't want him."

Jerking his head up to stare into the professor's cold black eyes, Harry asked him, "What do you mean, Voldemort doesn't want Malfoy?"

Draco had always seemed the perfect Death-Eater-in-training to Harry in the past. Of course, now it was different, even if Harry couldn't explain just how it was different. Snape merely shook his head, either not knowing or not willing to share just why Voldemort had rejected the Malfoy heir.

Harry bit his lip. Snape had already clammed up just talking about Malfoy; he didn't really dare push him by asking about the attack of two days ago, though he was occupied with Snape's part in it.

Dumbledore had said that Snape hadn't known about the plans for the school, but what if he had? Would he have stopped this massacre and revealed himself prematurely? Or would he have let Voldemort's forces go unchecked instead of risking being unmasked and ruining any chances of Dumbledore finding out the Dark Lord's master plans? Were three hundred lives worth those of all the free world? And more to the point, did they have the right to choose, simply because they were on the side of 'good'? Harry wondered about these questions and realized, I don't know.

THIS TIME IT WAS HARRY who watched through the enchanted wall as Malfoy approached their meeting room. The Slytherin's expression changed into a slight smirk and he exaggerated his swagger as he neared the tapestry. He made a rude gesture toward the wall that he knew the Gryffindor would be watching and Harry was still trying to suppress his laughter at the Slytherin's nerve when that blonde head edged through the door.

Draco smirked at the other boy, reaching out to push him roughly on the side of his head - further rucking up that notoriously tousled black mop. "Ah, and here is my erstwhile lover, waiting to beg my forgiveness." Harry blinked in surprise, not at Malfoy's words but at his almost friendly gesture. The two boys hadn't touched in a non-violent way since they had first shook hands in Madame Malkin's, all those years before.

Nonetheless, Harry scoffed at him as he would usually, saying, "You're going to be waiting a long time before you ever hear me apologize, Malfoy." Both seemed more than willing to ignore their argument and get down to work.

"So you want to learn wandless magic then?" Malfoy looked at Harry critically when the boy nodded and told him, "Fine. I won't ask why and you won't ask how I know it, clear?"

"Crystal."

Since Harry didn't argue with the terms, Malfoy showed him his personal trick to wandless magic, which was to use simple gestures as an aid to get the power flowing. "My speciality, if you'd like," the Slytherin smirked, "is to move things. Shove 'em, nudge 'em, make 'em levitate. It's simple to imagine that an easy flick of the wrist," he demonstrated, and an empty table was sent careening across the room, "just throws off all that excess power, like slinging water off your skin."

Seeing Harry preparing to fling his arm in much the same manner, Draco grabbed the offending appendage and ground out in his most patient voice, which wasn't really all that patient, "Now, you're trying to work with fire, right? So, unless you're trying to start a fire with the force of one of those Muggle bombs, flinging about huge swathes of power might be overkill. Fire is a force of reaction." Harry could feel Malfoy's long, tapered fingers grasping tightly onto his forearm through his shirt and he heard the blonde ask, "Wouldn't you agree?"

He nodded belatedly in response to what the other boy was saying and Malfoy continued, "Reaction. So what you need in this case is to create friction." As he said this, Malfoy released his grip on Harry's arm and allowed it to drop limply. "Friction creates heat," he said softly, as he brought up his left hand and pressed his thumb and middle finger together. He snapped and instantly a small flame sprung to life, suspended in the air just above his jutting thumb.

Harry watched, fascinated, as Malfoy used his Wizarding equivalent of a lighter to set ablaze the tapers set in their scones high on the walls. He smarted as he was reminded yet again of how Draco was taller than he himself was, though neither boy was going to win any awards for height. Harry was a mean five foot three and Malfoy was only a scant three inches taller than him. Neither was ever going to hold a candle to Ron, who had just passed six foot.

They practised for a good thirty minutes and before long Harry was able to create his own flame at the snap of his finger, and soon learned to focus so that he could even set objects at various distances aflame with little trouble. He was so pleased that he had finally made some progress at wandless magic that he offered to teach Malfoy how to summon a Patronus.

He remembered the Weasley twins telling him back in third year how Malfoy had also been quite affected by the Dementors on the train. After teaching Malfoy the incantation Expecto patronum, he tried to help the boy summon a Patronus even without a Dementor present, but they had little luck. They decided to meet the same time the next week to work on it before they parted ways, leaving the dungeons separately so that no one might see them together.

THREE DAYS LATER FOUND HARRY guiltily cleaning up after the party that had kept Gryffindor house up until the wee hours the night before. He was feeling guilty because he had completely forgotten to help plan for the surprise party, which had been set up to send the departing Gryffindors off in style. Ron came down at what was for him an early hour: noon on a Saturday. The train to take the former students to King Cross had left at eight that morning, though most the Gryffindors on board had been in a dazed semi-consciousness, having not gone to bed until three or four themselves.

Now Ron was watching Harry pick up the left over litter and empty butterbeer bottles and deposit them in a large rubbish sack. The ginger lad was looking unusually sober as he said, "That was some performance last night, Harry. You almost seemed present." Harry asked Ron wearily what he meant and his best friend told him, "You've been acting a bit odd the last couple days. Distant, like you're somewhere far from us."

Harry only replied dully, "Everyone's been acting a bit odd since the last attack."

Ron grabbed the bag out of his friend's hand and spoke roughly, "Not like you, Harry. No, you've been off mucking about with Malfoy. Everyone else has been sticking together as Gryffindors and you've been slumming it with a Slytherin!" Harry glared balefully at his rubbish sack, now in Ron's white-knuckled grip.

He sounded almost petulant as he said, "We're supposed to be sticking together as a school, not all this house rivalry. 'We must unite inside her or we'll crumble from within,' remember?" As he quoted from the Sorting Hat's song from the year before, Harry was prudent enough to leave out the line, "Were there such friends anywhere as Slytherin and Gryffindor?" He continued to Ron, "All the houses are supposed to be united in friendship, Ron, not this schoolboy grudge that is driving us apart and making Hogwarts vulnerable."

Harry wasn't sure if even he believed what he was saying, but felt that he had to have something to say in defence of himself and his willingness to meet with Malfoy. The fact was that most of what Ron was saying was rubbish anyway. Sure, Harry should have spent more time with Dean and the Creevey brothers and everyone else who had left that morning, but Ron was so single-minded in his Gryffindor pride that he couldn't seen past his own infallible beliefs of The Way Things Are.

Whatever Ron would have said in response was forever lost to the ether. The moment he opened his mouth, the portrait hole banged open to admit a staggering seventh year girl. The Gryffindor prefect looked more broken than Harry had ever seen her and his stomach dropped to the floor, to be joined moments later by the sack that slipped from Ron's suddenly nerveless grip. There was a sharp tinkling as many of the butterbeer bottles shattered upon their unexpected meeting with the stone.

UNBEKNOWNST TO HARRY, DRACO HAD taken a liking to the dungeon room that they had met in. He had been using it the last couple days whenever he wanted to get away from the Slytherins or simply to work in peace somewhere. He felt safe knowing that only he and Harry could get in, even if anyone else found out about the old corridor and its hidden chambers.

He was perched on the ledge of a window enchanted to let the sunlight pour into the room as if it were part of a high tower, though he knew logically that he was deep underground. As he looked up from his book, Draco noticed Harry striding stiffly toward the room. He froze, then pressed himself even more tightly into the window frame, until he was almost hidden by the blinding light of the noonday sun.

Harry snatched aside the tapestry and pushed blindly through the door, before falling heavily back against it. He took a slow and shaking breath then he turned and swiftly landed a hard punch on the unforgiving word. Ignoring his already bleeding knuckles he moved to strike the door again when he heard an unexpected drawling voice, "If you want a fight, Potter, you might at least try something that will fight back."

Harry's whole body jerked as his eyes darted about the room. He noticed an extra glint in the windows that showed out to the sky and realized that Malfoy was sitting insouciantly in that bath of light, and the glint had been caused by the bright sun streaming in and turning his hair into a shining white halo.

Draco noticed that Harry's eyes seemed rather red and glazed. He asked again, "You want a fight, Potter?"

Harry nodded shortly and spoke in a hoarse voice, "Yes. Let's fight, Malfoy."

Draco was slightly taken aback when the dark-haired boy then lunged at him without hesitation, dragging Draco up by his shirtfront before landing a glancing blow to his jaw. After that abrupt and rather unfair start, Draco fought back fiercely against the Gryffindor.

They kicked, elbowed and punched each other, brutally attacking any vulnerable area they could each find on the other's body. Draco was quick and good at dodging blows, but there wasn't much he could do to get away from Harry's strangely fluid form of grappling. The boy fought like something wild and Draco soon found himself flat on his back, with Harry straddling his narrow hips and trying quite believably to choke the life out of him.

Staring up at the crazed Gryffindor as he scrabbled at the hands on his throat, Draco couldn't tell if the droplets of moisture sliding down Harry's face were tears or just sweat. Deciding now wasn't a good time to ponder such things, he boxed Harry in the ear and then scrambled out from under the dazed boy, planting a sharp kick in his ribs as he moved. Harry grabbed his foot as he tried to retreat and yanked Draco back to the ground, his head hitting the stone with a sharp crack. They both remained on the floor as they were, too exhausted and pained to get up and continue.

Draco was even more uncomfortable than his physical injuries warranted when he realized that Harry was actually crying, in great heaving sobs that were painful just to hear. Not knowing anything diplomatic or comforting to say, he wheedled, "Now, Potter, I know it's tough to admit to being beaten by me, but really... crying over it just isn't the Gryffindor thing to do." This didn't sound quite as impressive when Draco was still gasping for breath, but he persisted. "What you ought to be doing is acting morally outraged and claim that justice and good will prevail, et cetera, ad nauseam. Or if you were a Slytherin, you could perhaps vow to poison me and murder me unawares."

At least Harry made a rough sound like a snort at Draco's twisted humour (or his telling of the truth, depending on how you looked at it). But it was almost swallowed by the shuddering breath he sucked in afterward. Staring up at the ceiling, he told Draco, "Dean Thomas is dead."

Draco certainly hadn't been expecting that. Maybe that Boy Wonder had failed to save an endangered kitten or his fools of best friends had ditched him to elope or some such trauma, but not something like this. Not something real. "What do you mean, Thomas is dead?" he demanded a lot more coldly than he intended.

Harry turned his head to look blearily at the blonde sprawled next to him, whose hair was creating a silvery white nimbus around his head. He blinked owlishly; tears still streaming from his eyes and making them look an even brighter, clearer green than usual. His glasses had been ripped from him at some point during their fight. He continued almost as if he hadn't heard Draco, "And the Creeveys, and Alicia Spinnet. Justin Fitch-Finchly. Terry Boot. The prefects are telling all of the houses. Everyone who left on the Hogwarts Express this morning is dead. Death Eaters hijacked the train and when it pulled into King's Cross, every car was marked with a large image of the Dark Mark. After a couple minutes passed and no one got off the train, some brave, foolish parents tried to ignore the evidence and went into the train. They found..."

Draco didn't need the black-haired boy to continue in order to imagine the scene: the parents would have made their way hesitantly into the cars, only to find their shoes squelching in the blood soaked carpet and to find the mangled bodies of the innocent students, their children. He swallowed hard. Although no one close to him had fled the school, they had still been people he'd known: classmates who he'd teased and tortured for years. And now they were all gone.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, his faces still wet from tears, and asked miserably, "Why? Why would Voldemort do that, Malfoy? They were leaving our world, isn't that what he wants?"

Out of fear of actually feeling something for the Mudbloods and muggle-lovers, Draco had retreated back into his unfeeling shell and told Harry plainly, "Yes, he does want them to leave. But more so, he wants them dead, Potter." He watched in a strange fascination as The Boy Who Lived was literally going to pieces in front of him - a sight no one else had ever been privy to.

Harry knew he should be embarrassed to show his weakness in front of Malfoy. He had come here to be away from prying eyes, even Ron and Hermione didn't know about this room. He hadn't expected the room to be occupied by the only other person who could enter it. Not thinking clearly in his pain, he looked to Malfoy for answers; he needed something to explain away the horror, some way to make sense of such godless acts.

"Why is he attacking like this? I thought the war was going to be about battlefields and armies, tangible forces to fight. How can we defend against this? How am I supposed to stop this?"

Malfoy's expression was blank but his mind was whirring. He had always teased Harry Potter for his role as the people's saviour, thinking that it was a role that Potter actually chose and revelled in. But now it sounded to him like Harry was as lost and hurt as anyone else, except he had the extra burden of being expected to save them all. He covered his own eyes with a hand to avoid seeing the suffering boy lying next to him, and said, "This is the way you win a war, Potter. It's all about the hype and the hysteria it causes. It's all about symbolism - you should know about that, Potter, being a symbol yourself."

Harry didn't say anything, waiting for Malfoy to continue, which he did reluctantly, "Look, the Dark Lord wouldn't go head-to-head with Dumbledore's forces. They are closely enough matched that both sides would suffer huge losses. People would still be affected, but not nearly so much as they have been by these attacks. With just a few strikes in which he has lost none of his own forces, he has shown that interacting with Muggles is not acceptable, nor are mixed-bloods and Mudbloods, and that he will not let offenders escape into the Muggle world unscathed.

"His attacks have thrown the Wizarding world into a chaos. The Ministry has lost nearly half its workers, either to death or resignation, and many of those remaining are afraid to do their jobs. The people are afraid to leave their houses and the economy is rapidly dropping. Now even Hogwarts has been struck by fear as it seems no one will be able to come here or to leave, not even a supposedly secret train taking students home. Do you really think the Dark Lord will call a cease-fire and just let everyone go home for the Christmas hols? I hardly think so."

Malfoy lifted his hand from where it was shielding his eyes and looked at his bruised knuckles, beginning to feel a pulsing pain in his head from where it had struck the hard stone floor. His eyes slid over to meet Harry's still sparkling green irises. "The Wizarding world is weak and vulnerable now, Potter. There's nothing you can do to stop it. And you're the biggest symbol of them all. If you go down, the whole world will probably give up." The boys fell into silence as they lay there in the afternoon sun, which was already taking on a golden hue.

Draco didn't look to see if Potter was still crying and was quite lost in thought until he heard the other boy drag himself up into a sitting position. Harry leaned over the blonde and asked him, "Do you want me to get rid of your bruises and such?" Draco was a bit unsure about letting Harry cast more spells on him, but his Slytherin paranoia pained him less than the splitting headache he was suffering. He watched as Harry waved his wand with a few short incantations and was pleased to feel his aching bruises and scratches alleviated.

He sat up and rubbed the back of his no longer throbbing head. Harry looked up from healing his own bruises and smirked at Malfoy, whose fine hair was uncharacteristically mussed. He pushed the blonde's hair back and then flicked him on the head, saying, "You look like some deranged angel. An evil, annoying angel of death, of course." Malfoy was feeling generous and euphoric as a result of the healing spells and let Harry's comment slide.

Both boys clambered to their feet, straightening their clothes and preparing to leave as if by some unspoken signal. Draco turned back to Harry and said, "We should do this again some time."

Harry started and asked in a questioning voice, "What, the talking part?"

Malfoy snorted and shoved him toward the door, saying caustically, "Hell no, Potter. The fighting part." He smoothed his sleek silvery hair back and spoke loftily, "You need a lot of practice if you expect to go around saving the world, Wonder Boy."

Harry still felt oddly hollow and he was sure he would feel that way for a long while to come. But seeing Malfoy's sharp smile again - that biting strength which allowed him to ignore Snape's mistreatment and insults from other Slytherins and the lose of his father - the Gryffindor felt ready to face his friends and able to be strong for them in their swamping grief. The Boy Who Lived walked out of the room with his re-formed armour in place, ready to face to whatever might come next.