Lay Me Softly Down

LAY ME SOFTLY DOWN:

CHAPTER 1

Morning. Hazy bars of light streamed through the curtained windows of Number 4 Privet Drive. Harry groaned as he crawled sluggily out of bed and slipped on his trademark glasses.

He cast a quick glance at his bedside clock, which read 6:00 am. Seeing that Harry was awake, Hedwig hooted loudly from her stand by Harry's bed. "I know, I know, Hedwig. I don't like the weather any more than you do."

It had, in fact been raining constantly for the past three days. Although Harry hadn't noticed it much, as his relatives the Dursleys tried to keep him away from other people in their neighbourhood as much as possible anyways.

It had seemed to Harry, that ever since he had begun attending Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, that the Dursleys had become more afraid of someone finding out their secret every year.

Harry permitted himself a small, secret smile as he slipped out of his night robe and put on his best Muggle clothes for the trip to King's Cross Station in London. If they didn't want anybody to know he even existed that was fine by him. He didn't really consider Number 4 his home anyway. Hogwarts was his real home.

He paused buttoning his shirt for a moment, thinking about his friends that he hadn't seen over the whole summer. Ron had finally saved up enough money for a new broom, and had sent him a letter over the summer via Muggle post (Ever since he had called Harry's house before their third year at Hogwarts, he had been very wary of arousing Uncle Vernon's ire by sending Harry anything in any way that was remotely abnormal).

He had bought a slightly used Nimbus 2000 from a fellow wizard at Diagon Alley for a mere 50 Golden Galleons. Harry was happy for Ron, he knew that Ron took great pride in buying things with his own money.

Harry sighed. He would have given all the money he had inherited to the Weasleys, but he knew that they were too kind, and wouldn't accept it.

Harry quickly finished getting dressed, and ran to take a quick look in the mirror. He smiled at his reflection, he had never realized that he had rugged good looks. He unconsciously burlesqued Draco Malfoy by quickly combing his messy hair into some semblance of neatness (which was useless since it always fell back anyways) then he blew himself a quick kiss into the mirror. He proceeded to give impressive muscle stances, something he had been doing more often the past two years since he had started going to the gym near where the Dursleys lived to work out.

It was one of the few things that the Dursleys didn't object to letting him do.

He quickly opened the door of his bedroom and crept over to the bathroom where he proceeded to brush his teeth. As he did this, he cast a glance at Dudley's toothbrush, sitting in it's holder, looking forlorn and unused. Ever since Dudley's parents had forced him on his diet, he had found new ways of rebelling against his parents. Most of these involved self-destruction of one type or another.

He was doing even more poorly in Smeltings than he had in the last 4 years. About the time that school had let out for summer, Harry suspected that Dudley hadn't been doing much in the oral hygiene department either.

Last month when the Dursleys had taken him to the dentist, he had found no fewer than four cavities. Aunt Petunia had, of course, insisted that this was only normal, and that lots of boys Dudley's age had them. When Harry had pointed out that he didn't have any, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had shot him a nasty look.

Harry had decided to let it rest, figuring that if he pushed his luck they would only make things worse for him. *But that doesn't matter now* He thought happily. As he walked downstairs, he found himself humming the Hogwarts song. "Hogwarts! Hogwarts! Hoggy, woggy Hogwarts!"

As he entered the kitchen to make himself breakfast, (he had gotten into this habit since Dudley and the rest of the house had been forced to go on Dudley's diet. Ever since then, he had developed a nasty habit of upturning the table during breakfast, lunch, and dinner).

He saw Dudley, half-shaded by the angle of the windows and the sun that was just barely beginning to peak over the horizon, with his face stuck in what remained of Harry's birthday cake. (The Dursleys had baked him a birthday cake for the first time ever this year, something too good for Harry to even think about questioning) Dudley fat as he was, had absolutely amazing hearing, so even with Harry creeping down the stairs as stealthily as possible, he had still heard him.

He whirled on Harry with an unexpected ferocity "Stay out of this! You better not tell mum and dad either." He shot Harry what was supposed to be a menacing look with his pig-like eyes.

Harry kept his expression cool and even, not betraying anything. As Dudley started to advance on him, *Probably wants to give me a headlock so I can get reacquainted with his smelly armpits* Harry thought with a trace of humour.

He reached into his pants pocket and drew his wand faster than the human eye could follow (He now had a holster for his wand, which he kept strapped to his leg at all times ever since Hogwarts had let out for the summer. Can never be too careful), and leveled it at Dudley who froze in his tracks.

"If you so much as move another step I'll add two nice, new ears to the tail Hagrid gave you." He measured Dudley's reaction with a quick, calculated glance, all the while keeping his wand level with Dudley's forehead.

"And no private clinic will be able to remove these ears, surgically or otherwise. "He added for good measure. Seeing the look of pure terror on Dudley's podgy face sent a strange thought into his head, *Now the hunter becomes the hunted* and couldn't help himself from smiling a truly ghoulish smile that blossomed on his face like an unchecked wild rose.

As expected, Dudley went running for his parent's rooms, looking and sounding for all the world like a wounded Buffalo on the rampage.

Harry let out a long breath as he stuck his wand back in it's holster. *Shouldn't have done that* He thought with a trace of remorse. *Be lucky if the whole lot don't run into the street screaming bloody murder* He thought while idly fixing himself peanut butter and jelly toast. He could already hear Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia scrambling out of bed, Uncle Vernon all the while booming out slurs on Harry and his wizard upbringing.

*Bloody gits'll just have to live with it won't they?* Murmured something deep in his mind. *I've been sleepwalking again my dear, call the medocs, it's these inhuman monsters that I fear.* What the hell had that been?, Harry thought now truly bewildered. It had sounded like some sinuously dark verse by a Muggle poet, and a pretty damn disturbing one at that.

However he didn't have any more time to dwell on the subject, as Uncle Vernon was even now running into the kitchen like some scale-backed monster just itching for blood.

Harry blood.

Morning. Draco Malfoy groaned as he heard his mother's imploring voice at his bedside. Before he had time to think harsh, dull, grey light flooded his bedroom.

"Ah bloody hell mum! It can't be more than 5 in the morning! Let me go back to sleep!" He groaned as he leaned up to rub the sleep from his eyes, but fell back, too exhausted to do anything more but groan louder.

* Ah, sweet warmth* He thought incoherently as he began to drift back to sleep. Then, rudely and unexpectedly at his side, no more than a few stark inches from his left ear, "NOW DRACO!"

Draco jumped as if shot at close range with a .22 caliber target rifle. All vestiges of sleep or anything remotely resembling it faded from his eyes. He looked at his mother very carefully, as if expecting her to attack him at any moment, then he noticed the look on her face. *Oh please, please, God, Oh, God not now, not ever again. Oh, please, please, God.*

The look on her face said it all, and Draco immediately felt a hot/cold clammy and sticky sweat pop out all over his body. He had seen that look only once before and it had terrified him to the point of near death by fear.

In his terror, he vividly recalled the day, scarcely more than a year ago, when he had received the worst beating of his life at the hands of his father, one Lucius Malfoy. He remembered the day like it was yesterday. *Good God it still feels like yesterday.* He could remember exactly how the pipe had felt. Striking his angelic, bare, glossy white skin again and- *Not now. Oh God please. Not ever, not ever again. Oh God.*

"Draco. Get up and put on your best Muggle clothes. You leave for Hogwarts today, and I want you to look your best." *I mean I don't want the bruises to show through.* He thought, and had to bite his lips hard to keep from uttering a crazed, panicked yell.

His mother had now gotten to the doors of Draco's room. She turned a cast him that look again and gently shut the door, which didn't seem to muffle the sound of her heels clicking down the cold, stone arches. At least, in Draco's fear crazed mind it didn't seem to.

"Cool it Draco. You're a Malfoy, you can do anything. "He said this as he got out of bed and felt the familiar stab of icy, deathly cold that rushed through his feet all the way up to his knees.

He closed his eyes and took three long, deep breaths to calm himself. He grabbed his best Armani suit, and as he changed his pyjamas for it, he took comfort in looking around at his surroundings. The cold, elegant rise of the stone grey marble arch behind his bed, and the family banner draped beneath it, it's thick tasseled velvet tip coming to a stop inches above the ornately decorated and hand carved bed posts.

And off to the left, the utter grandness of his wardrobe, whose contents had cost a small fortune. And in front of his bed, a vanity table littered with a variety of hair and nail cosmetics strewn about in organized chaos. (He didn't need any for his skin. It was naturally off white and glossy due to his oft mentioned Veela ancestry.)

He felt himself relaxing. He had imagined the look on his mother's face. Of course he had. Thank God for small miracles. *You call that SMALL? Ha, ha, ha, ha* He went to the mirror and deliberately took longer than he really needed to do his hair, using the longest and most complex setting spells he could think of.

When he was satisfied with his hair, he moved on to his nails. Doing each one slowly and with a precision that he did not usually employ. After a quick last minute check he walked out the doors at a brisk pace and began to make his way down to the kitchen.

He threw open the kitchen's large wooden doors and set his face in the trademark Malfoy look of boredom. As soon as he entered the kitchen, he knew that he had been wrong about the look on his mother's face, and he was once again flooded with a cold, clammy and utterly consuming terror.

With great effort, he managed to keep a straight face. Upon inspection he immediately noticed three things that were very wrong with the setting before him.

1: His mother was at the slick, black and menacing looking triple burner oven. His mother NEVER cooked. A typical morning would find one of the house elves at the stove, with his mother yelling at them intermittedly whether they were doing something wrong or not.

2: His father was sitting at the table looking very serene, displaying no emotion and not acknowledging Draco's presence at all. While it was not unusual for his father to be at the table, he was usually insulting and berating Draco's mother and he usually proceeded to turn his formidable wrath on Draco as soon as he entered the kitchen.

3: There was a dark, oblong, menacing shape directly to the right of Lucius's chair. A something that was purposely put there so it would be out of Draco's sight.

Upon seeing these three things his mind almost literally shut down with fear. He was normally not a boy who was afraid of anything. But nobody he went to Hogwarts with, including Crabbe and Goyle had ever been to his house. Nobody knew. ( With the exception of Hermione Granger. Maybe. And that was a very big maybe. But Hermione was a very clever girl. )

"Good Morning Draco. Be a good boy and bring your mother's breakfast to the table. "He said without a trace of inflection. For a moment, Draco considered summoning one of the house elves, but then he thought better of it.

He didn't want to do anything that would look remotely suspicious to his father. "Morning mum. Morning Dad. "He said with the Malfoy drawl as he went over to grab the Beezleberry pancakes his mother had fixed. He silently congratulated himself. That had been perfect. He had not let on anything. Just like normal. Then something truly hideous popped unbidden into his head. *Nothing normal ever is.* This was one of his father's favourite sayings.

He deftly picked up the pancakes and began to walk toward the table. *Oh shit. He's sitting at the head of the table. Got to pass him. JUST DO IT YOU BABY!*

Later, he would reflect as to why he hadn't listened to his better sense. It would have changed everything that had come later. But now, he proceeded to walk by his father and about a meter before he got there, his father's voice called out to him.

"Hey Draco. Nice hair. Who're you trying to impress? I hope to God it's not your mother."

Draco would also reflect on this later. He would wonder why the hell he reacted the way he had. If he hadn't laughed, everything might have gone normally. Instead he had done the worst thing possible.

A large, throaty chuckle escaped Draco's throat. Realizing his grievous error, he tried to stop, but it was akin to trying to stop a speeding avalanche. No matter what you do, it just keeps growing bigger and bigger.

It blossomed into a full-fledged laugh. Whether from his previous terror or something else he didn't know. He was balancing the plate with one hand and holding his stomach with the other as if to keep it from bursting.

What followed etched itself in his memory in an inky, blue-black haze of pain. Lucius's foot jumped out from behind one of the massive oak table legs like a striking serpent. It made contact with Draco's knees and he went sprawling.

The pancakes were crushed underneath his weight, and he felt the sticky syrup and sharp ceramic shards on his chest with amazing clarity. He barely had time to draw in a single tortured breath before he was yanked violently around.

Lucius had an amazing strength. That coupled with the fact that Draco weighed a mere 100 pounds gave Lucius the advantage. He yanked him up by his shirt collar, his eyes blazing like dark gemstones. "YOU DARE LAUGH IN MY PRESENCE YOU SICKLY WEAKLING?" He roared, and in the hot blast of his breath Draco could detect no liqueur of any kind.

In his terror Draco said nothing. This only enraged Lucius more. Out of the corner of his eye, Draco caught sight of the object right before it came crashing down on his ribs.

It was a baseball bat. *Oh God, Oh God, please never again, oh please, please, please God!* His father swung the bat in a deep, wide stroke, which connected with the right side of Draco's chest. And connected hard. As Lucius dropped him and he fell to the cold, unforgiving marble floor, he felt something snap inside him with a sound like bone china being crushed by hand.

Draco screamed in pain. As he screamed he coughed up a large amount of dark, crimson red blood. The bat connected with the other side of Draco's chest and he felt a hazy red fuzz descending over him. He coughed up more blood.

Distantly he heard his mother yelling at his father. "STOP IT LUCIUS! YOU"RE KILLING HIM! OH, GOD! MY BABY! "Heedless of his wife's screaming Lucius swung the bat again and again and again.

Draco felt the impacts all over his body. On his legs, arms and even his face. All the while his mother screaming for Lucius to stop. *Zephyr in the sky at night I wonder… For the colour blunder threatens everyone* Draco felt himself beginning to slip out of consciousness. *So this is what dying feels like?*

He saw the red cloud begin to descend on him all the while his father still swinging the bat, and his mother still screaming, "OH GOD! PLEASE! OH GOD!" Incoherently crying and screaming and pulling at Lucius with all her might.

*I've been sleepwalking again my dear. Call the medocs, it's these inhuman monsters that I fear.* Was his last conscious thought before passing out. Right before he did, he felt what had to be his mind touching anothers. In fact, it was touching several others at that moment, but he could not even begin to fathom whom, as he only got a mere scent of each of them. More like a soft whiff.

*The fuzzy image of a blond, rather good looking boy being beaten on what looked to be a kitchen floor with a…… baseball bat? A lady pulling at the man's arm with her lips moving furiously, but no sound came out. In fact there was no sound at all. Total quiet. Just this disturbing, sadistic scene being displayed before her like a film loosing it's newness. And the pain! Oh god! It felt as if she would die from it. Everywhere the baseball bat hit she could feel as though it were her own skin.*

*Your own skin. But who am I?* Then right before she woke up she saw him with total, unforgiving, unmerciful swimming clarity. Like a vision straight from hell. *Then the boy was clearly in her view. Not obstructed by anything. And the fuzziness seemed to ripple out and she saw his face clearly for the first time. Thick rivers of tears were flowing out of both eyes and he was coughing up blood. Oh God, so much blood. All the while the bat still hitting him like an avenging devil's wrath. Some kind of purgatory for killing children's souls. For the eternally damned.*

Then she made the cognitive leap of thought. *Oh my God, oh God. Draco?* Then she was awake uttering a full-bodied, horrified scream. She heard her parents running out of their room to her. Then she caught one last thing. *I've been sleepwalking again my dear. Call the medocs, it's these inhuman monsters that I fear.*

Hermione sat down on her bed with a deep sigh. It had taken her what felt like forever, but in reality couldn't have been more than 10 minutes to get her parents out of her bedroom. They had soothed her as best they could, but they didn't really know. They hadn't experienced the feelings as she had. It was like having someone else's emotions grafted onto her mind. Completely naked and exposed. Nothing had been held back. It had all been released. And, possibly worst of all, she could still remember every detail. She could even still feel a faint, tingling pain in her body. Like an aftershock. * But no. That's not really right, I can't even explain it. *

Hermione began to dress for her trip to King's Cross station, and as she did so, she analyzed the dream in it's entirety. Leaving no omissions. It was her habit to do this after she had confronted something unusual or disturbing.

The exact methods of ingenuity and logic always brought her comfort. First thought. * That couldn't have been Malfoy. Could it?* She took a few deep breaths as she began combing her hair and began to sort through the details in her head. Independently and without emotion.

Fact 1: It had actually happened. Whoever it had been. Hermione was sure of that. It had not occurred like a run of the mill bad dream. Instead of being slow and murkily terrifying, like slow pace, or drowning, it had been in real time. Everything had happened with a scary fluidic grace. That, and the emotions she had felt inside herself. Emotions she did not possess. * Like what. Fear of loneliness? That's a laugh.* No. It had been real.

Fact 2: The emotions themselves. The torrent of emotions that had threatened to suffocate her. She had actually felt and heard all the thoughts in the poor boy's head. While she could not hear any sound from the scene itself, she had most definitely heard these. To prove it to herself she summoned one now. * Oh God, Oh God, please never again, oh please, please, please God! *

She gasped. She didn't know what would happen, only that she had the ability to do it. It was like getting a shot of one image on a projector. But being totally immersed in that image. Like being burned onto the film itself. She had seen through *Draco's?* eyes and felt the sharp sting of the bat on her ribs.

She quickly pulled herself out of it. Gasping. The pain on her side was now fresh again, and she felt the throbbing ache anew. This was starting to scare her. *Is this what going mad feels like?* Then she quickly dismissed the thought. There was one more thing she had not thought of.

Fact 3: "The thought after I woke up." This thought had been nothing like the vivid experience she had lived through in her dream. More like a fuzzy afterthought on a radio frequency that you were rapidly leaving the range of. * Or he might just have blacked out from the sheer pain. * She thought. And this made more sense than the other thought did. Almost as if he had been projecting one last thought before blacking out.

Meanwhile, at the Weasley residence, Ron had experienced something similar to Harry. Just as he finished packing his suitcases he heard it. Oh, so faint, but unmistakably there. * I've been sleepwalking again my dear. Call the medocs, it's these inhuman monsters that I fear. * "What the bloody hell was that?" he thought aloud.

His face quickly went scarlet red. He took a quick look around him. * Oh good God. If Fred and George heard that, they'll think I've gone nutters. * But nobody had heard. They were all downstairs, eagerly anticipating Mrs.'s Weasleys home cooked breakfast. Which were quite revered in their household. Along with anything else she chose to cook.

Ron did not dwell on this, merely dismissing it as some odd blurb from his subconscious. He did this due to the fact that he already had his intellectual plate full. So to speak.

In fact, he had been thinking about this particular person for most of the summer. In fact, since a certain chess game had occurred.

You see, Harry and Ron had been the best of friends ever since their first year at Hogwarts together. Ron had always known that he would do anything for Harry, and had always felt completely confident that Harry would do anything for him in return.

Just this past year, things had really started to come into focus. What with Voldemort now gaining his power back at a brisk pace, and the whole wizarding world now being very cautious about who and who not to trust.

Ron knew how Harry's parents had died, at Voldemort's sadistic hand with the killing curse. His heart had always gone out to Harry, because he could not imagine having to live life without ever knowing his parents. He did not think he could have handled it with nearly as much finesse and composure as Harry did.

This had driven home a very important, almost talismanic, truth into Ron's head. And that truth was simply that: Sometimes you lose the people that you love the most.

God knew that they had all had their share of vacations in the Hogwarts infirmary for varying degrees of accidents, ranging from simple cuts and scrapes to attempted murder and even losing all the bones in Harry's arm once.

Ron had come to accept the fact, * Stupid uncaring world. Stupid bloody world. * That life was precious. And that one of these times one of them might, * Great Gods of Quidditch forbid it. * End up six feet underground in a cold, slowly rotting coffin for one of the little "accidents "that always seemed to plague the trio. And Ron wasn't sure that he could go on living if this were to occur.

To any of them.

But especially to Harry.

He had always had feelings for Hermione, but he had never really, well, loved her, or at least felt he loved her, in any way more than platonic, but still deep and powerful friendship kind of way.

Previously he had not cared about this, because he had never bothered to examine his feelings to see if he really "loved" anybody that way. But as of the events of late, his hand had been forced. He had no choice but to consider it. The fear of losing either one of his friends without telling them how he really felt about them was just too great to ignore.

And upon inspection of who he really loved that way, it had turned out to be, well, Harry.

At first his brain had been too shocked to comprehend this, it even went so far as for him to unconsciously block his own thoughts on the matter. But soon enough, he had decided that the only way to really make himself feel better, without a nagging sense of mild, self shock and disgust was to examine why he felt this way, and if he really, truly, did love Harry that way, and if so, would he, could he, or would he even want to tell him?

To make a complicated answer simple, the answer was both yes and no.

He had found that he really did love Harry that way, and yes he would do anything for him, die for him if it came to that. He found that he was not disgusted by the way he felt. In fact, he should have seen it sooner. *Good God man. All this time, he's right there in front of you and you don't even notice?*

He had only a few fears. Either, worst-case scenario, that Harry would reject him in front of everybody, thus ruining his reputation, and, at the very least, severely damaging Harry's.

Or, he might never work up the courage to tell Harry before it was too late, a thought that haunted him in his dreams. Or, he might never tell him, and life would go on and he would be forced to life the life of what ifs or might haves. Which was something he knew that he couldn't live with.

He had seen this happen to other people he loved, and he most definitely did not want it to happen to him.

So, after much deliberation, he had made up his mind with the firm conviction that no matter what happened this year, he would find some way to tell Harry about the feelings he had for him. This year. No matter what happened.

He thought that if he was lucky, he might get a chance to tell Harry what he felt for him on the train to Hogwarts at the very earliest. He vowed that he would do it soon, as he didn't know how much longer he could handle the turmoil of his emotions that raged within him, threatening to explode with volatile force.

Just thinking about it had gotten him feeling all queasy and sick. * Just cool it. You'll get the chance, I know you will. * He thought to himself as he walked to the crazed glass of the bedroom mirror to do another once over on his overall appearance and his hair.

He took a moment to take it all in as he did another once over on his hair. The abundance of freckles on his smooth skinned face, the slightly visible arm muscles through his maroon jumper. ( He too, had been working out at the gym regularly. He thought this might do something in the way of getting Harry to notice him. )

The slightly bulbous and protruding nose, something he had always been immensely fond of, no matter what anybody else said. The alert and clear blue eyes, and the soft cascade of his fine, soft, carroty red hair.

* Perfect. * He thought with an amount of pleasure. As he turned to get his suitcases, he heard his mother's commanding voice echoing up from what had to be the downstairs kitchen. "Ron! Get down to breakfast! Another 10 minutes and I'll put the Imperius curse on you!"

Uncle Vernon's company car speeding down the Interstate, rapidly approaching King's Cross Station at an eager 90 km an hour.

After the row about the ears at 6:00 in the morning, Aunt Petunia had been in no mood to drive Harry to King's Cross Station. Especially not by herself. But, Vernon had, had to take a taxi to work, refusing to get one for Harry, thinking that he might take the opportunity to put a hex on the driver.

Dudley had been in no fit state to accompany her, so that left her and Harry alone. Something she most definitely did not like. At least he wasn't trying to start a conversation, or anything else, for that matter.

And, speaking of Harry, he to had his mind on other things now.

If Ron had known what Harry was thinking at that exact moment, he would have been extremely pleased. Even overjoyed. Harry was thinking about Ron. Had in fact, been thinking about him exclusively. Ever since he had gotten into the car with Aunt Petunia.

And in a very friendly sort of way.

You see, Harry to had been having dramatic, conflicting emotions over the course of the summer. Well dramatic might be a little too light. Heart wrenching was closer to the truth. Being slightly more mature than Ron, he had come to his own conclusions on the matter slightly faster.

He too had been thinking about Ron. At first, it had only been some intensely strange, and, if truth be told, gratifying dreams of midnight trysts on the grounds, and much more steamier than that as the weeks progressed.

Due to the fact that he was more mature than Ron, he hadn't been shocked, although he had been slightly disgusted with himself at first. As summer moved on, he began to analyze these feelings and dreams like Hermione might have, but in his own way and at his own pace, while he worked out at the neighbourhood gym.

He was not blessed with a good family as both his other friends were. And the mere thought of going to Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia with his thoughts on the matter had been enough to make him roll on the ground with gut-busting laughter.

He had, had no choice but to sort through these complicated emotions he was feeling on his own, and without help from anyone. As he sat doing stretches, laps on the treadmill, or lifting weights, he had often let his body take over and let his mind drift.

He had always been Ron's best friend. He cared for him with all his heart. He would have died for him, and, a couple times, it had almost come to that. He thought that he would die of grief if anything were to happen to either of them.

He had always loved Hermione, but had always known and accepted, almost from their first year, that she just wasn't his type. And last year, after the mortifying embarrassment of the Yule Ball, he hadn't really been sure if anybody was his type.

He had just begun to accept that no one at Hogwarts might be right for him, when he had started to notice Ron in a new light, and for the first time.

It had been during the last day of school the previous year, when they had all been waiting for the Hogwarts Express to arrive to take them home in the wee hours of the morning. They had both been seated at a table in the nearly empty common room playing a game of wizard's chess.

Hermione had been off in the library getting some light reading to check out for the summer holidays and they had both been alone.

Harry smiled at the memory, now recalling it in his mind for his own pleasure, only vaguely aware of the countryside speeding past his window.

* The fire beginning to bank in the gargantuan common room fireplace. The fading light of the coals playing on the two gigantic, plush common room chairs that himself and Ron had been seated in. The gold and deep maroon embroidery glinting in the fire's dying light, stopping ever so often to play upon the embossed form of the Gryffindor Lion, above their heads.*

* The voices all around them, soft and slurred with sleep and stress. Himself and Ron barely speaking above a whisper as they called out to their pawns, they moved across the board. Occasionally voicing ( mostly rude ) opinions about both of their strategies. Ron occasionally cursing at himself for making a wrong move, and Harry smiling with a slightly bemused expression every time this occurred. *

Thuck! The car slammed over a pothole at better then 120 km an hour. Jolting both Harry and Aunt Petunia in their seats. The seatbelts locked, and Harry felt what little breath he had knocked out of him with violent force.

As soon as things smoothed out, Aunt Petunia cast Harry a glance that was nearly crazed to the point of madness by terror. As they had been driving, she had continued to steal glances at Harry, who looked like he was going into some strange kind of trance, all the while keeping a strange, half-moon sort of smile on his face.

Aunt Petunia had become increasingly more concerned that Harry would snap out of it at any moment and do something violent. The child was just so, well, abnormal. Her mind whispered to her.

* He's more special then you'll ever know. * Spoke a cold, frightening voice inside her head. Where the voice had been coming from had scared her even more than the words it had spoken. * That was me. Oh God, oh God, oh please, oh please dear sweet God. * She thought, becoming more and more terrified as the moments ticked by.

She had also, unconsciously, been steadily increasing the pressure on the BMW's gas pedal. The speedometer needle had creeped from 80 to 90, from 90 to 110, and from 110 to 120.

She had barely been paying attention to the road at all when the BMW had slammed over the pothole. If she hadn't looked up soon, she knew that the chances were great that they might have crashed, and died a horrible, excruciating death. * Oh God. What would happen to my Duddiekins? *

She let out a long, pent up breath. * How long have I been holding it? * She wondered. She cast a quick glance at the speedometer, checked the road ahead, saw that they were approaching the correct exit.

As she turned on the signal light, she cast another quick glance at Harry. What she saw this time scared her more than the last. He was looking at her. She could almost feel those hard, cold, eyes. So like her sisters. Staring into the back of her head like all seeing orbs of power.

She couldn't help herself. She screamed.

The BMW swerved violently, and the rear end fishtailed to the left. She saw the front end of some fancy Italian import coming up fast, and knew that she was going to die.

Then something truly amazing happened. She thought, no, she knew, that time had slowed down for a few, lifesaving, precious seconds. She saw everything like a 45 played on a 38.

The other driver's expression of shocked disbelief, the sun glinting off the dashboard mirror, and the car looming ever closer in front of them. She froze. They would have died if Harry had not spoken when he did. "DRIVE!" he spoke in his powerful and commanding voice. Not a hint of panic. Just pure meaning and force.

Like her sister.

This snapped Aunt Petunia out of her self-inflicted daze and she quickly corrected and shot forward. Missing the other car's tailgate by centimetres. Then time sped up again.

It was a smooth transition, almost like a tweening effect on an old-time guitar. With no pause at all. Just that smooth, fluidic grace like a well played note. She screamed again, but this time with relief.

Then her mind caught up with her body. There was only one person in the car that could have done that. And it wasn't her. "Harry. "She let out in a cracking voice. She cast another quick glance in the rear view mirror. Harry was just sitting there. Still looking as cool and unperturbed as ever.

Amazingly, she felt a strong wave of emotion come over her. "Thank you Harry," she said in barely more than a whisper. She felt close to tears. "Don't mention it," Harry said from the back seat. He cast her that half moon smile again. And suddenly she understood her previous thought. * My God. He is more special than I've ever realized. Oh, God. Forgive me. What have I done? * And for perhaps the first time in 15 years she saw things clearly. What a monster she had been. * What monsters all of us have been. Indeed. * She saw the cycle of steady, unrelenting abuse that he had received at their hands.

She knew then that she was going to cry. She was helpless to stop it. "Don't cry Aunt Petunia." She heard his soft voice from the back seat. She uttered a choked sob and merely nodded. Still trying desperately not to cry. She focused her eyes back on the road, now thinking very hard about what had just happened.

Harry relaxed again. That had been a close one. Now it was his turn to cast a fearful glance at his Aunt. Upon inspection he realized that she would be alright. Eventually. She just needed some time to digest what had happened. He guessed, and correctly so, that she was now beginning to see him in a new light.

He closed his eyes again. He wanted to finish his little daydream before they arrived at the station.

* Their game almost wrapped up, (Ron was going to win. No surprises there.) He had felt Ron's eyes on him. "So,… ready to go home Harry?" he had asked. An awkward silence had hung between them. He could see the look in Ron's clear, blue eyes that were notorious for their failure to conceal anything. Harry had moved his bishop, and after a moment when Ron hadn't made his move, Harry looked up at him.*

*Something was definitely up. "Ron, is there anything you want to tell me about? Anything at all?" And there most definitely had been something up, because now Ron, his best friend of four years was looking at him with a look of *Need? Desire? Desperation?* "If there is you know you can tell me," Harry said, a meaningful look stating itself plainly in his eyes. "Well, actually," said Ron, and now Harry could feel the tension all over. In his body, the chairs, the room, everywhere.*

* The room was positively alive with it. Harry could feel it, and he had no doubt that Ron was feeling it too. Ron checkmated his king absently, but neither one of them took any notice, just leaning over the board, staring into each other's eyes, their hot, full, lips mere inches apart. They were so close that they could feel each other's breaths as they slowly exhaled and inhaled. Neither one daring to speak for fear that the other would speak first. *

* Finally Ron spoke. And now Harry could literally feel the tension buzzing around both of them. He thought he might scream if something didn't happen. "I was just thinking that maybe we should..." And now their lips were almost touching. "Take a little spare time to..." Harry spoke, in a breathy whisper that Ron wouldn't have been able to hear if their faces hadn't been separated by just the smallest of distances. "Yes?" And as Ron leaned closer Harry heard, - "Best be changing your robes. The trains almost here."*

* Damn Hermione! She had to but in at the absolute worst of times! She cast a strange, quizzical look at them both, and then preceded them out the door. All Ron had said was, "I'll finish that thought. Later."

And that, had been that. Whatever Ron had been about to say, whatever might have been about to happen had passed. Harry never knew if what had been about to happen was really what he thought, or something else entirely. And so he had spent the summer sorting out his feelings, and going over the events of that night, and whatever happened this year he most definitely wanted Ron to finish that thought.

The Malfoy limousine streaked down the highway, holding in it a driver, and a single, suffering passenger.

Draco Malfoy leaned against the soft leather of the limo's seats grateful for the feel of the soothing material on his back. He was immensely glad that neither his father nor mother had opted to say goodbye to him.

If his father had seen him like this, he had no doubt that it would be grounds for another beating. And he wasn't sure that he would live through this one.

After he had blacked out, his father had flung the baseball bat away, and summoned the local doctor in the neighbouring village some short miles to the Malfoy mansion.

The villagers hated them, but the unfortunate doctor in question really hadn't been given any choice in the matter. After examining him, the doctor had discovered 5 broken ribs, three broken facial bones, multiple bone fractures in the legs, two broken fingers, and a broken nose.

The doctor had managed to stop the bleeding, and had healed the injuries as best he could, assuring his father that the rest would heal in time. The doctor, however, had been able to do nothing for the tortured roadmap of scars that were now etched all over Draco's body, except for his hands, feet and face.

Draco thought with some bitterness, * Knowing dad, he probably prefers it that way. * His father had also refused to let the doctor give Draco anything for the pain. A pain, that seemed to stretch down to his very soul. Then Lucius had performed the killing curse on the doctor in thanks for his troubles. As he had done this, he had eyed Draco, silently daring him to stop him.

Draco had gone upstairs and changed into a large, fleecy turtleneck that covered all the bruises, and a suit jacket, that would hide the awkwardness of his movement. At least to some extent. He had gone and lathered some very expensive mint lotion over his body, which at least took the screaming, nerve slicing pain down by a bit.

Then his parents had sent him off with no goodbye or anything. His father's parting remark had been, "Oh, and Draco? Don't come home for Christmas." And he offered him a nasty, leering smile as the limo pulled away.

Draco twisted ever so gently to get a drink from the limo's miniature fridge, and this sent new, fiery streams of pain all across his body. He screamed in agony and fresh rivers of tears were now streaming down his face.

He knew he would have to work extra hard to conceal his mind numbing agony from everyone. That meant acting like even more of a bastard then he usually did. *God, I'm turning into my father. Oh please, someone help me.* Draco hated his father with a passion. Day in and day out, he had seen the suffering that this monster had wreaked on him and his mother. *Sadistic son of a bitch. I'd give anything just to start over again.*

And he meant it. If he could have started over at Hogwarts from day 1, he would have done it gladly, for anything. He led a loveless life, he had no friends, unless you included Crabbe and Goyle, who were like a bad smelling, clinging moss. All the Slytherin girls went out with him just because they knew he was heir to the immense Malfoy family fortune. None of them knew who he really was. None of them.

The car made a sharp left, causing Draco's body to slam into the door side, making him scream anew. Fresh rivulets of tears sprang to his eyes, and he held his sides while he quaked with pain. *Potter and Co., if you could see me now.* He thought, and this brought on a fresh bout of tears.

As the Granger family car, a bottle green vintage Volkswagen Challenger, sped toward the airport, Hermione had finally let her thoughts drift away from her strange and disturbing dream, to focus on something else.

Her two best friends in the whole world. Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. She remembered vividly walking in on the middle of something about to happen between them last year.

She recalled the dreamy, yet tense, looks on both of their faces, expectant and anxious. Both focusing completely on each other, as if they were the only two people in the world, each living only for the other. Their faces so close, and Harry whispering something breathily into Ron's ear, and both of them leaning closer and closer...When she had butted in.

She had no doubt in her mind that whatever had been about to pass between the two of them had been very important indeed, and she had also got the strong impression that they were both fast becoming mutually attracted to each other. She had not known what she was going to do until she had done it. *Boys* she thought irritably.

She had figured it out on the train ride home, being more mature than the both of them put together. They were fast developing feelings toward each other, and at most, all she had done was to delay them expressing their mutual attraction toward each other. As she left the room, she had been positive she heard Ron say, "I'll finish that thought. Later."

Her immediate reaction had been, *So what? I'm not jealous. I'm a big girl.* But she realized that she was jealous, and that had come as a shock to her. For all her intelligence, Hermione had never been any good at matters of the heart. She knew she should have seen this coming, but she hadn't, and that had bothered her.

She had come to the conclusion that, *Oh well, there are other fish in the sea.* But she realized, that, for her, there weren't. Harry and Ron were her only friends. Her best friends. She had very little in the way of social skills, and she knew that she would get a good job after leaving Hogwarts, and a good house, but it would be a cold house.

She knew that she would be alone all her life, and she found that she didn't want to live that kind of life. * Oh God Draco, is this what your life feels like?* This also surprised her. Ever since this morning she had been thinking of him as Draco instead of Malfoy, and she now had little or no doubt that the boy in her *Dream? Vision?* Had been Draco. The only question that remained, was what was she going to do about it?

She was seriously going to have to think on that one. The Granger's car pulled up to King's Cross Station's massive, double metal and glass door entrance.

The purple and red car from the Ministry of Magic pulled up high above the clouds, and sped towards King's Cross at a rapid pace. Inside George and Fred Weasley sat in the front, poking and making fun of the driver, trying on his hat and waving their fake wands in front of his face, and generally, making a nuisance of themselves.

In the back, Ron reclined on the sumptuously padded seat. The seats of all Ministry cars had Plush Charms cast on them. Or at least that's what his dad had told him before he had ridden in one for the first time in his life, during his third year. If this was so, then the driver certainly didn't look very comfortable, but Ron assumed that was because of the Whoopee Cushion Fred and George had stuck on his seat before he sat down.

Ron was lazily popping Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans into his mouth, sometimes savouring them one at a time, and sometimes popping them into his mouth 2 or 3 at a time, but his heart wasn't really in it.

He had chewed three tripe-flavoured beans and had hardly taken notice. He was still thinking about Harry. Having a very nice fantasy about him actually. God knew the kind of jeering he would have been receiving if Fred and George had known what was going on in his head. He smiled sheepishly, his face going red again.

Then he went back to his fantasy.

* He was in what must have been the Dark Forest, and dark clouds were just beginning to descend upon the scene, a violent pink sky lighting the scene from behind in a pleasing, soft sort of way. *

* But he wasn't alone. Harry was standing in front of him, his Invisibility Cloak draped over his right arm. His hair falling carelessly in a cascade around his head, a sheen of moisture obscuring his face and lightly coating the lenses of his glasses. His overall appearance dishevelled, but mildly. Ron found the look very sexy, and enticing. "Ron, why'd you call me? "Harry said, attempting to wipe the moisture off of his spectacles. *

* "To tell you this," Ron said, no doubt, fear or indecision plaguing his voice or thoughts. He was Ron Weasley, and he knew what he wanted and by God, he was going to have it. He approached Harry in three, short quick strides and slipped his glasses off his face oh, so gently. "You won't be needing these." Ron said, "At least not for what I have in mind." He pocketed them and without further ado, pulled Harry into his arms, and kissed him passionately and with feeling. He felt Harry's knees buckle, and he leaned into Ron's kiss, letting himself be taken away.*

* Ron was leading Harry through the dark, subterranean passages that led beneath the Whomping Willow and, eventually, back into Hogwarts itself, and Harry was kissing him back, and they were fumbling down the passage with no light to guide them. Eventually, they reached Hogwarts. By this time it was late at night, and both of them were looking very kissed and dishevelled. They stumbled along the now silent corridors as they made there way toward the Prefects Bathroom's, Harry barely having the time to mutter "pine fresh "before Ron's lips enclosed his again. As they stumbled into the bathroom, fumbling with each other's robe clasps, and as the overhead torches came on, Ron saw- Fred and George?! Already sitting in the giant tub, looking at the two of them and saying-*

"Had enough yet little Ronniekins?" Ron's eyes popped open and he let out a strangled scream, "GAHHHH! "Seeing Fred and George leaning maliciously in front of him. "Jeez Ron, it's not like we were interrupting anything important, or maybe we were, mister, "You won't be needing these. At least not for what I have in mind," said George maliciously, making obscene gestures with his tongue and moaning suggestively. "Yes. Hermione'll definitely be pleased when she hears about this," snickered Fred. "Ravage me Ron," he moaned, and they both broke into fits of giggles.

Ron felt what had to be a good portion of all the blood in his body enter his face as he groaned with embarrassment. He must have fallen asleep. He always talked in his sleep. "Besides, we're here," said Fred offhandedly. At this they both jumped out the passenger side door, laughing like Hyenas. Ron took a deep breath and got out. All was not lost. As he grabbed his bags, he heard Fred and George yelling at him from the doors. "Hurry up Ron! Mum an Dad're already here."

Ron raced through the doors, desperately trying to keep up with them as they rounded bend after bend, until they reached the barrier between platforms 9 and 10 where the rest of the Weasleys were already waiting.

All of them. Mum, Dad, Ginny, Fred, George, Hermione (who was looking very embarrassed as Fred and George moaned suggestively into her ears, laughing all the while).

And Harry. Oh, God, it was him. And he looked good. He looked VERY good. Ron could see the strong, yet sleek looking muscles of Harry's arms through the white, soft and revealing cotton shirt that Harry was wearing, the careless fall of his hair, and the alluring look of Harry's glasses slipping down his nose.

And in a single moment, Ron felt all his doubts and fears swept away like the wind on a shimmering pool, blowing away the lily pads and revealing the beauty of the surface underneath, and Ron could think of only one thought that made his head spiral with it's own deliciousness. Something no candy in the world could ever even come close to.

And that thought was, *Term has begun.* It was going to be a very good year. A very good year indeed.