Redemption

Chapter Nine

It had been several weeks since Duo's first blood transfusion. They had conducted the procedure again after a fortnight when Quatre felt it would be safe. The braided boy's condition had improved greatly and he was up and about. Soon, he would be ready to leave, and he and the others would be out of Wufei's house and life.

Wufei had been working out the details of his escape. He would first delete all records of himself and of this house, and then he would send a letter to Harry. He knew the boy would help him, and he had plenty of money to support himself. His plan was to join Harry's secret world, transferring all of his money to sickles, knuts and galleons. He could live in The Leaky Cauldron for as long as he needed to, and since none of his superiors or the other four boys knew anything about the wizarding world, he could hide there forever and just disappear into thin air. At least, he hoped that was the case.

In truth, he was a little nervous about asking Harry for help. He would be intruding on a foreign world, and after Ron's reaction on the platform, he was a little concerned about what people might say once they knew he was a Muggle. Not to mention the fact that his whole plan relied on his wizard boyfriend, and, although he didn't want to think about it, there was every possibility that they might break up and then he'd be completely stuck.

He'd gone through this cycle about a million times already, and each time he grew a little more nervous or paranoid about whether things were going to work out or not. All he could do was hope that he hadn't underestimated Harry's feelings for him.

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Draco sat alone in his dormitory. Crabbe and Goyle had finally figured out that he was in a very foul mood and left him alone in favor of food. It was a bright Saturday afternoon, and most of the students were out on the grounds relaxing by the lake or playing wiz frizz by the old oak.

Malfoy didn't really go in for any of that, especially not when he was doomed to such a miserable life.

Lucius Malfoy had been broken out of Azkaban with the other Death Eaters who were imprisoned and was now on the run from the Ministry. He had come to Draco a short time before term started, battered and broken. An enormous gash had been cut across his face that wouldn't heal, but that was nothing compared to the damage done to his body. Lucius' flesh was covered in welts and blisters and thousands of tiny slashes that looked harmless, but were really very deep.

The younger Malfoy had no doubts of who had done this to his father, and he hated him for it. What was worse was that he himself was expected to join the ranks of Death Eaters once his schooling was finished, perhaps earlier, depending on whether Voldemort managed to finally beat Harry Potter. Although no one would dare to speak of such things, at least not to his face, he knew that everyone, even his teachers, were just waiting for the day that he turned around and betrayed them all, side by side with the other Slytherins.

What none of them knew was that Draco despised Voldemort. As a Malfoy, he had been born with a strong sense of pride and self worth and had been raised to bow to no one. Then, suddenly, that twisted bastard had managed to crawl back out of the pits of hell, and his father dropped to his knees on cue, sniveling and scurrying about like a mere servant. It was embarrassing to see the strong, powerful man he'd idolized drop to such a pathetic level. Draco wanted to scream when he thought about what had happened to Lucius because of it.

Usually the boy would take his frustrations out on Potter but lately that gotten him nowhere. The stupid git had been moping about for a month now, and nothing he tried could get a rise out of his rival. Draco had even insulted that fool of a mutt Sirius Black, and received nothing for his trouble but a black eye from Ron Weasley before Granger had stepped in and dragged the little prick off of him.

"What the hell is happening to this damn school?!" he yelled to the walls.

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Up in his office, Albus Dumbledore sighed heavily. This year would be a tough one. He had three students on the verge of a breakdown, a teacher who was fast becoming manic depressive, one who was constantly endangering his life for the greater good, and one Gryffindor prefect running amok.

"That is a good question indeed," he whispered.

Suddenly, he walked to the window overlooking the Forbidden Forest and smiled at a beautiful white horse that was visible for a moment between the trees. Perhaps Hagrid would like to share a cup of tea...

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Zechs continued to travel just inside the border of what was known as the Forbidden Forest. He was tired from journeying so far, and all he'd had for a month was grass, grass, a meal at a third rate inn, and more grass. Now, he had finally reached Hogwarts, but had no idea what to do with himself. Maybe this would be a good time to rest.

Settling down onto his hind legs and then front, Zechs rested his head just to the side of his knees and snorted. Just a little rest, and then he'd work out how to approach Hogwarts...

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"Is that a unicorn?"

"No, I don't think so; it looks more like a horse."

"Don't be a git, Hermione. What would a horse be doing in the Forbidden Forest?"

"Well, I don't know, but it IS a horse. Look, no horn."

Zechs awoke to the conversation, and once it sunk in that they were talking about him, he was jolted back to reality and stood abruptly. Unfortunately, he wasn't the most graceful of horses on a good day, having spent most of his life as a human, and having just been woken, he only vaguely remembered that he was currently in his animagus form. Somewhere in the process of standing, he landed back on the ground with a thud, and what felt very much like a broken limb. Automatically, the shock triggered his transformation, and he lay on the forest floor clutching his right ankle in agony.

"You're... you're an animagus!" one of the students crowed.

"Well that's fairly obvious, Ron," the only girl spoke. "The question is, what is he doing here?"

"Maybe he's a spy for You-Know-Who..." the boy, Ron, answered ominously. "Oi, Harry, whatcha' doing? He might be a spy."

The brunet, Harry, was leaning over Zechs' foot and gingerly reached out to touch it. At the instant cry of pain, he winced and jerked back. "I think it's broken," he told the others. "Ron, go and fetch Hagrid."

After lingering a moment later, Ron ran off in search of the man they'd called Hagrid and Harry knelt down beside Zechs. "Sorry about that. My name's Harry. That was Ron. He's gone to get the grounds keeper, and we'll have you up to Madame Pomfrey in no time. I'm sure she'll be able to heal your leg in a second. What's you name?"

"...Milliardo," Zechs replied after a moment, his more familiar name on the tip of his tongue. "Milliardo Peacecraft." Gritting his teeth, Zechs pulled himself together and briefly thought over his current predicament when it hit him. "Harry? Harry Potter?" He looked up to the boy's forehead where a lightning shaped scar greeted him as confirmation.

"Harry," the girl whispered and grabbed his arm. She dragged him away, but Zechs had good hearing and managed to catch the conversation. "What if Ron's right? It took him a while to remember his name, and remember when I looked up Rita Skeeter? I don't remember any pure white horses on the Animagus list, and I checked the whole list just to make sure. Not to mention he seemed awfully interested in your name."

"Hermione, everyone is interested in my name. That doesn't make him a spy for Voldemort, and besides, Sirius was an unregistered animagus, wasn't he? That doesn't mean anything either," the boy replied rather heatedly.

He was about to walk away when she grabbed his arm again and whispered frantically, "I really think you aught to think about this for a moment, Harry. Don't let you feelings over Sirius blind your judgment. This could be-"

"I'm not letting anything 'blind my judgment', Hermione. There is nothing solid to suggest that he is anyone other than who he claims to be. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to go help the man with a broken ankle." Harry tugged his arm out of her grasp and glared angrily.

The poor girl looked so taken aback by his aggression that she seemed close to tears.

"A broken ankle, you say? I'm quite sure that Madame Pomfrey can take care of that," there came a distinguished voice from just beyond the tree line.