The Inner Darkness

Chapter 8: Diving into the Heart - Destati

The disorientation lifted a moment later, and his breath had turned to frost before his very face. He was suspended approximately three feet above the ground as his body went from transparent to solid before his very eyes. The laws of gravity quickly spoke up, however, and Harry fell the remaining distance, landing on his back painfully. It was a landing without comfort, for a paved sidewalk broke his fall.

"Ugh," groaned Harry, as his head hit into the walk with a jarring crack. His eyes swam again for a moment, the stars above his head dancing and blurring before him. With a hand to the back of his head, Harry sat up slowly.

He was in the middle of a foreign suburban area. A nearby streetlight beamed down upon him, but provided him no warmth, for his teeth had already begun chattering. Still being dressed in a hospital robe, he had very little protection from the elements. He still gripped Bastian's letter in his hands.

"Dobby..." he whispered harshly though shaking lips. He was still barefoot and had no items upon him, not even his wand. It was to Harry's disbelief that Dobby was nowhere to be seen.

He struggled to rise, bracing himself against the cold as best as he could. Likely, he was somewhere in Germany... could be anywhere, teleported by Dobby's Apparting spell into a random place. Harry chided himself mentally for accepting the House Elf's help... whenever Dobby tried to help him, it only seemed to make things worse. Rubbing his arms furiously with his hands, Harry decided to wait, having no better ideas.

A moment later, the air became thick with a popping sound once again. Finally a decisive snap echoed in the cold night, and three figures appeared in front of him. In the gloom of the streetlight, Harry made out a very groggy looking Ron, holding his wand and dressed very shabbily in a dirty robe. Next to him, Hermione looked no better off, her hair frayed in many different directions and her school robe winkled and unkempt. The third figure was Dobby, no doubt, for he was a third the height of Ron.

Ron staggered, suffering some sort of disorientation from the spell. "Ugh... what..." he groaned, looking to Harry. "Are you ok? What's going on?"

Dobby answered the question by bouncing up and down energetically. "Harry Potter had to go to Germany! Dobby brought him, but him might need help from his Wheezy and his Gardner!"

Hermione blinked her eyes, as if banishing the last of her fatigue. "Harry... what are we doing in Germany?" She looked around with confusion. "Dobby came to the Burrow, grabbed both of us. He told us to get ready... he said you needed help."

"Dobby is so happy him could help Harry Potter!" the house elf bounced excitedly. "Now, Dobby has to get back to Headmistress McGonagall, or she think something bad happen to Dobby!"

"Wait!" cried out all three friends, but it was too late. Dobby vanished with a snap of his fingers and a loud pop.

Harry sighed and dismissed hope that Dobby would return with his wand. Instead, he focused on the present. Thinking of no better explanation, Harry handed over his letter to Hermione. After reading both sides and noting the dates on each side, she handed the paper to Ron, who also read. When they had finished, both of their faces looked the same... a not-so delightful mix of confusion and anger.

"Ok, so we have to find this Bastian guy!" announced Ron boldly. "Alright, let's go!"

Harry blinked his eyes wearily, "but where? How do we go somewhere we don't know the location of... from a place we don't know the location of?"

"Um... like this!" announced Ron, drawing both Hermione and Harry's eye. He drew his wand from his sleeve and swished it back and forth in the air. "Lumos!" Once the light flickered out of the tip, he waved it up and down, fanning colors into the night.

The sound of spinning tires upon asphalt screeched into Harry's ears, causing him to wince. Two headlights had appeared at the end of the street and were making headway toward them rapidly. Harry's first impulse was to leap out of the way and save himself, however, the lights streaked to a stop right in front of them.

No longer blinded by the headlights, Harry saw it for what it was... it was a covered wagon drawn by white horses with magical horns fixed to their foreheads. The horns were glowing so vibrantly that the street before them was lit up. The tires on the wagon appeared modern, thick black rubber covering their frames. Upon the top of the wagon was perched and old man with a short white beard and a head with the faintest remnants of thin, white hair. He stared down at the three young wizards curiously.

"Wo sind Sie drei heute abend reisend?" asked the man, drawing a blank from Harry, who knew just about as much German as he knew astrophysics.

Hermione nodded shortly and replied. "Jah. Were müssoon an Zwanzog vir geleingon Wehlheimer Strabe, innun Halmet."

Hermione blushed, and looked away from the old man. "A little bit..."

Ron and Harry were both about to respond, however, the old man was the next to speak. "Actually, she speaks za language about az vell az a tongueless leprachaun. I could not understand von vord she vas saying."

That comment practically had Ron rolling on the ground with laughter, as he doubled over, gripping his chest. Hermione flushed red with embarrassment. Even the low-key Harry could not help but chuckle at Hermione's blushed face.

"Well, I never formally studied," argued Hermione sheepishly, looking at her shoes bashfully.

Ignoring Hermione, he looked to Harry skeptically. "If you vere vearing any less clothing, I'd say zat you ver vunning avay from home. You look nearly frozen to death."

In light of the recent magic, Harry had forgotten just how cold he was, however, now it was coming back to him. His toes had already gone numb, thanks to the frosty pavement and his lips were probably turning blue by now. Dobby's heart was in the right place, Harry thought bitterly, but his mind was just on the next train out.

"Yes," chattered Harry. "It was sort of an accident..."

"Vell," said the old man, dismissing Harry and looking at Ron curiously. Vhere can I take you? You ver za vun zat called for za Uber-Bollervagon, ja?"

Ron recovered from his bout of mirth and looked down at the paper in Harry's hand. "Um... we need to get to twenty four Wehlheimer... er... Strabe..."

"Don't even try to pronounce it," said the old man with a fierce pride. "You vill never understand our language. 'Straße' means 'Street' in English."

"Oh," stated Harry, feeling a bit insulted on behalf of Ron. "Well, can you take us there?"

"Vould help if you had a town or a city... zer are numerous Wehlheimer Straßes in za Motherland."

"Right," blushed Harry, "sorry. Halmet."

"Very vell," stated the man. "Zat vill be cethree Schiffs, and for an extra vun, I can make za vagon hot for you friend."

"What's a Schiff?" asked Harry, looking nervously at Ron and Hermione.

Hermione frowned and shrugged while Ron groaned and withdrew a couple of knuts and sickles. "German currency," answered Ron. "Look, we only have British knuts and sickles. Won't that do?"

"Nope, zat vont," snapped the driver angrily. "You call for za Uber-Bollervagon and don't even have za right money? British currency is no good here! Are you cethree stupid or somezing?"

Harry groaned and ran his hand through his hair, clearing his forehead of his matted mess, all the while groaning and shivering. As he did this, the old man looked at him, peering with a fixed expression directly above Harry's eyes.

"Zat mark..." he murmured, as he sized up the rest of Harry, his eyes widened in amazement. "You are Harry Potter, ja?"

Hermione and Ron's face brightened considerably, as Harry nodded. He had to admit, the prospect that he was even well known in Germany made him feel rather good, if not a bit big-headed. "Right."

The old man chuckled, looking rather pleased with himself. "Vell, bless me... I can accept British currency for Harry Potter and hiz friends. Zat is quite alright."

Ron smiled and handed over the money in his hand. Harry was sure that it did not even add up to a galleon, but the old man did not even count it, or care. "Quick, get in, Harry Potter. Zis veather will be za end of you..."

Wasting no time, Harry boarded through the back. A small wooden staircase had fallen, leading up five steps into the cabin of the closed, hooded wagon. It was quaint and cozy enough, Harry noted. Soft hay crunched beneath the soles of Harry's feet and at once, he felt so much warmer. While the floor was covered with a few inches of hay, a polished mahogany table stretched down the length of the wagon. Rich fruits, cheeses and breads filled the table, looking fresh to the exact minute. Harry had to admit, this room looked MUCH bigger on the inside than the entire wagon. It did not seem to take Hermione and Ron by surprise, however.

"This is neat!" exclaimed Hermione as she took a seat at the table. "They've charmed the insides to be twice as large as the outside!"

Ron did not delay and began grabbing as much food as he could stack upon his plate and cramming his face with cheese. "I love cheese so much," he cooed, the half-chewed food sloshing about uncannily in his wide-open trap.

"Ugh," groaned Hermione, raising a hand to her brow. "Can't you chew with your mouth closed?"

Ron looked at her innocently, but Harry did not miss that glint of mischief in his eyes. "Well, how am I supposed to talk and eat at the same time if I do that?"

Harry laughed and sat down next to Ron, grabbing a fresh apple from the table. He was about to bite into it when the apple was lurched from his grasp by the sudden squeal of tires and the jerk of suddenly fast movement, gunning forward at amazing speeds.

"So, Harry," stated Hermione, looking across the table at him. "When we get to Bastian's house, what are we going to do? He doesn't know us... he only knows Sora."

"And Sora's in Azkaban," added Ron, without needed to.

Harry shrugged. "Well, he will be expecting me... I'll tell him in person about Sora. Apparently, Sora wrote him a message from Azkaban."

"He must be in the minimum security section then," offered Ron. "Most prisoners are not allowed contact with the outside world."

Hermione looked at Ron incredulously. "Of course he is. They have no evidence he murdered Colin and hurt Harry... and he hasn't been convicted yet."

Ron raised an upper lip and shoved a small loaf of bread into his face. "What else do they need, a written confession? He's a bloody murderer, Hermione... right Harry?"

Harry winced, but could only shrug. "I don't know..."

The trio conversed in normal tones for quite some time, Ron managing to take a sizable portion out of the available food upon the table. In fact, Harry could not help but begin digging in, for it was his first meal in days. For that matter, Hermione herself had a very large plate as well. It occurred to Harry that his friends had probably not been eating too well since Harry's injury. He could not help but feel guilty for that... his friends shouldn't be so worried about him all the time. Yet, at the same time, it felt good to know that he was so well loved.

REEEEEEEEEET!

The wagon screeched to a halt, nearly knocking all three of them off their chairs.

"Bloody hell, Germans can't drive!" protested Ron indignantly, as he regained his balance.

A short exchange was heard between the old man and a feminine voice, the words failing in Harry's ear. A moment later, two people boarded the back of the wagon. One was simply dressed in Muggle clothing: an attractive girl Harry's age that possessed short brown hair down to the nape of her neck, a wand in her soft, small hand.

"Hello," she greeted with a lax, American sounding accent, her deep brown eyes striking Harry's fancy. Something about brown eyes... he glanced to Hermione for a moment.

"Alright there," nodded Ron, while Hermione waved without a word.

Yet, this pretty girl lost Harry's attention when he saw a figure stride in behind her. It was no doubt a 'he', for the person was larger figure, towering over her with well muscled arms and a black cloak pulled tightly over his head. Harry caught sight of a wisp of silver hair peeking out from under the hood. Bidding none of them greeting, he sat down at the end of the table alone, his arms crossed and his body taut.

Harry felt chills run up his spin as he continued staring at the figure. As if sensing Harry's stare, he turned his head, glaring at him and returning it. Harry could not see his eyes, but he could make out a firmly set jaw and pallid skin beneath the hood.

"Mind if we take some food?" asked the girl, looking to Ron with a smile. "My friend and I haven't eaten for awhile."

"By all means," offered Ron, gesturing to the table. "I'm Ron... what's your name?"

The girl smiled, her small features lightening up. "My name is..." she trailed off for a moment, glancing back to the black capped being. Harry, whose eye had never left him, caught him shaking his head subtly. Her smile faded a moment later. "... Jane."

Harry glanced briefly to Hermione, who was looking between 'Jane' and the black capped man with suspicion. Ron, however, seemed oblivious as he proceeded tripping over himself. "Well, Jane... if you... ever need anything... let me know."

"She is spoken for," came the retort at the end of the table, with an even flowing voice.

Jane glanced irritably back at the black-capped figure, an angry flush crossing her face, but no retort coming to her lips. Ron shot a cold glare at the figure as the wagon screeched again, heading forward, but could not find the words.

"Don't mind him," said Jane at last, breaking the awkward silence. "He's just under a lot of stress."

Hermione remained silent and calculating, while Harry took his eyes off the second figure.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Jane," stated Ron, a bit of his tongue restored by the boy's sobering and arrogant comment.

"Yeah," stated Jane, who then nodded to the chair. "Mind if I sit down?"

"By all means," accepted Hermione with a suspicious tone that Harry only seemed to catch. Very few people could read Hermione's emotions... even Ron seemed to show an inability to see Hermione beyond her skin. Of course, Ron was not one of the most emotionally complex people. "So, what are you two doing out so late?" she pressed, trying to get information about these two shady travelers.

"We are looking for someone," said Jane as she took a pear and began to eat. "Want something?" she asked, calling down to her alienated companion.

"No," came the deadpan, flat reply.

Jane sighed and shook her head, she then looked back to Hermione. "What about you three?"

"Pretty much the same," commented Ron. "You don't sound German."

"Well, we aren't," smiled Jane kindly. "We are actually..."

"Jane," stated the boy at the end of the table. "Why don't you come and talk to me. We have much to discuss."

"Oh, honestly!" huffed Jane, looking back to the trio with an apologetic smile. "Look, I'm sorry about him... it was nice talking to you... for a short while, anyway."

Harry would have been glad to leave it at that, for his distrust of the figure at the end of the table was growing at an expediential rate. Hermione also seemed content to leave the conversation as it was... but Ron, however, was stubborn to the end.

"Relax," he snapped, glaring at the figure. "What's your problem, anyway?"

The black hooded figure stared at Ron, with a slow, deliberate turn of his head. Harry still could not make out his face. "Stop meddling."

"Meddling?" retorted Ron. "All we are doing is talking very plainly."

"You know nothing," replied the boy evenly. "One who knows nothing understands nothing. Don't play with fire or you will get burned."

Ron arched his brow with total disbelief. "By Merlin, could you be any more melodramatic?"

"Yes," came the reply, without any trace of humor. "But if I was, I'd loose you. I can tell brains aren't your strength... let's pray, for your sake, they aren't your weakness."

Ron balled up his fists and stood up. "Hey, watch it right there."

"Or what?" asked the boy, deadpan. Ron froze for a minute, his prepared words stolen from his chest. Harry tensed up, preparing himself to jump in and help Ron if he needed it. Upon seeing Ron's hesitation, he snorted and looked back to Jane. "Just sit back down before you do something you'll regret."

Courage was high on Ron's list of virtues, but there was a difference between standing your ground against Malfoy or another school bully, and going up against mysterious, dark figures late at night. To Harry's relief, Ron did sit down, looking furious... but unwilling to speak further.

Hermione shook her head, a strong look of distaste crossing her face. "You should eat something... it couldn't hurt."

"I'll consider it," came the impassive reply, but the boy made no move to reach for anything.

And so, an awkward silence fell over the wagon. The boy had stood up and moved over to Jane's chair, and was speaking in harsh whispers that Harry could not make out. Harry could only hear some of Jane's responses, as her voice carried much better than her companion's. Most of them were simple statements like "fine," or "you didn't have to be like that though," and a few more "Alrights," and finally one: "well, if you sense it nearby, we will get off in Hamburg."

That statement reignited Harry's suspicion anew. Hoping that 'it' was not referring to what Harry, Ron and Hermione were after, he kept his opinion to himself. Ron seemed oblivious, having returned to eating and occasionally shooting icy glares at the black capped boy, while Hermione continued looking at Harry with a sense of urgent knowing. It was clear to him that she had caught everything Harry had and was, right now, thinking the exact same thing as him. Over the course of their friendship, Harry and Hermione's connection to each other had deepened greatly. He was one of the only ones who could tell when Hermione was sad, happy or even tired. No stranger to all-nighters, she was capable of hiding her fatigue well.

Tonight, she was very tired and worn, her hair a mess of loose ends and frayed strands. The bags under her eyes stretched her eyelids, as if tugging on them and begging them to close for more than an hour or two at a time. Between Ron and Harry, there was always a wall. Ron was about as guarded as a fortress, never letting anyone in to his most intimate feelings. Harry, too, did often feel uncomfortable talking to Ron about anything other than Quiddich, current information and other impersonal things. Granted, he had much more fun with Ron than Hermione, however, there was nothing deep that bound them in the same way.

A few minutes later, the boy stood up, looking deeply at Jane. "Here." he said impassively. He then looked up, staring at the wall of the wagon, directly above Harry's head. For the briefest of seconds, Harry caught a glimpse of azure eyes, safeguarded well by his overlapping cowl. "Let us off here."

REEEEEEEET!

Quite comically, the boy gasped as the wagon skid to a halt, his balance forfeit. He was thrown face-first into a wheel of cheese, atop the table, splattering chucks of German cheddar all over the room.

Jane giggled delightfully at her companion while Ron and Harry both bit back laughs as the taciturn boy rose, rubbing his chin scornfully. Jane grabbed his arm and began to leave. She then looked to Harry, Ron and Hermione. "Well, nice knowing you. Good luck in whatever you are doing."

"Thanks," replied Hary with a wave.

"I hear if you break it, you buy it," commented Ron snidely, with a lick of his lips as he pointed to the wheel of cheese that the boy's chin had punctured and splattered in several pieces.

The boy simply muttered, but did not speak audibly before Jane dragged him out the back of the wagon and out of sight. At last, Ron broke out into laughter, and Hermione surrender to the grin that was tugging on the corner of her mouth.

"What's wrong, Harry?" asked Hermione at once, her smile fading upon seeing the look of concern upon Harry's face.

Harry shook his head, his face set in stone as he watched the small staircase that the two strangers had exited from. It reset itself with a pop to its original upright position, and with a sudden lurch and much wasted rubber, they were off again.

"It's nothing, Hermione," lied Harry, folding his hands and shaking his head. Those eyes... that hair... that build... that voice... it all pointed in the direction Harry did not want to be led in. While the girl was unfamiliar, there were too many indicators that pointed in the direction of that boy being the shade from Sora's past... Riku.

It couldn't be though, Harry realized. If he was looking for the key blade, he had just gotten off in Hamburg... the wrong stop. If he was looking for Bastian, he was still far from him. If he was looking for Sora, he was in the wrong country...

... and if he was looking for Harry to finish the job, he passed him by without a word in his direction.

Harry shook his head, dismissing his confusion. It was paranoia that was consuming him, Harry realized. He was still grieved and struck by Colin's death, he told himself. Just because someone resembled Riku did not mean it was him. There was no reason to ignite Ron and Hermione's fears over something that was trivial. If it really was Riku, the boy would have recognized him, drawn his weapon and tried to finish him off. It seemed quite to the contrary, however. He had no sword, and did not even appear to have a wand, only his wizard friend did. A fleeting thought was that the female friend might have been Kairi, Sora's squeeze from back home, but it seemed that everyone from Sora's world had deep blue eyes. It was clear that Jane wasn't her name, for the girl was not a good liar. Hers had been brown, like Hermione's.

A few moments later, the wagon screeched to a halt a final time, just as Ron was going to take a sip of hot chocolate. Instead, half of the cup wound up on his robe and a beat red scowl appearing on his face.

"This is ridiculous!" snapped Ron as they left the wagon. The chill of the night, once again, drove at Harry, his feet aching the moment he touched foot upon the ground. To Harry's dismay, there was about an inch of snow here and his feet were growing numb within moments. "Germans can't drive!"

They had been let off in another suburban area, much like the one Harry had been Apparated into by Dobby. Many two-story houses with long yards stretched down the street. The night sky was very dark, with no visible stars and moon. Yet, the layout was still visible from the glimmer of the snow that always seemed to be able to give off its own light at night, immaculate white untainted by the darkness around it.

"Stop complaining," Harry said through chattering teeth. "Why don't you give me your shoes and socks? That'll take your mind off the spill."

Ron winced apologetically, and forgot about his spill. "Sorry."

Hermione frowned, but apparently did not know a spell to help Harry here, or she would have cast it. "Let's hurry up and hope Bastian's home." With tender care, Hermione slung her arm around Harry's shoulder, in a kind but vain attempt to keep him warm.

"Which one is twenty four?" asked Ron, peering into the shadows, but unable to see which house had the marking.

Hermione pointed ahead of them. "I bet the bus dropped us off right in front. Let's go." Harry nodded a few times, his lips quaking with the cold. He decided it was much colder here than wherever they were before. Hermione helped Harry to walk, her arm giving him a small amount of warmth. "Hang in there, Harry."

They quickly gaited up the driveway of the house and upon the snowy walkway. It was recently shoveled, but a lair of ice separated the ground from Harry's feet. Each step felt like a sting of pain, shooting into his foot. Though, the pain lessened with each gait, his feet becoming completely numb.

Once they got to the door, Hermione moved to ring the door. Ron, however, grabbed her hand. "Wait... you think we should just ring the bell? I mean... what if his parents answer?"

"Well," began Hermione hastily, "we will simply ask if we can speak to him?"

"Oh right," snapped Ron impatiently. "That'll go over well. 'Hello Mr. and Mrs. Bux, you don't know us, but we are here to take the Keyblade from your son, you know, that arcane device that can end life as we know it. Don't worry though, we are magic-using wizards... we can handle it.'"

"Can... we... please... choose... something... fast?" chattered Harry, as he danced from foot to foot.

Hermione huffed and pushed the doorbell, not delaying anymore. A faint sounding dong echoed within the two-story house. Almost immediately, Harry heard a faint voice calling out from the other side of the door.

"Wer ist dort?" asked a mature boy's voice, though the wooden door.

"Um..." trailed off Hermione, who apparently understood German as well as she spoke it. Ron also looked blank, so Harry sighed and took the burden.

"I'm looking... for Bastian Bux... I'm Harry Potter... I wrote him a letter." Harry's dialogue was interrupted by period shudders of cold.

The door opened a moment later, revealing a boy of Harry's height with blonde hair and watery blue eyes. He was dressed similarly to Harry, nightwear. His eyes were wide open and his hair did not appear to be disturbed by a nights sleep.

"Harry," nodded the boy, a bit awkwardly. He shifted uncomfortably, and looked over Ron and Hermione for a moment. He possessed a small accent, though it was hardly as strong as the older man, a signal of having learned English at an early age. "Er... come in, please."

Harry happily complied and was the first one through the doorway. He entered into a quaint and warm entry, with a white carpet and many different rooms branching off from it, including a staircase heading up.

Ron and Hermione followed Harry into the typical house, looking at Bastian awkwardly.

"I'm sorry," apologized the boy with a tremulous voice. "Who are you two?"

"Oh, of course," said Hermione with a kind tone, "I am Hermione Granger, and this is Ron Weasley... we are friends of Harry."

"Ah, right... I'm Bastian, as Sora's probably told you..." he trailed off for a moment. "Is he alright?"

Harry shook his head, feeling beginning to return to his feet as Ron closed the door behind them. "No... he's going to be put on trial for murder." He frowned upon seeing the shocked expression on Bastian's face. "I don't know if he told you or not."

"What?" exclaimed Bastian, shaking his head with disbelief. "No way... I mean... I know Sora. He isn't a murderer! He's a good guy."

Ron was about to speak but a firm elbow from Hermione kept him silent. No doubt, he was about to call him a murderer right to Bastian's face. Ron scowled irritably at Hermione, but remained silent.

"You guys want some coffee... or some clothes maybe?" asked Bastian, staring at Harry's feet and his very light robe.

Harry flushed a bit, but nodded. "If it wouldn't be too much trouble. I don't mean to impose."

Bastian showed the first hint of amusement as he nodded. "Sure... um, Ron... Hermione, make yourselves at home. My dad is out of town, so you don't have to be quiet or anything."

Ron and Hermione nodded their thanks while Bastian led Harry up the carpeted steps to the second floor. There was a edgy silence between the two boys as Bastian led Harry on.

"It's a bit messy," Bastian confessed as they entered his room.

Compared to Ron's room in the Burrow, it was clean... though clothing and books were thrown about at random. Harry could not get over the sheer number of books in the room; it would have made Hermione insanely jealous. A single, small bed took up the middle of the room, and on all sides of the room were shelves filled with them, from old books to newer books. Harry counted the languages he saw the titles in, reaching German, English, French and Spanish before he lost count. The other appointments of the room consisted of a bureau in the corner and a desk near the bed, covered with paper and more books. An open closet was bursting with unfolded laundry.

Bastian reached into the closet and withdrew a pair of trousers, a clean pair of socks and a shirt for Harry. "There... I think we're the same size, give or take a bit."

Harry nodded and took the clothing. "Er... thanks."

Another terse pause passed between the boys, who both seemed at an equal loss for words. In fact, Harry had not even considered this part. It was as though Harry had expected to walk in, have Bastian hand him the Keyblade without a world, and then leave just as quickly. But, now that he was here, he knew that could not happen without at least getting to know this boy a little bit. For a muggle, he was completely out of the ordinary, having experienced magic with his own eyes, if Sora's story was true. In fact, Bastian might very well know how to use the Keyblade and have to explain it to Harry.

"So..." began Harry.

"Um..." Bastian had started at the same time.

Both boys stopped awkwardly, as if pausing to let the other speak. At last, Harry let a chuckle escape from his lips, and Bastian followed suit.

"Sorry, this is really awkward," confessed Harry sheepishly, shifting his weight from one foot to another.

Bastian nodded in understanding. "Yeah... I mean, I don't know you... yet, here you are and I have no choice but to trust you."

Harry shrugged, unsure what to say. Understanding Bastian's plight was rather simple and even frustrating. What could he do to earn Bastian's trust, Harry wondered. Surely, there must be something.

"Hermione's better at explaining things than me," admitted Harry. "Maybe she'll make this easier for you to understand."

Bastian fidgeted a bit, his left leg trembling as he spoke. "I get it, I think," he said. "Your Sora's friends and you are going to try to keep the world locked by not letting anyone get the Keyblade, right?"

"Right," stated Harry. "But, look... its not that simple."

"It never is," agreed Bastian, without too much sign of mirth. "I could tell that when you showed up at the front door in pajamas."

At that, Harry could not help but smile thinly. The ironic humor did tickle him in a modest way.

"I'll get Hermione and Ron some coffee," said Bastian as he exited his room. "Come down whenever you're ready."

Harry nodded, but as Bastian turned to leave, Harry caught a glimpse of something curious hung around the other boy's neck. A faint shimmer of gold caught Harry's interested eye, bright despite the relative darkness of the room.

"Is that the pendant Sora mentioned?" asked Harry, pointing to Bastian's neck.

The older boy turned back to Harry curiously, following his eyes down to his neck. "Yeah..." he trailed off suspiciously, with an arched brow. Harry got the impression that he had overstepped his boundary. "What of it?"

Harry withdrew prudently, deciding that it wasn't his business. "Nothing, sorry. He just said it was magical."

Bastian nodded with understanding. "Yeah, it's powerful... but it has to be used very carefully. There isn't much it is not capable of doing, but the price it asks is heavy."

Harry was familiar with that sort of magic, as it was one of the primary focuses in his Defense Against the Dark Arts class this year. The teacher, a portly middle-aged woman named Professor Damari. She had nicknamed the school of magic 'Soulmancy', for certain spells drew upon a unique form of magic that no wizard can master. Soul power, which feeds most artifacts and spells of the Soulmancy discipline, is one of the more risky and dangerous groups of spells to add to ones repertoire. Combining ancient magic and taking power from ones very soul was not without its share of risks, as Bastian seemed to understand.

"I understand," said Harry, as he slowly unbuttoned his robe. "I'll be down in a second."

Bastian nodded and left the room, closing the door behind him softly. The clothing Bastian had provided him were a bit large on him, the sleeves of his sweater reaching his knuckles. He rolled back to cuffs indifferently, for whatever he was wearing now, regardless, was much better than a simple robe.

He threw on the trousers provided to him, and within moments, he was fully dressed, complete with clean socks. Making a mental note to ask Bastian for an old pair of shoes when he had to leave, Harry left Bastian's book-filled room and followed the lights in the house, entering a well lit family room. Ron had wasted no time staring with open admiration and astonishment at the television set, trying to poke a well-dressed woman who was giving a nightly news cast in German. Normally, Hermione would be quick to educate him, but this time, she seemed to be reveling in his utter mystification. Bastian, however, was looking at him with a very bland, uncomprehending expression.

The room was not large, consisting of a leather divan, an easy chair and plenty of floorspace. Hermione had curled up the divan and smiled as Harry entered. She pat the other side of the small sofa and Harry wasted no time sitting down. From the nearby kitchen, the rich smell of coffee was beginning to seep into the room.

"I was just telling Bastian why we came tonight," explained Hermione, loud enough for everyone to hear.

Bastian nodded and eventually gave up staring at Ron as he went around behind the TV, looking for the backside of the woman on the screen. "Yeah," he said, still sounding estranged, "I think I get it. So this guy... Mako Dalfoy is probably the guy who forged the first letter to me, and you think he's coming here sometime before Christmas, because that was the date I told him to meet?"

Harry decided not to bother and correct him. "Right."

"Alright," said Bastian as Ron eventually gave up trying to understand the television set and lie down upon the ground, seeing as there were no seats available for him. "No chance we can just explain to him nicely that the Keyblade isn't his?"

Ron peered over at him with an amused look upon his brow. "You'd have better luck debating politics with a flobberworm."

Upon seeing the blank look on Bastian's face, Harry clarified. "In another words, not bloody likely."

"I think Malfoy is..." began Hermione, hesitating as she thought hard. Harry could tell she was going to try an summarize Malfoy in fifty words or less. "...like a haunted house. You don't know what's inside, but you know it's scary."

How she could do it never ceased to amaze Harry. If Harry had wanted to describe Malfoy to someone, he'd spend five minutes just repeating stories of things he had done and likely bored that person to tears. Hermione, however, could break a person down into clear and concise words without even trying.

Ron cast Hermione a long look from his position on the floor. "Well," he drawled, in a mockingly sophisticated voice. "I disagree. I think Malfoy is..." he trailed off dramatically; Hermione narrowed her eyes. "... like a speccy git with the intellect of a hangnail and the charm of a sack of potatoes, because he is a speccy git with the intellect of a..."

"I get the point, Ron," interjected Hermione with a bored tone of voice, upon seeing Harry putting a hand to his mouth to stop a laugh. "I was only trying to point out..."

"Look," cut off Ron, waving a dismissive hand at Hermione, "if you want to label him, do it right. He isn't a haunted house... he isn't suffering from lack of hugs... and he isn't misunderstood. He's a git and he'd kill us all if he had the chance, I bet."

Hermione sighed and frowned, shaking her head somberly. "Just because he's a git doesn't mean he wants to kill us, Ron. He's probably just been corrupted by the Inner Darkness... like Dean was."

"Well," snapped Ron bitterly. "When he shows up here in a few hours... we'll see for sure, now won't we? And, if I wanted to put what few galleons I had on a bet, I'd say we better protect ourselves."

Harry and Bastian both listened to the ensuing debate. Either of them could be right, noted Harry, but what did it matter in truth? Malfoy wanted to Keyblade... an artifact rumored to be able to end the world as they know it. What else could he want it for? Certainly, if Draco had cast a Lurking Hex on Harry... he knew all that. What could possibly be his motivation?

"What do you think, Harry?" asked Hermione at last, turning from a red-faced Ron to confront her other best friend.

Harry shrugged, for he had not been able to put his thoughts into words either. "I don't know. I think you both have a point."

"Ok, Mr. Switzerland," remarked Ron with jest.

Bastian continued the watch the display with that shy quietness he seemed to possess in the forefront of his personality. After all, three exhausted strangers were sitting in his house at three in the morning and arguing with each other.

"Well," said Harry, turning to Bastian curiously. "Perhaps we can beat Malfoy to the punch... where is the Keyblade?"

"I have it," he replied, a bit hesitantly. "Look... there is a problem though."

Harry, Ron and Hermione fell silent, prompting Bastian to continue.

"Well..." he began, tucking his feet up onto his easy chair recliner, "Sora told me I had to keep it safe. Now, I know it is safe, as long as I have it... it's not that I don't trust you guys... but, I mean, we only met a few minutes ago."

Ron looked at him incredulously. "Well, that would mean you don't trust us," he snapped, his tone conveying a bit of impatience. "Look mate, we..."

The force of Hermione's will was enough to silence him. She held up her hand, and he let his mouth hang and his voice rest. "Of course you don't trust us... we don't trust you either. How can you trust someone after ten minutes of talking to them?"

Harry slapped his hand to his forehead. If she was trying to win him over, he was not sure that this was the best approach.

Bastian shrugged, though he appeared to be a bit disarmed by Hermione's words. He was no longer taut and seemed more inclined to listen.

"Bottom line," explained Hermione, "we expect Malfoy will be coming by at any time today... I'm willing to bet sooner than later, and I'm certain he doesn't have the heart to do this alone. Crabbe and Goyle are, no doubt, coming with him."

She took a dramatic pause, allowing her words to sink into the male brains in the room. Upon seeing Bastian's nod, she continued.

"If you don't mind, Bastian, we want to stay here with you until he shows up," she said, with true conviction. "Because, in all honesty, if he has been meddling with The Inner Darkness, he has changed." She then glanced sidelong to Harry. "If he has... he's changed in a way similar to Dean."

Harry nodded, her words making much sense in his troubled mind. "Right," he finished. "Maybe his heart is a bit stronger than Dean's and he is able to control himself a bit better... but, if he has been dabbling with it, who knows what he is capable of?"

Ron grunted from his position on the floor and looked up the ceiling with dismay.

"So, to make sure that you are safe, we will stay here and subdue Malfoy when he comes calling... if he means to take the Keyblade by force."

At last, Bastian nodded, his reservations departing in the form of a tired smile. "Alright then, I guess I can trust that."

"You guys," said Harry, his eyes tracing a connection between Ron, Bastian and Hermione. "Go get some sleep... I know you two haven't slept in nearly a week."

Ron yawned again as the very mention of sleep reminded him how exhausted he was. "What about you, Harry?"

Harry smirked good-naturedly. "I've been asleep for the past five days. I'll wait for Malfoy, and get you when he arrives."

"That works," stated Bastian. "If you don't mind sharing a bed, you two can take my father's bed." The prospect seemed to draw a bit of sadness from him, though it was hard to tell. He just seemed to have one of those faces that seemed to be forged of depression itself. With narrow eyes and a soft, round face, he reminded Harry of a blonde haired Neville Longbottom, though was a bit less portly and taller.

Both of his friends spoke at the same time.

"Certainly. That will work," remarked Hermione factually.

"Share a bed with Hermione?!" yelped Ron, horror crossing his face.

Hermione stared at Ron with an unyielding expression, suddenly looking hurt. "What's the problem with that?"

At that point, Ron was doing a very sound impersonation of raspberry, his cheeks and ears flashing rosy red like alarms. "It's um... well, er.... Hermione, you... but, I..."

"Thank you for clearing that up for me," muttered Hermione with a bored tone. "Fine, I'll sleep on the floor!"

Ron sat up from the floor with emphasis. "No, I'm sleeping on the floor. You get the bed."

Hermione stood up, looming over Ron. "No... I already said you can have the bed! Wouldn't want to take big Alpha male Ron's sleeping mat!"

Bastian looked rather terrified at the second brewing verbal duel while Harry shook his head, a soft laugh escaping his closed lips. Oh, how he loved Hermione... so smart when it came to facts and even other people, but so blissfully naïve when it came to matters of the heart or herself.

"It's not that!" exclaimed Ron, bordering on panic. "It's just that... you know... er..."

"Oh," barked Hermione putting her hands to her hips. "Don't even try to put it lightly, Ron... fine, I snore... you are correct. Do you feel better, now that that is in the open?"

Ron's expression went from panic to stupefaction. "No... actually, that wasn't what I was going to say..."

"Oh, don't even try and change the subject," snapped Hermione, who continued snowballing the conversation, as well as the volume of her voice. "I hear you are a selfish sheet-hog anyway. I'd RATHER sleep on the floor than sleep with you!"

"Hermione!" exclaimed Ron, leaping to his feet and towering over Hermione. "I was only going to say that..." his voice trailed off as what Hermione just said sank in. "Hey!" he screeched with indignity. "What's that supposed to mean?!"

"Good God, what have I done?" murmured Bastian, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. Upon seeing Bastian's reaction to people screaming in his house at 3 in the morning, Harry rose and moved to Ron and Hermione's side.

"You are such a sel... mmmmphhhhfffff!" Hermione was promptly cut off by Harry's hand, covering her mouth softly.

"You think for one minute I would want to sl... mmmphhhhhfff!" Ron had begun before Harry's second hand clamped his mouth shut as well.

Both of Harry's friends did not resist, but instead shot daggers at Harry, their eyes speaking loud enough for their obstructed tongues.

"Let Mr. Switzerland speak," remarked Harry firmly, as he glanced between his two friends. "You both... really need to get some sleep."

The other two looked back at each other, narrowing their eyes angrily.

"You both will stay in the bed, and you both will fall asleep the second your heads hit the pillow," continued Harry, laying down the law. Ron took a step back, intent on speaking. Harry, however, pushed his hand further into his face, preventing him from uttering a coherent syllable. "No, Ron, that's a bad Ron..." he scolded, like he was speaking to a dog. "Behave..."

Neither friend made another sound. Hermione rolled her eyes, stoically accepting Harry's hand on her mouth, while Ron eyed both of his friends wearily.

"Now, shake hands and make up," ordered Harry, looking especially hard at the defiant Ron. With a huff of breath though his nose, Ron loosened up and grunted. At the same time, Ron and Hermione reluctantly extended their arms and shook hands. Harry then released his hands from their mouths and smiled winningly. His smile was contagious and finally Ron and Hermione let down their guards and released their grip on each other's hand.

"Same bed?" asked Hermione softly.

"Sure," replied Ron, the awkwardness of the situation stolen by Harry.

Harry nodded his approval and both of his friends took their leave, heading out of the den and upon the stairs of Bastian's two story house. After they left, Harry took a moment to puff out his cheeks and swat the messy hair from his eyes tenaciously.

"Your friends are interesting," commented Bastian, who had pensively watched the entire exchange from his easy chair. Now, he was standing.

Harry chuckled once. "You have no idea," he replied, after his short bout of mirth ended. "You should get some sleep too," suggested Harry.

In a way, Harry could not help but feel sorry for Bastian. Here he was, mixed up in this messy situation, without magic and understanding. As a victim of circumstance who had fallen into Sora's life, and from there, had returned again with enemies he did not even know, he was woefully out of his league. Yet, the boy seemed to take it all in stride, his very face suggesting that his life just couldn't get worse. Harry could only wager a guess as to what events had transpired in Bastian's life to make him seem so stoic, yet so sad.

"Look, Harry," stated Bastian and he made no move to go. "I've jumped through all the hoops... I've trusted you when I had no reason to... now, I need one thing from you."

Harry's eyes adopted a patient stare, like a gentle green flame that was waiting to be fed. "Go on."

"When I get the Keyblade, and turn it over to you... I need for you to make a promise," continued Bastian, his fists clenched at his side, his brow lined with a thin lair of sweat. He possessed the look of a boy who did not make stances often, and it was taking all his resolve to do this.

Harry nodded with understanding. All things considered, this was a fair request. "Yes?"

"You must find a way to save Sora," demanded Bastian simply. "I don't care how, but you find a way."

Faltering confidence took over and Harry's expression slumped. How could he possibly make this promise? Sora was in Azkaban, facing a trial that could potentially warrant a death sentence if committed. What could he possibly do to save him? Surely, he could testify on his behalf at the trial, but what could he possibly say that would acquit him? "I got sucked into Sora's past... but it wasn't Sora that tried to kill me... it was the little man inside his brain?"

Harry James Potter was no liar, so, in light of the circumstances, he knew there was only one thing he could say.

"I can't make that promise," replied Harry bitterly, feeling abashed at having to admit his own weakness, "but I'll make this one. I'll do everything in my power to help him... I don't know if it'll be enough, though."

That answer might have worked on someone else, but Bastian was already shaking his head before Harry finished his sentence. "That's not good enough, Harry," he answered with as firm a tone as he could muster. "I need you to promise that you'll do everything in your power to save him... not just help him. If all else fails, I want to you break him out of his prison."

Break him out of prison - break him out of Azkaban Wizard's Prison - a prison guarded by dementors, and infested with filthy evil Harry didn't even want to see in his nightmares, let alone up close and personal. How could the boy say it with such conviction, when he knew nothing of what he was saying?

Harry opened his mouth to say: "You can't make me promise that, you selfish git... do you have any idea what could happen to me and my friends if we failed an attempt to assault Azkaban prison?"

Instead, what came out was, "Fine, I promise."

Upon hearing the words come out of his mouth, it took all the will and conviction he could muster not to grab them back with retractile statements. What had he just committed himself to? More importantly, why the heck did he just do it?

Before he could locate the answers, Bastian nodded, apparently accepting his words. "Very well... Harry. All you have to do is call for the Keyblade... if your heart is strong enough to wield it, it will heed your call. If not, it will ignore you."

Harry blinked with disbelief, for suddenly, the image he had painted of the Keyblade within his head blurred within the fuzzy fringes of his mind. So, it had intelligence... Harry realized. An artifact that could be selective as to who wielded it was nothing to take lightly at all. Intellect leads to ambition and ambition leads to a drive. If the blade was smart enough to choose its wielder, was it not also smart enough to speak to him and manipulate him?

"Call out to it now," replied Bastian. "It is nearby... it will come to you, so long as you are strong enough to make it."

Nonetheless, however, they would simply have to jump over that hurtle later. Right now, Harry wanted a weapon... without a wand, should Malfoy show up, he was powerless. Thanks to Dobby, he was here... but also thanks to Dobby, he had no wand or warm clothing.

Keyblade... Harry called out, stretching his mind to its limit.

The voice pinged from one side of his head, zipping through his mind, coursing down his spine and flowing into the rest of his body, sending shutters to all parts of his skin. Harry's eyes closed involuntarily, under a heavy pressure on his eyelids.

Keyblade...

Keyblade...

So long as your heart is strong, you will hold the key... came a reply within his head.

His eyes shot open, searching the room frantically for logic and understanding. What he found was none, for no longer did he stand within the den of Bastian's house... but he was in darkness. The only light he could find was at his feet, in the form of a hard, stain glass window, reflecting brilliant red, yellows and oranges into his eyes. He spun around, the disorientating room without walls or ceiling making him feel exposed, like a man on trial with no one standing at his side.

A Keyblade can bring the greatest salvation, or can foster complete ruin... choose wisely the path of your heart.

With a loud shimmer and hum of magic, a figure phased into existence before him. At first, it appeared to be little more than green static, roughly the shape of a human taller than him. However, soon it took form and began to color itself, adding depth and cream-colored skin that only a human would possess. Brown hair painted itself atop of the young man's scalp, and good looks that dropped Harry's jaw appeared before him.

If you are ever afraid... say the word Destati... and you shall awaken. Do not be afraid of the shadows. Only through your Inner Darkness will you find your Inner Light.

The older boy stepped out of the darkness, sending the blood draining from Harry's cheeks. He was as he remembered him, standing tall in a crowd only Harry could see in this dark place... a crowd of proud and idolizing Hufflepuff students who held their champion on a pedestal.

"Hallo, Harry," spoke Cedric Diggory plainly, drawing close to him with a slow, cautious step. "Don't be afraid."

Cedric... Harry couldn't even find his tongue to say the boy's name. Instead, the floor rushed up to meet him, only his knees stopping him from falling face first to the glass, brilliant colored ground. He closed his eyes, unable to bare looking at Cedric. How could he look at him... he was not worthy to stare at someone he owed so much to. He was not allowed to speak to him, how could his words measure up to the worth of this man, and the debt he owed him.

Harry felt a surprisingly warm hand touch the top of his head, though he could not see it. It neither was comforting, nor was it hostile... it was just there, telling Harry to take his time and find his words. It spoke to him in a language Harry could not hear, only feel.

Slow down... find your resolve...

"Cedric," Harry finally rasped, though did not find the strength to life his head.

Harry heard nothing from above him, but felt Cedric nod slowly and purposefully. "I'm glad to get this shot to speak to ya, Harry. I've got some stuff I've been wantin' ta tell ya."

Cedric had so much to tell him, wondered Harry, finding the strength to life his head and look at him from his kneeling, defeated position. What could someone like Cedric have to say to Harry... moreover, how was he here with him, in the place the Keyblade had plunged him into.

"That night," began Cedric, sensing Harry's unasked question and answering it, "when ya honored my final request... when ya brought my body back to my family, despite grave personal risk... ya formed a bond between you and my spirit."

Harry glanced up at him, his mind swimming with a mixture of shame and disbelief. He remained silent, however, and Cedric continued to speak.

"Ya saved me, mate - saved me from becoming a ghost, condemned to wander the world. All who lost their life by the hands of another have final requests, sorta like unfinished business, y'know? I reckon once ya die an unresolved death, life just sorta leaves you completely and ya just walk around n' stuff."

Harry nodded, desperate to agree with anything Cedric said. He owed him his life... at least he could offer him his ear.

"Most ghosts don't remember who they were in life, n' none remember their final requests, forever doomed to see life lived by others and have no understanding of why aren't apart of it."

"But..." began Harry, his lip shaking with emotion, "... I caused your... It was me..."

Cedric frowned and took a step back from Harry, raising the palms of his hand. Unable to disobey Cedric's request, Harry rose to his feet.

"Oh stop it, will ya?" said Cedric with a disdainful shake of his head. "I died a champion of Hogwarts... killed by the most powerful bein' the world has ever known. Do ya really think feelin' sorry for me is the best thing to do?"

Before Harry could find his tongue to assemble an answer, Cedric continued speaking. "All of this," Cedric waved to the darkness around them, and the stained-glass beneath their feet. "This is your heart. All livin' things have darkness within their heart, it's sorta human nature... right now, we're standin' on a bastion of light... think of this place as your sense of duty, one of your strongest pillars." He seemed to ignore Harry's stuttering for that moment, more intent on teaching than learning.

"How... how'd I get here?" asked Harry, looking around, allowing his guilt and shame to take the passenger seat. He owed it to Cedric not to dwell on those right now and listen to whatever he said... and believe it.

Cedric slowly began to walk across the stained glass. To Harry's surprise, the floor was a circle, very much the pedestal in the darkness. It terminated all too quickly, surrounded and isolated by an abyss of darkness.

"Our bond... the bond ya made by honoring my last request... it's bound me to ya in a very real way. No matter where ya go, I'm always with ya... experiencin' life as you do, enjoyin' the stuff that other ghosts are denied," continued Cedric, his eyes wide and smiling with an inner glow. "I've come to guess that this Keyblade yer seekin' has its own sort of magic... I reckon it brought ya here to see how strong yer heart really is, y'know?"

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Cedric waved at him lazily, shutting him up. Harry's body quaked with embarrassment, fear, anger, grief, and most of all, dishonor. He was tempted again to fall to his knees, to show Cedric some kind of respect, respect that he never got to show him in life, before he caused his death.

"As far as I'm concerned..." continued Cedric, not giving Harry a chance to answer his rhetorical question. "... I'm the one that owes you. Fine, just for the sake of your honor, I'll say my death was your fault."

Harry felt as though he was slapped in the face, however, he remained silent. This was the least he deserved.

"Sure, Harry, ya cost me sixty years of my life, heck, maybe more..." he continued, the sarcasm both thick on his tongue and his face. "... but you've saved me an eternity by honoring my last request. Once you pass on, so shall I, having no final ties in this world. The only thing keeping me around still is my bond with you." Cedric laughed again and punched Harry in the shoulder, much in the way Ron might. "I get to live my life through you... even in the darkness of your heart, I'm never alone, unless you feel alone..." Cedric's eyes gleamed over with delight. "... every time you take off in a Quiddich, going for the Snitch... I get that feeling. Hell, it might as well be me on the broom and you in here. I feel the wind in my hair, I feel the lurch as you perform the Wronski Feint much better than I ever could..." Cedric at last smiled brightly. "The way I see it, I've got a good deal."

He was completely speechless, his jaw wide open and catching flies. What could he possibly say to that?

"That's why you OWE it to me to live your life to the fullest," snapped Cedric a bit forcefully. "Once you say Destati... forget grieving over me, cause then I get upset too, and..." he trailed off, collecting his words behind the grin of pearly white teeth, "... and it's right narcissistic to feel upset over yourself!"

Harry nodded firmly. His own will charged by Cedric's emotion-filled words, drove those spikes of shame forcefully back to the depths of his soul.

"Wield the Keyblade, Harry," nodded Cedric with a kind gesture. "Save this world from the Heartless and the Inner Darkness... make me feel like a hero again."

With an unwavering tone a voice, Harry closed his eyes, feeling charged and determined, moreso than he had ever been. He reopened his eyes one last time, and clenched his fist. Doing the only thing he could think of, he returned Cedric's gesture, striking the older boy in his shoulder with friendly enthusiasm.

"Thanks, Cedric... for everything," said Harry, in an even tone. For the first time since as long as he could remember, he felt completely liberated from all burdens. No longer was the memory of Cedric Diggory on his shoulders, burdening him to insanity. Now, the actual Cedric Diggory was in front of him, giving him strength.

"Your welcome," replied Cedric with a smirk.

"Destati," said Harry, with no regrets.

* * * * * *

How stupid and outright pathetic Gryffindors are, realized Draco, as he stood within Bastian's den, looming over the sleeping form of Harry Potter.

The trip to Halmet, Germany had gone off without a hitch. Crabbe and Goyle had joined him before they left the United Kingdom by Portkey. They had taken the Uber-Bollerwagon (which wasn't a pleasant experience, thanks to the fact Germans couldn't drive) right to the house here. The driver was kind enough to brag loftily that Harry Potter had just ridden in his wagon that night. At first, this sat like a loadstone in his chest... what if Potter took the Keyblade and had left Germany already? But then, a simple thought occurred to him. There was no way that goodie-goodie Harry Potter, the fortress of unyielding good will, would leave Bastian knowing that Draco Malfoy, the lord of all evil, would be able to find him. Having used a small bit of magic to unlock the door, (an owl dropped a letter on his head seconds later, saying something in German about a warning... Draco promptly ripped it up) Draco, Crabbe and Goyle snuck into the house.

And here they had found the guardian of Bastian Bux - Harry Potter - vigilantly passed out upon the sofa, the Keyblade in his hand. Gryffindors shouldn't try to be heroes, thought Draco, it's just sad. Draco took a moment to admire the blade Harry hugged close to his sleeping chest. It was pure gold, brilliantly shiny, but without much thickness, like a rapier, only a scant centimeter wide. A perfect reflection of the owner, thought Draco, his gray eyes gleaming with malice. The famous Harry Potter: with the heart of gold and the depth of a galleon.

Crabbe and Goyle chortled annoyingly at Draco's side. Crabbe snorted and bent over Harry. "It'll be like stealing candy from a baby..."

Draco also snorted and drew his wand, glancing over to Crabbe. "Wrong," he said with disdain. "It'll be easier..."

Draco looked back to Harry, only to see that the Boy Who Lived was looking back at him... his eyes no longer closed.