Sweet Resolve

Repress and restrain

Steal the pressure and the pain

Wash the blood off your hands

This time she won't understand

Change in the air

And they'll hide everywhere

And no one knows who's in control

You're working so hard

And you're never in charge

And your death creates success

Rebuild and suppress

Change in the air

And they'll hide everywhere

And no one knows who's in control

~~~

How many Malfoy codes have I even broken since the start of school? Gods, what's becoming of me!? Draco's anger resonated through the hallways with each step he pounded into the ground, making his way to a bathroom, dragging Harry Potter behind him. Sleeping in the library? The library!?! Arggh! Ahh here's the bloody bathroom...

"Malfoy I don't know why you're so upset. I've fallen asleep in the library loads of times; it isn't the end of the world..." Draco shoved him inside and slammed the door shut, a sudden iciness washing over him. His next words came out in a hushed monotone.

"No, you're absolutely right, Potter. It isn't the end of the world." Harry's face brightened up a bit as he headed for the sink, acutely aware all of a sudden of globs of ink dried all over his face and hands. Before he could find salvation in the running water though, Draco's fury erupted like Uncle Vernon on... any given day really.

"It's only the beginning of the end of the world, Potter! Unlike YOU, I have standards, and a reputation I actually want to keep! I am a Malfoy, and I cannot be seen dozing in the library, it.... It's completely uncouth!"

"Uncouth? Wow, Malfoy, you're such a nerd. And maybe no one did see you, so calm down. Uncouth? Hehe ..." Harry had completely disregarded Draco's mini tirade, turning back to the faucet, which angered him further. He had a point to make and Harry would understand even if he had to pin the boy down and shove each word into his sorry little brain.

"I'm not a nerd; I am simply an educated young man. I don't blame you though; I merely pity your poor existence for having never been exposed to the proper ways of life. And even if no one did see me, see US, I am filthy due in large part to you! So for your sake I better be able to clean up quickly." Harry just nodded as he delicately pulled Draco towards the sink, and placed a bar of soap he conjured up in a pale hand. Draco barely noticed, and let more words spill from his ink-spotted mouth. "As for sleeping in the library, Potter, it goes against at least seven Malfoy codes. Seven! I can't believe how much I've regressed just because of y-" Draco cut himself short, hoping the raven haired, and currently raven skinned boy didn't catch his last comment. Fortunately for him, Harry did not act as if he heard it, but then he was not looking at Harry, and did not see the myriad of emotions shimmering in his eyes, only to be quelled by a mask of indifference.

Harry turned to face the boy but he had taken to scrubbing his face, rinsing his mouth, washing his hands, rubbing his neck. Draco was on a mission to be as iridescent as the moon itself apparently. "Hello? Malfoy? Draco?" The boy just "hmm"ed at him, deep in concentration. He was behaving obsessively over a few ink spots like Snape would react to his precious cauldrons exploding from some horrible concoction by Longbottom. Harry was afraid he might remain permanently pink if he scrubbed his cheeks any longer, so he distracted him by conversation.

"Right so, you have Malfoy codes then? That's ... interesting. Is mandatory beauty sleep one of them?" Sinks were shut off, and careful charms were being sent forth from wands as the boys carefully tidied up their appearances, though harry didn't even bother with his hair. Draco ran a hand through his silky fine hair and gave him a smug look, eyeing the wild mane, finally commenting.

"As a matter of fact, yes. Sleep is of utmost importance to a Malfoy. A library is hardly a suitable resting-place. I feel so... common just thinking about that. It doesn't really matter though, I suppose..."

They had been exiting the bathroom and Harry stumbled into the hallway at hearing those words, grunting with exasperation.

"Doesn't matter? After all this madness you made me listen to? You nearly gnawed my ears off with your yammering all the way from the library!"

"That's hardly what I meant, Potter. And I do NOT yammer. If I hadn't been brutally cut off by evolution's missing link snorting inane remarks here, I could have completed by saying how I've felt unrested the past few days after sleeping, almost exhausted even." The air seemed colder right then, and Draco turned to see what appeared to be a Boy-Who-Lived frozen in midstep behind him. He walked up to face him, waving a hand around, but the odd boy just stared at him in perplexity. "Everything all right there, Potter?" Those words seemed to startle the boy out of his stupor. His brain must have stopped functioning. Quite likely a side effect of that scar he has.

Harry blinked a few times, taking in a deep breath. "What did you mean, exhausted?" Draco took a step closer, and was surprised by how cold the air around Potter was, almost as if his blood had gone frigid and left him numb, permeating around him. Oh for goodness sake, he's just standing in a drafty shadow. Stop overreacting.

"Nothing really. I just haven't slept well. Probably in anticipation of my lovely trip home tonight. For the holidays, you know?"

"Oh, uh right. Home. You're going home. That's all it must be." Harry seemed to have regained his composure, because before Draco could press him with questions of his own, the boy started. "You really shouldn't get so worked up over it. It isn't as if you're having crazy dreams all night every night or something."

"Excuse me? Worked up? I had only made a comment. You're the one going catatonic- please tell me you know what that means- on me." Draco rolled his eyes, and marched onwards towards the Great Hall, his stomach couldn't wait much longer, or it may start digesting itself.

"Yes I do know what it means, and I wasn't catatonic, just curious. I just got worried- no! umm I'm just curious when people bring up dreams, and such. Yeah that's all."

"Riiight, smooth save there, Potter... Suffice it to say, I didn't even remember my dreams."

He didn't dare mention at this moment that he desperately wanted to, lest Potter completely pass out or do something equally as erratic. But Draco was left with fragments of emotions when he woke up yesterday, and this morning his throat felt scratchy and his body sore. If he could only dive into his subconscious, plunge a hand in and grasp at the distant shards that eluded him by day. He wanted to swim in the blue mist that infiltrated his mind and resurface with at least a glimpse at his unconscious life. Because that was what it felt like- that he was living another life, and it was being hidden from him.

Well, just another project to work on over break. If my first task doesn't take too much of my time, that is...

And what's that Harry said? He got worried, over what? My well-being? Ha, wishful thinking, Malfoy. That'd make life too easy.

They had reached the entrance to the Great Hall, laughter and mirth melting the chill of winter as it swam beneath the doors of the entrance and swirled all around. One look at Harry convinced Draco that the boy had abandoned thoughts of restless dreams and library sleepovers for the urgent cries of his grumbling stomach.

"All right then, enough talk. I'll see you later, Harry." And Draco threw open the doors, somehow commanding awe solely by his gait. He glanced back at Harry, and the two shared a smirk. Turning back, Draco caught sight of Professor MacGonagall striding down through the hall towards Harry, asking to have a word with him quickly. Odd behavior considering it was the last day before Christmas break, but Draco mused that the professors in this school were nothing if not odd crazy kooks. He settled himself at the Slytherin table, secretly scheming how to get dream-related books out of the Malfoy library, now that his father was back.

~~~

"A quick word, Mr. Potter, if you please?"

"Of course, Professor. Yes?"

"The Headmaster would like to see you immediately after lunch in his office. It is rather important, but he did not want to take away from your lunch." Harry could not at first recognize the look that was hiding beneath the professor's eyes. Pain? Sadness? No... it was fear. Harry nodded, and walked to the Gryffindor table, trying to fathom what could have happened that would have his Head of House afraid to speak with him... or afraid of what news lay ahead for him.

Something had happened. But what? Or to whom?

Looking around, Harry saw he was actually sitting near his fellow sixth year classmates, rather than at the end of the table away from everyone. Confusion and a certain tingle of hope flitted across everyone's faces as they looked to Harry to see if he had finally come out of his cave, but it was not to be. He mentally berated himself for mistakenly sitting next to Neville and across from Hermione, but he might as well put the opportunity to good use.

"Are you finished with that Granger?" he said, eyeing her issue of the Daily Prophet.

"Harry? Well yes, here you go."

"Please wipe that silly grin off your face. I merely wanted to read the paper. And everyone, please stop staring. It's a rude habit." He could feel a burning gaze bore into his skull, and did not need tot urn to know that Ron was staring intently at him, as if challenging his very words.

"You can't tell us what to do, Potter. You bring it on yourself." Harry hadn't heard that voice directed to him in ages, and was almost startled to hear his last name practically drip from the boy's mouth.

Without turning, he replied, "Well if coming to my senses and discovering what should be done is bringing it on myself, then so be it. Wouldn't you rather waste your gaze on someone you deem worthy, like Zabini perhaps?"

That shut the table up, but Harry was too busy flipping through the pages of the paper to notice the guarded looks that were traded between the Gryffindors. The dismal monotone of his voice weighed down the levitated hearts of his former comrades, and Harry's heart secretly sank as well, hating to see such disappointment in their eyes. But the fates had scripted out his life, and there were to be no scenes of youth, happiness, and peace until after this war had finished. Until then, there was just too much to work on, too much to research to bother with anything else.

His nightmare last night, it had to be more than just a dream... His perplexing dreams in general, especially with Draco there now... Speaking of Draco, the possibility that he was sharing similar dreams as well, leaving him exhausted... His own skill with mastering defenses to the Dark Arts... What the bloody hell Dumbledore had to tell him... And ultimately, how in the world or beyond was Harry to defeat Voldemort?

So many things. So many tasks. And he also had to protect his loving friends at the same time.

Drifting his eyes over to the Slytherin table, Harry dawdled his gaze upon the flash of bright hair that could so easily blind a person.

And now, I have to protect Draco as well.

Yes, so many demands. Hopefully one day the people surrounding him would not look at him in shock and sadness and... mistrust as well? But instead with understanding, if not love... but that was pushing it.

Because it wasn't in the script.

Harry flipped through the paper, scanning, probing, looking for anything aside from the usual updates on the war, and a recent flurry of questionable articles on himself. He had expected the world to turn on him, but they hadn't gone as far as during fourth year, outright questioning his sanity and ability. Nor did anyone dare mention that he might have joined Voldemort, for which Harry was glad. Evil was not part of his countenance, only indifference was.

Nothing in it caught his attention, so Harry hoped he was just overreacting.

Tucking into his food, emerald eyes once again floated over towards the Slytherin table. Like a flash of Colin's camera, memories of the previous night lit his mind's eye on fire. Lingering sensations filled him to the brink of overflowing, rushing through him, reminding him of how complete he felt with that one brief moment. The kiss, stolen as it was, was the last remaining piece in the complex jigsaw puzzle that was Harry's heart. Nothing else could have made his heart explode and relax all at once, and yet he knew that allowing such a completion would undermine his goals.

I cannot succumb to happiness, I just can't. I have to... look forward to it in the future, hope for it. Somehow, the poor Gryffindor had convinced himself that feeling such joy was a weakness. It not only made him vulnerable emotionally, but it definitely endangered Draco as well.

And Draco had not given any reason to doubt his companionship- not yet.

Looking around at the students, scanning the staff table, and settling once more on the shimmering hair across the hall, Harry knew he would have to use this love to fuel his own fire, use the love he felt for the people in this room, but not allow it to be his tragic flaw.

Voldemort Will NOT use them against me, will not hurt them to get to me. Never.

Vehemently repeating this mantra in his head over and over, Harry failed to notice the silence that enveloped the Hall as the daily post flew in. Not until Neville nudged him slightly did he stir out of his daze.

"Umm... Look up, Harry."

So he did.

And two venomously yellow eyes told him why the entire Hall had fell deathly silent.

~~~

Draco really wanted to smack Potter. Not because he had stained Draco's brand new boots with ink, or had played a hand in his almost being unpresentable at lunch. Nope. Not that.

The fool wouldn't stop staring at him, and it wouldn't have been unnerving except that Zabini sat to his right, his dangerously curious eyes following Potter's gaze.

"So, Mr. Potter seems to be enthralled by his Slytherin counterpart, hmm? What ghastly things must you be doing with him to have him stare at you like that?" Zabini's words crawled into Draco's skin, but before he could reply with a cutting remark, another voice rose to the occasion. A surprising one at that.

"Perhaps the same things You must do to the Weasel." Forks clattered to their plates as everyone turned, slack-jawed, to face Goyle, who indicated to the wavy red head that focused directly on Blaise.

Draco, having recovered from the shock of hearing his historically slower roommate ascertain such an observation, nodded once in approval to the large boy sitting to his left, while Millicent had her own words to throw in.

"Oh Blaise, is that longing I see in his eyes? I never knew you had a thing for redheads. And a Gryffindork, no less. Tsk tsk."

"He doesn't! He does not! How dare any of you insinuate such a thing!?" Pansy bounced with each syllable, trying to defend the boy she was currently dating, although her words carried doubt and mistrust with them. "Clearly none of you are at all respected by the Dark Lord, or you would have known or found out just how wrong you are about that Weas-"

"Pansy, shut up!" Blaise's forehead had accumulated drops of sweat, and his eyes were filled with fury. "They don't need to know anything, if they don't already, which is clearly the case! And I am perfectly capable of defending myself!" Blond curls fell forward to cover the disgraced pug-faced girl who nodded in resignation to her boyfriend. He was fuming but his wrath could not conceal an indecipherable fear or doubt that tinged his voice just barely. Draco noted this, and finally decided to voice his opinion, grateful the spotlight had shifted from his own gryffindor relationship to the idiot next to him.

"No one said you couldn't, Zabini. But I suppose the 'bond' you and the Weasel share just came as a surprise, although it really shouldn't. You would fuck pug-face over here, so why not a Weasel as well..."

"What! Why you fucking prat! I should slice your tongue off and -"

"PANSY! Shut it! Let him have his words! He doesn't understand, he would never understand!" Blaise turned so his was face to face with a smug Draco, and sneered with as much venom as he could muster, "The Dark Lord won't be pleased with your progress, or lack there of, Malfoy. Whatever project you decided upon yourself to take on isn't going anywhere in his opinion. You just better hope you can convince daddy dearest of your allegiance."

"And what about your daddy, or wait- Who's your Daddy, Zabini? Weasel, or the big man himself?"

A wave of disgust smashed through the now huddled sixth year Slytherins.

"UGH! You sick demented pervert! That's just... gross! The Dark Lord?!? UGH!"

"Oh come now Blaise, he wouldn't be too pleased to learn about your sudden repugnance."

Whatever words of retaliation Zabini had on his lips slipped away and drowned in spilt glass of juice that slipped from his hand. Similar casualties of common banter occurred throughout the table, throughout the Great Hall. The agitated excitement of returning home, even if during a growing war, had been Avada Kedavra'd into oblivion, and everyone, including Draco, stared at the black creature that descended right in front of Potter, who was completely oblivious.

Oh shit oh shit oh shit. That's the same bird that delivered news to my mother over the summer. That's the same bird... That bird... It could only belong to Him. Oh God, Potter Look up, Look UP!

For once Draco praised the existence of Longbottom, who had the sense to alert Harry to his... visitor. He felt rather than saw both Snape and Dumbledore rise from their seats, but Harry shook his head slightly and retrieved his mail without even a nervous tremble.

Got to hand it to Potter to remain impassive with that beast staring him down... Oh fuck, what kind of letter is that???

~~~

To hell with it. Voldemort wouldn't kill me through the post, it wouldn't be satisfying enough. And ... well I have my wand, so if it is a Portkey, then at least the time has come. Despite his nonchalant thoughts, Harry could no longer feel his toes. As he reached for the letter, a macabre deep blood red envelope that looked moist to the touch but was deceptively dry, he realized that now he had no sensation in his feet whatsoever and the feeling was spreading upwards.

Ahh there go the calves, and well how much does one feel one's knees anyway?

He could tell the headmaster was going to head down here, but if this mail was directed to him, then by all the gods that anyone ever believed in, he would be the one to open and read it.

No Matter What.

"Harry, maybe you should let-"

"No Longbottom, I am perfectly capable of reading my own mail." Harry chose to ignore the oily black bird, as it was intently trying to make eye contact for a moment, before taking flight. He did not feel like being grossly hypnotized by the pitch-black pupils that were immersed in those ghastly yellow eyeballs, and could practically taste the greasiness of its feathers (which even surpassed Snape's oily hair), so was nothing short of ecstatic to see the beast retreat.

Seemingly from the windows above a soothing wind whirled around the students, calming their nerves, especially calming Harry's own nerves as he peeled open the envelope and extricated a folded piece of black parchment.

With all eyes on him, including the distraught and troubled pair of blue eyes of the Headmaster, Harry slowly unfolded the parchment, steeling himself for whatever lay within, hardening his cool exterior even more than usual.

It was blank.

Perplexed, Harry laid it on the table, studying it, when suddenly, it began to glow ominously and the cool wind that had been sending messages of reassurance and soothing was now an icy cold gale that whipped and tore through the Hall.

No one could contain their fear, not even Harry for that split second, believing he had just put the entire student body in danger by opening the damned letter. The paper began to rise, still glowing, sucking in all the light bouncing off the walls and allowing a darkness to descend.

Suddenly, as rapidly as it had risen, it stopped, and the image of a lightening bolt burned across it, and then with a pop the parchment was gone and the image of three people tied together was shown.

The sudden influx of murmurs explained to Harry what he desperately wanted to know.

"Is that what I think it is?" "I've never actually seen a Vis-Doc letter before?" "You-Know-Who sent Harry a Visual-Documenter? Oh god, when will it start playing?" "I don't think I want to see this..."

Students throughout the hall were mumbling facts and fears, doubts and curiosities, and one look at the Slytherin table told him even they were visibly shocked by the appearance of such a letter.

A hand on his shoulder alerted him to the appearance of Dumbledore behind him, who only lifted his head and glanced towards the still image above, but Harry understood. He needed to pay attention to it for it to play- and put all these kids through whatever torture was intended for him in the process.

Harry stood in his seat, the lone figure aside from a retreating Dumbledore to have actually risen, and again silence fell. Eyes were torn between the rigid form of the Boy-Who-Lived and the images that had begun to play before him.

Get it over with you sick bastard- play your movie for me. Anger and frustration blockaded all the rest of Harry's emotions, enabling him to remain focused, because what appeared before him presented not only a horror, but also an answer. One that Harry needed to accept.

The three huddled figures, lying on the ground and whimpering at the taut ropes that bound their arms and gagged their throats, began to shake violently as a black-robed wizard pulled one of them away, the smallest of the three, and dragged the trembling body to a large wooden table.

It all seemed so real, so tangible, except for the fact that they were merely ghostly images floating above, playing out a scene that no doubt occurred recently. Harry knew this was what Dumbledore needed to talk to him about, as the look of anxious disappointment was scribbled all over his face. He hadn't wanted Harry to learn about whatever this was in this manner.

The small prisoner, most definitely a woman, was released from her gag and gasped harshly, invoking a guttural scream that echoed through the hall and made the younger students cower beneath their tables. The woman was effectively silenced by a backhanded smack to the face, leaving a print that practically burned into her flesh and remained visible for the entire scene.

Gray mist bubbled all around her as more and more death eaters encircled her, chanting something quietly, making her rise into the air and float there ominously.

Judging by her clothes, Harry deduced she, along with the other two, were the kidnapped muggles that Neville had told him about. A sick nauseous sensation churned inside his gut, but Harry stood as still as a rock, watching the images as if he were listening to Snape lecture.

A cauldron appeared on the table beneath her, already frothing and boiling with some frightful potion, and a lumpy bag also lay upon the table, the contents of which remained unseen.

A chilling slimy voice rang out then- hidden from the scene, no doubt the caster of the Documenting spell, addressing Harry. Only one being could sound so wretched and so smug at the same time- Voldemort.

Harry Potter... I knew you would open this, your endangering curiosity knows no bounds does it?

A few students fainted from the knowledge that they just heard Voldemort's voice- all Hufflepuffs no less. Harry refused to turn away, even though the woman had begun to spin in place, her head whipping around in fear.

I thought I would familiarize you with one of my loyal followers' favorite spells, and indeed it will come in handy tonight. Sanguinacorpum. Have you heard of it? Well let them demonstrate. Oh, and take a good look at the woman, Harry, I believe she would be insulted if you didn't recognize her.

Eyes locked on the revolving body, the short brown hair, the petite shoulders, the pointy nose.... The flowered dress... not just any flower....

"Aunt Petunia...?" The words barely fought their way free with a whisper, but it was enough for Hermione to hear, and turn in quiet desperation to her friend, hoping he would be all right, hoping he wouldn't crumble.

Harry's vision had blocked her out though; it had blocked everyone out except for the figures that acted for him above. He was not aware of the growing whispers, or the whimpers, and especially not of the cries that rang through the somber afternoon when five Death eaters chanted Sanguinacorpum!, slicing his aunt's flesh in every direction.

All Harry heard were the excruciating screams of his mother's sister, and the hollow laughter of his mortal enemy.

Watch the blood Harry, watch as it slithers down her dying body, dripping into this beautiful concoction of mine.

Harry vehemently glared at Snape, silently accusing him of conjuring such a potion, but Snape's strong-willed and saddened eyes betrayed no such knowledge that he was aware of such a potion. A shake of his head reaffirmed that fact, and Harry turned back to the scene.

I came to realize the importance of your blood, Potter, and decided that my very own should benefit from it as I have. But how to get Harry Potter's blood? How indeed? But of course, from his only blood relative...

The body that had once writhed and wailed now was completely pale, worse than Lucius Malfoy after a long bout of hibernation. The last drops of red gleamed at her lifeless toes, finally plummeting into the cauldron before, and her body was suddenly thrown by an invisible hand atop the two remaining prisoners. Uncle Vernon and Dudley never looked weaker and hopeless.

The bag next to the cauldron began to shake, and its contents flew out of it and plopped one by one into the black potion. Rocks, stones, charms of all shapes were absorbing the potion, absorbing Harry's life force into them.

I have no problem telling you that anyone who wears these charms has a kind of... immunity, a strength which only you could provide.

The vacuous mirth from his voice dissipated into a hateful spitfire of words.

It is only a matter of time, Mr. Potter, until I get what I want, until I get what you dare to keep from me.

Until then...

A symphony of voices practically cheered the killing curse, and Harry's last remaining relatives convulsed a grotesque dance before limply flattening their wife and mother.

The images faded, the parchment reappeared and burned into ashes, and the envelope disintegrated into nothing. Everyone was in an upheaval of emotion, even the secret supporters of the evil wizard. Reality of war and its loathsome tactics had found its way into the mind of every child there, and not an innocent soul remained in that Hall. Chaos ruled outside of school, and they had just been sucked in.

Where was the control, the comfort, the hope? There seemed to be none as shock, horror, and panic wept throughout the halls of Hogwarts.