Sweet Resolve

bones sinking like stones
all that we fought for
homes, places we've grown
all of us are done for
and we live in a beautiful world
yeah we do, yeah we do
we live in a beautiful world

~~

There it lay, a beacon of energy, belittled by invasive particles of dust settling on it as if they had the right. It had been carefully placed in Harry's wardrobe, wrapped in a sheen cloth, but that had fallen off months ago from the constant commotion that entailed a closet's life. And so the bolt of flames remained forgotten, until the second day of winter break.

Harry had been fiddling with his belongings, a means of distracting himself from life as he knew it, especially since winter holidays had begun. How much was one person supposed to handle, fathom, and comprehend? Despite his best efforts, Harry would involuntarily shake at the thought of his relatives dead at the hands of Voldemort. Like he was riding a roller coaster blindfolded, never knowing when it would flip him upside down and bring him to frightful tears. The blood, the laughter, the cries of pain... all a monstrous mess in his tired mind.

He didn't even like his relatives, but now Harry was alone. ALONE! He was the sole remainder of two bloodlines. An ocean of ancestry and history was reduced to the tiny miniscule droplet that was his pathetic existence. Tears cascaded down his cheeks, splashing insignificantly upon the lustrous cloak that lay upon him now, hiding his legs. Harry pulled the invisibility cloak up to his face, concealing his pain from no one, and slowly massaged the fine fibers across his worn head.

A few calming breaths were all that was needed to subside the storm raging within. Harry would not allow himself to fall down the same depressed road he had succumbed to after Sirius died... it had taken weeks to emerge from that, weeks to gather the little fragments of sanity and hope that had been so quick to break. Even now, they quivered and shook, threatening to shatter with even the slightest abandon of resolve.

He glanced around the dorm room, void of the vitality that pulsated within when school was in session. He could barely remember the feeling of talking late into the night with his friends, of waking up and feeling a new day explode with fervor through the windows.

Now, only fear and distrust bloomed in the shadows that came with every new day.

Harry stood and draped the cloak around his shoulders, bringing the hood up slightly so it rested in folds on his shoulders, bunching up to veil the bottom half of his face. Slow steps brought him in front of the mirror, where green eyes scanned the image before him: untamed hair and wild yet solemn eyes were the only discernible features. Harry ran a hand through his hair, and massaged his throbbing temple, finally dropping his arm once more.

His arm had remained visible, not covered by his father's cloak. The symbolism was not lost on Harry at what he could and could not see in the mirror. Only the top half of his face and his arm, his wand arm, were in clear view; everything else had seemingly disappeared from existence.

Battered mind was present. Darkened eyes were present. The arm that would hold his weapon of choice was present.

There was no representation of Harry's heart though. None of his soul. Here stood the greatest tool of recent Wizarding History, primed for battle at all costs. What more could he give anyway? He was nearly void of feeling anything any longer.

Tears of resignation shakily ventured free from his darkened eyes, and Harry shrugged the cloak off and tossed it onto his bed, his eyes following the cloth's descent before being averted by the feathers that lay beside his pillow.

A gryffin's feathers; Quafftain's, to be exact. He had picked them up on his walk back from Hagrid's the day before: something to remind him of the peace he sought for, and the unlikely place he had stumbled upon it.

Tripping over the books and knickknacks that peppered the ground, Harry picked up the feather, lightly stroking its edge with the tip of his finger. The simple softness of this one plume brought to mind the velvety fur of the beast, and how it had quieted the tempest in Harry's mind.

Yesterday's events were indeed a puzzle. He still wasn't entirely sure what the dream with Sirius meant, or if it was a dream at all. Nor could he comprehend what kind of bond was forming between the gryffin and himself. His confusion translated into his usually agile hands, which could not seem to keep hold of the feather, as it fumbled from his grasp and floated to the ground. He sighed with exasperation and returned to his original post, trying to fold his shirts and robes, but frustration at his life would not allow him enough concentration for even menial tasks like that.

"Oh sod it all!" He exclaimed as he flung the shirt in his hands into the corner of his closet, where it knocked something over with a dull thud. Curious eyes peered in to see what caused the sound.

"My firebolt! I can't believe I forgot about you..." All his previous thoughts were swept away as Harry strode out of the dorms, broom in hand.

~~~

A glance to the left. To the right. Behind him. To the left again.

Good. All clear.

With an exuberant kick, Harry rose off the ground, leaving behind the catastrophe that was his life. Higher and Higher. Abandoning his role, his fate, the world.

Harry had been fortunate not to run into any professors on his way outside, since flying, especially unguarded, was still prohibited in school. Ever since the war had infiltrated Hogwarts with the cryptic message in the Great Hall's ceiling at the welcoming feast, extracurricular life had taken a turn for the worse, as Quidditch had remained cancelled and children weren't allowed outside without proper supervision. And it was all because of Harry...

But he wasn't thinking about any of that right now. Instead, Harry rose to great heights and started to naturally do laps around the Quidditch pitch. The air pounded into his skin, and Harry could honestly feel it infiltrate his flesh, bubbling around his heart and capturing his troubles- forcing them to float away.

Suddenly existence became a hazy blur of emotion- relief... joy... freezing cold elation. The Boy Who Lived-to-Fly wanted to throw his arms up and embrace the wind, but logically held back for two reasons.

Firstly- doing so would likely result in a tragic tumult towards the earth.

Secondly- he could barely move his hands as it were: they were nearly frozen onto the broom.

Awareness settled as he took in just how high he had flown... he hadn't been this high above the pitch since...

Since third year... the Hufflepuff Game... Dementors... Sirius...

"NO NO NO!" Harry whipped his head up from the depressed fall it had taken, and tore through the clouds, racing away from the pitch, away from those thoughts.

"I'm not going to think about that. About him. About any of this! I just came out here to fly!" he declared to an uncompassionate existence.

He weaved through towers, laced his flight path between branches and arches. Harry threw a piece of his sorry life away with each abrupt turn, each deliberate dive. Tossed his worries and his burdens into oblivion, a fragment of his pain being discarded with every intense maneuver he performed.

Eventually a calm settled Harry down, telling him to ease up... to slow down... to catch his waning breath.

He had never seen the castle like this- he had never dared explore its every exterior nook and cranny for fear of being caught and reprimanded. But now, as Harry hovered above the Great Hall, he fell in love with this place all over again. Turning to observe the rest of the school, still somewhat shrouded by fog, his eyes were ensnared by a glimmer- a sparkling trail of falling ... falling dust, by the looks of it. No Not dust though, Hogwarts was too pure for that....

No, this looked like the very particles of air had grown heavy from their sudden luminescence and were succumbing to gravity. Eyebrows arched up in question when he noticed that the trail itself was the very path he had just flown, thus creating what seemed like a tangled web of falling glitter- scattering across the grounds. If possible, his eyebrows escalated even higher when he saw that the glow was heavier, was denser at the turns and the steep dives and loops he had made.

Odd... really truly odd. But then, I should never underestimate the quirks of Hogwarts.

Of course it never occurred to the dear boy what kind of magic he had emitted, just through his intense emotions. It never dawned on him that the bubbly feeling he had before could have meant something, that he had temporarily thrown shards of himself into the wind.

It didn't occur to him because he was distracted at that moment when the sun peaked out from behind a cloud to cast a few rays on the snow below. It shimmered. Golden Light on a pure white landscape of snow... reminiscent of something...

Ahhh yes. Draco.

A longing flared up that Harry decided not to ignore. He didn't want to escape these thoughts- he didn't want to forget even momentarily about the boy who was keeping his soul alive.

What was he doing? Stuck with his father... Harry had toyed with the idea of telling Dumbledore that Lucius was, in fact, back at Malfoy Manor, but no: he was most likely too well hidden, even if in a most obvious location. It would be futile to waste the time of the Aurors over a matter that would eventually come to light on its own time. Lucius would come out of his hiding. Soon enough soon enough.

But in the mean time... Would Draco get the mark over the holidays? Maybe as a sick Malfoy tradition, or Christmas gift? Harry couldn't stifle the sordid chuckle that rose when imagining Voldemort in a Santa Claus outfit. Ohhh, a sight like that would be scarring for life, indeed.

Somehow though, Harry believed he would feel, or just know if Draco got the mark. They had shared much more than just secrets as of late- it was as if the outskirts of their magic were mingling with each other, become as acquainted as the boys themselves had become. It was a reassuring thought, to know that in the midst of all this chaos, a new and exciting experience was being born between them.

Harry floated back down to earth since his stomach dutifully reminded him that it was probably time for lunch. He was beyond glad that very few people had stuck around....especially in Gryffindor. Let them enjoy there time with families, before Voldemort wiped them of all sense of hope. As if hope could exist, after subjecting the entire school to that ... that letter. Stupid, Harry, really Stupid. Even more trauma for the kids. He wondered how long it would be before the howlers and hate mail would arrive, condemning Harry once more to the Dark Side. Ahhh, it was better there was barely anyone around right now. It made it easier to get through the holidays without a constant reminder of friends come and gone from his life. He wondered briefly if the magical awareness he was beginning to have with Draco was also something he had shared with Ron...

As beautifully bittersweet as the image was, Harry was left with a sour feeling, subconsciously knowing that it wasn't the case. Ron's fiery demeanor and uncouth approach towards magic never meshed well with Harry's own organized recklessness. There would likely be explosions of the soul, the mind and everything in between if their incompatible senses of magic ever mixed.

No... he had shared most of his wizarding life with the boy, but there would always be boundaries between them: as miniscule as they could have been, as profound as they were now.

Sweat nearly crystallized on Harry's brow as he trudged back into the castle, his adrenalin rush finally coming to an end and his body once more adhering to the fact that it was as cold as a penguin's beak out there. He focused on moving past all thoughts of Ron and the gang, since that would only bring him down with an ungraceful thud.

Concentrating so hard on recapturing the emotions of freedom he felt in the sky, Harry nearly walked into a suit of armor, only just missing it but dropping his broom in the process.

He turned back to pick it up, when whispered voices crawled along the walls, hoping to evade anyone's ears. Harry of course, having a penchant for trouble and mischief, was able to pick it up quite quickly, and jumped behind the suit of armor to see Dumbledore turning down the hall with McGonagall and Snape in tow.

It didn't take a high-ranking Unspeakable to know that the furrowed eyes and rapid steps meant something was definitely up. Harry noted how remarkable it was that whispers tended to ricochet off the metal of the armor, creating a tiny hum that echoed through one of the sleeves. It reminded him of science class in primary school... studying sound with tuning forks and the like. Harry had not been very interested in it back then, but he was sure thankful that the laws of science didn't turn away from a magical realm like this one.

All Harry had to do was lean in to the glove and the entire conversation played out for him like an aural pensieve. So lean in he did, eyed widening with every word that was heard.

~~~

What was once home now felt like a prison, what with icicles upon icicles upon icicles barring the windows closed. It was for the better, as the world outside seemed to understand the torment the world was going through. Wind gnashed and bit at the waning treetops, ripping the air into harsh fragmented molecules that gravitated back together with such force that the wind only multiplied.

Needless to say, it wasn't welcoming out there, but even less so inside the elaborately decorated house. Home was never supposed to be as uninviting as this- stony and intimidating as Malfoy Manor was on the outside, it used to be wrapped with a warm veil, no matter how tarnished that warmth was. But now, iciness permeated the seemingly impenetrable walls, and a constant web of smothering paranoia and tension weaved in and out of the rooms. Relentless frost slashed its way through the atmosphere of the mansion, despite the countless fireplaces roaring, house elves continuously preparing hot chocolate with firewhiskey, and a father of light smiling in heated frenzy.

Draco had hardly recognized Lucius when he had portkeyed home. Upon appearing in the grand Malfoy Foyer (yes every room was addressed as a "Malfoy" trademark, absurd as it was), he was greeted by the sight of his mother and father: she sitting with goddess-like stature on a gold encrusted chair, he standing by the stairs, smiling far too gleefully for a Malfoy.

In fact Draco couldn't remember a time when he had seen Lucius's teeth bared so clearly. Frankly, it was a bit disturbing.

Stomping that minor wave of alarm down, Draco politely bowed to his father, who reciprocated, never losing that horrid smile. The after effects of Azkaban are worse than I thought, Draco surmised, turning towards his mother. He lightly kissed her forehead with all the formality he had been trained to abide by.

"You look lovely, mother."

"It's so nice to have you home, Draco dear." She spoke with the usual brand of Malfoy coolness, brewed to perfection over the years, but her eyes seemed to be having a difficult time remaining frozen. Sadness was peering through the cracks. He offered his hand to help her up, and while kneeling forward caught sight of a gleaming new pendant adorning her swan-like neck. The events of the day stormed his brain with alarming clarity, waging a war on his tired mind, awakening a silent loathing. Fingering his own white pendant in his pocket, Draco was beginning to understand more deeply the reasons his mother couldn't contain her melancholy entirely.

"Draco!" Clouded eyes cleared back into focus, turning towards the slightly taller Malfoy.

"Yes, father?" Lucius had sauntered over to his wife and son with the help of his serpentine cane, its dark ruby eyes capturing the light; it was quite clear that Azkaban's trauma had crippled his body more than he would ever admit. Draco doubted he would ever be able to walk successfully again.

"I have business to deal with tonight, but tomorrow you will join me in my study, for ... a little father and son time. I imagine we have much to discuss." The smile had chipped away to reveal a calculating smirk, and the tremor-ridden body of the convict had stilled to display the power of Voldemort's second-in-command.

"Of course Father, it would be my pleasure."

Lucius nodded and marched slowly back up the stairs to his study. Once the click of the door shutting had echoed through the hallways, Draco's stance deflated a little to reflect his weariness from the day. Narcissa, now standing beside her son, expelled a mirthless laugh.

"He's been waiting for you, to discuss furthering your plans."

"My plans?"

"Indeed." She glided into the adjoining living room, settling down into the sofa the same way a sunflower settles after the sun goes down. "With Mr. Potter. He wants to know all about your developing trust. Oh and I do believe he wants to plan your ... Christening as well."

Draco, hands clasped behind his back, entered the room and strode directly towards the window. Outside the moon lay hidden behind ominous clouds, much like the future. It remained unseen, unforetold, undetermined as of yet. There were still so many mysteries to uncover, so many puzzles to solve in his unwritten future, and he would be damned to let Lucius meddle with his own plans. A Malfoy must always stay in control. Everything was a means to an end, and he couldn't let that be tampered with.

Draco scoffed at the term "Christening"- that belied a sense of rebirth and strength, servitude to a greater purpose, not to a Dark maniac. "My dealings with Mr. Potter are going quite smoothly. Much like the Dark Lord's, I suppose, considering the red stone you're wearing." He was now facing his mother, curious of how much she still knew of Voldemort's activities. While a more naïve boy in his position would hope she would not catch the hidden meaning, Draco fervently prayed to whatever god would still listen to him that she did, because then he wouldn't need to worry over her own safety. Knowledge and involvement usually implied security in the Death Eater ranks. She merely stared at him for a long minute, letting anticipation fester in his gut. Finally she spoke.

"The rumors are true then? The letter was viewed by the entire school?" Draco nodded. "He is at once a most foolish but most fortunate young man then. It is the best thing that could have come of this for him." She closed her eyes as the words drifted from her, and Draco's concerns were raised once more.

He sat beside her and spoke in a rushed whisper. "This is a dangerous game. Don't be foolish enough to say things like that."

"Like what?"

"Things that could imply you are actually vying for the Boy Who Lived!" Blood rushed into those pale cheeks as he practically snapped at her, something he had never done in his life. Who was she to go about spouting possible good fortune for Potter... bloody hell, how could anything fortunate come from that letter anyway?!?

Narcissa raised an eyebrow at him. "Vying for Potter? What a preposterous thought. I was merely stating a fact." The nonchalant brush off of his retort suddenly reminded Draco that while this was a dangerous game, she had been a player for much longer than he, and likely had plans of her own. He matched her raised eyebrow with his own, invoking a smirk to grace both their faces.

"A fact is it? I can't imagine why."

"The son of the most highly esteemed Death Eater had better attain the skills to discern how fortune can come from such things then. It will not do for you to be left in the Dark." She sighed and summoned a house elf to fetch a cup of tea. "Go freshen up. I arranged for a light supper to be prepared for you." Thus was the close of this conversation, leaving Draco with even more puzzles to solve. Rising from his seat, Draco nodded once and left to go to his bedroom.

Walking up the stairs, Draco never felt so out of place- in this palace of subterfuge and illusions, he had become a blind prince, desperately holding onto the guide of determination to steer his way. He caught a glimpse of his mother through the doorway, a distant look beginning to claw at her face.

By the time she recovered from her distant mental lapse, he was already in his room. She turned toward the only portrait in the room, of a young Draco standing proudly beside his very first broom. She could barely hear the words herself as they trickled from her lips. "I'm not vying for Potter, you silly boy. I'm vying for you."

***

Lucius had been pacing maniacally for hours now, controlled by invisible puppeteer strings, dragging him round and round his study in quiet deliberation: an unfamiliar glint in those haunted eyes.

A house elf was sent to summon Draco, who had been spending his afternoon in the library. There was not much else that interested him in this home any longer- at least not while his father inhabited the place. Enjoyment turned sour with the very thought that Lucius could venture out of his office and twist any activity into an indulgence of Dark magic. Reading could hardly be twisted any further, considering nearly the entire library shuddered occasionally from the vast Dark Arts intelligence that lurked in the shelves.

Sighing from the interruption and the impending conversation slowly creeping into out of the future and into the foreground of the day's events, Draco pushed himself out of the chair, stepping around and over the massive collection of tomes, from Human Renditions of Beastly Beasts to History of Soulbreaking Tactics, that had found their way into his vicinity.

As macabre as the literature was, at least that had kept him entertained. Now he stood a few paces into the dark musky study, contemplating whether he ought to interrupt the deranged wizard out of his frantic reverie. Before he could make a move to do so however, Lucius stopped his meticulous pacing right in front of his son and turned to greet the boy with that same gleeful smile Draco had the misfortune to witness the day before.

The mania seemed to ebb away, as Lucius resumed his role of intimidating father, motioning for Draco to take a seat. He in turn sat in the illustrious leather chair behind his desk, never taking his eyes off of the younger Malfoy. Draco showed no sign of discomfort, but inwardly praised himself for remembering to hide his immaculate pendant under his shirt.

"I must admit Draco, I was at first astonished to hear you had become civil with Potter. How could it be that the heir to the great Malfoy Dynasty could consort with such an enemy?" Draco swore to himself not to allow one trace of emotion flit through even the pupil of his eyes, or the twitch of a finger. He already knew by the end of this conversation he would be seething with rage comparable to Voldemort's own, but it could not be known. It simply could not.

Lucius carried on. "Of course, after some thought, I immediately understood that you felt it was your duty to push forward and take lead position in the business of treachery that I had been relinquished of, for a short while at least." Cold stony eyes flashed in a momentary lapse of nightmarish memories, eliciting a shudder from both Malfoys- one from reliving the past, the other from imagining what could render his father so weak.

"It would appear, then, that you have plotted something rather nefarious for our Mr. Potter. Do tell, Draco, how far along are you? And what exactly do you intend to do?"

Draco forced himself to smirk, allowing the machinations of his mind to concoct an explanation that could steer him clear of any more meddling. For now, at least.

"Things have been developing at an interesting pace. The civility may lead me down a path we had never considered before, one which could entirely affect the outcome of Potter's abilities, and the outcome of the war." Draco was rather pleased with the opening act of his performance. It was an art very few could really master to such perfection, brewing the truth to a mixture that suited one's needs.

"I see- so you plan on breaking down his defenses... and then what?" Lucius, although still wary, was rather intrigued that his son could sacrifice his ideals to consort with Potter. But Draco was far more interested in another line of conversation than Potter- he needed other information, so that he could assume control of his plan, and so much more.

"There are indeed some details I have yet to work out. For that, I still need information. I can hardly serve the Dark Lord's purpose if I am unaware of the scheming he has taken. I would never want to interfere with his own superior plans."

"Yes, yes... Gods save you if you were to conflict with his own plans..." Lucius glazed over; lost in a thought Draco could not identify, and then like a boomerang flew back into reality, a small smile on his face. "There is one way to solidify your link to information. It would solidify your allegiance as well. I am remiss to say the Dark Lord has wondered what Potter has been doing, for he cannot infiltrate the boy as once before... It does make one wonder..." The smile had fallen to reveal a calculating stare, trying to pierce through Draco's orbs, but he in turn closed his eyes and laughed.

"Well of course our Lord would be worried from that, but let me assure you he needn't be. The amount that boy studies, now that he has no friends, it is understandable that he would develop his skills."

"Then you are privy to what he can do then?" Lucius looked almost too eager to hear the answer, which alarmed Draco a bit. Did they know of Harry's abilities with the Black Magic? Did they know of my help? They couldn't... Severus would not have told. Draco churned a million ideas through his mind, finally settling that it was something he didn't know about. Lucius wouldn't look eager if he knew about Draco's dealings. He would be furious. Then what could it be...

"No, I'm sorry to say I am not aware of his abilities. We are merely class partners, and I provide more silent company than anything else... for now." Marked disappointment bled through Lucius's body, and he pressed on.

"Well- you have time yet to learn what he knows. Infiltrating his defenses is quite important, breaking down the walls..." Something about that statement stirred a memory in Draco's mind, but he let it go for now.

"As for information, father-"

"Indeed!" Lucius stood up, throwing a tremor across his desk, and strode around to grasp his son's shoulder, his other hand help in a tight fist of excitement. "Arrangements will be made. You will prove to the Dark Lord that you are worthy of his crest! He will-"

"No." A blank stare met a bewildered one.

"What do you mean... no?" Bewilderment shifted into understanding, into repulsion, into fury. Cold fingers deliberately punctured Draco's shoulders, while a harsh whisper tried to slice his throat. "You cannot possibly be allied with that monster."

Draco kept his cool, stating, "Allow me to explain." He stood, barely able to pull from Lucius's grasp. "Potter treads on the edge of trust and distrust. Should I be honored with the Dark mark, he would shut me out forever. The plan could never fully come to fruition." He stood face to face with his father, manipulating the elder's mind to work with him. "For my sake... for the Dark Lord's sake, I cannot get the Mark. Not now."

A flood washed most of Lucius's anger away, leaving disappointment at the forefront. Draco continued. "Especially now, after witnessing that letter... Potter will be even more on the edge. The slightest push could lose me my chance." Lucius took the bait.

"The letter. What a sensational idea that was. Watching that muggle die... well, you can imagine how it felt, can't you?" Nausea threatened Draco, but his father continued.

"It almost disgusts me to think her blood, Potter's blood, is the main component of this gem-" Lucius procured a crimson glittering stone out of his pocket- "but if it is used against him, that is what matters." He pocketed the gem once more, and Draco wondered if it would have been his had he agreed to take the Mark. Exactly how much power did those little gems even have? Draco would have to consider this later. "True, Potter cannot be pushed. Our Lord will understand."

"Will you still... be able to keep me abreast of his activities then?" Draco had to know what his prospects were regarding information, without belying a sense of eagerness. "... For the sake of ensnaring Potter?"

Lucius sat back down behind his desk, absently strumming his fingers on his cane. "As my son and trusted heir to the Malfoy fortune and position, I will inform you of that which I feel pertinent to your situation. But you... You had better not fail the Malfoy name."

"I would never."

~~~

Murders, kidnappings, and arsons were but a few of the horrors that constantly attacked the Muggle World now. Like a weather-beaten man lost in the desert, muggles were at the mercy, or lack there of, of Death Eaters who swooped down like vultures, ripping apart lives, and sanity.

Because of this, because of so much, sleep would not come to Harry. That elusive deity of the night would not grace Harry with her presence. She wanted to torture him, to punish him for listening in on a conversation that was not meant for his ears, no matter how much it dealt with him. No matter how much his past and future were intertwined with the facts that slapped his mind around like a tetherball.

McGonagall had informed the Headmaster and Potions Master that some kind of clandestine operation was going on in Romania... Harry could only imagine Remus had reported it to her. Was Remus okay? Why hadn't he returned? It sounded like they had received a lot of information...

***

Hushed voices mistakenly thought they were alone, as Harry picked up the end of a conversation.

"- gone missing? Did he manage to say which ones? Or is that asking too much?" Greasy voice- had to be Snape.

"Yes he did, in fact. Horntails... all of them. Disappeared. I cannot imagine how he managed that. Under everyone's nose... Headmaster?"

"Voldemort has talents we will never fully know. He spent so much time contorting his spirit and magic into a dark creation, that I find it no wonder he could gain such control." A sigh. "It is only a matter of time then. Severus? Your thoughts?"

"No doubt they will be used in the attack. He has been absorbed in the works of fire lately. As if he wants to battle the cold itself. I have not been able to figure out what."

"Dragon fire can easily be blocked though. What would the point be?"

"Simple Dragon fire could be. But He is anything but simple...I really do think it comes down to the manipulation of the fire. He finds strength in heat, not warmth but heat. He wants to destroy. I doubt they've been used on the recent attacks. Dragons looming over muggle towns would be too much."

"Indeed, Severus. Whereas warmth is a healing power, the true brunt of fire is destructive and an obvious means of weaponry for Voldemort. He likely is testing out various methods on the poor innocents... Such devastation. I pray for those families whose lives have been completely burned away." The voices were fading away, Harry could only barely make out the last bits of conversation as the three adults treaded away. Dumbledore was still talking. "Severus, do your best to gain more information. How is the young one doing?"

"...impressive. Parents would be proud...never to know, though..."

"Good. Minerva...find out ...more plans in Romania. Also, ..."

Dammit they were gone! Harry slumped to the ground, not caring about rattling the suit of armor. What was that last part! What did all of it mean! Not until an hour later did Harry rise to return to the dorm. He wasn't particularly hungry anymore.

***

Hunger never came to him, much like Sleep was evading him now.

If his stomach had the audacity to grumble, he would immediately be filled with a burnt smell, a residue of flesh that could not be wafted away. Harry knew in the back of his mind that he was letting his defenses down a little, and that Voldemort's activities were affecting him. But tonight, Harry allowed it. He needed that reminder- he needed to be reminded that although he was struggling with his reality, the rest of the world was suffering because of it.

Weird dreams, odd experiences are good for inspiration and hope, but Harry would never forget that number of lives that were wasted at his expense. He knew it wasn't entirely his fault- Voldemort was fated to exist, and Harry was fated to fight him. Harry just needed to do it soon, before an entire generation was decimated, no signs of existence except in pictures, on videos, on paper...he would not allow Voldemort to erase an era.

And what of the dragons? They were going to be used in attack? Harry shuddered at the memory of the Horntail he flew against- and was scared to imagine what abomination could come of them through Dark magic. They could be used to break through wards, through buildings, through people... Was the Ministry going to fall under attack?

No... against Hogwarts. Dumbledore had that said once, hadn't he? Voldemort wanted to attack Hogwarts. He was going to take on the Formidable Castle, threaten children's lives, and encroach on Dumbledore's turf...

Because of Harry. Always because of Harry.

No, sleep would not come that night.