We Are Forever

August twenty-fifth, Summer before Harry James Potter's sixth Year at Hogwarts

Draco's POV

A thunderstorm trapped in two irises directed itself malevolently at a dark figure hovering directly above.

Draco Malfoy was not afraid. No matter how many times his body was set to oblivion with the Cruciatus Curse, he would never give in. He knew he couldn't go through with what his father wanted him to do, and he was taking a stand. Draco would never be the same as his father, he was stronger. He had long suffered the decisions with which he was faced, but finally, someone was able to tip the scale.

As he sat on the cold stone floor, his weakened body convulsing from cold, pain, blood loss and crippling hysteria, he thought of the words Dumbledore had told him before he left for summer vacation his fifth year. Words that, hard as Draco tried not to, caused him to finally give in to accepting the man he had so long been taught was his enemy.

"Draco, remember that each person is in control of their own destiny. Life is something so complex that even the most powerful wizard in the world could never even attempt to run your life for you. It is ourselves that allow others to run our lives for us. Fierce strengths lie in each human heart, no matter what you may think being sorted into houses means. Hope is one of the most powerful weapons we have. Hope that no matter what evil is done to us, we will always come out. How we come out, we do not know! but the point, Draco, is that we come out our own person, in control of our own destiny. Find your redemption, Mr. Malfoy, before it slips away."

Years of obedience, of listening to every whim and command Lucius threw in Draco's face, finally seemed to be meeting their violent end. Draco had seen things no one should, or probably ever would, have to see. He had to stop letting people run his life for him, he needed to seize the control that he'd scarce ever had. The form above him raised its arm, a gleaming blade of steel shining from the clutches of its right hand. The hand paused there, as if in hesitation, and then. . . .

Everything fell silent. The hand swung towards him in slow motion, the knife glistening menacingly. A deafening noise burst from somewhere, growing in violence, and the figure fell forward, collapsing limp to the ground. Draco realized that the deafening sound was from his own mouth, with the force of a million Sonorus Charms. His father fell forward not in attack, but in passing.

He was dead. His limp body hit the ground with a sickening thump. The knife in his hand clattering loudly in protest as it hit the hard stone floor.

Something had killed Lucius right before he managed to kill his son, something that had struck him from behind. Something, Draco noticed as he slipped into unconsciousness, was a figure draped in blue light. . . .

**** August thirtieth, two days until term begins

"Mr. Malfoy . . . Mr. Malfoy," a voice gently beckoned the sleeping form back into consciousness. It sounded as though it were coming through a long tunnel. Draco immediately scrunched his eyes tight and made to rub them, but his arms felt like they were tied to a heavy ball and chain, so he abandoned that, and took a deep breath. He relaxed his eyes and slowly squinted them open to find a rosy-cheeked, elderly nurse with white curly hair smiling down at him. "You've been unconscious for the last week, dear."

Draco made to ask a question with a bewildered look on his face, but the kind old lady pulled her wrinkled face into another of her bright smiles and answered the question he'd been about to deal out.

"You're in Saint Mungo's, dear. I'm sorry to say that you've slept your summer vacation away! Your sixth term begins in two days." The lady was wearing robes of a soft lime green, as did all Mungo's healers, and she began, for all Draco knew, fidgeting with some small, strangely shaped instruments that were floating around Draco's head, shooting charms and spells at him every now and then.

"Accio!" the nurse muttered, and a red saucer-shaped object about the size of a dinner plate zoomed to her hand and she tapped it with her wand, deactivating it. "Won't be needing this one anymore," she added when Draco gave her a questioning look. "It's just a mild pain-killer."

"So you'll be replacing it with a stronger one, I presume?" Draco drawled, rubbing his head.

The nurse smiled again and ignored his comment. "Well you're free to go as you please, Mr. Malfoy. Although I'm afraid that there are some men from the ministry with some questions for you waiting in the reception room. These little buggers are called paeans, (she pointed at the remaining floating gadgets hovering above his head) they'll be following you for the next twenty-four hours. Some of them may leave before that though. They're just to make sure that you recover fully."

She threw him another warm smile, which Draco could've sworn had a trace of pity in it. He knew why, too. The men downstairs were likely going to ask him what happened to his father. Even though Draco hadn't felt his father's pulse, he'd known that he was dead. He couldn't quite explain it, but that blue light had felt like a part of him. They were somehow connected.

The nurse who had tended him left the room with a pop and a swirl of lime-green robes, tugging Draco back into reality. 'Right,' he thought. 'Downstairs, then.'

A violently yellow paean, which looked like two pyramids one upside down and one right side up, tips touching, hovered right in front of his face right then, and Draco remembered that he couldn't move his muscles. Suddenly the paean emitted a soft beam which pointed at his chest. Draco stared at it agitatedly, but then he came to the realization of what it was doing. It was reviving his muscles so he could move again. He sat there in wonder as what felt like a wave of warm water flowed over his body. He'd never seen anything like this before; it was just like an Ennervate spell. After a moment, the paean joined the others above his head, shooting more beams at him every once in a while, as he made his way down to the reception room.

When Draco got there, a tall and bald black wizard was waiting for him, sensing his presence immediately. Draco casually walked over to him, becoming fast annoyed at the warm fuzzy beams which kept shooting at him from the remaining paeans above him (the yellow one had disappeared with a 'POP' while he was passing the second floor). The man looked questioningly at him.

"Great," Draco muttered to himself, "they couldn't just let me celebrate my father's death in peace."

He walked slowly over to the man sitting down, brushing his near shoulder-length hair out of his face. It occurred to Draco then how long he had been away from the world. When he had left Hogwarts at the end of fifth term, his hair had been short, and his physique quite different. He had been training all summer, physically and mentally, for what he had eventually come face to face with. Draco pushed those thoughts from his mind, and told himself that he should prepare for the worst, because things were never going to be the same for him again. He had made his choices, and now he would have to face the consequences of his actions, good and bad.

"Draco Malfoy." The voice was low and booming. He spoke slowly and seriously, but his eyes betrayed a certain curiosity. He spoke slowly, "My name is Kingsley Shacklebolt, I'm here on behalf of the ministry. I have some news that you may find unsettling, depending on what you can remember, and when you fell unconscious."

Draco only half-listened, as he swatted out at one of the paeans, fingering his wand threateningly. "I know my father is dead." Draco said calmly, still eying a particular green oval-shaped paean which seemed to be teasing him, or maybe just testing his reflexes. It always seemed to jump out of his reach just in time. Draco noticed the look of seriousness on the man's face, and decided he'd better handle this while he could still give his side of the story. He stood up straight to his full height, close to that of Kingsley himself at a solid 6 feet. "I'll explain somewhere else." Draco said countering his suspicious gaze. "I want to see my mother."

"Understandable," said the man in a very business-like manner. "I've arranged for a portkey to take us to your mother," then he added in a quieter tone, "and some others."

Draco caught the last bit and was about to demand an explanation, when the green paean zoomed down in front of him and hovered within his reach. Draco's face focused quickly on it as he reached out to grab it, and to his shock, Kingsley followed suit, and in a instant and a naval-jerker later Draco was looking up at a man in half-moon spectacles.

***August 25

In the beginning of summer after his fifth year at Hogwarts, Harry Potter didn't realize that he was alive. Ever since Sirius had died, he had just let his life slowly drift by. He no longer argued or complained when Aunt Petunia ordered him to prune the roses, tend to the garden, or fix breakfast. Dudley had even given up on harassing Harry; it had just lost it's allure. He gave in so easily, almost sickeningly. Harry Potter was broken.

Sometimes when life is cruel and sadistic, the mind takes pity on the heart, and sends it into a state of blissful oblivion. A state where reality is no longer reality, but a faint dream. This is what Harry Potter felt. A time when light seemed like it would never find it's way back into his life, hard as it might try to save him.

Harry was busy hosing himself down outside as Aunt Petunia had commanded, so that he wouldn't track mud throughout the house from all his work in the garden. The water was cold, and if felt good against his sweaty labor-ridden body. He rinsed himself clean and went to sit on the lawn and wait for the setting sun to dry him off. Aunt Petunia had warned him not to make any more dirty laundry, even if he was going to be the one cleaning it anyhow. Harry's tense body and knotted muscles were slightly relaxed as the neon sky tried to comfort him with some last strong beams of sunlight before dusk.

The last drip of water trickled off his nose, and the dark-haired boy raised his arm to his face and wiped it off, a small whisper of a smile spreading across his lips. His breath hitched in his throat as that unfamiliar expression spread across his face. Feeling. He did remember. He felt like any other young boy might have after a simple day of playing in the dirt, and rubbing little fists in tired eyes as they yawned and got ready to clean up and go to bed.

The sun seemed satisfied with its attempts, and set. Harry slowly got up, stretching his sore muscles and trudged over to the door. As he slipped through the door, he felt light as a feather. Something was weird about this day, he could feel it somehow.

Aunt Petunia greeted him with that sadistic smile she always wore on her haughty lips, covering her vile horse teeth.

"Go wash yourself. Go on, get going! You smell like a filthy rat!" she made a couple curt swats at the air in front of her nose. "I need you to watch over this turkey when you get back, so hurry up." She made her usual exaggerated threats, but Harry knew she wouldn't dare act on them. She remembered the warning the Dursley's had received last year at King's Cross station.

Harry had received letters from his friends all summer, but he had just replied to each the same way, laconic and terse:

I need time alone. Don't visit.

-Harry

He made his way up the stairs and into the bathroom, closed the door, and removed his clothing. He stepped into the shower, and turned on the water briefly so that he would be able to create just enough suds for cleaning. Harry had not grown much at all over the summer, and was only slightly taller than Hermione, but towered over by Ron. The only truly noticeable changes were his skin-which had been tanned to a shimmering bronze from his outdoor chores-and his face. He rubbed the soap all over, head to toe, and turned the water on again to rinse off. Harry pushed his stubborn midnight hair out of his eyes and bright green orbs flashed out from the handsome face. He then quickly shoved his glasses on, dried himself off with a towel he'd taken from the dirty laundry he'd used the day before, jumped into his hand-me-down jeans, and quickly began rolling them up so that he wouldn't trip over them. He threw on his t-shirt and sprinted for the kitchen to check on the turkey.

Dudley was sitting at the table, looking revoltingly overweight as usual, though with a notable amount of muscle as he was still involved in boxing. Aunt Petunia sat right next to him, fussing about how much she was going to miss him while he was away at Smeltings. He was going to be leaving this afternoon, however, because he was spending the last few days of his holiday at his old friend Piers Polkiss' house. Aunt Petunia decided that she would prepare him a special parting meal, by way of Harry.

"Make sure it's extra juicy, boy, my Dudley doesn't like his turkey dry," Aunt Petunia spat at him. Harry nodded robotically, though he really didn't care how it came out. It smelled so good, and he would've given anything for a taste.

A short while of Dudley fussing later, Harry removed the golden turkey from the oven with his warped hot mitts on, and quickly placed the turkey on the stove, as the heat was already getting to his fingers. The result was a loud clang as he placed it on the stove, and the turkey almost fell over onto the floor. Aunt Petunia was drawn out of her kerfuffling and barked at Harry, "That will be enough! Grab your toast and jam from the table and get out of my-"

Just as Aunt Petunia was about to say "sight" the legs of Dudley's chair snapped beneath his enormous girth. He latched his chubby little fingers onto her hair to prevent himself from falling. The result was Aunt Petunia letting out a shriek and flailing about as she tumbled to the floor with Dudley. Harry quickly grabbed his toast as he heard Uncle Vernon bellowing from the sitting room, and slipped upstairs before he could be blamed for the whole incident.

Harry closed his door to the sound of Dudley squashing his shrieking Aunt, and Uncle Vernon, his face swollen and purple with rage, shouting up the stairs, "AND YOU BLOODY WELL STAY UP THERE!"

Harry leaned against his closed door, burnt toast and jam in hand, and then relaxed and went to sit on his bed, if you could call it that. The bed sunk in most uncomfortably due to the vastness of it's former owner (Dudley). It was dark out already, and his clock flashed "9:03 PM." Harry ate two of his pieces of toast, and set the rest of his pitiful supper down on the floor. Hedwig was gone hunting, and Harry laid himself down onto his bed, falling into a troubled sleep.

When you feel all alone, and the world has turned it's back on you

Give me a moment, please,

To tame your wild, wild heart

I know you feel like the walls are closing in on you

It's hard to find relief, and people can be so cold

When darkness is upon your door, and you feel like you can't take anymore,

Let me be the one you call

If you jump, I'll break your fall,

Lift you up and fly with you away into the night

If you need to fall apart, I can mend a broken heart,

if you need to crash the crash and burn, you're not alone

***

Draco looked all around him, and tried to gain his bearings. It was dusk, and the only light was from the moon and some street lamps in the distance. Before him were broken down houses that looked in shambles, and added to the sketchiness of the entire scene. Leafless bushes and trees littered the area, and dry leaves were scattered on the ground, rustling in the wind.

A man with half-moon spectacles stood there, too, against the haunting background.

'That bloody paean must've been a portkey,' Draco thought as he rubbed his temple in irritation from the rough travel.

"Good evening, Mr. Malfoy." Dumbledore faced him and his eyes were locked to his own. Draco had never realized before how shocking blue the old's man eyes were, and how they harshly contrasted to his paler face and white hair. Draco couldn't look away from them until, a moment later, Dumbledore broke the gaze and held out his right hand. "Read it quickly, and memorize it." Dumbledore spoke very curtly, and did not let go of the bit of paper. It was not only that Draco Malfoy did not take orders from most anyone, but just that it was in his nature not to give into anyone's commands. Draco felt his body move out of his own accord, however, because Dumbldore's eyes were unlike any Draco had ever seen. Normal people did not leave their eyes open like that, open as in unguarded. His intentions were apparent, and his equanimity seemed infinite. Draco moved forward then, and scanned the note:

The headquarters of the order of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.

Just as he had read the last word, the paper shot into flames. Draco's eyes shot wide and he took a half-step back as a creaky old house, not unlike those surrounding it, popped into existence between number eleven and number thirteen. Dumbledore was at the door in a flash, and Draco followed quickly behind him, all the time feeling that with each step he took since he left that hospital bed, he was moving farther and farther away from any chance of his recovery. Kingsley entered swiftly behind Draco, and the door shut immediately behind him. Dumbledore turned around then, and pointed his wand at Draco, though Draco did not step back, but instead looked again to Dumbledore's eyes which showed no sign of aggression.

"I'm sorry for this, Mr. Malfoy, but this precaution is most necessary. Obliviate!"

Draco was caught completely off guard, and the spell knocked him backward a little, right into Kingsley. His brain was temporarily addled from the spell, so Kingley escorted him into the kitchen where his mother waited for him.

In the dimly lit kitchen, Narcissa Malfoy sat along with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Narcissa looked pale and shaky, her eyes were baggy and her hands thin and worn. Despite all this, she was still quite a beautiful woman, and as Draco entered the room, she jumped in her seat, but did not get up. Silent tears began to fall down her fatigued face, and she pushed out the seat next to her and signaled Kingsley to sit Draco there. When Draco was placed next to her, she took his hand and held it on the table, stroking it gently while Draco regained his senses.

The look on Draco's face was, as expected, quite disturbing to her. His light grey eyes were focused on hers, but they had nothing behind them. Narcissa continued to stare into them, silence around her, until she noticed a flicker in his pupils.

"Mother." He spoke softly, not of longing or happiness to see his mother, but just as though he were saying the word itself, without any meaning. Narcissa's own eyes were guarded, as any Malfoy's should be, but she was weak. Her relief at Draco's arrival was only just visible.

"Are you sure you didn't hurt him?" Narcissa asked, turning her head towards Dumbledore, her voice strained.

"Dumbledore doesn't make mistakes," Mrs. Weasley answered for Dumbledore, assuring Mrs. Malfoy.

Narcissa nodded and Draco appeared to be coming to.

"I assure you that I did nothing more than erase from his memory the location of this house. Everything else is perfectly in-tact."

Shortly after Dumbledore spoke, Draco was fully restored. He remembered nothing after Dumbledore held out his palm, and he looked around him again, becoming fast annoyed with being jerked around from place to place.

"Where am I?" Draco looked to Dumbledore, who first signaled for everyone to sit down.

Narcissa broke down then, and all questions were lost from Draco's head. This was what war was, this is what it did to people. Draco had not seen his mother cry since he was a little boy, before he went to Hogwarts. His father and his mother had never really solved their problems by merely talking, not really either one's fault in particular. Each had their selfish motives, but Draco's mother had been the only person in his life to ever show him some form of compassion. She cried then, though, and Draco took her in his arms like she had always done for him.

'Yes,' Draco thought, 'this is what war does.'

"Come on mother, stop crying." Narcissa sobbed into his shoulder, but no one could look as graceful in such a state as Narcissa Malfoy. "I'm here."

The others in the room began to talk quietly about things Draco didn't understand, so he just focused on his mother, who was currently taking deep breaths into his shoulder. She opened her mouth, as if to speak, but choked slightly, and closed her mouth and swallowed. She took another calming breath, and this time was successful.

"They're going to watch over you now, Draco." She calmed her sobs down to deep breaths into his robes. "The Order's given me their word that they will look after you. I've left you everything, so you'll be fine."

Draco's hand wrapped tighter around his mother as his smokey eyes began to tighten.

"What is The Order my mother is speaking of," Draco asked while rubbing his mother's shoulders, soothing her as she slowly calmed down.

"The Order of the Phoenix was formed by myself during the first rise of Lord Voldemort," Dumbledore spoke softly. "Our main purpose is to prevent the terror wreaked by Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters, and prevent him from rising to power." Dumbledore paused, putting his hands together and sharpening his gaze. "Draco, I'm afraid that the reason your father got to you was because he escaped from Azkaban with the help of Voldemort."

Draco looked away from Dumbledore, and looked at the faces of everyone around him. "I'd suspected," he said quietly. Mrs. Weasley met his stare this time, and though Draco looked right into her eyes as well, she returned his stare with kind eyes. Draco moved his hands over his mother's back, and realized that she had fallen asleep on his shoulder.

"Let me get her, dear. I'll take her to her room." Mrs. Weasley gave Draco a warm, comforting smile and gently waved her wand at Narcissa (making her lighter so that she could carry her, Draco supposed) and then took her arm over her shoulder and carried her off down a corridor.

"I think that you should be heading to sleep yourself, young man. Your room is right next to your mother's, let me show you the way." Mr Weasley got up and led Draco towards the corridor Mrs. Weasley had just disappeared from, but something stopped Draco dead in his tracks.

There was a boy emerging from the darkness, barely visible from underneath the light of the candle sconces, but the light shone from his bright green eyes, as he rubbed them with his fists. He was just as tall as he was the year before; he really hadn't grown at all. He had a lithe form and his dark unkempt hair was just at his ears and fell haphazardly around his sleepy eyes. He wore a white t-shirt and plaid pajama pants. Draco knew who he was.

"I need some wa-" The smaller boy froze in mid-sentence as he spotted the intruder, talking casually with Dumbledore, Kingsley and Mr. Weasley. In his Godfather's house.

Dumbledore, afraid that Harry might burst into a yelling fit, made to calm Harry down. "Harry, Draco is here with his mother. They will be staying here for the remainder of Summer Holiday."

"That's fine," Harry mumbled inaudibly, his eyes unnaturally glazed over. "I just want some water." Harry shuffled over to the cupboard, reached up on his tip-toes for a glass, and walked over to the faucet. As he turned on the water and sleepily held his cup underneath, everyone in the room stared at him in disbelief. What had happened to this boy, the one who had done nothing but fight with and despise Draco Malfoy all his five previous years at Hogwarts? "'Night," the heavy-eyed boy yawned, and he made his way back to the dark corridor and vanished.

Dumbledore got up from his seat then, in a hurried fashion. "I must be on my way, Mr. Malfoy. I do not believe that I will see you again before term, but your mother and yourself have rooms here until the beginning of term. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would, I'm sure, be more than happy to help you with anything you need." Dumbledore paused in his rush to leave, and turned directly towards Draco, revealing a face that was troubled and weary. He said quietly, so only Draco could hear, "I'm sorry for your loss."

Everyone was watching the spot where Harry vanished in stunned silence, until the 'POP' of the final paean around Draco's head woke them all from their state, and Mr. Weasley continued, "Well then, off to your room, Draco?"