The Transcendental

Prologue

Draco Malfoy was lying in the middle of an expansive room outfitted with plush fabrics and lavish decorations. It was his bed chambers, occupying only a small portion of the right wing of the Malfoy manor, despite its vast area. Several menial servants were assigned to look after this room and this room only, insuring its cleanliness and comfort. They entered punctually, on the hour, to stoke the fire and further tidy the already spotless space. However, in his bed, the young master was cold, questioning the thick darkness surrounding him.

He briefly contemplated eliminating the staff of obviously incompetent workers, but pushed aside the matter as trivial. There were more important things at stake, and Draco was willing to spare the comforts he delighted in order to ensure the smooth operation of those things. He yearned to sidle up to the beckoning fire, perhaps recline in one of the deep green chairs resting in close proximity, but resisted. Instead he lay dormant and stiff, his face an impassive mask.

The Malfoy manor was a place of both undeniable mystery and esteem. Acting as a safe ground for practitioners of the dark arts, death eaters and others loyal to the cause sought recluse and safety within its walls. They were protected by a myriad of complex spells and illusions, parallel to those surrounding the infamous Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Searches instigated by the Ministry of Magic often proved fruitless, and occasionally near-fatal for those delegated to complete them. Each defense was so intricately placed, each passage so remote that even its inhabitants were not familiar with the manors entirety. For this reason, there was no denying that a host of conspirators, including Draco's own father, were at this very moment plotting their next move in the on going battle, deep in the bowels of the elusive mansion.

As intimated by their name, the dark army often worked under the cover of night. The manor was designed to fit such needs. While many people have come to regard darkness as merely an absence of light, Draco Malfoy knew better. He knew that things change in the dark, that indeed not everything is the same. And he knew, just as he knew his father resided in the not the wizarding prison Azkaban, but in the manor rife with secrets, that he would be approached regarding his role in the war under the cover of night. So he remained alert until the first rays of sun filtered through the heavy drapery, as he had since the beginning of summer break, waiting for a sign of what was to come.

*

Ginny Weasley's fiery mane peaked out from a mass of blankets, appearing as curling flames licking the edge of the bedspread, a stark white in contrast. Light was just beginning to enter the once-barred window of Dudley Dursley's second bedroom, and puddle on the scuffed wooden floor below it, but Harry Potter had been awake for some time now, watching the subtle movement of the cocoon as its occupant breathed slowly and rhythmically in a comfortable sleep.

Harry had not been able to rest well since he had witnessed the first death in the dark lord's second uprising. Plagued by constant stress and worry, he had not had one interrupted night in two years now. This condition had only been magnified in the past few months. The boy had become so adept at receiving the visions thrust upon him by Voldemort that he had begun to accept them as reality. It was one of these visions, attained in the guise of a dream, that had led to the untimely demise of the one person Harry had needed the most.

Sirius Black was everything to Harry. It was Sirius who had know James Potter better than almost anyone else, including his son, who knew close to nothing about either of his parents aside from that he gleaned from other's descriptions. For this reason, Sirius had adopted Harry as his surrogate son. But Sirius was more than a godfather. He was a brother; encouraging, mischievous, and occasionally slightly ruffled. Most importantly, he was a loyal friend.

Harry pushed these thoughts quickly out of his mind, feeling the hot anger he was becoming all too familiar with, rising in his stomach. He rose gruffly to wake Ginny, and prepare her for the long week ahead, keeping in mind what she had said to him when she arrived, much to the Dursleys displeasure, at eleven o'clock last night.

*

"Sorry I'm late," she had said with a grin, as she blew into the house, accompanied by several conspicuous looking witches and wizards, including Tonks, whose lime-green hair was attracting the attention of several prying neighbors. The Dursleys were been shocked by the motley crew, but for once it was Harry who was most surprised. He'd been told that the Order was sending a visitor, in order to offer even further protection, and perhaps more prominently, companionship. Harry had used this as sustenance through the first six weeks at Privet Drive. He expected Ron, or maybe Hermione, as she was a Muggle-born and would understand the workings of life with the Dursleys, but was not prepared for the Order's choice. He stared at her for a few moment, unable to conjure even one polite thing to say.

"Weren't expecting ME were you?" spoke Ginny before he could offer guileless salutations. Once timid around him, she had grown braver, perhaps influenced by Harry's secret defense lessons and the role she had played in his last encounter with Voldemort. Harry reflected that the great deal of time she spent testing products at Fred and George's shop in Diagon Alley might have had some affect as well.

"Well, Dumbledore figured that since Ron's already been here, twice might I add, and Hermione is a Muggle anyway, that it was only fair that I get to come. Mum threw a fit of course, but Remus pointed out that it was probably tons safer here than anywhere else. There's always protection, and it's a Muggle home. She was worried, you know, about all the horror stories you tell, but I figured after six older brothers..." she hesitated, with a glance at the Dursleys, who were staring at her, open-mouthed and unpleasant. She beamed at them for a moment at them, before then pushing a few stray strands of hair away from her face and pulling out a few brightly-wrapped candies with the hopes of diffusing the tense situation. At least, they appeared to be confections, until she threw them at Harry with the warning, "Here - courtesy of the twins."

Harry caught them stiffly, and continued to stand, ill at ease and silent. "Come on Harry," she breathed. "The others are busy with assignments." She paused and the glance she threw him implied a deeper meaning. Harry stiffened even more as she mentioned this. While the others worked, he catered to the Dursley's every demanding whim. If his mother's love protected him, wouldn't it be logical for his home to be with others that cared for him in a similar fashion? Again, he failed to receive the pertinent information he so desired. Harry's obviously disgusted aunt, oblivious to Harry's ire, chose this moment to cut in.

"Why aren't you an energetic one," said Petunia in a voice laden with spite.

The edge in her words did not go unnoticed by Ginny, however, the red-head chose to approach the situation with mirth. "Oh yes - Tonks let me get a coffee at the train station, even though Mad Eye complained. And I bought some souvenirs for dad, seeing as it was Muggle travel and all."

If Petunia's dubious look was anything to go by, her stay with at Privet Drive would be uncomfortable to begin with. She needed to connect with Harry. In almost the same breath, as if not to lose her courage, she enveloped the boy in a hug, throwing caution to the wind. "I don't care if you don't want it to be me staying with you, and you still think I'm a child even though Ron and I aren't even a full year apart. I know all I've ever done was put you in even more danger, but please forgive me because I missed you." She faltered momentarily. "You're like my seventh brother, only loads cooler than all the rest, except maybe Bill and Fred."

He was unfamiliar with the warmth of her embrace after the past vacant month and a half. Surprising even himself could not resist demonstrating a bit of affection as well, and wrapped his arms around the trembling red head. His mind flitted briefly to the dark lord. This is what Voldemort could never have. Ginny sighed with relief that he had accepted her, then pulled away, turning to Harry's grimacing extended family.

"You know, I feel really tired, now that I think about it. Where should I sleep?" While Tonks left to help Ginny arrange her things in Harry's summer room, Kingsley Shaklebot and Mad Eye Moody stayed downstairs to settle arrangements with the Dursleys, who had not submitted to Dumbledore's will with ease. A few wizards that Harry recognized in connection with the Order, but only by face, milled uncomfortably near the doorway. He felt a twinge of dismay - he had been hoping to see Lupin. However, he knew that the werewolf had been busy lately, and pushed away the feeling, instead staying in the foyer to discuss current events with a tight lipped auror. He retreated in frustration after a few minutes. Ginny was already asleep on the other side of the small space they were to share.

He did not relax even after the low murmur of voices died down. Then again, Harry Potter never relaxed.

*

"Gin," whispered her favorite scarred and bespectacled boy into her ear, "Ginny." They were back at 112 Grimauld Place. Sirirus was still alive. No, it was even before that - before all of that. They were in Flourish and Blots. Harry had spotted an unusual black book in her cauldron. He was whispering in her ear to let her know that he was going to give it to Dumbledore straight away for inspection. If fact, he was handing it to the wise headmaster that very moment. But that was wrong. Dumbledore hadn't been there. It was just she and Harry and Lucius and Draco. Her assorted family members had been in the book shop, but they hadn't been where Ginny was. They were in a dissimilar universe where all that occurred was a fist fight.

When Lucius had descended upon them there had been only a inescapable cold. Her father had challenged him, but Mr. Weasley hadn't really been the one to fight. It was Harry. Harry was taking on Lucius because Harry was already, by his second year of magical schooling, an adult. That left Ginny to Draco. In her minds eye, he hovered a bit above her, to the right. He was sneering, staring at Harry, open hatred written on his angular face. He glanced at Ginny only a moment, sizing her to be an unworthy opponent. She was nothing. He carelessly discarded her with a simple turn of the head. Blood surrounded her vision, but it was only her hair. Her damned Weasley hair.

It had happened just like that. Only Harry had never noticed the book. No one had. No one but Ginny. Tom Riddle was just like her. Insignificant, ineffective, trivial. No cause for alarm. But they were wrong about Tom.

Something pointy was repeatedly poking Ginny's shoulder. She waved in the general direction of the offending object without success. It kept poking. As she emerged from the muzzy haze of sleep, Harry Potter was whispering her name.

*

Harry doubted that he would ever manage to rouse Ginny from sleep. He spoke her name softly, so as not to startle her. People, he had discovered very early on in life, were incredibly sensitive in the morning. Some people were sensitive all the time. Harry was rather afraid that he was becoming one of those people.

She mumbled something unrecognizable, which he took to be a sign that she was almost awake. He tossed her covers aside to expose her to the warm breeze drifting through the open window. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and it seemed as though she was going to sleep through the prompt seven o'clock breakfast, which wouldn't exactly serve to ingratiate her with the Dursleys. More importantly, Harry had to cook the meal, and could use the extra help.

"Hey," came an indignant shout. "It's freezing in here."

"Gin, if you'd open your eyes wide enough to look out the window, you'd notice that it is a beautiful, warm summer day."

This comment prompted a number of indistinct grumblings. Harry rolled his eyes. His precautions had made absolutely no difference as far as he could tell.

"Fine. Put on some thicker clothing if you feel it's necessary. But hurry. We've about, oh, ten minutes to have a nice home cooked breakfast ready." He let her absorb this for a moment before continuing.

"Sorry. Ron and I are the same. Of course, you know he'll be up in a good four hours if you're lucky. It's like having him here already," she said through a muffled yawn, suddenly becoming cheerful. Harry noticed that she had put on a cardigan and was staring at his bed-tousled hair with satisfaction.

"Ginny about that. It's not that I..."

"Harry, please, it's too early to have this discussion. No hard feelings, I promise."

Harry was still anxious, but as pair stumbled down the stairs to prepare some hasty waffles he noticed Ginny was smiling.

*

Malfoys were never emotional. They lived in a constant state of apathetic refinement. Lucius had always been the best at maintaining such appearances. He cared for few things, which made the process infinitely easier for him. Draco, on the other hand, had always found a disinterested facade more difficult to manage. Any contact with or mention of Potter, the smarmy wonder boy of Hogwarts, could throw his mood into a downward spiral that was nearly impossible to conceal. Similarly, Draco was not adept in the art of receiving unexpected surprises with ease. His return to the manor the summer before sixth year had been one of these cases.

After Lucius had been taken to Azkaban, Draco had expected to arrive home to find his mother in pieces; his home in complete disarray, cared for only by the incompetent fools his father hired. Instead, things had functioned normally, run by the cool, effectual hand of Narcissa Malfoy.

In Draco's mind, his mother had always been a mere reflection of Lucius. She was useful only to foster the appearance of the Malfoy family. Her only contact with her proverbial "life-partner" was made when she accompanied him to social functions, or when he required that she provide him with sexual favors. She was a simple doll, stashed away in a dark bedroom most of the time, taken out and dusted off when ordered to play the role of the compliant wife. Draco had never considered her a mother, and she had never assumed that role. She was more of an extended servant, content with the simple pleasures of money. Or so he believed.

Draco experienced new levels of difficulty masking his utter shock when he discovered that Narcissa had taken to running the house with unusual ease. She would have made Lucius proud, had he noticed her, taking her already high levels of self absorption to the extreme.

That Narcissa was not shattered was already a surprise. The fact that she continued business as usual was ridiculously bizarre. Yet, the same steady flow of dark supporters with their high-profile meetings endured. Draco couldn't help feel that someone was pulling the strings behind the scenes. Aside from in fictional muggle cartoons, puppets did not just suddenly spring to life.

Once he became accustomed to the idea, however, Draco had few problems with it. Narcissa afforded him more space than he needed, reluctant to make contact with the young man that was supposed to be her son. As far as she was concerned, both the boy and Lucius were a single entity. She provided Draco with the best of everything, as she knew his father would expect. Otherwise, she left him to his own devices. He attended a minimal number of functions, was not responsible for the care of the mansion, and had time to prod around it's deepest corners, searching for some sort of message, though this was an almost futile inspection.

Draco was on the verge of desperation. He continued to carry about him a sense of feigned detachment and distaste, and even persuaded himself that his sudden urge to know each and every secret his home was hiding was merely a product of boredom. But this was not simple child's play. This was a calling even more effective than the dark mark. This instinct was one the dark lord had bred through years of constant influence and prevalence. Draco's restless intuition was what defined members of the Voldemort's inner circle.

*

"Harry--I'm not..."

Harry glanced over at the stove, where a small fire had formed in a pan containing something that may have once been edible, but now retained an ash-like color and consistency. "Ginny, I already taught you how to make scrambled eggs. How hard can it be? I've been doing it since I was a child." His voice was filled with scorn.

"I-I'm sorry. I just haven't gotten the hang of these muggle stoves y-yet," the red head stuttered nervously. "Here, let me clean it up." She reached for the sink, but Harry stopped her.

"No, you'll probably just make a larger mess. I'll do it myself." He let out an exaggerated sigh before quickly extinguishing the fire and throwing away the remnants of Ginny's attempts at breakfast.

Horrified at her inability to please Harry, Ginny retreated to the bedroom with glazed eyes. What use was she really? She couldn't make breakfast, to begin with. She still had both her parents. She could not even begin to comprehend the many ways in which Harry was suffering. Never mind the fact that she had maintained an intimate relationship with the dark lord for almost an entire year. Ginny was worth all that Malfoy had expected of her, and that was nothing. She crouched on her lumpy mattress stiffly, burdened by her failed attempts, sick at the thought that she could do nothing to save the boy who had rescued her, who had rescued everybody, time and time again.

*

Draco Malfoy's heart quickened. Lucius would not reveal himself, but Draco knew him to be close by. He straightened, preserving appearances as always, all the while straining to hear the whispers emanating from somewhere near the foyer. He followed their trail, weaving down a maze of staircases and tunnels, past the servant's quarters and into the dungeons.

For all their fame, Draco had never seen the dreaded Malfoy dungeons, supposedly a place of unending torture and pain. He had always believed these sentiments to be no more than rumors, for however dark his father was, he didn't favor messes. Those whose unfortunate lives Lucius Malfoy ended were killed quickly and disposed of directly after the deed was complete. As it were, the room Draco stood in now did not give the impression of nameless torment. In fact, it rather resembled the rest of the house as far as decorative aspects went. The only difference he could surmise were the walls.

They were pulsing in a slow and steady rhythm not dissimilar to a heartbeat. The movement was only the smallest of quivers, but it was undeniably omnipresent in the silent space. Draco put one hand, which he was hopelessly attempting to keep steady, to the shivering barriers. They were warm.

"Father?" he questioned boldly.

Lucius finally made his presence clear. "Draco, I see you have found your way to the dungeons. I must admit I expected you sooner, however I suppose this will do. Is it everything you expected?"

Draco searched every corner of the room with a well-trained eye, but was unable to find his father. The voice did not seem to have been issued from one particular area, but the entire space at once. Lucius's seemingly pleasant query surrounded him and hung thickly in the air.

Draco was cautious. "I did not know what to expect, father."

"But you have found this place. Surely you had to have had some idea."

The boy did not hesitate. "It is a fine place father, impeccable in taste as is the rest of the manor."

"That will do." Draco stood at attention, hoping his father would say more. He had already been daring enough to initiate conversation. He could not press Lucius's patience by inquiring as to further information. He must be content with what was presented to him.

"You have been diligent in your attempts to further the cause. This will not be overlooked. For the time being, however, the dark lord wants only one thing of you."

Draco gulped down his eager exclamations. "Yes father?" he replied stonily.

"Draco, you are to do." Lucius hesitated momentarily, as if affirming plans with someone else. "Nothing, Draco. Do nothing. Keep watch at school. Relay any information you think necessary to your mother. But heed these words. Do not disturb the delicate balance that now stands. Do nothing."

Draco could not accept these words. Nothing? Was he not prepared to devote his life to serving the dark lord? "I am inclined to do anything to assist the our master," he insisted.

"Do nothing," he was commanded once again. Draco had no choice but to submit.

"Yes father," he affirmed.

"Now leave this place," he was ordered sharply.

Draco obeyed, retreating to his mercifully still bedchambers, staring into the wide mirror in disbelief. Draco moved to adjust his appearance, but halted abruptly. His reflection gave evidence that he needed no further care. He was just as he should be. Handsome in a regnant manor. His lips curled ever so slightly. Draco would not disturb whatever balance his father had been referring to. But he would not settle for nothing.

*

Harry could not help but be painfully aware of Ginny's absence at each meal that day. The fifth place he set in benign hope remained empty. The Dursleys' contemptuous glances at the lone chair were impossible to ignore.

In an attempt to both reconcile with Ginny and quell his own guilt, he had offered her the meals in his room, where she sat at the desk completing a transfiguration scroll. She had been quiet in her acceptance of the food, but finished it, and returned the plate to the kitchen.

Now she was lying in bed, asleep he presumed. But Harry was wide awake . His parents were gone. Sirius was gone. He was distrusted by much of the student body, hero-worshiped by the rest. His fate loomed huge in the future. He would have to kill. His real scar remained unseen by most of the wizarding world, he mused cynically. And now, he could not even behave civilly to the closest thing he had for family. A single tear fell from his eye, finding its way through crevices a sixteen-year old should not have.

*

Contrary to Harry's belief, Ginny had not fallen asleep yet either. She shifted silently to look at him, sitting stiffly on top the covers. In the moonlight streaming through the window, his features appeared more gaunt than usual, his skin stretched to the limit over his once soft nose and mouth. Dark circles were carved under his eyes. Despite his glasses, Ginny could see them and something more*a tear falling from his left eye. She blinked. When she opened her eyes the tear was still there.

She got up and padded over to his bed. Harry glanced up, a mixture of sadness and fear written on his young face. She carefully traced the path the tear had made, barely touching his skin. "I love you Harry, I love you so much. Everyone loves you. What it all comes down to is that you have so many people who care and it seems as though we can't do anything for you." She inhaled quietly, not having completely lost her composure. Ginny could not see his face, but she was glad because she didn't know what she would find, and she needed to finish. "And I just want to help and want you to be happy. We really, really all do. And I just...I just don't even know what to do to make it okay, because it's never going to be okay, but I want you to be able to be okay." She paused, realizing her inability to articulate much of anything and looked at him. He stared back in wonder. "I love you Harry," said tenderly.

"I love you too," he whispered, and Ginny knew it was true - she could see it right there in his wide, glassy eyes. "I love you all. ALL of you. He HURTS the ones I love. He takes everything. Everyone goes away but I want them here. I want them with me." His voice cracked as he wailed, from the stunning falsetto into the low, lost tones of a man.

Ginny carefully laid his head on the pillow, and curled up next to him. "I know, Harry," she said. There was nothing else she could say. "But I'm right here now, so get some sleep, okay?" His breath was warm and steady on her neck as he nodded and closed his eyes, arms around her.

When she woke in the morning, Ginny slipped out of his grasp carefully, making sure he didn't wake. She padded downstairs and prepared a perfect breakfast. Not much was said about what had happened that night for the duration of Ginny's stay. Harry didn't need to tell Ginny that he needed her. She already knew.

*

Draco kissed his mother goodbye on platform nine and three-quarters. "I'll be sure to write," he promised. She understood. He handed his heavy bags to Crabbe and Goyle and inspected the students to see who had gotten even uglier this year, strutting through the crowd with the usual Malfoy ease. He paused when he caught a glimpse of familiar red hair. It was female Weasley. She was holding onto Potter's hand in almost a protective manner. However, instead of scowling, as he normally would have, he smiled. Perfect.