Irredeemable

Harry moved his eyes back and forth, trying very hard to think clearly. He found it increasingly difficult with Malfoy's tongue playing across his lips and attempting to slip past them and into his mouth. What did he think he was doing, exactly?

"Mmph! Mmphuf!" he tried to say, but his words were cut off as the insistent tongue slid past his defenses and began warring with his own. To his surprise, Harry found that he was responding.

That thought gave him the energy to shove Malfoy off him. He glared at the pale boy who had tumbled ungracefully to the floor and was gingerly picking himself up from the heap of limbs and robes he was currently entangled in.

"What was that all about?" he demanded, sitting up and drawing his knees up to his chest. He rested his chin on top of his legs carefully, ensuring that he never lost eye contact with the flustered boy.

"Er... I don't know," Malfoy admitted, at least having the decency to flush a dark rose as he realised his actions. "Hormones?" He sounded as if he wanted to believe his own explanation and wasn't quite able to.

"We're enemies! We hate each other!" Harry insisted. "Hormones don't come along and change all that!"

Malfoy recovered some of his cool composure at Harry's furious tone. "You didn't seem to mind at the time!"

"I shoved you off!"

After I kissed you," Malfoy pointed out shrewdly.

"Did Voldemort put you up to this?" Harry asked, almost desperately. If that was all this was, then he could live with that.

"No," Malfoy answered. Harry's face fell. "I did it because... I don't know why! It just sort of happened!"

"Fine," Harry muttered. "This is just great. I'm captured by my archenemy and then all of a sudden his little crony starts snogging me!"

"It wasn't like that, Potter!" Draco protested, not quite sure what exactly he was disagreeing with.

"What wasn't?" He crossed his arms around his knees and rocked back and forth a little, impatiently waiting for an answer.

"You agreed to come to here!"

"It's not like I had a choice! And you would have taken me anyway! Besides, what was I supposed to do, try to run away from you right after having been bit by that werewolf..." He trailed off, eyes widening in surprise. "Please tell me that was all a dream!" he pleaded, rubbing his eyes. He stopped in shock. "Where are my glasses?"

"Somewhere in the middle of the Forbidden Forest," Draco replied, responding to the easiest question first. "At least, I haven't seen them since then."

"But I can't see without my glasses!" the dark boy complained.

"You're seeing just fine now. You're a werewolf, Potter. They don't need things like glasses."

"Hell's bells," he cursed, "so I really am a... a werewolf."

"Yes."

"Bet Voldemort's happy."

"You could say that."

The two boys stared at anything but each other for several drawn out minutes, each trying to pretend that the other did not exist and that they had not just been snogging.

"He wants me to join him." Harry was almost unnaturally calm now, an observation that surprised Draco. The Harry he knew was intense; full of fire and passion. "And I don't have much of a choice. After all, where else would I go?" he reasoned.

"I'm supposed to kill him. That's what I was born for. And yet here I find myself about to help him." He sighed in defeat. "There's nothing else for me to do, no one else for me to turn to. Not after Dumbledore's reaction. And I hardly think that they would find me any more acceptable as a werewolf. They'll probably kill me on sight. After all, they're already convinced that I'm Dark."

"Wait, you're giving up?" Draco queried incredulously. "You're Harry-bloody-Potter. You don't just give up."

"I'm not!" Harry denied, scared of how much the accusation did not sting. Perhaps he had been through too much these last few weeks to really care about his Gryffindor streak of persistence. After all, it had nearly gotten him killed. "I'm just bowing to the inevitable."

"Never thought I'd hear that from you," Draco whistled.

"Me neither," Harry admitted, staring at the silk sheets with sudden interest.

Dumbledore opened the door softly, startling Harry. He looked up at the slight noise from where he had been studying Draco as he slept, eyes narrowing instantly with scorn. "Go away," he commanded sulkily. He turned his attention away from Dumbledore, trying instead to focus on the flickering patterns made from the blazing torches. That particular spot looked like a phoenix for a moment, he noted. Of course, that only reminded him of Fawkes, and through him, Dumbledore, causing him to scowl fiercely.

"You are in no position to dictate my actions," Dumbledore reminded him. Harry grimaced and turned away. In the past year he had grown used to having others obey him without question. It was a hard habit to break.

"You've tried everything. You've talked to me, you made me see Granger and Weasley, you even brought in Lupin. It's not going to work; you can't change me. I chose this path and I'm not going to shirk from it."

"Hope springs eternal," Dumbledore recited gravely.

"Not if you dam the river."

"That's what you're trying to do, isn't it, Harry?"

"I've never hidden my intentions, unlike some." His words held a bitterness and an almost-longing that drew Dumbledore's attention.

"My interests have always been protecting you and the safety of the Wizarding world," he stated calmly, reaching for the sole chair in the room and pulling it towards him. He sat down, feeling his bones creaking with the movement. Never before had he ever truly felt his age. Harry, of course, had a way of changing nearly everything. He reached inside a pocket of his robes. "Sherbet lemon?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Has anyone ever taken one from you?"

"No. No one else seems to understand my fondness for them."

"Well, I don't either," Harry cut off that line of conversation abruptly, forcing Dumbledore to retreat with the original.

"Harry, everything I have done I have done because I thought that it was best-"

"Including sending me to the Dursleys'?" Harry interrupted sharply.

"Yes. They offered you a stable childhood and the familial protection."

"Oh, yes, my childhood was real stable," he muttered sarcastically. "Never a single surprise to shake its foundations. All I had were a few pieces of hand-me-down clothes and occasionally a scrap of bread, if I was lucky."

He shook his head. "As for the protection, it amounted to nothing after fourth year. Didn't it ever occur to you that by using my blood, Voldemort also gained the protection of the wards? He could have killed me at any time he wanted!"

"He did not kill you, however," Dumbledore noted. "Unless you are a ghost," he added, trying to inject some humor into the dialogue.

"Funny," Harry said in a manner that made it clear that Dumbledore was anything but. "Besides, how did you know he wouldn't kill me?"

Dumbledore was caught off his guard. He blinked rapidly, mind racing for an answer. Harry noticed the hesitation and locked on to it, eyes roaring with emerald flames. "You knew that he wanted me to join him, didn't you?" he asked, the pieces of the puzzle clicking into place with an almost audible click. "That's why it was okay to send me back to those Muggles, because you knew I'd be safe."

"Harry-" Dumbledore warned but was immediately silenced from a sharp wave of Harry's hand.

"Shut up; I don't want to hear it. It all makes sense now. You knew all about his plans for me. That's why you were so willing to believe that I had joined him! All that time you knew he would try to turn me, and you never warned me!" He realised he was shouting suddenly.

Draco woke up suddenly, hands groping for a wand that was not there. "What's going on?" he asked, looking between an irate Harry and an ashamed Dumbledore, brows lowered in confusion.

"Dumbledore just revealed more of his manipulations," Harry spat, not looking at Draco. "I wonder how I ever trusted him."

Dumbledore hung his head, realising that he had perhaps lost any chance he had of convincing the Boy-Who-Lived to help them. "I'm sorry, Harry," he whispered, trying not to feel the burn of the piercing glare. "I'm so sorry." He walked out of the room as if in a trance, the little hope that he had regained with the capture of Harry disappearing like a Dandelion puff as it was scattered by the wind.

Draco followed Harry as he paced from side to side of their narrow cell, muttering to himself about self-righteous Headmasters and foolish trust. "Harry, calm down," he advised, watching as the steps faltered and Harry blinked owlishly. He had forgotten Draco was even in the room with him.

"Oh. Sorry." He paused for a moment, shifting uncomfortably, then immediately resumed his pacing.

Draco followed him from side to side as he walked anxiously. "It's been a month. He should have sent help by now. Something's gone wrong. We're never going to get out of here."

"Harry, you know that's not so. It's complicated work, breaking two well-guarded prisoners out of the sole sanctuary left for the Light in England. We'll have help soon, don't worry." He rubbed the back of his neck and stretched in a feline manner.

"I have to worry! I don't have anything else to do!" He threw a punch at the wall, stopping just centimeters short of painfully bloody knuckles.

"We could snog," Draco suggested helpfully.

Harry snorted. "I'm in no mood for snogging. I need to get out of here, now!"

"I can help with that!" a new alto voice called out. Harry whirled around to see a petite brunette with short-cropped hair grinning at him with copper eyes.

"Blaise!" he cried out. He blinked at the girl and then let out a short bark of laughter. "What are you wearing?"

"Commando clothes!" came the cheerful reply. "I figure I ought to do the thing properly!" Indeed, the tan girl was wearing dark camouflage and had streaks of black under each golden eye. She ran a hand through her hair.

"I've come to rescue you," she informed them joyfully. "Took a while to figure out where you were of course, even for me. Slytherins aren't well-trusted these days."

"Were we ever?" Draco snickered.

"I can't imagine why," Harry remarked, rolling his eyes. "So what's the plan?"

"Plan?" Blaise stared at them blankly. "Er... get you outside the door and make a run for it? I wasn't told what to do, only to get you out and to the Dark Lord."

Draco heaved a huge sigh. "You do realise that teachers will be patrolling the corridors, don't you? What are we supposed to do, just grin and wave and ask them to let us on our way?"

"If you said 'pretty, pretty please, it might work!" Blaise defended herself hotly. "But I was given a new toy for this mission. It'll definitely help!" She pulled a wad of silvery material out of her pocket and waved it about with a flourish. "Tada!"

"Wicked!"

Blaise smirked. "If they can't see us, they can't snatch us. So get under and let's go!"

"Only too glad," Harry muttered. The sooner he was away from Dumbledore and plotting his death, the better.

Ron and Hermione slowly walked through the corridors, wands drawn and held at the ready. These days there were far too many dangers, even in the previously secure halls of Hogwarts. Unwittingly, their feet dragged them inexorably towards the dungeons.

Ron stopped suddenly, a scowl darkening his freckled face. "Do we have to go?" he whined.

"Of course we do!" Hermione insisted. "He can't do anything to us locked up as he is, and I want to talk to him!" She paused. "What was that? It sounded like someone growled."

"Lumos!" Nothing appeared in the faint circle of light. "You're just imagining things, Hermione."

Hermione nodded but appeared anxious, knuckles tightening around her wand.

"What are two Gryffindors doing down here?" a light, cultured voice questioned from behind them. Blaise stood with her hands planted firmly on her hips, feet evenly space and head cocked to one side. Her wide, tilted eyes bore into the Head boy and Head girl as if searching for something. "Your kind doesn't belong in the dungeons."

"I'm Head girl," Hermione proclaimed pompously.

"And I'm a Prefect. That still doesn't explain what you're doing here."

"We have every right-"

"I never said you would get into trouble," Blaise responded with a wicked smirk. "Visiting Harry Potter, were you?"

"What's it to you?" Hermione demanded.

"Nothing," Blaise commented lightly, her eyes dancing mischievously. "I was just wondering what possible business two Gryffindors could have to do with the two Death Eaters."

"Harry is- was- our friend. And I don't have to explain myself to you!"

"Then why did you?" Smirking as Hermione and Ron scrambled for words, she skipped off, whistling a bright tune.

Ron turned to Hermione, blinking rapidly. "What was she wearing?"

Hermione pursed her lips, frowning in concentration. "Something's going on here."

"Where are you?" Blaise whispered, casting about the Entrance Hall. "It's not like I can see you!" A hand grasped her shoulder and pulled her back into the shadows. She reached into the pocket of her baggy fatigues for her wand, and pivoted, finding herself pointing her wand at thin air.

"Calm down, Blaise, it's just us," Draco said, pulling the Invisibility Cloak down so that there were two heads, one dark and one light, floating eerily in midair.

"Oh. Right." She pocketed her wand again, nonplussed. "I told you this would work!"

"We're not out of this yet," Harry reminded her.

"Yeah, but we're close enough. I threw Granger and Weasley off our trail and we haven't seen anyone else. All we've got to do is get to the edge of the wards and we're good to go."

"I'm not relaxing 'til we're back," Harry grumbled.

"Nothing's going to happen!" Blaise insisted, absentmindedly ruffling her hair, which settled back into place perfectly.

"Don't say that!" Draco instructed. "You'll jinx us!"

"Harry, Mr. Malfoy, Miss Zambini, if you would please accompany me to my office," a new voice commanded, causing the trio to wince. Dumbledore was regarding them through his half-moon spectacles, his expression a mix of sadness and determination. "We have much to discuss." Flanking him was an angry Snape, a peeved McGonagall, and Granger and Weasley.

"I'm not going anywhere with you!" Harry spat, glaring at the Headmaster with disgust.

"Mr. Potter, look at this logically. You have no wand and you can not Apparate," McGonagall assessed the situation.

"I'm no Ravenclaw! I don't care about logic! I'm not staying one bloody minute more than necessary in this prison!" He spun around and raced for the large double doors, instinctively dodging stumbling hexes and the occasional "Impedimenta!"

Draco and Blaise wasted no time in following his lead, breaking away from the small confrontation and sprinting after Harry.

He ran towards the Forbidden Forest, hoping to bypass the wards and regain his ability to Apparate. Vaguely, he heard the crashes of his pursuers behind him, but he paid them no heed. The important thing was escaping.

A wolf howled at the moon. Something within Harry, the part of him that would eternally remain lupine, wanted to howl back in return. He stopped, staring at the edges of the Forest with wide, unblinking eyes. The last time he had ventured forth into the Forbidden Forest, he had been bitten, an event that would affect the rest of his life. What would happen this time?

"Harry! Run!" Draco shouted through his heavy pants. Harry made no move except to shudder slightly, eyes unfocusing.

Draco tackled him from behind, using his momentum to drag the smaller wizard deep into the forest. After a few meters of stumbling along, Harry woke up enough to pick his own path. It was a dark night and the moon was shadowed, making it difficult to see.

Harry tripped over a tree root that appeared to pop out of nowhere, sprawling onto his face with a painful "oomph!" The snow softened the impact somewhat, but not enough. The wind was roughly knocked out of him.

"Get up!" Draco cried from behind him. The blonde boy hurried over to him, dragging him up with his arms. "Come on, the wards disappear in maybe a half kilometer more."

Harry's feet raked against the ground for the first few steps but he soon regained his light, quick gait. "Where's Blaise?" he yelled to Draco.

"Over there!" he hollered back, gesticulating to an area far to the right. Blaise, in her camouflage, nearly blended in to the dark, gnarled trees. Only her face was clearly visible, her copper eyes flashing dangerously in the scant moonlight. She glanced about herself wildly and locked on to the streaking forms of Harry and Draco. She began to angle herself over towards them.

"Nice weather we're having, isn't it?" she commented lightly. "The snow's such a lovely colour this evening."

Harry could not help but grin at the unexpected levity Blaise was able to bring to the dire situation. "Yes, quite marvelous. Fancy a bit of hot chocolate?"

"That would be ever so enchanting," Draco remarked, rolling his eyes at the playful banter. He threw a glance over his shoulder and shuddered. "They'll be able to track our footprints through the snow. There's no chance of them losing us."

"We'll just have to Apparate before they show up," Harry answered with grim determination.

All three quickened their pace, lengthening their strides until their legs groaned from the stretch. Snape and Weasley, however, were long-legged and lanky, easily able to catch up to the fleeing trio.

"Stupefy!" they both shouted, not pausing to watch as their bright bursts of light zoomed towards the two wizards and witch. Harry ducked and dragged Draco down with him while Blaise simply wove from side to side.

"How much more?" she asked, a faint sheen of sweat glistening on her brow. Her cheeks were crimson with effort and she was beginning to puff slightly.

"Not much!" Hopefully.

Harry Potter watched the world rolling by through the rain-streaked panel of glass. He sighed, massaging his bruised chin with thin, pale fingers and winced when he encountered a tender area. His messy black fringe flopped into his eyes and he blew it out of the way with a puff of air, exasperated. His hair got him into so much trouble with Aunt Petunia, just by being wild and untamed. She did not care that nothing could hold it in place.

He remembered just two days ago when he had snatched a bottle of hair spray from the bathroom cabinet. Stupidly he had thought that maybe, just maybe, if he could make his hair behave then Aunt Petunia would show some tenderness for him, if only for just a while.

He had emptied the contents of the aerosol can into his hair, coughing from the sickly odour of the spray and frantically smoothing his hair down with his small hands. The end result had been a tangled mess that, if possible, was even more of a rat's nest than before. Now, however, it was hardened that way.

Aunt Petunia shrieked when she found him and instantly set about washing out his hair. The entire time she lectured him about wasting their precious materials. After all, a freak like him did not deserve this much shampoo. Her little Dudders needed it so much more. How was he to ever wash his hair when Harry, like the ungrateful whelp he was, used it up?

"You're a stealing, filthy wretch," she had informed him as she scrubbed mercilessly at his hair, sharp nails leaving long, angry red marks along his scalp and neck. "Good-for-nothing filcher, that's all you are. You'll never amount to nothing, just like your parents."

Harry's eyes had lit up like two emeralds catching the light of the sun at the mention of his mum and dad. It was rare for any of his relatives to mention them, and he treasured the little bits and pieces he gleaned off their scant information.

In the end, however, the brief rant about his parents' total disrespect for the natural of order things was not worth it. Once Uncle Vernon returned home after a long, tiring day's work at the office (yelling at people and eating jam donuts was, after all, an exhausting business) he had smacked Harry around a bit and locked him in his cupboard.

He shuddered at the memory of dark hours spent alone in the small space, huddled into a ball in one corner and eyes squeezed tightly shut. He did not like the dark. Something about it frightened him, almost as if something bad had happened to him that would forever link darkness with terror.

Uncle Vernon seemed to realise this and took particularly perverse pleasure in locking him in for his punishment, eyes glowing with wicked sadism.

At the moment, however, the overweight man was concentrating on the traffic, muttering to himself about long traffic lights and crazy drivers, occasionally shaking a fist in the direction of another car.

He pulled the car into an empty parking space outside of the movie rental store. Harry stared at the cheerily lit red sign with awe, noting the rows upon rows of neat tapes with colourful boxes and eye-catching titles.

Uncle Vernon turned around to face him, his mustaches quivering with irritation even though Harry had done nothing to upset him. "Don't touch anything, boy, or you'll regret it. If it wasn't for the fact that I wouldn't leave you home alone to mess up the house and we couldn't find you a babysitter for free, you'd not even be here. Understand?"

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," he responded respectfully. He received the same speech every time he went anywhere with his relatives. Although this was admittedly not often, he still knew just what his uncle would say.

His uncle lumbered into the store, leaving Harry to follow behind in his wake. He looked at everything with wide eyes, trying to gather in as much as possible.

A bright movie caught his eye. The cover depicted a witch in a wizard in bright blue robes, waving their wands about with smiles on their faces. Forgetting his uncle's threats, he reached for the box with trembling hands, studying the pictures intently.

The wizard had black hair and glasses and was grinning handsomely, one arm around the witch at his side. She was beautiful, the most beautiful creature Harry had ever seen. She had bright eyes the exact shade as Harry's own and shining red hair that fell past her shoulders in loose waves.

"These are my parents," he whispered to himself, smiling at them softly. "And their a witch and a wizard. One day they're going to come and take me away from the Dursleys and tell me all it was a terrible mistake. And they'll teach me magic-"

"What the hell do you think you're doing, boy?" Uncle Vernon roared, snatching the small boy by the scruff of his neck and pulling him upwards so that the two were eye to eye.

"I... I was just looking!" he protested, trembling. Uncle Vernon removed the box from his shivering hands and froze when he saw the cover.

"I though I told you there was no such thing as magic! It doesn't exist and even if it did, it wouldn't help you now!" Harry found himself being dragged along to the counter where he paid for several movies with scantily-clad women that he did not think Aunt Petunia would approve of if she saw them.

He heard titters of laughter and looked up to see a group of boys from school snickering at him. He flushed darkly in embarrassment and stared at his scruffy shoes, promising himself silently, "When I grow up and learn magic, I'll make sure to curse Uncle Vernon. He deserves it!"