Irredeemable

Harry drummed his fingers on the desk in his room, listening to the muffled but still sharp sound his short nails made as they clipped against the polished wood. His emerald eyes were blank and unfocused, but still oddly entrancing in an otherworldly way.

Lost in his own thoughts as he was, he did not notice the slight scuffling noises and faint creak of someone opening the door. Draco leaned casually in the doorway, silver eyes observing the other boy, drinking in every detail and committing it to memory.

He especially lingered on the silver serpent currently coiled and hissing softly in sleep on Harry's cheek. It was a reminder of what precious few things they shared, and a decidedly more positive one than their shared history.

It complemented his eyes as well. The shiny metallic shade and the dark emerald green were matched perfectly and Draco almost found himself wondering if the Dark Lord had chosen the symbol for precisely that purpose.

"So Slytherin," he whispered, not realising that he had uttered the words aloud in his absorbing concentration.

He blinked, staring into hardened emerald eyes behind a polished wand thrust at his face. Harry's eyebrows were lowered and his eyes narrowed. His mouth was in a thin line and overall he appeared suspicious but oddly composed.

"Don't sneak up on me," he ordered, punctuating each word with a short jab of his wand on Draco's forehead. "It's not polite... or safe." With his bit spoken, he turned around and headed back towards his desk, incorrectly assuming that Draco would abandon him to his peace and solitude.

"You still haven't answered my question," Draco commented, hand idly trailing along the rough stone blocks of the wall.

Harry stiffened but did not face Draco. He answered slowly, all too aware of what question Draco was referring to. "And I don't intend to."

"Why not?" Draco wanted to know, pulling up a chair across from Harry and staring intently at him.

"I don't trust you," came the succinct reply.

"We're on the same side now," Draco informed him with a slight air of exasperation. "You can trust me."

"We may be serving the same man, but that does not make you my friend or my confidant. It just makes us less than enemies and less than friends."

"You mean something like wary, unwilling allies?" Harry nodded, picking up his quill and beginning to doodle random shapes on a spare piece of ripped parchment. "Why can't we be something more?"

"Because you're a Malfoy and I'm the Boy-Who-Lived. Because you're a Slytherin and I'm a Gryffindor. Because our parents hated each other. Because we spent our entire time at Hogwarts planning the embarrassing and destructive things that we could do to each other. Because we've landed each other in detention more times than I can count."

"It's not like you can count that high anyway, now can you?" Malfoy sneered, reverting shortly into his old role of snobby torturer.

"At least I don't use my fingers." Harry crossed his arms and if he had been younger Draco would have sworn he would have stuck out his tongue impudently.

Draco sighed, not wanting them to be stuck like this forever, however familiar and comfortable the roles had become. "That still doesn't explain why you won't talk to me."

"I'm talking to you right now, aren't I?"

"Yes, but not about much. Why don't you trust me?"

Harry paused for a moment, taking the time to carefully consider the question. "Just look at your name. It means dragon, doesn't it? I know about dragons. We learned about them in Care of Magical Creatures and I had to deal with them in fourth year. They are simply dreadful creatures. They're mean and attack anything they don't agree with. They breathe flames that can sear flesh off your bones and their tails can give you a good lashing as well. They aren't very pleasant. And that's what your name means."

"Names don't really mean anything. Neville's name means teacher but I can't picture him teaching anything. Ron means advisor to the king, but unless that's during a chess match I can't really see it from him."

"You actually bothered to learn this stuff?"

"Of course. Know thy enemies." Draco smiled smugly and continued. "So me being named Draco has nothing to do with this."

"Many ancient cultures believed that naming a child after a virtue or characteristic would ensure that they grew up to be the epitome of it."

"And ancient cultures also believed that by ritualistically mutilating your body and accepting the pain you became closer to the gods. Just because it was a commonly accepted belief at one time doesn't mean it's true."

Harry did not appear to pick up on the underlying meaning to the statement so Draco clarified. "And just because I was a git to you before doesn't mean I always am."

"Close enough," Harry muttered bitterly. He looked at Draco's still patient face. "You're never going to leave me alone until I tell you, are you?"

"No," Draco replied cheerfully, glad that he was finally making some progress.

"Then you can still be asking when we're in hell together."

Draco and Harry clustered around a large, magnificent oak table filled with scattered scraps of parchment, dried ink wells, and broken quills. Voldemort sat at the head of the table, idly lounging with his limbs draped casually over the padded leather arms of the chair. His crimson eyes, however, were intent and focused, carefully fixated on the rough sketch of Hogwarts that his two youngest Death Eaters had drawn.

Draco pointed to each of the four common rooms, finger tapping on each large area lightly. "It really depends on when we attack," he was saying. "At night, all of the students would be divided into their own separate dormitories. That would make them easier to pick off but would ultimately require many smaller groups in the place of one larger mass."

"During the day, though," Harry countered, "the students will be in their various classes. They'll be even more scattered with much less concentration."

"But at night we have a greater element of surprise. Most everyone will be sleeping and it will be much more difficult for them to gather enough forces for a valid defense."

"Yes, but you're forgetting one small detail, if you were even privy to it in the first place."

"And what, exactly, is that?" Draco asked, crossing his arms across his chest and appearing as if it were impossible for a Malfoy of all people to not be aware of all that occurred around him.

"The wards strengthen considerably at night. After our fifth year, Dumbledore modified them so that they would draw upon the magical energy of the occupants as they slept. Not enough so that their power levels diminish, of course, but there are at least eight hundred, possibly more, people at Hogwarts at any given time. Even if the wards just drained a trickle of magical energy from each person, the sheer power would be formidable."

Draco scowled darkly, while Harry looked smug that he had managed to outwit him. "I suppose that means we have to attack during the day."

"There are other options, of course. We could attack early enough so that the students are awake but still in their common rooms or we could attack after dinner has ended for the same reason."

"There's too many unknowns. What we really need are some more insiders."

"It's too bad..." Harry was about to mourn Blaise's most untimely and inconvenient death before remembering himself. He swallowed sharply before continuing. "... that the Slytherins aren't really privy to much information now."

"Crabbe and Goyle might be able to dig up something."

"Those two?" Harry scoffed. "They're so thick that a Bludger couldn't crack their skulls. Not that it would make any difference to their mental capacities, of course."

Draco just grinned in his superior fashion. "Even the dimmest of people have their uses," he snickered, obviously remember a time when the two idiots had been especially beneficial to him.

"Well, that's why I keep you around, now isn't it?" Harry responded snarkily.

Before Draco could attempt mock anger and protest, however, they were interrupted by a sneer from Voldemort. "We have little time to plan this attack if it is to be pulled off with any success. I suggest you stop frolicking and turn to the matter at hand..." His voice trailed off in a threat about as obvious as a Chimera in the midst of a Muggle village.

"Yes, master," they replied solemnly, focusing on the maps of Hogwarts once more.

Voldemort nodded his acceptance of their apologies and continued, "We will strike at in the evening of December 31. The students and teachers will be disoriented, tired, and more focused on celebrating the holiday than on being alert for an attack."

"Most of the students will have gone home for the holidays, as well as some of the teachers. At least I hope."

"It's more likely that there will be more people at Hogwarts. After all, Hogwarts is one of the few safe locations left in all of Britain."

"We could turn that to our advantage, somehow, I'm certain," Harry commented thoughtfully, then snapped his fingers as an idea struck him like the sight of the golden Snitch. "There will undoubtedly be young children there. After all, the families of students must not leave their younger siblings to be picked up and killed. Most of the attention will be on ushering them to safety. What few forces remain should be relatively easy to take care of. "

"Their compassion will be their weakness," Draco agreed sagely.

"Okay, now that we now when we will attack we have to figure out how. The wards surrounding the school will not be easy to bypass."

"I think the best approach would be to have a small group of powerful forces- but not necessarily the best fighters- attempt to disable the wards at least temporarily. That way the main part of the troops would still be fresh and prepared for battle."

Harry nodded in agreement. "What, exactly, are the wards around Hogwarts though? I only learned some of it in the beginning of sixth year and he must have at least doubled them by now."

Voldemort pulled a sheet of parchment from underneath a large stack, the writing on it spidery and black. "Here is a list of the wards on Hogwarts. It will, of course, update itself automatically when any are removed or added."

Harry accepted the proffered parchment, studying it intensely. "Some of these we won't have to worry about. I don't think it will matter much if we stop the pumpkins from growing to an abnormally large size. What a waste of magic."

Draco moved to stand behind his shoulder, also reading. "There's the standard ones, like Apparation barriers and ones that detect the Dark Arts, but there's really not that much that would keep us out. Obviously if we were Muggles we'd have a hefty amount of trouble, but that's thankfully not the case."

Harry frowned in concentration. "Why isn't there anything really powerful? I mean, sure, there's lots of wards, but nothing that won't be easy enough to take down, now that we know what they are."

"As you well know, the stronger spells are all Dark. Dumbledore is simply too noble to use them. And, as knowledgeable as the old fool can sometimes appear, he certainly does not know everything, especially about the spells which he condemns. He never expected anyone to learn what wards he had operating in the first place, and half the problem would be figuring them out. Now that we know, we will have only small obstacles."

Voldemort smiled sinisterly, his thin lips drawn taunt over his slightly pointed teeth. He rather looked like the skull in his Mark, Harry mused reflectively for a moment, only much more frightening because he was real rather than just a flat symbol floating in the air above a burning village.

Voldemort was the true power behind that symbol, and as scared as most wizards seemed at the mere mention of the Dark Mark, their terror of Voldemort was increased at least ten fold.

Harry held out his hands before him, splaying the fingers wide watching them with wide eyes as if contemplating the power waiting to be tapped beneath the thin layer of skin. He rotated them slowly back and forth, mouth slightly ajar and face filled half with wonder and half with sweet anticipation.

"He shall pay for everything he has done. No longer will he be safe behind his castle walls. He won't have anyone to manipulate anymore. He won't trick first years into facing their foes, won't deliberately lie and omit vital information. Albus Dumbledore will fall."

He crushed his hands into two fists, eyes lighting with an insane vehemence. "And it will be sweet."

Lucius Malfoy sneered at the regal family portrait placed directly opposite him. All three Malfoys were serene and collected, expressions of calm superiority settled easily over their features. The two males were dressed in flowing silver robes spun from fairy hair trimmed in a fine sapphire blue. Narcissa was clad in similar fashion, her robes sapphire with sparkling gray trim.

Lucius studied his son carefully, eyeing the twelve year old boy with extreme displeasure. Draco was a disappointment, something that caused the Malfoy patriarch a great amount of irritation.

Draco had been raised to serve his father and his father's master in all things, regardless of his personal wishes. While the boy obeyed the Dark Lord dutifully enough, he was no where near as responsive to his sire.

His offspring was intended to be inducted into the Death Eaters and gradually work his way up through the ranks. He would earn power and glory, increasing the status of the Malfoy family. When he was old enough he would marry a suitable Pureblood girl and produce an heir to continue the family line. In time, he would take his father's place at the Dark Lord's hand.

Draco had flouted all of his beautifully constructed plans. He had risen through the ranks with lightning speed, surpassing Lucius mere moments after his initiation. And instead of wedding a beautiful but dimwitted Slytherin Pureblood, such as the Parkinson girl, he had fallen in love with Potter. No heir would ever come of that cursed union.

More importantly, he had usurped what Lucius saw as his rightful place. In the past year he had become little more than a common lackey, providing the brute force required by the Dark Lord. He was never called in to help with complicated planning sessions or to report nearly as often as before.

His son provided those services for the Dark Lord now, along with that damnable Potter boy.

Lucius raised a clear glass tumbler with a fine golden liquid to his lips, taking a deep sip and swallowing immediately. The alcohol burned pleasantly down his throat and settled in his stomach, warming him and slightly clouding his mind.

He had caught wind of the latest plans, the imminent attack on Hogwarts. Although he showed no outward sign, he inwardly seethed with rage at the thought that his master had not deemed him important enough to inform of this crucial bit of information. More than likely he would know no more until he was summoned with the Dark Lord's more proletarian supporters and told what they would be doing.

He was a Malfoy! He was not a wand, to be pointed and used to wipe out an enemy, only to be stuck in a deep pocket until it was called for again!

Incited by his anger, his treacherous thoughts grew until a plan began to form in the dark corners of his mind, far from the prying reach of the Dark Lords skill with Legilemency.

"I don't like it."

Draco rolled over to face Harry, confusion shining in his eyes. "Don't like what?" he asked.

"I don't like this parchment with the wards. How can we be certain that it's accurate? I mean, surely there must be more wards on the school."

"If the Dark Lord says it's accurate, then it's accurate. There's no other way about it. He's never wrong. And his explanation makes sense; Dumbledore has always been overconfident and noble."

"I guess..." Harry trailed off, a frown twisting his lips downward.

"Hey, nothing bad's gonna happen. We'll take over Hogwarts and kill the blasted old man and be all the better for it."

"I still don't like it," Harry reiterated. "We have no idea where this parchment came from or the spells used on it. It could easily be a hoax."

"It's not," Draco soothed, rubbing soft circles on Harry's cheek with one hand. "We have to trust."

"I trusted before and look where it lead me. If you hadn't come along, I would have ended up in Azkaban as a soulless... thing."

"But that was when you were trusting Dumbledore, something that you should never have done. This is not Dumbledore, it's Voldemort. You have to trust him."

"I trust him; I don't trust the parchment," Harry clarified, still frowning. "It could be something that Dumbledore planted after all."

"Like Dumbledore's clever enough," Draco snorted in derision.

"You didn't know him. He had Snape spying on Voldemort for years before anyone knew. Somehow, he always managed to foil Voldemort's plans. He's a manipulative old fool. I wouldn't put anything past him."

Draco shrugged and sighed deeply. "It doesn't matter. Soon enough he'll be dead and we won't have to worry about him anymore."

"I hope so, I truly do."

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Harry asked irritably, eagle quill scratching deeply into the parchment, leaving rough gouges in the wood beneath it.

"You had another nightmare last night." It was a statement, but one that demanded an answer in the same way that a question would.

"What of it?" Harry demanded evasively, eyes narrowing as the quill snapped between his fingers.

"I want to know about it."

Harry snorted. "So I should tell you about it merely to satisfy your curiosity? I highly doubt that you actually want anything more than to use the information against me. Why should I give you the ammunition?"

Draco blinked, considering his response carefully. "I want to know because... because I ... care." The last word came out in a breathless whisper, so quiet that Harry barely caught it.

"Do you?" Harry questioned bitterly, finally turning around to face the blonde. "Do you really? Just like you cared enough about me to ruin my life at Hogwarts? Just like you hexed me at every available opportunity?"

"I offered you the hand of friendship and you turned it down," Draco reminded him angrily.

"Oh, what a great way to start a relationship," Harry retorted sarcastically. "Hello, my name is Draco Malfoy and I'm better than you. I think your friend is lower than the dirt my House Elves scrub from the toilets and I only want to use you for your fame." He did a fair imitation of an eleven year old Draco's voice, which caused Draco's eyes to widen in surprise.

"And what was I supposed to do? I had a reputation as a Malfoy to uphold and if I let anything slip than I would be in serious trouble."

"I thought you said that you weren't your father."

"I'm not!"

Harry just glared pointedly, one eyebrow raised as if suggesting that Draco lying and not even doing a good job of it.

"Would you stop being snarky for just one second?" Draco huffed. "I'm not- and I never was- some stupid Gryffindor who rushed into things without thinking about the consequences. If I had acted at all differently from what I had on the train word would have gotten back to my father; it always does. I was trying to make the best out of a bad situation. I was only eleven years old, for Merlin's sake!"

"So was Ron, and he managed to be pleasant enough!"

"If you'll think for a moment, the weasel's parents had no reason to care about their reputation. They have no money and their only status is as an object of pity and scorn. He could afford to be himself! And look how that friendship turned out!"

Harry quieted instantly and Draco regretted dredging up the memories of Harry's betrayal. His face was set and stony and his eyes glistened dangerously.

"Look, for what it's worth, I'm sorry, okay?"

"I thought you had a reputation to uphold," Harry commented, though the words had no force behind them. "Malfoys never apologize."

"No," Draco answered with a slight smile. "They don't."

"And I suppose you're about to inform me that you're not a Malfoy after all. In fact, you're my long lost twin brother and your behaviour towards me in the past years will suddenly change because now that you know you're a Potter you've suddenly become more in touch with your gentler emotions."

"Have you been sniffing potions?" Harry rolled his eyes but did not bother with a verbal response. "To my knowledge I'm not in any way related to you."

"Fine, but that doesn't explain why you, a Malfoy, are apologizing."

"I'm not a Malfoy right now. I'm Draco, just Draco. I'm being myself. Well, trying to be anyway. And as Draco, I don't really have a problem apologising, if I truly mean it."

"And I suppose you're insinuation that you're being sincere with me?"

"Of course."

Harry took a moment to really study Draco. His face held an open and honest expression that practically begged for trust. Nothing in his posture or countenance said anything of lies or manipulations; it was entirely possible that he was being entirely honest.

"Look, we could just start over. Forget about what happened in the past."

"I can't forget, and neither can you. What happened happened and if we pretended it didn't than any interactions we had would be false and affected."

"What if I Obliviated you? Not that I would, I'm just posing a hypothetical question. Wouldn't that make the past go away?"

"But you'd know and others would know. And somewhere deep inside I would know too. No matter what the written word says or what we tell ourselves, you can't change history. It's not something that's flowing and mutable."

"Well, then what are we supposed to do?"

"The same thing that I've been doing. I don't want to be your friend, Malfoy, and you don't really want to be mine. I'm willing to work with you if I have to, but that's as far as it goes. Our relationship is strictly a matter of necessity."

"Harry-"

Harry cut Draco off sharply. "I didn't want to be your friend in first year and nothing's changed since then."

"Everything's changed. We're not the people we were back then. You're a follower of the Dark Lord and I've matured. We've moved on."

"Fundamentally, we're still the same. You can't change who you are, your core essence, just because your allegiances change. It takes time."

"Time's something we have plenty of."

"You need other things too, such as willingness. And I'm not willing."

"But I am," Draco argued vehemently. "That should be good enough."

"It takes two to tango."

Draco looked suitably baffled at the Muggle expression, giving Harry the time he needed to forcibly shove the blond Death Eater from his room and out into the hallway. Draco was left staring at a slammed door and blinking as he tried to collect himself.

"Damn Potter," he muttered, before walking off, glancing backwards over his shoulder in case the other boy decided to come out.

Draco stalked around just outside of Harry's room as he was accustomed to doing. The night was heavy and dark and rather uncomfortable. The cold gray flagstones caused his booted feet to ache; some thoughtful House Elf had decided it wise to remove the rich Persian rug to save it from wearing out as a result of his pacing.

No sound came from inside the room, no whimpers or moans or screams of absolute terror torn forth from a broken throat in guttural fright. Perhaps this would be a good night. Perhaps there would be no nightmares.

Draco shook his head indignantly. Harry always had nightmares, every night without fail. He wondered silently how his dorm mates at Hogwarts had ever gotten any sleep. Perhaps he was just exceptionally good at silencing charms, or one of his room mates was.

Or, a snide voice whispered in the back of his head, the nightmares are new.

Whichever way it went, Draco could not even begin to imagine the horrors that Harry witnessed over and over again, night after night in his dreams.

What could be so horrible that he could not forget about it, even in the blissful peace of sweet repose? Everyone had nightmares, of course, but Harry's seemed to be more terrible than most. They were at an almost primal level, insane fear and hunger and an overpowering sense of loss and the urge to flee.

A whimper floated out from underneath the small crack beneath the door. Draco paused, pushing one ear up against the wood surface and listening intently. It was soon followed by another groan.

Soon the moans rose in pitch and volume until they were full-fledged shrieks. Even had he been halfway down the corridor and not paying attention, Draco was sure he still would have heard them.

Frustrated, he yanked open the door, hurrying inside and dropping to his knees beside the wide bed. Never before had he dared to enter during the midst of the screams and what he saw shocked him.

Harry was curled in one corner of the gigantic bed, knees pressed sharply to his chest and arms wrapped tightly around them. He was shivering uncontrollably, and scratching at his arms with his nails.

Tears were running freely down his cheeks and his lips were dry and chapped. Draco stared on in horror, watching the slight boy tremble in irrepressible fright.

"Shh, Harry, it's alright," he whispered gently, though his voice cracked. "Nothing's wrong, no one can hurt you here." If anything, however, his pleas only made Harry worse. He began to thrash about, whipping from one end of the bed to the other in wretched agony.

"Harry, you're safe," Draco tried again, hesitantly laying a hand on Harry's arm to still it. "It'ls okay now, everything will be just fine."

Harry jerked away from his touch, scrambling to the other side of the bed and almost falling off. His eyes were still closed and his breathing was heavy. "Don't touch me!" he hollered piteously. "I didn't do anything, I swear! It wasn't me! Please!" His voice broke into dry sobs and he collapsed in a quivering ball.

"Harry, there's nothing to be afraid of, I promise. No thing can get you, no one can touch you. You're perfectly safe." Slowly, so as not to upset Harry anymore, Draco crawled on to the bed and picked a careful path over to the other boy. With halting arms he wrapped himself around Harry, rocking him back and forth.

" 'Snot my fault," the dark haired boy whimpered.

"Nothing's your fault, Harry. Nothing at all."

Slowly the raven-haired boy fell asleep, Draco's arms still tightly around him.

"The crux of the matter is that the attack will come swiftly and without warning."

Dumbledore's words were met with an uncomfortable silence from the assembled Order of the Phoenix. The witches and wizards stood with countenances drawn in grave, solemn lines, reflecting the sombre aura of the meeting.

Surprisingly, not a single member whispered about this harsh news; it may have been unwanted but it was by no means unexpected. Dumbledore sighed as he realized once again just how far the situation had spun out of his control.

"We can't know when. We have no precedent to base this on; Hogwarts itself has never been directly attacked. The best we can do is to remain constantly vigilant and hope for the best."

"What about the wards?" a new member, not old enough to be inducted into the Order under normal circumstances, asked. "They're impenetrable... aren't they?"

"Unfortunately, even the strongest wards can be broken over time. Our one advantage is slim and Voldemort may not take the bait."

"What advantage?" the young man pressed, emboldened by his youth.

"I can not reveal that unless it falls into the wrong hands." Dumbledore's eyes hardened for a moment and he quickly scanned over each of the Order members as if searching for traitors in their midst.

"But that's why Harry turned!" Hermione argued, rising to her feet in sudden vehemence. "You can't just not tell people things. Don't you trust us?"

"This is a war, Ms. Granger. It would be foolhardy to trust anyone."

"But we're the Order of the Phoenix! Our entire purpose is to oppose the Dark Lord! How can we accomplish that if we are kept in the dark?" She spread her hands out plaintively to either side, appealing to the crowds around her. "If you do that, you'll just lose more people, like Harry. No one can trust someone who doesn't trust them."

"The senior members are aware, Ms. Granger. You are simply too young to be involved in this. As for Mr. Potter, there is much more to the tale than you could possibly hope to be aware of."

"Like what?"

Dumbledore smiled sadly, hiding his own uncertainties behind a calm mask of omniscience. "Now is neither the time nor place, Ms. Granger. When you are older-"

"I might not get to be any older! We're in a war! I could die tomorrow! I don't have the leisure to grow up at a normal rate, none of us do. If we don't mature quickly and get involved now, we won't have the opportunity to; we'll be dead or in hiding or slaves. We don't have a choice!"

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "I think, Ms. Granger, that you have been unsettled by certain events. Perhaps it would be best if you returned when you have had time to come to a more rational viewpoint." Hermione opened her mouth to contest the point, but Dumbledore added a stern "now."

Sighing in defeat, Hermione deftly picked her way through the crowds of people, yanking open the door and stepping outside. She fell back against the stone wall, slowly sinking to the floor. "He's just as bad as You-Know-Who," she whispered, shocked at her own conclusion. "He's no better at all."

Dumbledore massaged his temples with one withe , resting the other elbow on the desk and sighing deeply. Order was tumbling away from him. He felt like a child trying to build an impossibly intricate structure with blocks, only to have the towers and turrets fall to the floor around him time after time.

"Headmaster?" Snape inquired quietly. Dumbledore started and then immediately relaxed; he had forgotten that the potions professor had stayed behind to discuss matters.

"Yes, Severus?"

"As far as I know, Voldemort still believes that the parchment will work. It was, after all, given to him shortly after I became a spy when he had no suspicions about me. He won't expect the stronger, more numerous wards that we have in place."

"Tom may not, true. But Harry and Mr. Malfoy are much more discerning, and Harry will not trust the list of wards so easily. They, if no one else, will be prepared for the possibility of more resistance."

"They are blinded by their... infatuation."

Dumbledore's lips quirked upwards, a ghost of a smile. "You may well be right. If that is the case, it would be to our advantage."

"I don't like this," Snape reciprocated wearily as if experiencing extreme lassitude from reiterating the same warning over and over again. "They're just children-"

"They stopped being children the moment they joined Lord Voldemort," Dumbledore interrupted, steel in his suddenly chilly voice.

"What's the difference between them and Granger and Weasley? They are all the same age. Weasley and Granger chose to join one side of the war just as Draco and Potter chose theirs."

"Harry and Mr. Malfoy are quite different from those two students. They perform Dark curses, take sadistic pleasure in their actions, and have joined Dark Revels. They are both aware of the full consequences of their actions, whether or not they think they will come to pass. It is our choices who make us what we are, and they have chosen the wrong side."

"Hermione?" The distant voice came from the Common Room, but she did not bother to pay any attention to it. Instead, she turned once more to Neville, glancing over her shoulder to assure herself that they were securely hidden from sight.

"What's this about?" she asked urgently, vaguely hearing Ron's footsteps retreat up to the Boy's Dormitories. She and Neville were secreted in one of the lesser used passages into the Gryffindor Common Room, this one leading to the dungeons. Hermione secretly doubted that it had been used for any purpose except for playing pranks on the Slytherins, and Ron would never think (he did that rarely) to look for her here.

"This," Neville replied, withdrawing a dark piece of parchment from his robes. His eyes had lost the haunted look that had inhabited them since Ginny's death and he handed Hermione the parchment with an air of half-hidden fear within their blue depths.

Hermione unfolded it nimbly, smoothing out the creases with ink-stained fingers. She started skimming the contents quickly, listening with half an ear while Neville explained.

"I started noticing things after... after Harry left. Dumbledore had suspicions that I might be the one from the prophecy after all, because Harry had been such a disappointment. They don't make sense."

Hermione drew in a sharp breath, fingers lightly tracing over Neville's messy scrawl. "Where did you learn this?"

Neville winced at her harsh tone before regaining some of his new found composure. "I know what it seems like I'm saying, Hermione, but I swear that it's true-"

"I believe you."

"-I mean, I wouldn't believe me if it were me and it doesn't make any sense, especially not with Dumbledore-"

"Neville, you're right!"

Impulsively, she hugged him, eyes shining with glee for the first time in months.

Neville froze, mouth still open and half-formed words ready to spill forth.

"It all fits together!" Her mind was working quickly, speeding by like a Firebolt. "Harry told me in Hogsmeade that he'd never wanted the Dark Mark! I didn't believe him, I mean, it's supposed to be impossible to get if you do not want it, but he said something about his connection with Voldemort."

"And if he was connected with You-Know-Who, then it really wouldn't matter if Harry wanted the Mark or not?"

"Exactly!"

"But, what are we going to do with it?"

"Give it to Dumbledore, of course! He'll be able to talk to Harry-"

"I don't think so," Hermione interrupted glumly, shaking her chestnut head in the torchlight. "He's given up," she added, remembering the hopeless look in his eyes at the Order meeting. "Dumbledore's always believed in Harry. Now he doesn't. He's looking everywhere for other options. He was discussing with Firenze the other day if the prophecy might apply to another time altogether-"

"How do you know that?"

Hermione did not blush, just looked at Neville self-righteously. "As Head Girl, I am entitled to certain-"

"You were eavesdropping."

"Well... yes..." Hermione amended, a slight rose blush tinting her cheeks.

After several comfortable moments of silence, the two set about planning what exactly they were to do with their newfound knowledge and partnership.

"What was that about, Hermione?" Ron demanded angrily, stalking up to her at breakfast the next morning.

"What was what about, Ronald?" Hermione retorted angrily, turning back to her porridge lightly sprinkled with cinnamon. She placed another spoonful in her mouth and swallowed, turning another page in her Arithmancy textbook. She could hear Ron seething behind her, but refused to turn around and face him.

"Last night! What did you think you were doing last night! Dumbledore knows what he's doing, we can trust him!"

"Are you going to scream out the secrets of the entire Order out to the Great Hall?" Hermione hissed viciously. "Going to let them all know what's going on? Our plans? What we know?"

Ron worked his mouth for a few minutes before shutting it.

"I didn't think of that."

"Obviously."

"Well, Slytherin is on the other side of the Great Hall, it's not like they can hear us."

"It's not Slytherin I'm worried about!"

"Who then? Gryffindor? Ravenclaw? Bloody Hufflepuff? They won't turn, they're on our side!"

"How can you be so sure? How can you be sure of anything anymore? How can you judge people like that?"

"They're Slytherins!" Ron replied as if this answer were self-explanatory. "They're evil! They're terrible! They're al working for the Dark Lord already! We should all before they have a chance to kill us, murder us all in our beds!"

Hermione slammed her book shut, whirling around to face her boyfriend. She grabbed his arm roughly, nails digging in to the freckled flesh. "We're getting out of here now!"

She dragged him out of the Great Hall and into a shadowed alcove. She pushed him against the wall, arms placed on either side of his head. "If you think for one minute that we're going to survive this war without changing our believes then you're wrong!"

"What are you talking about? Do you think that we're going to have to be evil, that the ends justify the means?" Ron's face was a picture of indignant rage, eyes flashing and cheeks flushing.

"If we survive, we're not going to be the same people we were. We're not going to be carefree. The world won't seem the same. We'll be hardened, veterans."

"My parents survive the last war just fine-"

"Ronald Weasley! You told me earlier about how that ended up! It was chaos! Pure, unadulterated chaos. Everyone was afraid, even years after Voldemort had disappeared. They're different now, and they'll always be different. Nothing can make them the way they were before."

"Hermione! We'll survive! We have to! We're the good guys! We always win!"

"In stories. In fables. Not in real life. Ever read more modern novels? George Orwell, Margaret Atwood, Adolphous Huxley, William Golding? You know how they end? Evil wins. Evil conquers all. The good guys die, or are driven insane, or give up. The ending's more of a beginning of the terror than a real conclusion. That's how it really works, Ron. Not perfect. Not good. Not deus ex machina. Nothing like that, Ron, nothing at all."

"Hermione, you're giving up! You're giving in!"

"No I'm not! I'm facing the truth, Ron! We're not going to win the way we are now. We're weak. Ineffectual. We're not going to be able to do anything against them. Not as we are. Only as we could be."

"What are you doing? What do you think you're doing? You're turning, aren't you? Just like Potter. You always liked him better than me. Would have gone out with him if he hadn't been some poof!"

"You don't know anything Ron!"

"What don't I know? I don't know that you're beginning to turn Dark? Look at what you said in the meeting last night Hermione. 'We can't trust Dumbledore. You're wrong, Dumbleore. Harry's not evil, he's misunderstood!' What kind e is that?"

"Don't you speak to me like that, Ronald Weasley." Hermione's voice was quiet, dangerous. "If you're not willing to look at things through another viewpoint instead of your biased, half-cocked views that someone else told you to believe, then, then..."

"Don't say it. Don't say it. I don't want to hear it."

"Too bad for your, Mr. Weasley. You're going to hear it. Eff off. Effing eff off." With a final shove, Hermione whirled around and ran away, fleeing without paying any heed to where she was going. Tears streaked liberally down her cheeks, leaving salty tracks. She didn't care. She didn't care for anything anymore.

Harry nuzzled his chin against his shoulder, sleepily itching. He was warm and comfortable. He had not been warm in such a long time. He burrowed deeper under the covers, whining when something stopped his motions.

Something moved next to him. Hair brushed against his cheek, tickling lightly. There was a slight dip in the bed where whoever it was pushed himself up.

Scared, Harry snapped open his eyelids. Confused, worried silver eyes met his own. "Malfoy?" he asked, half shocked and half disbelieving.

"I... I... didn't mean to..." Draco could not think of anything else to say. What had he been thinking, showing up at Harry's rooms in the middle of the night and falling asleep in the other boy's bed?

"What the... what are you doing in my bed? Are you trying to rape me or something!"

"Harry, I..."

Harry shoved him onto the floor angrily, smirking when the taller boy hit the floor with a loud thump. "I don't want to ever see you again."

"You don't understand! You were screaming-"

"What?" Harry whispered quietly. "You heard that?" Malfoy knew. Malfoy suspected. Malfoy was going to use this against him, turn on him. He was weak. He was a fool. He had to protect himself, somehow. Make him forget, make him forget all about it.

"You scream fairly loud, and-"

"Listen, Malfoy, I don't know what you think you're doing but-"

"I came in to comfort you! You were trying to rip your skin off or something! You were screaming and yelling and..." Draco stopped, eyes glazing over at the memory.

"Just... just forget it Malfoy. Don't think about it anymore. Forget it. It never happened."

"It did happen Harry. You told me that we can't erase our past. We can't change it. We only have the future."

We don't have anything. It's you and me. Separate. We're not friends, we're not... not anything..." I don't need friends, he whispered to himself. I don't need anyone. Don't need friends, don't need family. They betray you, hurt you.

He wary not thinking clearly, but he did not care. He just had to get Draco out before he started to dig deeper.

"Harry... you're not fine. You were screaming. You've got something you're hiding, something that you don't even want to talk about."

"And what makes you think you know this?"

"You flinched away when I reached out to comfort you."

"Of course. Your skin practically radiates gittiness."

"That's not the point!" Draco nearly yelled, exasperated. "Look, I know I was... am... a . I know I made your life hell. I know you hate me. I know you wish I would drop over dead. But I'm not. And unless you feel like pouring your little heart out to Voldemort or...or Pettigrew, I'm the best you've got."

Harry's eyes studied Draco's face intently. "You... you came into comfort me? Last night? My screaming didn't annoy you or anything?"

"Of course it annoyed me! I've never felt so angry! Whoever did those things to you, whoever made you feel like that, deserves to die. But with you? No. Not with you."

"You don't... hate me?"

Draco lifted himself off the floor carefully, brushing bits of miniscule dust off his sleep-crumpled robes before answering. "No. No. No I don't. Maybe once, but the feeling was mutual, I think."

"It was." A small grin lifted one corner of Harry's mouth.

"And you really did want to comfort me?"

"I got you to calm down, Harry. You were curled up into a ball, scratching at your arms and screaming and attacking the air. If I hated you I wouldn't have done that. If I didn't want to comfort you I wouldn't have fallen asleep while trying to get you to calm down."

"I've never... never..."

"Me neither."

The two sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, each of them quietly considering the other.

"So... what do we do now?"

"What do you mean?"

"We can't go on the way we were. We've got to change, to adapt."

"We'll find a way."

"So what are we now?"

"Friends?"

"Friends."

Draco stuck out his hand formally. Harry blinked at the long-fingered, well-manicured limb for a minute before warily shaking it. He dropped his hand quickly, not liking the pleasant, tingling warmth that spread through his entire body at Draco's touch.