Playing the Fool

The wind was warm, customary for early September weather. It floated through, over, and under him, and he understood this to be the one place he belonged...in the sky. Flying had always been a thrill for him, and the feeling did not diminish even when he had been doing it for so long. He felt complete up here, untouchable, even. He had never felt untouchable before.

The houses were mere pinpricks below him. The sight of the cars as small as ants startled him at first, but he soon took in a deep breath, and turned his face upwards. He was nearly in the clouds, and still he rose higher. He was careful to avoid ducking straight into clouds, however. He knew from experience that it would do nothing but soak him with cold water.

He flew on. Below him, the small dots of light disappeared, leaving only green, rolling countryside. Something about the scenery comforted him, the feeling of happiness strangely surprising in his empty stomach. On that note, he couldn't remember the last time he had stopped for something to eat...

But he couldn't stop. He had to follow the snow-white owl's directions. She had recognized him...she had seemed to know who he was. A surprising fact, since he didn't even know who he was. She had told him where to go, and of course he had listened to her.

Any apprehension he had at the idea was banished quickly by the feeling of recognition he got from looking at the landscape below him. He had been here before...maybe even lived here. This could be the key to his past...

Without warning, his heart nearly burst through his skin with a rush of feeling so deep, he almost fell out of the sky. He ducked below a cloud to get a better look at the thing that had startled him so greatly, and his eyes landed on the castle in front of him.

It stood in front of him like a mirage, barely lit up by the moon above. It was gigantic, especially compared to his small size. There did not seem to be a single light on inside, and still it gave off a sort of glow. It was not a physical glow, but rather one inside of himself. There was a powerful aura around the castle, and he could feel it flowing through his body almost like an electric current. It was the same aura that the white owl had given off to him...one that felt almost like...magic.

Without a second thought, he bent his head down, aiming for the ground.

It felt like...he was home.

The smell of vomit and urine was the first thing to meet Remus Lupin's nose as he entered the fortress of Azkaban. His senses were heightened, of course, due to the coming of the full moon. His golden eyes flickered over the huddling bodies, trying to seek solace in the corners of their cells. He walked past them, ignoring the muffled sound of their screams.

He walked all the way to the last cell. Its inhabitant, a tall, dark haired man with a hooked nose that somehow didn't suit his face, sat staring almost complacently at him. Remus should have known that Severus Snape would not be reduced to mumbling incoherently on the ground of his prison cell. The man had been through terrible things in his life, and still the guards of Azkaban did not produce any noticeable change in him.

Snape's eyes twitched with what Remus expected was surprise. He had anticipated a reaction like this, and so he knelt down on the other side of the cell bars, so that the other man was level with him.

"It is me, Severus...Moony," he whispered. Even the dementors would not be able to tell his identity through all of the charms he had performed on himself in the past year or so...how could Snape?

But it appeared that he had been able to recognize him. His eyebrows rose with a start, and he cautiously scooted forward. Remus concealed a wince, hearing a distinct moan of agony come from the cell behind them. He instead concentrated on Snape, and the news he had to tell him.

"To what do I owe this unexpected and surely not all very pleasurable visit?" Now that Remus was closer, he could see the lines of wear on Snape's face. His eyes looked sunken, much like Sirius Black's had looked on his escape from Azkaban too many years ago. And yet Snape was able to maintain even a pinch of his old smooth drawl. Remus wondered how he was doing it. Was he an Animagus, too, and had he kept it concealed the entire time?

But there was no time for this. As secure as he felt in his disguise, he was not comfortable with the idea of spending a suspicious amount of time in Azkaban. He was a werewolf only part of the time, and the dementors had the same effect on him as they did on normal humans. "I have news, Severus."

"Oh, marvelous." Through his sneer, Remus could hear the exhaustion in his voice, and yet the twinkling of hope behind it. He understood that it must have been hard for the other man, trapped in here with no real hope of escape. He had been revealed as a spy, and imprisoned immediately. But still, it was not every day that former Order members paid him a visit. In fact, he was not sure that Severus had seen any of them since the end of the war, besides the ones that were in here with him. And even then, they were not exactly granted the privilege of being in each other’s company.

"We...we think we may have found a way," Remus chose his words carefully, keeping his voice low. The dementors were not in sight, and he could not feel them, either. But he did not want to be careless.

"A way to what?" Snape's voice was harsh, and Remus could see a spark of the old flash in his eye.

"To win." His words were short, and not carefully chosen. He spoke for a moment with unmasked passion, and he was sure that the excitement shone on his unrecognizable face.

Snape gave a short laugh, one that sounded almost like a growl. This time Remus could clearly see the flashing of his eyes as the dark haired man leaned back and studied him.

"To win, my friend? We cannot win what is no longer being fought. We cannot triumph when we are not in battle...there can be no victory without a struggle. And the only way you could start the struggle would be with sufficient backing. I hate to be the one to point it out to you, old fellow, but the Order is broken. Dumbledore is dead. And your precious Golden Boy is gone as well." Snape's voice was hoarse as he spoke with near rage. He stared at Remus with such ferocity that the werewolf found it almost wonderful to tell him the news.

"But that's just it..." He leaned in closer to the bars, his golden eyes sparkling, as they had not for years. He looked over his shoulders once more, checking once more to see that nobody was paying them any attention. And then he spoke.

"We've found Harry."

Draco always remembered Harry, it seemed.

Really, when it came down to it, the boy had been there for every important event in his life. Or at least those that Draco felt were worth remembering. True, he hadn't been there for the moment when Draco got his first broom...or even when he had gotten his letter to Hogwarts. He wasn't there for the first time Draco went drinking. He wasn't there for his first kiss, or his first time in bed with a woman.

But he had been there for the times when it had really mattered. He had been there when the pale boy decided to join the Dark Lord. This decision had been made in his fifth year at Hogwarts, when he was only a child and far too young to understand where a pledge like this would lead him. But he had been naive, and oh so bent on revenge. His father was in prison, and Harry had been the cause. Family and personal pride had sent Draco over the edge, and right then he had decided. The choice had led him into something far darker than he had expected.

But Harry had also been there the night that Draco decided to turn to the Order. That night at the Burrow when the Death Eaters stormed. It had been the first night of summer, and they had all gathered at the Burrow to celebrate the graduation of the only Head Girl in the family, little Ginny. She would be joining the Order, the same as the rest of her family, as soon as she started her own training to be an Auror. A joyous occasion, surely. The Death Eaters had felt it would only be appropriate that they dropped by to pay their respects, as well.

Draco saved Harry and Ron's lives that night. He watched his father laugh as he killed Ginny Weasley, and he didn't tell him that the boys were outside on the makeshift Quidditch pitch, barely hidden by a group of trees as they flew around. And when the Death Eaters had Disapparated, leaving behind the dead bodies of the entire Weasley clan under the smoldering ruin that had been Ron's home, Draco had come back. He had thrown down his mask and looked Harry Potter in the face as he stood under the green, glittering light of the Dark Mark.

They still hadn't trusted him. He didn't think he blamed them, especially Ron. He had lost his entire family. So had Draco, but that was something different. His family had not been like the Weasleys. And years too late, he was finally able to understand that his family had not been better.

Draco's memories of Harry were mostly from that time. The four short months when Draco was part of the Order, in the same double-agent role as Severus Snape. He had done his best to ignore all of his old feelings about Harry that had been beaten into him during his time at Hogwarts and his time with the Death Eaters. And somehow, in the midst of all of it, new feelings had developed. Feelings of strange admiration that at first sickened him...this was the great Harry Potter, who Draco had been so set against worshipping like the rest of humanity. But being in close contact with him made Draco see it all differently. Of course, he'd never been able to confront all of that. Because it had all ended so quickly...

The day that Dumbledore died was the day that the war ended. By that time, Harry was already gone. The Dark Lord had thrown back his serpent-like head, and he had laughed. And the purge began. No supporter of Dumbledore and his beliefs was left to talk about it, and those who did were quickly thrown into Azkaban or worse. As for the Order of the Phoenix...

It sickened Draco to remember how helpless they had been without Harry and Dumbledore. Aurors had died in such masses that it was shocking to think that they were supposed to be the most powerful wizards available. Now there were six members of the Order left free, or alive. Six. Six, from the hundreds that had stood by their sides less than a year ago.

Draco was one of the six. Four of the others surrounded him as they huddled around the fire. They were not impressive looking, and many days he even wondered why they bothered to stick together. The obvious reason was that they were all fugitives, most of them presumed dead, and staying well hidden from the government of sorts that the Dark Lord was now ruling with.

Government. As if it could even be called that. From when he was a little boy, Draco had listened to his father talk about the day when the Malfoy’s would be allowed the prestige and respect that they deserved. Having merely influence over the Minister of Magic was not what his father meant...what Lucius was referring to, of course, was his place as first mate to the Dark Lord when Tom Riddle finally began his reign. Now, at twenty years old, Draco was able to understand what his father had meant by prestige and respect. As newly appointed Minister of Magic, Lucius Malfoy was not hesitating in... pushing his influence in places he had not been able to before. And as the Minister of Magic's traitor of a son, Draco had not hesitated in going deep into hiding. The roles of the two double agents had been revealed the day of the final battle, but only Draco had been able to escape. The old Potions Master was now rotting away in Azkaban, while Draco was a member of a secret organization plotting the downfall of the Dark Lord. Again.

Hogwarts had long been closed down. The Death Eaters had tried their best to get into it, to try and use it as another place where the Dark Lord could spread his powers. But Dumbledore had concealed it as well as he had concealed Harry...and they had not been able to get in at all. Consequently, they had not been able to find the members of the old Order, as the six of them were now residing in Hogwarts castle. It was a useful hideout...the house elves had remained, keeping the place quite livable. And places like the extensive library were more than a little helpful in the research they were working on.

He surveyed the room, his grey eyes looking at his companions without a trace of the contempt he would have felt during his time at Hogwarts. The war had beaten the animosity out of him. He was not a murderer. And it sickened him that it had taken nearly two years of killing to make him realize that.

A part of him was still disgusted at the simpering Gryffindor he had turned into. That part of him yearned for Crabbe and Goyle, even for a few moments, even to just have to order around for a little bit. But in the end, the other part always won out, and however begrudgingly, he felt thankful for the friendships he had come to cherish in the last few months. He did not regret his school years, at least not where Harry and his friends had been concerned. In his mind, the Weasel was as much of an idiot as he had always made him out to be, Granger was as insufferable, and Potter himself was a martyr continually out for a new lost cause to pull out of the mud. But now that they were grown up…it was a new story.

Ron and Hermione stayed wrapped underneath a blanket together. The redhead's hand was brushing gently on the cloth covering her shoulder, and she leaned her head into the crook of his neck. Draco had observed this particular romance for years, and had been surprised at his own relief when he had watched the two of them finally come to terms with it.

The other two members of the old Order in the room were far from a couple, of course. Draco felt a twinge of amusement at thinking of Professor McGonagall and Neville as such, and his eyes brushed over their respective figures. The aged woman, whom they now referred to as Minerva, lay curled up in cat form, her serene eyes gazing into the fire. And Longbottom, which Draco now called him without half as much condescension, sat quietly drinking from his hip flask.

He was surprised at their silence. The last few days had been much different in respect to the past ten months. In the last few days they had regained their hope, and it seemed as if they had finally found the purpose in staying together all of these months.

They had found Harry, of course.

Dumbledore hadn't made it easy. Draco suspected that Minerva was still sore about the whole thing, even after the old man had passed on at the hands of the Dark Lord. He had done it to protect Harry, but of all people, Dumbledore should have known that he was only committing the rest of the Wizarding world to an even longer war, one that was now extending into the Muggle world. Draco didn't want Harry to die, either. But he knew that what had to be done was inevitable. Dumbledore had only prolonged the people's suffering, in order for Harry to live.

But after months of strenuous, secret work, they had finally found him. In the end it had been Hedwig that had done it -- who else could find her owner, but the owl that had been Harry's for nearly ten years? She had been gone for so long, that they had thought she had too been killed. And when she finally returned, it had been quite a job to figure out what she had found. But Remus had gone down to the Forbidden Forest, and came back with an unmistakable smile on his face. It was Harry, alright.

Draco supposed that everyone was just quiet, because they were waiting. Not the same time of hopeless, desperate waiting, as before. Now it was impatient. Everybody in this room with Draco was perfectly anxious for Lupin to come back. He was the only one that was safe outside of the castle, and had now slipped into a double-agent role of his own. But with his new appearance, he was known at the Ministry of Magic as Ian Dalry. An "Irish immigrant" who came to Britain upon the victory of the Dark Lord, he was moving quite rapidly up the ladder at the Ministry, and was the Order's only real link to the outside world. And today he would be bringing home Harry.

Draco himself was worried about the consequences. After ten months, one could hardly blame him for being wary about bringing back the Golden Boy. With the addition of Harry, they would be seven. And the Dark Lord was much more powerful than he had been even at their graduation. He was running the Wizarding population of Britain, now, and according to Remus' information, he was gathering for the war on the Muggles. What could Harry do? The boy had been...well, he had been gone for a long time. And Draco had no idea what he had been doing, either.

A noise at the door made the five of them look up sharply. Draco noted the way that Neville instinctively reached for his wand, though his hand relaxed as Lupin's head, now covered with jet-black hair, poked in through the doorway.

Minerva transformed immediately, her expression tense as she looked at the werewolf. "Have you got him?"

"Oh, yes," he said, sounding almost amused. Draco watched with bated breath as Remus Lupin drew back his cloak, revealing a rather large, quivering owl. Through the glistening black feathers that covered the bird, Draco could see a faint marking of white down on the owl's forehead.

A lightning bolt.