Without Wand or Wire

Despite the decision to allow a replacement player, the impromptu Quidditch game ended in a tied stalemate when neither Seeker had caught the Snitch and both Captains (or rather, both their stomachs) decided dinner was, for the moment, more important than an impromptu game of their favorite sport. Besides, no one was really keen on the idea of Ginny loosing, but neither team would have felt right if the Scarlet Eagles threw the game, either. And it wasn't exactly easy to play when Buckbeak, Hedwig, Fawkes, and Pigwidgeon insisted on flying among the players.

The spectators headed off to the Great Hall, while the players went to the showers. Hermione accompanied Ginny and the other girl's to their locker room, feeling a little guilty for abandoning Viktor, but deciding she needed a little female advice on how to let him down, which Ginny and the others were only to happy to provide. How often did they get to inform Miss Hermione Granger of anything, after all?

The conversation in the boy's locker room was more subdued -- at least after everyone but Ron, Draco, and Harry had left (Neville having gotten into a deep discussion of herb use in regards to dragons with Charlie). The remaining boys had been on their way out when Draco had grabbed Ron's arm.

Ron had been about to snap at him -- old habits die hard, after all -- but managed to hold his tongue, thanks to the expression on Draco's face: Malfoy's eyes were downcast, his hand rubbing his neck uneasily as his cheeks grew pink. It was an oddly foreign gesture on the boy.

"Um. I just wanted to, er, thankyouforlettingmeplay," Draco finished in a rush. "Aaaand, ah, th-thank-you for giving me my wand back, Potter. I know that had to have been... well, I appreciate the gesture."

Harry nodded. When they'd asked Malfoy to play, Harry happened to look the tow-headed lad square in the eye, and found that the boy obviously had little-to-no experience in Occlumency -- all his grief, anger, and guilt was practically written on his forehead. Harry supposed there was a chance that the Malfoy heir was actually excellent at it and knew how to fake it, but Harry chose to believe him, to believe that Draco definitely hated Voldemort, and that the boy was ashamed now of his own past.

Ron's ears grew red, and he shifted his feet uncomfortably. "Urm ... yeah, no problem, 'ey? I mean .. 'Mione would say it's about time we listened to the stupid hat, anyway."

"Hat?" Harry and Draco asked in tandem.

Ron's ears were bordering on purple now. "Er, the Sorting Hat? Last year it said we needed to put our house differences aside and work together?"

Draco raised a brow. "Did it? I generally ignore the silly song it sings every year. I guess the hat's smarter than I gave it credit for."

"Not so very," Harry snorted. "It wanted to put me in your house." Harry hadn't really meant to blurt the statement out, but was surprised to find it didn't really bother him that he had. With the effort of squelching his emotions, it seemed he'd lost some of his inhibitions as well.

"Really??" Draco and Ron chorused then laughed.

Draco liked this, liked laughing without spite. Was this what it was like to be a Gryffindor? He wondered how different his life would have been if he'd been placed in that house. He knew the other houses were always saying how all the dark wizards had been from Slytherin -- it had even been a sort of point of pride to him. What a foolish child he had been -- and his father, even more so, for continuing to take pride in a dark heritage even as an adult. But ... if the Sorting Hat had wanted to put Potter in Slytherin, what did that mean? Did it mean that Potter had the potential to be a dark wizard too? He looked to Harry and found the same question, the same self-doubt looking back at him. That decided Draco.

"It's kind of too bad you didn't get put in Slytherin, Potter."

Ron began to bristle, sure that Malfoy was about to say something condescending about Gryffindors, or maybe even Weasleys in particular. He was only half wrong. ...

"The Weasleys didn't need to have you around in order to be good people, Potter," Draco pointed out. "But maybe with you as a positive influence, the other Slytherins and I might have had a fighting chance in escaping from under Voldemort's wing, 'ey? Maybe that's why the hat tried to put you in Slytherin."

Harry gave him a grim smile. "I dunno, you seem to have come around all right on your own."

Draco raised a bemused brow. "You think so? I blamed you for our feud, you know -- both of you."

"Us?" Ron asked, with an underlying note of We're Gryffindors, the good guys, and you're a Slytherin; how could we possibly have wronged you first?

Rather than bristling back, Draco only smiled, explaining patiently. "It was a matter of perceived slight, something a Malfoy doesn't take well. I offered my hand in friendship to you that first day, Potter, and you practically spat on me. And I was offended that you, Weasley, had laughed at my name. I was hurt that the most famous wizard of our time would extend his hand to a Weasley -- a traitor to the wizarding world, or so I had always been taught -- and yet look down on me. I hated you both for turning my world upside-down and making me feel like what I always imagined it must feel like to be ... well, to be anyone who wasn't a rich pureblood. But even if none of us had ever said a word against each other, we probably couldn't have been friends, could we? With you two as Muggle-loving Gryffindors and me a proud, pure-blooded Slytherin, I mean. So ... I guess I was always a little jealous of you two. I never had a friendship like yours. I know, I know, my own damn fault, and I tried to pin it on you. Anyway, I just wanted to say ..." he took a deep breath and closed his eyes, "I'm sorry."

If Ron hadn't already felt like the world had been turned upside-down that day, he did now. He looked at Harry. "I vote we tie him up and wait for the Polyjuice potion to wear off. There's no way this is Malfoy!"

Draco laughed, his tone self-deprecating. "Yeah, it's funny how seeing people you love die can change you."

Ron was instantly apologetic, but Draco waved him off.

"I guess it is a bit like having taken Polyjuice at that, but more permanent. I'm not even sure who I've turned into, but ... I think I like me a little better now than before, though, even if I'd also rather this whole summer had just turned out to be a bloody nightmare." He smiled sheepishly.

Draco looked up at Potter then -- and saw nothing looking back at him from behind those striking emerald eyes. Not approval or dislike. The emptiness nearly made him shiver. He almost said something nasty, just to see Potter react somehow. Is this what we have to look forward to? Draco wondered. Will witnessing death make the rest of us into walking corpses before this war is over?

"Well, if you're a new person, I'd say this calls for reintroductions, 'ey?" Ron took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, then stuck out his hand. "Ron Weasley."

Draco grinned and shook Ron's hand, trying not to wince as the other boy's wide palm and long fingers engulfed his own in a solid grip. "Draco ... just Draco." Ron raised a brow. "Let the Malfoy name end with Lucius. Maybe by the end of the war I'll have earned a new surname."

"I dunno -- Prince, Cher, Eminem, and Madonna do just fine without surnames," Harry quipped as he started to walk away.

"Who?" Draco and Ron asked as they followed.

Harry laughed, though it was a hollow sound. "They're Muggle singers."

"I don't think I qualify, then," Draco mused. "Although I'm sure they're nice enough people!" he added quickly.

Ron laughed, then remarked, "I thought M&Ms were candy!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Trust you to remember the name of a Muggle food."

"Speaking of which, let's stop in the kitchens, 'ey?" Ron suggested.

"Why?" Harry asked, tilting his head. "We're about to have dinner!"

"Because the others have already gotten a lead on us," Ron groused. "If we wait till we get to the Great Hall and have to fight our way through a crowd of adults that will stop us every few inches to chat, my brothers will have eaten everything by the time we reach the tables! Besides, I bet Dobby would be so happy to see us, he'll give us the choice bits!"

Draco stopped short. "Dobby? He's here?"

Harry's eyes widened. "That's right, he was your house-elf! Here now, Malf--er, Draco, don't get any ideas -- Dobby's free now!"

Draco cast his eyes to the floor. "I-I didn't mean it that way. Dobby was one of my father's personal elves anyway, not a general household elf. I just ... Father said he'd killed Dobby. I'm glad to hear he didn't. Oh!" He looked up, remembering, "Dobby is related to my old nanny-elf, Peaky! I sent her here with the rest of the house elves of the manor before I left! She's probably worried sick!"

Ron rubbed his hands together. "Well, all the more reason to go to the kitchens -- I'm sure someone there can help us find her, even if Dobby's not around. Let's get a move on already!"

"My Lord," Bellatrix's hoarse voice came through Voldemort's Glass, "it seems that Draco has ... murdered his mother, my sister. We ... we did not find him, though." She swallowed hard as she waited for her master to speak.

"You're certain of this?" he finally asked in sibilant tones. "Certain he killed her?"

"The paintings witnessed him covered in dirt and blood, and we found her ... buried. In the rose garden."

Voldemort was startled by the waver in her voice. He had not thought Bella capable of grief. He smiled, though she could not see his face. Bella was already easily his best weapon; grief might hone her edge. "My condolences, Bella. Do not worry about finding your nephew -- I believe I know how to lure him back to us. And when he returns, I will give him to you. For now, return to me."

Bella was so relieved that he wasn't angry, and so pleased by his promise to her, that she forgot all about the lies she'd learned of that day, Apparating to his side without hesitation.

When the three boys reached the fruit-bowl painting that marked the entrance to the kitchens, Ron solemnly turned to Draco. "Now what we're about to show you is top secret, so we must have your oath that you will never tell anyone about this before we let you in."

Draco raised a brow. "Tell anyone about what?" he asked as he reached forward and tickled the pear. The painting swung open.

Ron's eyes bugged. "Does everyone know about the bloody entrance?!"

"Pff! Pleeease, I hung out with Crabbe and Goyle! -- did you really think they wouldn't find a way in to the kitchens? Granted, I didn't come down here with them too often, but I made sure I knew how they did it!" Draco told them, gesturing for Ron and Harry to step through. He blinked and quickly wiped away the tear that came to his eye while their backs were turned. Maybe Crabbe and Goyle were never his mates the way Harry and Ron were friends to each other, but he'd grown up with them -- he couldn't help feel something for Crabbe's death. Someone should.

He was cut short from his musings by a high-pitched, squeaky, yet familiar voice.

"Harry Potter! And his Wheezy! Welcome back to Hogwarts! Dobby is so happy to know you is all righ--" Dobby's breath caught in his throat when he saw Draco. "Draco Malfoy! What is you doing with Harry Potter?!" Dobby asked, his tone and expression reminding Harry of when Dobby had faced Lucius on his behalf.

Draco opened his mouth, but couldn't think of an answer. Besides, hearing Dobby speak to him that way was a little shocking -- even if he felt the house elf had every right to.

"Dobby, relax. Draco's ... well, let's just say you don't have to worry about him, okay?"

Dobby looked at the towheaded boy, peering skeptically. "Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy is a sneaky wizard -- like his father!" Draco paled. "Dobby thinks he is tricking everyone!"

"Dobby, you trust Dumbledore, right?" Harry asked.

Dobby nodded hesitantly, not taking his eye from Draco.

"Well, Dumbledore trusts him, Dobby. Do you think Draco could fool Dumbledore?"

Dobby pursed his mouth, then shook his head no.

Harry smiled. He'd really under-appreciated logic before deciding to emulate a Vulcan.

"Master Malfoy!" came a cry from another door, as another house elf came into the kitchen. The elf ran to Draco and threw its arms around him, crying.

Ron and Harry marveled as Draco knelt and hugged the elf back.

"Bloody end of the world," Ron said under his breath, shaking his head. "What's next, Umbridge marrying a centaur?"

Harry grinned.

"Master Malfoy, you is all right! But ... where is Mistress Pansy?"

Draco's eyes glittered in the dimly-lit kitchen. Dammit, enough with the tears already! Crying won't bring anyone back. "We ... we don't know, Peaky," he finally managed.

Her lip trembling, Peaky hugged him. "You will find her, Master -- Peaky knows it! Mistress Pansy is a smart witch!"

Smiling with obvious effort, Draco nodded. "Peaky, please don't call me 'Master,' okay? Call me Draco."

She stared at him, and put a hand to her mouth, before shaking her head vigorously. "No, Peaky musn't! It would be improper!"

"Why, Peaky? Because my father said so? Because someone, way back when, decided that was how things should be? If I don't even know who they are, then I certainly don't care what they have to say, Peaky. I don't want to be anyone's master anymore -- I want to be your friend. Like Potter and Dobby are."

She sniffed, glancing disdainfully at her nephew. "Dobby brings shame to his kin," she said darkly. "A house elf lives to serve. Peaky is proud to serve Master Malfoy!"

Draco flinched. "Peaky, I just want you to be happy -- that's why I didn't give you clothes when you begged me not to. But the name Malfoy brings me pain, as does the idea of being called 'Master'. It shames me as much as being given clothes would shame you. Please," he pleaded, "don't call me 'Master' -- or 'Malfoy' -- anymore."

She bit her lip, considering. "Peaky will call Master by his first name, if Master orders it."

Draco sighed. "All right, Peaky, I order you to refer to me as 'Draco.'"

She nodded approvingly. Dobby didn't look pleased, though -- he still wasn't convinced of Draco's sincerity -- as he helped Peaky prepare plates for the three boys.

Only one of the long house tables remained in the Great hall. Half of it had been laden with food, some of it from Grimmauld Place, some brought by guests, and some provided by the house-elves. The next quarter was filled with gifts; Ginny was a little embarrassed by this until she saw that some of them presents actually had Ron, Hermione, and Harry's names on them as well. Then she thought it was all a bit morbid: did the adults think none of them would live to see another birthday? Was that why everyone was making such a big deal about her birthday this year?

As with the Yule Ball, save for the teachers' table at the front, the rest of the Hall was lined with smaller, round tables, with the center cleared for dancing. Lee and the twins had commandeered the space where Dumbledore's podium usually sat, having quickly Flooed back to their flat to fetch their stereo system, which was now set up on a small table, allowing them to play at being spin doctors. The boys cheered when their girlfriends, as well as Ginny and even Hermione, finally stepped into the center of the floor and began dancing. Fred made a smart remark about girls always taking so bloody long to get ready, and Angelina silenced him with a kiss over the turntable.

Arabella and Augusta had been keeping Petunia company at one of the smaller tables. As more and more wizards and witches came up to speak to them, Petunia was feeling distinctly more uncomfortable with each passing moment. Some of the surrounding guests would glance her way and whisper; every now and then she caught a word or three. Words like "husband," "Muggle," "was killed," "You-Know-Who," and "Harry Potter." Some eyes looked on her with pity, while others were condemning; she honestly didn't know which was worse.

Fae and Snape came to sit across from them, Snape's plate practically empty while Fae's was overflowing. Petunia was a little disgusted by Fae's table manners, but maintained a polite smile.

Fae eyed Snape's plate. "And now I know yer secret, the real reason yeh got into Potions."

He shot her a wary glance. "And what would that be?"

"Yer addicted to some sort of diet potion, aren't you? Or ye've developed some nutrition drink yeh can just swig once a day an' keep on workin' without stoppin'," she teased. "That's why, when yeh go to functions like this, where most people pig out--" she gestured towards her plate ''--yeh can just nibble at crackers 'n cheese like a mouse!"

He blushed. "I ... do have a potion I take regularly," he confessed. "But to be honest, I have a delicate palate. Most of the food up there would make me ill."

Fae blinked in surprise. "But ... yeh could just make a potion to combat that!"

He pushed a cracker around on his plate, scowling slightly -- not in anger, Fae realised, but in embarrassment.

It was then Fae realised the truth of it. She knew that his father had squandered the Snape family funds; it was likely Snape had gone hungry many times as a child, and his sparse eating habits had carried into adulthood. The potion gave him the nutrition he needed without hurting his shrunken stomach. Of course, he could make a potion that would allow him to eat in a more normal fashion, but he was probably unconsciously punishing himself. Tears stung her eyes; she wished she hadn't said anything. They passed the rest of the meal in relative silence, save for polite greetings to those who came to stop by their table.

Years of Slytherin composure served Pansy well. She only wished her parents could see her as she endured Voldemort's fingers on her skin; she knew they would be proud of her acting skills.

When Voldemort had arrived at Pettigrew's hidey-hole with three other Death Eaters, she had feigned relief at his appearance, praying that he couldn't smell her fear with the strange slits he had for a nose. Voldemort had come just in time to find Pettigrew hovering over the girl, suggesting that she might find other ways to be useful if Draco didn't take the bait. Voldemort had then used the Cruciatus Curse on Pettigrew, reminding the small man that if anyone was going to enjoy Miss Parkinson's affections, it was her lord and master.

One of his companions had squealed in delight and pranced over to her -- a woman. Bellatrix Lestrange, most likely. Voldemort asked the woman if she had not heard what he'd just told Pettigrew, adding that Malfoy would be hers to play with as she liked soon enough. Pansy managed not to whimper.

Voldemort proceeded to order his followers about in a complicated spell, one that cause the tree to enlarge far more than Wormtail had done, making the walls smooth and neat, with lamps. She squinted against the sudden brightness -- well, not really bright, it was dim, but still lit better than by just Lumos. Pansy also had the vague impression that the surface they were on was they were rising into the air. The Muggle was still out cold nearby, oblivious to the wonders that happened around -- and under -- him.

"Don't mind us," Voldemort said conversationally, sitting beside her. "Just doing a bit of housekeeping. Trees make excellent towers, did you know? And towers make excellent places for keeping things. Rapunzel's tower, the towers at the Tower of London. ... Oh, but I'm rambling." He smiled.

She smiled back, doing her best to let only the appropriate level of uneasiness show.

Oh yes, she was a brilliant actress.

She even leaned into the monster's touch as he caressed her cheek, closing her eyes in seeming pleasure. "I live to serve, my lord," she murmured.

"I must apologise for not having gotten here sooner. Really, it was appalling manners on my part, leaving you in Wormtail's hands for so long, and in such applaing conditions."

"I am yours to do with as you please, my lord ... and I look forward to being able to do more for you, once my hands are free," she added with a suggestive purr. Yes, she would do even that, if she had to, if it meant staying alive and getting back to Draco.

Voldemort chuckled. Pettigrew, somewhere in the dark, out of the reach of the lamps, whimpered.

"Oh, you shall have the opportunity to prove your loyalty momentarily, my dear," he began, his strange features unable to reflect the bemusement she heard in his voice, "although your hands will likely stay tied. You won't even have to do anything but lie sssstill," Voldemort hissed softly in her ear.

Draco shivered with a sudden chill, uncertain of its origin. He suddenly felt very nauseated, but he didn't think it was the food that was the problem. This felt more like ... dread, tinged with despair.

"Someone just walk over your grave?" Harry asked him.

"What?" Ron and Draco chorused.

"Sorry, Muggle expression," Harry explained, popping the last morsel from his plate into his mouth as if there wasn't anything at all morbid about what he'd just said. "So, should we head upstairs and watch Ginny open her presents?"

Draco stared at his own half-eaten plate with a frown.

"Why the long face, Mal--Draco?" Ron asked. "You can take the food up with you. ..." he pointed out with a bemused smile.

"It's not that," Draco replied, shaking his head. "It's just ... well, it's really rude to go to a birthday party without a gift for the guest of honor." He bit his lip, cheeks faintly crimson. It was true that he was embarrassed about it, but it wasn't the present or the lack of food that was really bothering him. Since he couldn't pinpoint what was bothering him, he figured it was best not to say anything.

Ron laughed, believing the evasion. "Like you'd had time -- or reason -- to shop! No one's going to care, least of all my sister! Honestly, Draco, you reprimanded your house-elf for cleaving to silly etiquette ..."

Draco glared at Ron. "You wouldn't know manners if the etiquette fairy bit you in the arse! Look at you! Do you need a sodding bib?" He gestured to the crumbs that littered the front of Ron's shirt.

Harry began laughing before Ron could come up with a retort. "Hermione's been asking him that for years," Harry remarked, then snickered some more.

It was so good to hear Harry laugh that Ron couldn't help joining in -- although perhaps his own laughter was born less of humor and more of relief. "Yeah, yeah," he replied, throwing his napkin at Harry.

Draco felt his own annoyance at the Weasley boy drain away, leaving an unfamiliar feeling in its wake, something regarding both of his strange new companions. Draco had never really experienced comeraderie before, despite his years with Crabbe and Goyle, and therefore had no name for it.

Their mirth subsided, Harry rose from his seat, and Ron moved to follow. They stopped a few feet from the table, when they realised Draco hadn't even risen.

"Here now, your serious, aren't you?" Ron asked, baffled. "And where precisely do you expect to get a present?"

Draco crossed his arms, pouting a little. "I don't expect to find one somewhere. The shops at Hogsmeade are likely closed by now. So I'll just finish my dinner here, thanks, and then head down to the dungeons or something."

Something about his words tugged at Ron. "Hey, wait!" he said suddenly. "That's it! The Room of Requirement! All he has to do is think about finding a present for Ginny, and he will!"

Harry nodded, thoughtful.

"Er, that's that room where you lot had that ... club-thingy?" Draco asked, embarrassed. He'd played a part in their getting caught violating Umbridge's decree forbidding unauthorised organizations, after all, which in turn had led to Dumbledore's temporary removal as headmaster.

Harry nodded absently. Like with Ron, his companions' words were making the gears in his head turn.

"So ... what do you think she would like?" Draco asked.

"Oh, you don't even have to be that specific!" Ron told him, grinning. "That's the great thing about the Room of Requirement! Just think 'I need a nice present for Ginny Weasley,' and the Room will give you what would best suit your nee--"

"That's it!" Harry exclaimed, grabbing Draco and pulling him to his feet. "Come on, you two! I need you to help me with this!"

Ron didn't protest or ask questions as Harry bolted out of the kitchens and set out down the hall; anything that could get Harry this stirred up was fine by him.

"Have either of you seen Harry?" Petunia asked Fae and Snape shyly, after a while of working up the nerve. She hadn't forgotten how Snape had reacted when he'd thought she had abused her nephew.

Snape jerked his eyes up to her in surprise, then scanned the room. "I don't see Draco, either," he remarked, mostly to himself.

Fae scanned the crowd as well. "And I dinnae see Ron, but all his brothers are here," she observed. "Yeh ... yeh dinnae think they've gotten into a scuffle, do yeh?"

Snape snorted. "With Potter involved, I'm sure of it." He immediately felt guilty for the implication -- he knew now that it was Draco who generally started things. Hell, he supposed he'd always known that. ...

"Maybe we should go look fer 'em," Fae suggested, unconsciously laying her hand on his.

He rose, drawing her to her feet. "Let's ask Granger and the youngest Weasley," he suggested, holding her hand and drawing more than a few curious glances.

Petunia excused herself from Arabella and Augusta, following Snape and Fae to the dance floor.

"Miss Weasley, Miss Granger, a word?" Snape asked, tapping Ginny on the shoulder and making her squeak in surprise.

"Er ... sure, professor," Hermione replied, trading a nervous glance with Ginny.

"Oh for pity's sake, I'm not going to punish you for something!" he snapped. "Unless you think you need punishing? ..." he added with a sneer.

Fae, standing slightly behind him, rolled her eyes and gave the girls an encouraging smile.

Both girls shook their heads at Snape, their heads bowed and lips pressed together to keep from grinning in response to Fae.

The three boys halted when they reached the blank stretch of wall where the Room of requirement was usually found.

"Now what?" asked Ron.

"Now I need you both to think 'Give us what we need to defeat Voldemort.'"

Ron and Draco both flinched.

Then, "That's ... that's so crazy, it just might work!" Ron laughed.

"Let's hope so. Oh, and don't try to think of something specific," Harry warned. "We want the room to give us the best possible solution, not what we think would be best. Just think those words, over and over, as we walk past the bit of wall here three times." That last was for Draco's benefit, who had never summoned the "Come and Go" room before. Harry, of course, would not recite those words in his own head, lest Voldemort hear him, but he walked with the other two boys, as if he were. He smiled faintly when he noticed Ron's lips moving as he walked.

And then the door appeared. Harry opened it and stepped in, Ron following, then Draco. Ron's stomach sank when he realised the room was full of armor.

So much for avoiding the need for a "battle."

That wasn't all the room contained, though. On the floor were a number of strange items -- including an acoustic guitar, the edges of it lined in strange gold markings that resembled tally marks.

"Wicked!" Ron excalimed, taking the instrument up and testing the strings. "And perfectly in tune, too!"

Music started to play -- but it wasn't coming from Ron. The boys looked about, confused, before finding a wireless -- the same wireless that Hermione had given Mr. Weasley, and Ginny had been playing during the picnic by the lake.

Ron found his hands moving to the strings of the guitar. He had never heard the song before, but found the words pouring from his lips -- and it felt as natural as breathing.

"Where is the moment we needed the most?
You kick up the leaves and the magic is lost
They tell me your blue skies fade to grey
They tell me your passion's gone away
And I don't need no carryin' on ..."

Harry, who had been eyeing a dagger that he'd found, looked up at the words, his eyes stinging, the words cutting him to the quick just as well as the blade could have, if in a different way. He wondered for a moment what part the wireless and the guitar could possibly play in Voldemort's defeat, before finally trying to ignore the song as he surveyed the contents of the room.

He found a wand box, one from Mr. Ollivander's shop. He opened it, but the box was empty. Puzzled, he glanced at the tag that described the intended contents.

Eleven inches
Holly
Phoenix feather
Supple

Why was his wand's box here?

Movement a few feet away drew his attention. Draco was patting at his back pocket, looking flustered.

"What's wrong, Malf--er, Draco?" Harry didn't think he was ever going to get used to that.

Draco was staring at his wand now. "You gave this back to me, didn't you, Potter?"

Harry raised a brow. "Harry. And I think so -- I mean, you are holding it. ..."

Draco nodded. "So ... how did it end up in here?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I had it in my back pocket, and now I've found it here, on the floor!"

"Maybe it fell out of your pocket?"

"I spotted it on the floor before I'd ever even stepped over here!" Draco protested.

Harry shrugged. "Maybe it's the Room letting us know that your wand is important to our victory somehow?" Did that mean his own wand should be stored away? That made a certain amount of sense, seeing as his wand couldn't work against Voldemort's anyway. ...

A glint of gold caught his eye, banishing the thought; for a moment he thought it was a Snitch. But while the form had wings, it wasn't a piece of Quidditch equipment. It was a necklace, with a pendant that was identical to the one he'd bought Ginny. His hand went to his pocket; it was empty, save for the cloth that the pendant had been wrapped in. He went to pick the necklace up, and noticed another glint of gold, lying next to it. A matching ring. His mother's ring -- he was sure of it, as sure as he was that the pendant was indeed the one he'd found in Belle's shop, the one that had been in his pocket just a minute or two ago. Gingerly, he wrapped both items in the cloth, then put the cloth back in his pocket, deciding then and there that they would be his own present to Ginny. The objects felt warm in his pocket, even through the wrapping. He didn't let himself acknowledge what that might mean.

The music forced its way into his awareness again. There was something melancholy and yet simultaneously hopeful about it. It made him want to weep, but he couldn't say if the tears would be sad or joyful. Either way was a bad thing.

"Cause you had a bad day
You're takin' one down
You sing a sad song, just to turn it around
You say you don't know
You tell me don't lie
You work at a smile and you go for a ride
You had a bad day
You've seen what you like
And how does it feel, for one more time?
You had a bad day
You had a bad day ..."

And the song faded.

"Di... didn't know you could play or sing, Weasley," Draco remarked, his throat choked with emotion. Despite his best effort to remain stoic, a tear spilled from his eye. "Y--" he cleared his throat "--you're very good."

"Thanks," Ron replied, suddenly very self-conscious. The wireless had stopped playing; he set down the guitar. He glanced at it fondly a moment. His guitar. No more borrowing Bill's. ... "Er, you can call me Ron, if you want, Draco."

Draco smiled, nodding. They both went back to surveying the contents of the room.

Ron was examining the armor when Draco pulled a white sheet free from large object to one side.

Ron jumped when he caught sight of other figures out of the corner of his eye. He sighed in relief when he realised it was just his reflection. Then, when he realised what it wa he was looking at, he asked skeptically, "How could the Mirror of Erised help?"

"The what?" Draco asked.

"Um, Ron," Harry interrupted. "Thaaat's not the Mirror of Erised -- this is." He gestured with a thumb to his own discovery on the opposite side of the room; it was an identical mirror, save for the words written on the frame, which started with Erised.

Ron scowled, and took a closer look at the mirror Draco discovered. Raef tsomu oyta hwt ube cafru oyt on wohsi, it read across the top. He took a step back. "Raef ... I don't think I like the sound of that. ..."

Draco had walked over to the other mirror, the one behind Harry. There was something about this situation that bothered him, but he couldn't tell precisely what it was. "So what's this one for, since you seem to know it?"

"It reflects your heart's deepest desire," Harry replied with a shrug, as if that were nothing special at all.

"It does?" Draco asked, intrigued, but a little afraid to look. He looked towards the other mirror. "So that would mean--"

"--that this mirror shows your worst fears," Ron finished, thumbing to the Mirror of Raef while being careful not to look into it. I've had quite enough of frightful imagery for one day, thanks. ...

"How do you know that?" Harry asked. "It could be a mirror for reflecting spells or showing us Voldemort's whereabouts!"

Ron winced at the sound of the Dark Lord's name, then raised brow. "Harry, don't tell me you never noticed ..."

Draco gave Harry an odd look as well. "I should think it would be obvious! Or maybe you're kidding? I guess I don't get Gryffindor humor. ..."

Harry was getting annoyed now. "Would you two stop speaking in code? What exactly is it that I'm missing?"

Ron obliged. "You honestly mean to tell us you never noticed that Erised was 'desire' spelled backwards? That the inscription actually reads 'I show not your face but your heart's desire'?"

Harry looked thunderstruck. Since the letters that made up the words were not drawn backwards, it had honestly never occured to him that the words themselves might be spelled backwards.

"And this one reads 'I show not your face but what you most fear'," Draco finished, trying hard not to smirk (and failing spectacularly).

Ron wasn't doing much better. "Wait till I tell Hermione," he said to Draco. "She can call him 'thick' for once!"

Draco barked a laugh.

"Hah-hah-bloody-hah," Harry replied dryly, half scowling.

"So ... what do you two see when you look into Erised?" Draco asked after catching his breathe. He wouldn't look himself, afraid that he had no hope for anything left in his heart. He didn't want to confirm his suspicion by looking into the glass and finding nothing there.

There was such earnestness in his eyes, Harry decided it wouldn't hurt anything to answer -- he didn't think this Draco would try to use the information against him. "I see my relatives -- all of the people I never really knew. They'd all died before I was born -- except for my parents, of course." And Petunia. And the Weasleys -- they were his family now, too. He forced the thought from his mind. No, he wouldn't look into the mirror to see if the vision had changed, wouldn't risk giving the enemy any more artillery. ...

Draco felt a pang of pity for Harry, though Harry himself didn't seem terribly bothered. "What about you, Weas--er, Ron?" Draco asked, vaguely unsettled by how blasé Harry was being.

Ron's ears turned that lovely shade of purple again, the colour that made it look as though he'd been consuming something his brothers had invented. "Urm, nothing special. ..."

"Oh ... I'm sorry, I guess that was kind of a personal question!" Draco himself turned an interesting shade of pink that Dean Thomas would probably have called "salmon".

"Er, no, I guess it's not that big a deal ... I saw myself as Head Boy and Quidditch Captain."

Draco blinked in surprise. "That's all? Not Minister of Magic or something?"

Ron shrugged. "Well, I was only eleven when I looked in the mirror before. ...See, each of my brothers have had something they've done during their school years that made my parents proud. Percy and Bill have both been Head Boy, Charlie was Quidditch Captain," Ron explained, eyes downcast. "Well, okay, Fred and George never did anything, but being twins and great pranksters certainly made them stand out at school, and got them attention from our parents! To them, I think even negative attention is better than none. And now they've turned their jokes into a successful business -- before they'd even finished school, no less! But ... well, there's not really any one thing I thought I could do that could make me stand out among my brothers, much less show them I'm not a squib or something. But if I could match more than one brother? ..." He shrugged and glanced at Draco, expecting to find the familar smirk.

Instead, Draco wore a pained expression. "You really have no idea how lucky you are, do you Weasley? You don't need to prove yourself to your parents! They'd love you even if you swore off magic forever and devoted your life to being a--a ... help me out here, Harry!"

"Urm ... a mime?"

"Yes, a mi--wait, what the hell is a mime?"

Ron looked baffled as well.

Draco went on, waving the question off; it wasn't important. "Well, the point is they love you, all right? No matter what!"

Ron bit his lip, thoughful. "I guess I never really thought about it, in any case. I mean, the mirror shows your deepest desires, right? Seems to me that means it's an unconscious thing, that logic never enters the picture. Besides, just because I want to make my parents proud doesn't mean I don't know that they love me! I think it's more about my own insecurities. I want to be something more, something they can be proud off, for my sake. Doesn't everybody?"

Draco opened his mouth, then closed it, thoughtful. "Yeah, I guess I see what you mean. Whether my parents really loved me or not doesn't change the fact that I've never felt like I was 'good enough' for the family name."

"Wow, imagine that. We actually have something in common!" Ron quipped.

"Oh dear Merlin, kill me now!" Draco teased, grinning.

"Be careful what you wish for!" Ron warned playfully, grabbing the smaller boy in a headlock and giving him a noogie. Things quickly degenerated into a round of typical locker-room horseplay; even Harry was roped into it when the other two boys ganged up on him.

Boyish shennanigans were brought to an abrupt halt, though, when Draco heard a meloncholy song sung by a familar voice, then caught sight of an image in the Mirror of Erised.

"Pansy!" he gasped.