“Darkness is beautiful. It is an escape from everything real. It is joy. But I’ve never seen darkness before. I’ve never seen that escape, there has always just been pain.”

-Harry Potter

Draco Malfoy stumbled into the Great Hall. He was shaking, cold, nauseous, and weak. His eyes were bloodshot, his throat was raw. His house was suffering from an outbreak of a violent stomach virus, and, as Slytherins, refused to admit it. Most of the house looked as he did. He had lost everything he had eaten in the past few days, and could barely sleep for his choking cough.If the illness had not been so pervasive in the Slytherins, perhaps one of his housemates would have noticed that he was sick for another reason.

Yes, he was vomiting and coughing, but it was not from a trifling virus.

It was Monday morning and for the last thirty-six hours he had been part of the team assigned to speak with Harry Potter and Remus Lupin. What they had done would leave horrifying physical scars, but not even the Death Eaters who had been ordered to break into Harry’s mind could explain why he would not wake. Speculation abounded, research was rapidly compiled and all of it ended in the same bleak confusion.

As near as Draco could tell from the snippets of conversation overheard in meetings, Harry had been asleep since he had vanished. It was more than enough time to kill him either from dehydration or from exposure, but somehow he looked as he had before his disappearance. It had been decided that there was a spell helping him to live.

But that spell prevented the Death Eaters from having any fun with their newest toy. Lupin would scream and weep, beg for them to stop the agony, but the lack of reaction from the teen aggravated the torturers. Their annoyance had turned to violent outburst after a few hours, and Harry had to be healed several times to prolong their fun.

Finally, as dawn began to break, their Lord had entered the cell and sent them to their other lives.

The Death Eater’s scattered to their various facades, those who were fugitives slipped into the shadows of the lair, awaiting further orders; the spies vanished; Draco and Ginny portkeyed into the Slytherin dormitories.

They had spent several hours hiding the circles under their eyes, and cleaning their robes of blood and filth, but were finally able to separate.

Draco had taken too many potions to risk adding an energy draught—the conflict of which could kill him—so he had to trudge through his day naturally.

Hence his stumbling entrance.

He fell into his seat beside a group of first-years. After fighting so many battles, leading so many, and ordering his housemates or their parents to their possible deaths, Draco could barely meet their eyes. The first years worshipped the ground he walked on, obeyed him, and never spoke to him; it allowed him time to rest and think.

Sitting at the long table, he gazed across the great hall, and noticed an oddity of life. The seat which Harry had always favored was empty. It only made his absence more evident.

A shudder ran up his spine, the result of a cold brush of wind. He saw Severus take his seat at the table and saw a slight nod of acknowledgement. Draco breathed deeply, marginally more relaxed, Severus would be able to help, after breakfast, when no one would notice, he would be able to speak to his mentor and they would find a way. There was still hope.

He began to cough again, hating the horrendous ripping feeling. When the cough subsided he waited a few moments with closed eyes, restraining his emotions.

Then, a scream pierced the air.

It was Ginny.

Draco was over the table, through the first-years, and ready to defend her before he remembered that they could not reveal their connection. He stopped, and found he was standing at the center of the hall, and that a man was lying at his feet.

The portkey that had transported him self-destructed, and Draco sensed Ginny’s magic.

In his mind, Draco had already fallen beside the blood-soaked body and begun to help Remus Lupin find health and comfort. Many of the wounds were borne of his hand, and he knew better than anyone how to heal them. He knew that the werewolf was alive.

He had an obligation to help.

Instead he turned to Dumbledore and announced in a rasp, “It seems that your pet wolf has come back for a visit. I do wonder how the Ministry would look upon a school harboring such a dangerous beast.”

“That is more than enough Mr. Malfoy.” McGonagall snapped. “Fifty points from Slytherin.”

“Minerva, I’m surprised.” Severus said calmly, “I would have expected you to take care of your student before attacking one of mine.” McGonagall shut her mouth quickly and swiftly exited with Lupin. Severus turned from the sight slowly. “My office, now, Mr. Malfoy.”

Severus’ office door flung open and Draco saw his professor. “I’ll need to know everything that was done to him, Draco. The Dark Lord would not allow me near them, I’ve been brewing for the past few days, so I know nothing of his treatment.”Draco listed every act he had committed against the former Defense professor, and then asked, “Did I kill him?”

Severus had already begun to leave, but stopped at the door and answered without turning back.

“You may have.”

Hermione and Ron landed at the bottom of the passage. They stood silently, waiting for Neville. With a gesture they began to jog the dark path, following the light of Hermione’s wand. Two of the trio were plagued by horrible memories of pain and fear. Thoughts of Severus and Lupin were whipping around them. Three days had passed since the return of Remus Lupin, and the tortures he had undergone were enough to convince the world that he was innocent—or, as innocent as a werewolf could be. It was more than that we was on the brink of death, it was the magical signature they had found associated with them.Harry James Potter had tried to kill his parents last surviving friend.

The world was used to these constant reminders of how deep Harry’s betrayal ran, but was shocked to discover that a condemned traitor was innocent. Now they all waited to see if he would live, and be able to tell his tale.

For this, the new Golden Trio of Gryffindor house was trying to find Potter’s belongings. Having already thoroughly searched the Chamber of Secrets and the Room of Requirement, they were now headed to the Shrieking Shack.

If they found his books, his weapons, his potions, or, best of all, him, they would not only be able to save Lupin, but also end the world’s nightmare.

Finally, they found themselves in that haunting place. It had changed.

Without a werewolf to destroy it once a month, it had been renovated, refurnished, repaired and heated. Most important to the trio, in the corner was a small trunk, they all recognized as Potter’s. An hour later they were seated in the Common Room, breaking into it.

At Dawn they finally broke the smallest lock, and opened the trunk to find a sword that Ron instantly recognized. Godric’s sword gleamed at them, enticing them to take it. Hermione moved first, but Ron batted her hand away. “You don’t know if it’s dangerous.” He reached into the trunk, and as his hand touched it, he was flung back, and a gash had opened where the hilt had brushed his palm. “Hermione get it out of there.”

She nodded and cast a levitating charm.

The two boys thought she had found an apt solution.

Instead they flung themselves to the ground as it shot out of control and stuck itself firmly into the tower door.

For a few seconds no one moved.

Then the scream of the Fat Lady woke nearly the entire school.

Harry thought he had suffered in every way the world could contrive. He had never considered being trapped in his own body, assailed by a thousand pains, and unable to respond. Inside his mind he was screaming, weeping, sobbing, begging. He had awoken in this state, in this place, unseeing but cognizant of his location. He could sense Voldemort there with him, and though the blocks in his mind were still strong, his own fears were enough to weaken him.He recognized Draco, and heard Lupin’s screams. He could only wait and suffer as the Death Eaters tortured him with spells and blades and poisons.

He knew when Lupin was taken away.

He knew when Voldemort entered alone.

And more than anything he knew when his private hell began.

Draco sat in the hall across from the portrait of the Fat Lady in the wee hours of the morning next to Oliver Wood.They had been there for hours, hidden under an invisibility cloak, baffled.

The Fat Lady was still crying, with the blade of a sword dividing her ample bosom. It pinned her there. So while she could continue in her task, she could not leave.

The pair was more disturbing than ever as they discussed the situation. Draco looked like a corpse. Oliver looked slightly worse. Their voices were raspy and painful. They could not take more potions for fear of dying, and they desperately needed to know what this sword meant.

“Draco, if I ask her, explain, maybe she’ll open the door.”

“She’s been ordered to safeguard that tower.”

“But we could try.”

“And she could raise the alarm.”

“Yes, or she could let us in.”

“You’ve heard the rumors, Oliver, it shot across the room and imbedded itself in two feet of stone.”

“And it was found in Harry’s things.”

“Yes.”

“Well, we can’t get to Harry’s things now. We can’t get to Harry, and we don’t know where he is. Maybe if we—”

“Get ourselves flung across the room and or skewered with what appears to be an ancient blade, we’ll help Harry Potter? Unlikely.”

“I remember rumors when he was a second year that he found Godric Gryffindor’s sword. It couldn’t be this one, could it, Draco?”

“If it was don’t you think it would be more likely to attack a Slytherin Death Eater and a Fugitive than it would the Gryffindor heroes?”

“No.”

“And why is that Oliver?”

“Because if it is Harry’s, it is probably loyal to Harry, not Gryffindor house.”

“And if that’s true, we could touch it.”

“Yes.”

As they uncovered themselves from the shared cloak, they stunned the Fat Lady, and Draco announced in a whisper, “We think we know how to remove that, but you have to let us in, and you have to stay quiet while we do. If you agree, open the door.”

Nothing happened.

Oliver took over by shoving Draco out of the way. “Lady, I know you remember me. You know I was a Gryffindor. You know I won’t let him do anything, and you know you can trust me. You do want that out, don’t you?”

There was a moment’s pause, and the door creaked open.

A small smile opened on Draco’s face, for the first time in months, something had happened as he wanted.

“Do you want to be flung across the room, or should I, Oliver?”

“You, I need to release the Fat Lady.”

They stepped to opposite sides of the portrait, a spell was released, a hand was raised, and Draco withdrew the blade without any effort or pain.

Except for the Fat Lady.

Her scream once more echoed the halls and the pair moaned before slipping into the cloak and running for Severus’ office.

An avalanche of steel.

A storm of attacks.

A blast of strength.

A clawing of minds.

It seemed that Voldemort had used every weapon in his arsenal to break the shields that safeguarded Harry’s mind.

Somehow, Harry was still safe. Nearly every one of his victims was in his mind, just outside the shields. Everyone he had killed, and caused the death of, was haunting him.

He still could not move. There had to be some spell holding him like this, maintaining him, but he did not know what it was.

The visage of his parents hovered in his eyes, only replaced with Severus when he was about to break. It seemed that the pain would never end. That he would never get to open his eyes, move, defend himself, cry. There was no hope.

After a lifetime of this, he felt Voldemort leave with a final Crucio. He whispered one last thing as he exited. “An old friend is here to see you, Potter.”

For a few moments he could think of no one fit to follow what Voldemort had just put him through. There was no one would could cause more pain. No one alive at least.

He waited, whimpering silently, mentally praying for mercy and death.

As he did he became aware of his wounds, wondering which would be healed, and which would be allowed to fester. He knew there were several scars across his right cheek, that his back was laced with the marks of a thin blade. One of his ankles was marked by Fenrir’s claws, and an idle part of Harry’s mind pondered whether he would soon be doubly cursed. None of his pain could be ended, but it forced his mind to stay in touch with the world, even if it was only enough to keep the shields in place.

At last, introduced by the soft clicking of heels on stone, a woman entered the room. He could not recognize her at first. Not until she spoke.

“Ooh, Harry, you do look poor. Maybe you’d like a cup of tea?”

Bellatrix Lestrange, the woman he though he had killed, laughed sadistically, and unleashed a torrent of curses on him.

Harry felt the first touch of her mental hand against his mind. He felt a wall collapse. He felt something reveal itself.

And, finally, blessedly, Harry Potter remembered.