A/N: I busted this chapter up into two parts, hence the dual posts. It was far too long to read in one gulp, I think... Here goes. ~Ruth7019

Disclaimer: JK Rowling's characters.

Dumbledore's Office, Hogwarts, May 1997 (05)

While dining in the Great Hall one evening, the left side of Harry's face itched with the feeling of being watched. At the High Table, Snape and Dumbledore sat with their heads close together, black and blue eyes on him. Harry-fork overflowing with roasted potatoes, green beans, and a bit of lamb-hitched his eyebrows in a question at them.

"Harry, if you have a moment after dinner I would appreciate a word with you in my office, please."

Harry detested having his mind invaded by Legilimency without fair warning, but he responded anyway: "Of course, Headmaster. Anything wrong?"

"No, my boy. The password is acid pops."

Harry nodded, curious what Dumbledore had to say-though if it was something to do with Snape, the old wizard could divulge nothing that would surprise Harry. He and Snape had talked long into the night after that first dinner. Determined to crush any hint of deception between them, Snape had avowed to be upfront about anything Harry might have a question about; Harry believed that had he asked, Snape would have detailed every grisly bit of his time as a Death Eater to prove it.

He braced himself anyway. Dumbledore had a wicked depth of knowledge about everyone and everything. It was entirely possible he had some little known tidbit about Snape up his sleeve.

*WO

"Ah, Harry, thank you for coming." The old wizard motioned for the boy to take a seat. "I must say, it gladdens me that you and Severus have resolved your differences."

"Yes, sir."

"I hope you now understand why I did not share what he and I discussed in that meeting last August, why I thought he should be the one to tell you."

"...Yes."

"You should know that in that meeting he informed me that I tend to both underestimate and overestimate you. I took great exception to it then, but have since realized that he was quite right. As such, I wish to avoid another costly mistake, either way."

Harry shifted, unsure of where Dumbledore was headed.

"History has shown us that in troubling times it is always tempting to hitch one's hopes and fears onto someone perceived as more potent," Dumbledore said. "Such behavior is hardly unusual-especially when something as extraordinary as what happened at Godric's Hollow occurs. It is why many in the wizarding world still cling to you as our salvation... Harry, it is why Severus continues to insert himself into perilous situations."

Harry gripped the arms of his chair. "Then why can't you stop him leaving the castle?"

"I have tried... as you know." Dumbledore eyed Harry shrewdly, but the boy felt not a tinge of guilt for having overheard that conversation; if he hadn't, he and Snape might never have reconciled. "You also know that Severus would rather die than put you and young Mr. Malfoy at risk."

"He's so bloody stubborn!"

Dumbledore smiled. "As he has always been. I rather expect that will not change simply because we wish it to. ...You two are extraordinarily alike in that sense."

That was nothing new. Aberforth had said as much all those months ago when Dumbledore had summoned Snape to the castle-when the old wizard had sought to sever the bond between Harry and Snape. That prickly remembrance brought a question to the boy's mind.

"Sir? Why did you go to the Ministry with the professor instead of Aberforth?"

"Ah, well, my brother and I had a talk. He called me out as a 'doddering old fool'-to put it mildly, then demanded I make things right with Severus. I have not always been so accommodating of Aberforth's wishes... Nevertheless, I did as he asked."

"Thank you," Harry said quietly, surprised when a light flush tinted Dumbledore's cheeks.

"Oh, not at all, my dear boy, not at all. You know, you are among a handful of people Severus has loved. It took a great deal of convincing before he allowed me to go, but it was my honor to sign my name on that parchment."

Harry's lips tightened against his teeth as he envisioned that golden sheet in flames on the floor of Snape's sitting room.

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed gently. "Harry, you know that you do not need a piece of parchment to prove that you are Severus's son."

Harry jerked his head in nod. "Yes, sir."

"Excellent. Well, I have just one other thing." Dumbledore tented his hands beneath his woolly chin. "You and young Mr. Malfoy, you share a deep love for Severus. It binds you despite your rather indifferent feelings for one another."

"We get on all right," Harry said in defense of himself. And Malfoy.

"Yes, but 'getting on all right' is hardly sufficient for what lies ahead. Time is short. Voldemort has plans to make inroads on the school."

Harry shot forward in his chair. "When?"

"Well, as there would be little point to attacking the castle when it stands empty of students, all signs point to rather sooner than later."

"That's why you kicked up the number of drills and defense sessions."

"Yes."

The first day back after the Christmas holiday, Dumbledore had set up evacuation and battle drills to be carried out twice a week; three weeks ago, they became a daily event. With the Great Hall serving as the practice room, after dinner, each Head of House, aided by seventh and sixth-years, trained the younger forms in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Though no one had felt obliged to point out the weak links in the flow of information, most breathed sighs of relief when Dumbledore implemented the Sneak Jinx Hermione had used to ferret out betrayers in Dumbledore's Army last term.

There were also signs Dumbledore had beefed up security. Hermione had pointed out as much when Bill stayed for dinner one evening weeks ago. Ron had pooh-poohed her, certain his brother wouldn't keep something like that from him and Ginny. However, when a succession of guests began to appear at subsequent meals, and Moody took to sitting in on various training sessions, unnerving the younger students with that spinning blue eye of his, Ron changed his tune.

"Lots of people from the Order been popping in and out of the castle," Harry said.

"Yes, the Order is on call. Many remain in hiding, but when alerted, they too will come." Dumbledore fixed Harry with another keen look. "But, you and your merry band of spies already know this, yes?"

Harry tried to hide his surprise, but Dumbledore was Dumbledore-the old wizard probably knew when Harry simply thought about going to the loo. Yet, what the man had just disclosed was not all that shocking because as he had said, they did know. Still, hearing it made it concrete, sliced it out of the realm of a creepy bedtime story they could playfully spook one another with.

War was coming.

Harry picked at his cuticles, green eyes glued to the sharp blue of Dumbledore's. "I'd be lying if I said I was ready for it, for facing Voldemort."

"I would be terribly concerned if you were not." Dumbledore ran a thin finger over his lips. "You and Severus continue to have words about your part in the coming battle."

It wasn't a question. Either Snape had become comfortable confiding in Dumbledore, or the old wizard had bugged Snape's quarters.

"Da - er, he just doesn't want me to feel that it's my burden, alone."

Dumbledore leaned forward. "But you are not alone, Harry; not now, nor once the battle begins. You will have a powerful army behind you, all willing to give their lives to provide you that perfect moment to strike-myself included."

Harry scoffed. "You're the most powerful wizard alive. He couldn't hurt you."

Dumbledore dipped his head in an elegant nod. "It is terribly kind of you to say so, but you and I both know that is not true." Harry's grin faded. Dumbledore continued: "Though I cannot guarantee an outcome in our favor, I cannot deny how important you are to a favorable outcome. Harry, no one alive has the power you possess."

Harry said nothing, trying hard not to resent the truth of the old wizard's words. Yes, he had more power than he knew what to do with, but he was no Dumbledore! Dumbledore had defeated Grindelwald. He had once told Harry that he didn't need an Invisibility Cloak to be invisible! The man had more than a century of life and magical experiences to draw on-which begged the question: How was Harry Potter, at sixteen years of age, supposed to defeat an evil like Voldemort?

Reading Harry's defeated expression Dumbledore rose to step around his desk. He held out his arms, prompting Harry to stand as well. White magic fairly thrummed throughout the man's body as he took Harry's face into his hands: "You feel your magic a burden-that it possesses you. You could not be more wrong. It is you who possesses it. Your magic is a wondrous gift, Harry, and I cannot think of anyone more aptly suited to wield such power."

Harry tried to lower his chin, but Dumbledore held fast. "And I know you think it trite, the belief that love cures all ills, but Harry, your heart, not your cunning will destroy Lord Voldemort. The love you have for those around you, not clever militaristic strategies will put paid to him. Certainly those things will be helpful, but love, Harry, is what will defeat him. You felt it at the Ministry when he tried to inhabit your body. He is utterly repelled by the emotion."

Dumbledore rested his hands on Harry's shoulders. "I know Severus feels differently. I find it unbearably cruel as well, but in the end, it will come down to you."

"I know," Harry said as he held his headmaster's gaze.

"Everything you need is here." Dumbledore practically growled as he pressed a thin hand over Harry's heart. "Use it!"

*WO

Room of Requirement, Hogwarts, May 1997 (09)

Again, seeing Harry became a hit-or-miss affair for his dorm mates. As Snape continued to doggedly ignore his and Draco's pleas to stop leaving the castle (and plagued by the uncertainty of which trip might be the man's last), Harry rarely left the dungeons. To spend time with him, Ron broke down and followed Hermione's ‘advice' to visit the bowels of the castle.

Harry appreciated the gesture because the nights Snape was gone, he and Draco either lay awake in their beds or sprawled in the sitting room fighting sleep, counting the minutes until the man's return. Sometimes Snape didn't drag himself in until the sun was creeping up the horizon.

Ron never stayed that long, but when he was there, he and Harry alternated between playing wizard chess, trying out whatever sample Fred and George had owled Harry (‘S'barmy how they're all the time sending you stuff and never me!' Ron complained), gossiping (to Draco's chagrin, though his quill always stopped moving when talk turned to who was dating who), or talking Quidditch strategy (in the bedroom, shielded by a strong silencing spell and a Secrecy Sensor).

"You and Malfoy getting on all right?" Ron asked Harry one night as they wolfed down ham sandwiches and swilled butterbeer in Snape's kitchen. The man was away from the castle, and Blaise and Theo had persuaded Draco to eat in the Great Hall.

"More or less," Harry said, the tip of his tongue chasing a bit of mustard off his bottom lip. "Why?"

Ron blushed and shrugged. "No reason. He never says much when I'm here. Makes me wonder if he waits ‘til I leave to tear into you, you know? Just don't want him giving you any guff."

Harry had learned long ago to overlook Ron's fascination with Draco, thinking it a symptom of his deep dislike for the Slytherin. But his baffling shyness and lack of insults when around Draco lately made Harry wonder. Not to mention that every time they were alone, Ron asked Harry if he and Malfoy were ‘getting on all right', as if looking for an excuse to drag Draco into the conversation.

When Harry asked Hermione her thoughts on Ron's behavior, her cryptic response of "Let Ron figure it out for himself" had left him perplexed. But now Harry thought he was beginning to understand. Taking a moment, he noted that Ron's thick, shaggy red hair was different, combed off his forehead, parted on the side. And instead of one of his endless supply of ratty Cannon's T-shirts, he had on a sky-blue shirt with sleeves, crisply ironed. Sort of.

Ron frowned and looked down at himself as Harry's eyes travelled over his body. "What?"

Harry raised his eyes and shook his head, fighting the smile that wanted to curl his lips. "Nothin'. It's just, you know, no worries, ‘bout Malfoy."

And it was true. Draco still got on Harry's nerves, Harry still got on Draco's nerves. And name calling by both boys continued to be, if not a daily occurrence, an every-other day occurrence. Except now it was done more out of habit than to wound. Dumbledore had been right. Their shared concern for Snape had bound them inextricably.

Draco would never admit it, but he welcomed Harry spending so much time in the dungeons. He had loathed waking in the middle of the night to find himself alone, Snape having slipped out at some point. And Harry had not relished sleepless nights in the Tower, not knowing if Snape had made it back safe until the next morning.

Funnily, Harry wasn't the only Gryffindor to connect with a Slytherin.

Neville and Theo Nott had become chummy after the attack in Hogsmeade. A shared passion for Herbology meant the two paired up in class where, with Sprout's blessing, they cultivated all manner of horticultural oddity. In April they crossbred a bouncing bulb with a fanged geranium. When it escaped its heavy glass enclosure and took a chunk out of a student's behind, Harry wondered why they (or Sprout, for that matter) had never considered one of the monstrous critters getting loose. Millicent Bulstrode-victim of the Arse-Chomping-Plant attack-had been understandably livid about the boys' ‘detention' in Greenhouse 5, but her howls of Gryffindor favoritism had met with puzzled amusement and some colorful jeers.

Leery of visiting each other's common room, Neville and Theo often met up in the Room of Requirement. With Harry spending more and more time in the dungeons, Neville had the idea of coaxing him and Draco up to the Room the nights Snape was away. He schemed to fill those horrid waits with something more productive, more fun. It proved a brilliant idea, really.

Between classes, training, and worrying about the end of the wizarding world, tensions soared. Crooked looks and verbal spats escalated into fist fights which sparked a spike in detentions. Courtesy of Flitwick, Vincent Crabbe secured a standing appointment with Charlie and the school's herd of Thestrals every weekend. The lumpish goon had pounded a fourth-year's head into a wall after the boy accidentally tread on the heel of Crabbe's shoe in a crowded corridor.

Younger forms often feigned illness to skive off classes, but there was little doubt that some were faking it. Fifth-years and up had better coping skills, but they were just as stressed, especially with the added duty of training the little ones. Eager for escape, sixth-years claimed the Room of Requirement, devoting the space to play, bandy about insults, study or just sit quietly. But just as importantly, it was a place to discuss what had been overheard in corridors, outside the staff room, or anywhere two or more teachers convened.

Dumbledore and the teachers might be wise to their spying, but the group knew there was one thing their teachers weren't wise to: Hannah Abbott could read lips. Previously unknown to anyone outside her House, the girl's skill had proved insanely useful, particularly at meal times when the teachers were less inclined to guard what they said. Two weeks ago she discovered that Millicent's older brother, Major, had been wounded and captured by Aurors during a raid at the Bulstrode's home-explaining the explosive uptick in the Slytherin's already intolerable attitude.

When Dumbledore upped the training to daily sessions, the group ramped up their subterfuge in response. To Hermione's burning annoyance some of them insisted on using Extendable Ears, Foe-Glasses, and Secrecy Sensors to amass intelligence. But the Extendable Ears proved too easily detected-as Ron, Neville, Ernie Macmillan, and Dean found out after being discovered by Filch outside the staff room one terrible evening. The Foe-Glasses and Secrecy Sensors proved just as useless, so the group relied on stealthier methods like Hannah's lip reading. And Dennis Creevey.

Dennis was a third-year, and tiny, but he had the brass bollocks of a giant. "Size is not a guarantee of power," Fred and George Weasley had said of the boy last year, and it was true. That he had snuck into Hogsmeade to join the DA last term, despite being a second-year, was sort of legend in the castle.

Dennis's nerves of steel came in handy, but his runty size proved a boon, too. He was just small and quiet enough to make himself nearly invisible as he trailed teachers about the castle, eavesdropping. So far, he had avoided detection, easily escaping back to the Room to report what he had overheard.

As the center of all that activity, the Room of Requirement quickly became ‘The Spot' for the sixth-years (and Dennis) from all the Houses to meet. Millicent Bulstrode, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Daphne Greengrass, and Tracey Davis were the unsurprising Slytherin exceptions-although Goyle and Tracey had secretly (and separately) approached Theo, trying to gauge what the group got up to, weighing if they wanted in.

As members of the DA, Ginny and Luna popped in for important meetings, but Luna rarely lingered. She had broken up with Ron the day after Harry and Draco rowed in the corridor outside the Great Hall.

"What happened?" Harry had asked Ron.

"It's nothin' I want to talk about just now, mate," Ron had said, ears reddening. "You got enough on your mind, yeah?"

Which at the time, Harry had, having just made things worse with Snape after fighting with Draco, so he hadn't pushed the issue. But he had wondered at Ron's odd mix of relief and torment at the breakup; by contrast, Luna's mood had been more pensive than sad.

One Saturday afternoon the group met in the Room to escape the gloom of the thunderstorm raging outside. Someone requested the ceiling to reflect a sunny day, then they all got busy doing their own thing. Dean drew; Seamus, Hannah, Susan Bones, and Ron played Exploding Snap; Neville and Pansy sat entangled on a love seat in a spell-darkened corner; Theo seized a seat at the small table where Hermione sat, her nose buried in a book; Harry lounged on the floor perusing back issues of Quidditch Illustrated while simultaneously keeping a sly eye on Theo. Not that he was worried or anything.

"You know he fancies Hermione." Neville had told Harry back in early March. The boy also admitted that he and Theo had begun talking because of the brawny, sloe-eyed Slytherin's interest in Hermione.

Since distancing himself from his powerful family's politics, scads of girls had fallen prey to Theo's roguish good looks and cocksure attitude-traits he regularly used to his advantage. He knew that his laugh-a deep, smoky, rumbly sound-made girls' knees wobble; he knew that when he clad his broad, tasty frame in Muggle T-shirts and jeans, girls became more pliable than putty; and he knew hearts nearly stopped when he flashed his devilish, pouty-lipped grin, highlighting the lone dimple in his right cheek.

But he ditched his rakish routine when around Hermione, instead relying on a campaign of sensitive little gestures to woo her, including popping up in the library to assist when she had a small tower of books to tote up to Gryffindor; nodding appreciatively at her dense responses in Ancient Runes (and resisting the urge to highlight fairly insignificant flaws in her argument, rare though they were); and he had been supremely attentive when she had skewered Harry with the silent treatment following their row about Snape.

But Hermione knew what Theo was doing, even if Harry didn't-and Theo knew that she knew, but he still relished the game.

Draco momentarily blocked Harry's view of them when he lowered himself onto a large white pouf near Harry's head. Watching him, Harry wondered (not for the first time) if the boy had trained in ballet. When Harry had asked him about it, the Slytherin had shot him a scathing look, then spat out a profane denial of doing anything remotely dance-related, asserting that he didn't even sway when music was playing. Harry didn't believe him.

"Um... When did this happen?" Ron said as a smirking Pansy and a flushed and grinning Neville emerged from their dark corner.

"Where you been?" Seamus said flicking Drooble's wrappers at Dean's feet. "They been snoggin' like rabbits since right after Valentine's Day, mate."

"Yeah? Why is it nobody tells me these things?" Ron yawned and stretched his legs out, accidentally tagging Terry Boot's foot.

"It's a wonder anybody tells you anything at all," Ginny said, curled up beside Dean. "Remember Harry's Firebolt your third-year?" She bit into her chicken sandwich and winked at her brother.

"Oh, piss off! Malfoy deserved to have it rubbed in his face that Harry had the fastest broom there was. Speaking of which..." he said, looking about, "where is the little blond menace?"

"With Harry." Neville nudged his chin in Harry and Draco's direction.

"My, you do make a habit of asking after our Draco." Pansy's sapphire blue eyes gleamed mischievously over the rim of her compact as she checked her reflection.

Ron reddened. "I don't!"

"Yeah you do, mate," Seamus said, nodding sadly.

"Oh, yeah?" Ron glared at the Irish boy as if hoping to make him break out into painful pus-filled boils. "How're things with Padma, eh? Still won't give you the time of day?"

Seamus grinned. "I've moved on, mate. Megan Jones s'posed to be stoppin' by. Should be ‘ere any minute, actually." He leaned in as if sharing some juicy secret. "Wee lass fancies it when I use interllectual words," he whispered loudly.

Dean stopped sweeping his stick of charcoal against his drawing pad to squint at his friend's earnest face. "Call me crazy," he said, "but she might fancy you more, or actually fancy you, if you bothered to say words in-tel-lec-tu-al-ly. And for the record, it ain't snogging that rabbits are famous for."

Seamus scowled. "Look here, wan -" He began, but then Luna and Megan passed through the entrance. The boy leapt to his feet and bounded across the room to greet the curvy, auburn-haired girl. Crooking his arm, he gallantly looped her hand over it. "Come and sit betwixt us, me lovely Megan."

Ron nearly choked on a guffaw while Neville shook with silent laughter. Dean opened his mouth, then seeming to think better of it, closed it and slumped back against Ginny. Flipping a sheet in his pad, he started to sketch Luna who was smiling brightly up at Ron. The boy had risen to say ‘Hello' and offer her his seat. After exchanging a few quiet words with her, he wandered over to sit with Theo and Hermione, positioning himself so that he had a side view of Harry and Draco.

"I have a meeting with Dumbledore day after tomorrow," Draco told Harry.

"Yeah? ‘Bout what?"

"Mother's estate. I asked him to put me in to contact with Pius Thicknesse, a solicitor at the Ministry."

"S'brilliant, but you know the professor -"

"I know, Potter. But this isn't about money." Draco slid a hand into one of his robes' pockets. Harry suspected he was fiddling with a photo, one he had caught the boy gazing at one night.

Fresh from showering, Harry had entered their room, but he had been barefoot, so his steps had been silent. Draco was in bed, a black and white photo floating above his stomach as he stared at it. The scene was innocent-a bright, unguarded moment with Lucius, smiling and handsome, as he tickled his giggling three-year old son who sat perched on his lap, right front tooth missing. Harry must have made a noise because Draco jumped, snatched the photo out of the air and jammed it under his pillow.

"You get your kicks sneaking about, Potter?" He cast Harry an icy glare then wrenched himself onto his side showing Harry his back. "You might warn a person you've entered the room!"

Harry had kept quiet, wondering when things had soured for the Malfoys. Now that Draco had brought up Narcissa, it seemed as good a time as any to ask.

"Why'd you go against your father?"

Draco shot him a disbelieving look. "You sound as brainless as Finnigan..."

Harry hitched his shoulders, embarrassed. His father had died protecting him; Snape would do the same. Lucius Malfoy seemed to be a clinically cruel man, but he was still Draco's father, and the boy had all but disowned him. A step that drastic wasn't made on a whim, so Harry waited, curious what Draco might say.

After several drawn out minutes, Draco spoke, voice as emotionless as a corpse's: "I couldn't move. I couldn't help her because I couldn't move. When I tried to go to her, my father cast a spell to stop me... I had to watch as the Dark Lord t-tortured my mother." Harry gasped, but Draco droned on as if he hadn't heard. "They eventually had to drag me out of the room I was kicking up such a riot. When Father came to collect me later, he was pale, wretched looking. Mother wasn't with him. He didn't say why; I didn't dare ask. But I knew. I also knew that what happened to her would happen to me-especially if I displeased him, so I went home with him.

"But around the middle of July it got so I couldn't bear to be around him, or be in that house. During the day it was like being shut up in a mausoleum, with us rambling about, avoiding one another. And at night... Mother's screams echoed like some ghastly alarm. Sometimes it seemed as if she was right next to me. I knew then that I was slowly going mad.

"Then the Dark Lord moved in, making the manor his base of operations. That's when I began to plot an escape. It was laughable, of course, as I was surrounded by Death Eaters who had strict orders to ensure that I didn't escape, but I was so utterly alone; I had to occupy my mind somehow. When I saw you lot on Diagon Alley in August -" Draco cracked a small smile at Harry's gobsmacked expression. "Oh, I didn't know it was you. I only found the morning Snape and I walked round Hogsmeade, but it didn't matter who you were.

"Watching you that day, the way he touched you... I suddenly realized how unutterably twisted things were between my father and me. The Malfoy name, the privilege, it all felt suddenly useless and unsatisfying in a way I could never have understood before. But it wasn't just that; I didn't want to take the Mark; Mother had never wanted me to, either. That's why the Dark Lord killed her."

"Oh, Draco..."

"Everything went to hell the night you came out of that maze. Looking back, I don't think either of my parents really ever believed the Dark Lord would return. But when he did... I'd never seen my father so out of sorts. He was frantic. He'd always toed the party line, properly playing up Pure-blood superiority, but he'd never done anything to back it up, not really. He's said and done any number of cruel things, treated people in the worst way, of course, but once the Dark Lord was back, I think he realized he hadn't done enough.

"And Mother, she must have contacted her sister that very night. It was so incredibly strange, because for years I'd never heard a kind word about her, then suddenly Mother's telling me how she hopes I'll be able to go to Andromeda if things go pear shaped-which they did after the battle at the Ministry. When I arrived home from the train station, she told me of the escape plan she and her sister had cooked up, but she hadn't included herself in it. I threatened to not to go if she didn't come, too. She tried to convince me that she had an alternate plan for herself, but she was lying. I know she was lying.

"Every day, I begged and begged her to reconsider, then before I knew it, it was time; I had to go. I wasn't ready, of course; barely a week had passed since I arrived home. I couldn't leave her. In the end, it didn't matter because that same night, Nymphadora, my aunt's daughter, was killed-trying to rescue you, from what I understand."

"Yeah," Harry said, quietly marveling at the inescapable parallel of their lives-at how they had unknowingly been on a converging path since that night.

Draco pulled out the photo. "I know it's completely bizarre, but I keep this because days like it were so bloody rare." He stunned Harry when he held it out to him. "Mother took it with some old antique of her family's. Father hated her doing it, taking photos. He constantly told her it was vulgar, practically Muggle-like, but she loved it. She hung photos all over her apartments in the manor. You should see -" Draco stopped speaking and dragged a shaky hand through his hair.

"Think you'll ever go back there?" Harry asked, still looking at the radiant, flawless child laughing up at him.

Draco laughed coldly. "Why would I? Lucius has likely banished every reminder of her, and me for that matter." He looked down at his giggling three-year old self. "Mother told me that should anything happen to her, to contact Dumbledore. She counted on the fact that as Headmaster, he wouldn't turn away a student, so after that day on Diagon Alley, that's what I did-I wrote Dumbledore."

Harry gawped. "How? I thought with all the Death Eaters..."

"A horrid old house-elf called Kreacher posted the letter for me."

"Kreacher," Harry said, voice tight. Draco hitched an eyebrow. "He's the Black's house-elf, er, was. Last year he eavesdropped on Order meetings, then reported to someone in Voldemort's camp. He's the reason Sirius went to the Ministry..."

"Sirius Black... Granger says he was your godfather."

"Yeah."

"His own house-elf betrayed him?"

"He hated Sirius, thought he was a disgrace to the family."

"Ah, I suppose that explains why it always followed Bellatrix around, fairly slobbering on her robes and being an all-round nuisance. But it helped me, it kept that letter secret."

"Because you're a Black, too." Harry handed the photo back.

"Which hardly ranks much better than being a Malfoy," Draco said, face twisted with a sour look.

Harry shrugged. "Sirius's parents tossed him out of the house at sixteen ‘cause he pissed on their Pure-blood beliefs; his brother, Regulus was a Death Eater, and Voldemort had him killed when he tried to get out; Andromeda married a Muggle, and your mum, from what you say, she saved your life. Blacks aren't all bad. Neither are Malfoys."

"Oy! Malfoy!"

Draco grunted in surprise, but caught the missile Ron had launched at him: Dean's football. Its hexagonal panels were emblazoned with the tiny dark red and gold crests of the West Ham football club. He often pulled the ball from his trunk on dull or rainy days.

"Scared you, eh?" Ron grinned as he loped over to sprawl on his side next to Harry's legs.

Draco glared at the redhead before firing the ball back at him. "Grow up, Weasley! You know I don't scare easily."

Lusty cackles of laughter echoed around the room following that pronouncement.

"Er... First year, detention in the Forbidden Forest?" Neville said. "Ring any bells?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "It was dark..."

"Second year, the duel..." Dean said.

"...was meant to get Potter in trouble, which it did..." Draco grinned a little at the memory.

"...third year, Buckbeak..." Seamus added. This garnered a sneer.

"Bloody overgrown chicken..."

"...and the Shrieking Shack..." Ron offered.

"Bloody Invisibility Cloak..."

"...and fourth year..." Harry joined in, figuring Draco needed a teasing laugh, but the Slytherin blinked at him, flummoxed.

"What happened fourth year that scared me?"

"Sitting in the top box with me and the Weasleys at the Quidditch World Cup?"

"Ugh! All that horrid red Weasley hair!"

"Mind who you're calling horrid, Malfoy!" Ron growled, making Harry laugh. When Ginny called to him, Ron got up to go to her.

"He confronted me, you know?" Draco said, eyes following Ron's lean form.

"‘Bout what?"

"Our row outside the Great Hall. Said I shouldn't have come to you about the professor, considering the state you'd been in in March."

"You mean when I nearly lost my mind?"

"I was aiming for tact, Potter, but, yes." Draco paused. "He's a good friend to you, isn't he?"

"Mm." Harry looked across the room. Ron, Ginny, and Megan were watching Dean and Seamus kick around the football.

"What's so bloody fantastic about him?"

Harry eyeballed Draco, hunting for a hint of snideness, but the boy's expression was inscrutable-overly so, in Harry's opinion.

"Well... he's brilliant in ways I'm not, in ways Hermione's not." At Draco's dubious expression, Harry said, "Play a game of wizard chess with him, if you don't believe me. And as you have often taken great pains to remind him, his family's never had much, but he'd still give you the shirt off his back if you needed it. And, there's the fact that we've been through a lot, and he's stuck by me. I can't think of many who would have."

"So, he's perfect," Draco drawled wryly.

Harry laughed. "You know he's not, but when he and I met on the train, I was completely out of sorts. He helped me. Still does, and like I said, he's done it with hardly a word of complaint."

"I seem to recall him thundering about the castle, foaming at the mouth because your name came out of that goblet fourth year."

"Yeah, but we got through it," Harry said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "We always do."

Eager to emulate Dean and Seamus, Ron joined them. Dean, trying for something easy to teach Ron, shifted the ball from his toe to the inside of his foot then to his knee arcing it high enough to connect with his head so he could flick it to Seamus. Then Ron tried it. His attempt was less than masterful, but he looked fairly thrilled to have gotten the ball from toe to knee. He did it again and shot a proud grin at Harry. Harry lifted his chin in acknowledgment and laughed.

"I offered to be your friend first year." Draco muttered sulkily, studying the exchange between the two Gryffindors.

Harry snorted, amused. "Yeah, ‘cause you thought I was a Dark Wizard for having done away with Voldemort!" Draco winced. "But until Hagrid came to fetch me, I had no idea all the strange things I did as a kid was magic; I never even knew magic was real. I thought it was make-believe, stuff you read in children's books. And I definitely had no idea why I was the ‘Famous Harry Potter', ‘Chosen One' and all that rubbish. That I didn't really get until the end of last term when Dumbledore laid that prophecy on me."

"You believe it?"

Harry shrugged, a quick angry shift of his shoulders. "Voldemort believes it, and as long as he's alive he'll be after me and everyone I care about."

"The professor? That barkeep? Your Gryffindors?"

"Yeah."

Draco exhaled, irritated. "You worked things out with the professor last summer. You fall out and make up with Weasley at the drop of a Knut... I've done my damnedest to be civil to you since Snape brought me to Hogsmeade, yet you couldn't be arsed to care, could you? You know, whatever you might think of me, I deserve a bit of the same grace as you've shown them!"

Harry gaped, shocked that Draco would, albeit in a typically arrogant Malfoy-fashion, confess to wanting Harry to be his friend. He sat up to look at Draco straight on.

"Malfoy, Ron, Hermione, and me, we've been through hell together, so if I'm willing to make up with them no matter what, that's to be expected." Draco's jaw stiffened; he looked ready to bolt. "But the same goes for you. As intolerable and impossibleas you are, if anyone dared threaten you in any way, don't think that if I weren't already at your side I wouldn't find a way to get there quick."

Draco eyes bored into Harry's, trying to root out the lie, but all he saw was unwavering, cloying Gryffindor earnestness-plus, he knew Harry couldn't lie his way out of a paper bag.

"Why?" Draco asked.

Harry smiled sheepishly. "You threatened to hex Ron if he touched me. Back to the Middle Ages, I think it was."

"...I forgot about that." Draco mumbled.

"I didn't," Harry said. Draco slowly relaxed, but since he had opened the door, Harry decided to delve as deep as the Slytherin would allow. "Why... why did you tell me all that - about your mum and everything?"

Draco set his jaw, began fussing with the pleats in his trousers. "Things are about change and I didn't want you thinking that I only switched sides to save my own arse. I didn't want you thinking I deserved whatever might happen to me."

"You idiot!" Harry swatted Draco's knee. "I know why you switched sides, and I would never wish for anything bad to happen to you!"

"I've earned the right to fight at your side."

"That's nothing you had to earn! No one does!"

"You're damned powerful."

"I'm still, Harry!"

Draco took in Harry's perturbed expression, then laughed softly. Ah!Harry thought. There it is! A genuine Draco Malfoy laugh, minus the stinging sarcasm and anger. Harry smiled.

"Merlin, you haven't a trickle of ego, have you?" Draco said.

"‘Course I do." Harry frowned. "It's just, if I let all that go to my head, well... I'd be you."

When Harry grinned, Draco smirked-a decidedly evil smirk.

"Oh my!" Hermione gasped.

Harry looked over when she laughed. "What?"

"What did you say or do to Draco?" she said.

"Cor, Harry!" Seamus blew out an admiring whistle.

"Wicked!" Ron crowed.

Harry frowned. Everyone was looking at him and laughing now, except Draco, who only looked disturbingly smug. Hermione pulled at a lock of her hair, then pointed to Harry. The boy dragged a bit of his fringe down so he could see it. It was as white as Dumbledore's!

"Malfoy! You toerag! Change it back!"

A handpicked group of sixth, seventh and fifth-years had been required to improve their wandless skills. After Harry, none was as accomplished as Draco, but the headmaster still demanded that they practice, practice, practice. And Draco did. If in the wee hours while waiting for Snape Harry happened to nod off, Draco took full advantage. He'd had a marvelous time transfiguring Harry's pajamas into witches' dress robes, elaborate 18th century Muggle dresses, or whatever outrageous outfit that caught his fancy.

Draco laughed at Harry's red-faced outrage, then changed the boy's hair back to reflect midnight. However, that didn't stop Harry pulling down strands to inspect them, again and again.

"He misses you," Draco said after a while. "He misses knowing that you're home to stay."

Silence stretched between them, the Potions master on both their minds.

"...You think he's all right?" Harry asked in a quiet voice; Snape had rushed from the castle just after dinner.

Draco met his eyes. "He'd better be."

*WO

Snape's Quarters, Hogwarts, May1997 (16)

"Harry..."

Harry batted at the darkness, trying to make whoever was calling to him shut up. He and Draco hadn't been too long asleep.

Training that evening had been a cock up. Fifteen students had been injured while performing evasive exercises that most second-years could pull off with their eyes closed. Frustrated and shaken at the number of injuries, McGonagall had screamed a halt to the session half an hour into it, then demanded everyone return to their Houses. Ignoring her order, the sixth-years trekked up to the Room of Requirement where they spent hours picking apart the session, trying to determine whether someone had interfered with the charmed statues and suits of armor they were sparring against. Close to 2:00 a.m., they split, returning to their Houses.

Harry and Draco arrived home to find Snape gone. They sat up, trying to wait him out, but around 4:15 a.m., they stumbled to their beds, exhausted.

"Harry! Wake up!"

Harry growled, then wrenched an eye open to see a bushy-haired shadow hovering above him. He struggled up onto his elbows.

"Hermione? What - What are you doing here?"

"Harry, don't... Try not to panic... It's Snape. He's in the hospital wing."

"What?" Harry shot straight up. The torch lights flared to life, bringing Hermione's tired, worried face into stark relief. Ron, standing in the doorway, had pillow marks deeply impressed on his right cheek. Already clad in his black silk dressing gown, Draco stood next to his own bed, white-faced and shivering, his hair a feathery mess.

"Let's go," he said.

*WO

"Bill?" The tall redhead turned at the rough squeaky surprise in Ron's voice.

Students lay in five of the six beds occupied on the shadowy ward, their curtains drawn; Snape's curtains hung open, bedside torches alight. He was sitting up, hands in his lap as he conversed quietly with Kingsley, Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Bill, who looked as if he had tumbled down a rocky mountainside to land in a bog. Patches of dirt and what might be blood marred his robes, and as he made his way to Ron, his gait was stiff, nothing like his normally laid-back shuffle. But he still had it in him to give his brother a bright, reassuring smile.

Harry's eyes were on Snape, desperate to make out what had happened to the man. Visibly, nothing appeared to be wrong, but there had to be, or else he would be in his own bed and Harry's stomach wouldn't feel as if he had just swallowed an ocean of fire.

"Ah, Harry. Draco," Dumbledore said, a cheerful smile lighting his face as the boys neared Snape's bed.

"Easy, Potter," Draco murmured. Harry was finding it difficult to breathe around the plum-sized lump in his throat; his useless gasping only served to make him feel light-headed.

"Are you all right?" Draco asked Snape, voice pinched with worry despite his encouragement to Harry.

"I'm fine," Snape said.

Dumbledore made a motion with his hand. McGonagall, Kingsley, and Bill (after again assuring Ron that he was ‘Fine') followed him out of the ward.

"What happened?" Harry said as Draco moved to sit on the bed at Snape's feet; Harry kept his distance.

"I made an ill-timed appearance and got involved in a bit of a skirmish."

A chill emptiness stole over Harry and the blinding anxiety he had nursed as he and the others ran up from the dungeons began to shift. Snape talked as if he had just wandered down a corner pub for a Firewhisky! Obviously, something more serious than ‘a bit of a skirmish' had landed the man an overnight stay under Madam Pomfrey's care! As usual, Harry's emotions played out on his face; Snape read him easily enough.

"Harry," the man said quietly, "I'm all right."

Harry's voice wavered when he spoke: "Good. Well... I'm tired. I'm - I'm going back to bed."

Draco narrowed his eyes; Harry ignored him.

"I understand," Snape said. "Go. Rest."

The man wasn't angry, nor was he sniffing about for sympathy-that was hardly his style. No, he just knew that Harry seeing him in that setting-no matter that the wounds weren't visible-was too much.

Given leave to go, Harry had every intention of fleeing, but his feet seemed glued to the floor. Seconds fell into minutes, as he stood there, eyes on Snape's loosely folded hands resting on top of the bed sheet. Harry longed to feel them in his hair, long fingertips raking across his scalp in a soothing pattern.

Instead, a soft huff of exasperation was the only warning he got as Ron placed a hand on his back and began to nudge him toward Snape's bed. The man's eyes, bright and black, never left Harry's face as Ron edged him forward. When Harry's legs hit the bed, he stood there, still staring at Snape's hands. Ron exhaled another annoyed sigh, then pressed down on Harry's shoulders, directing the boy's body until Harry was seated on the bed.

With Harry settled, Snape shifted back to relax against his pillows. His eyes fell shut at once. Harry watched as the man lay there unmoving, the dark light of his eyes extinguished. Soon, Harry's chest began to burn, as if with infection. When he began to feel woozy and unbalanced, he clutched a handful of Snape's thin blanket, in need of an anchor. But then his head began to sink, heavy, as if someone had looped a marble slab around his neck. Finally, unable to bear it up any longer, Harry folded forward until his head came to rest on Snape's stomach.

The man's eyes fluttered open. He let out a quiet exhale, then reached to run his fingers through Harry's hair, tiredly dragging his fingertips back and forth across the boy's scalp.

Harry's shoulders hitched as he cried silently.

*WO