As Draco reached for the floo powder to leave for the accursed Death Eater meeting, Snape put a hand on his arm. Then his professor slipped a small object in the outer pocket of his robes.

"A portkey," Snape explained. "In case the Dark Lord brings up Dumbledore. At the first mention of the man's name in connection to yours, I want you to use the portkey, understand?"

"But - but - " Draco stammered, a look of pure horror on his face. "I'll be a sitting duck."

"The portkey will take you to the shrieking shack," Snape continued. "If you must use it, then you will stay there until you hear from me. At my first available opportunity, I will be around to collect you. Under no circumstances are you to leave that shack. Do you hear me?"

"Yes, sir," Draco said. "The Dark Lord will still kill me. Why not now rather than later?"

"Because if I have anything to say about it, the Dark Lord won't kill you," Snape argued. "Now quit trying to die and let me help you."

"They'll know you helped me."

"Possibly," Snape dismissed. "And because of that, it might be awhile until I can contact you. I have no idea how long I may be detained if you suddenly disappear and they decide to keep me over it. I don't care if you're hungry and cold in that shack. You won't die for some time, but if you are out and about to be seen by the student body, then I can assure you, you will die. Take your chances with anything at the shack. Do you promise?"

"Yes, sir, I promise," Draco said.

"Not like the last time, when you promised not to end your own life, I hope," Snape said coldly.

"I promised not to do anything I would regret," Draco muttered. Snape hissed and slapped him very lightly on the back of his head. Then Snape pulled him close. Draco knew better than to accuse his professor of affection. Snape was just trying to make sure he didn't get soot in his face while they flooed, Draco reasoned. It was good to know someone cared.

"Remember, grief," Snape intoned as they entered the fireplace.

The meeting was appropriately boring, Draco realized as he leaned forward in his seat, resting his arms and chin on the table in front of him, hoping that he could just leave quietly soon. He kept up his brooding over Potter.

Why, why, why? Life was always so unfair. And for once, Draco wasn't worried that he had gotten shorted in life. Rather he was reflecting on how terribly unfair it was that Potter had to deal with everything that came along with being the Boy-Who-Lived, and then was dead. It added insult to injury that he had been a part of it. Draco winced internally.

He had never meant to help the man who terrorized Potter, whoever he was. It just happened. It wasn't his fault.

Ah, but it was. He should have told Potter that it was a stupid idea in the first place and brought Potter with him to Snape. That would have been a much smarter plan, actually.

But in the moment, he hadn't seen it. Something which he knew was a fatal mistake, not seeing the better plans. He had always thought it would be his life he lost over it though. Draco tried to suppress a sigh as he continued to entertain these gloomy thoughts.

It would have been better that Potter have let him jump this afternoon. If he had jumped, then he wouldn't have cursed Alchemist. Things would have been much better.

A cruel smile crept over Draco's features as he imagined the kind of fun the Dark Lord would have with whoever was responsible for killing Potter. He might not be the one to want to initiate the worst of torture on people, but in this case, Draco thought he could make an exception and conveniently turn a blind eye to whoever wanted to be the perpetrator of that particular excursion.

"Draco."

The use of his name brought him from his private reverie. He looked up, and saw the Dark Lord watching him intently. Careful to avoid eye contact - there was no reason to instigate trouble - he sat up a little straighter.

"Yes, my Lord?" Draco replied.

"How is the task with Dumbledore going?"

"Well, sir," Draco began, unsure if he meant that the job was going well, or using it as a filler. Snape, who was sitting next to him, kicked him from under the table. Draco's eyes shot over to his professor who nodded imperceptibly.

"Draco, I expect your full attention when I speak," the Dark Lord said patiently.

"Yes, my Lord," Draco replied, eyes still glued to the table. He could feel Snape's gaze boring holes into him.

"And how does it fare with Dumbledore?" the Dark Lord pressed.

"As always," Draco replied casually, looking up for the first time with a defiant flick of his hair. He didn't care if he died that night, but if he was going to die, he would at least do it with style. He heard Snape suck in his breath, and the next thing he knew, Snape had shoved his, Draco's, hand into his pocket to activate the portkey for him. As he disappeared, he vaguely heard the Dark Lord scream for someone to stop him, but it was too late.

Draco reappeared on the floor of the shrieking shack, landing smack on his backside.

"Ouch!" he cried. He began to stand, rubbing his offended backside. He felt a surge of anger at Snape for both ruining his plan, and putting himself in such danger. There was no way the Dark Lord was going to overlook what was obviously an attempt to save his life. Draco looked up and saw the reflection of a red light. He fell back to the floor, unconscious.

"Well, well, well," the grungy voice said. "Look who just dropped in." He looked over the unconscious from of the teenager on the floor. "Well, little lamb," he said picking up the boy. "Time to join the slaughter."

Every part of Harry hurt. There wasn't one part of him that was not in pain. He tried to turn his head, but dizziness caused bile to come up the back of his throat. He really did not feel good. He really just wished that they would kill him and let this all be over. He just wasn't going to go through this again. He knew he wasn't strong enough. He could not do what they were making him do. Not any more. It was not fun. It had never been fun. All those people gone for no reason, just to 'train.' That's what they always told him, when he didn't want to do it anymore.

It was for the good of the Wizarding community. But what about him? Wasn't he worth it? He didn't want to do this anymore. He was tired of killing. He's tired of the torture. He just wanted it all to stop.

Harry opened his eyes and looked at the ceiling. One thought went through his mind; I wonder where Draco is?

Harry couldn't help the small smile that was on his lips. Here he laid, waiting on his next bout of torture, thinking about someone that made his life hell for the past five years with his taunting. Here he laid hoping that everything was alright with his friend. Friend. Really. Five years of being an enemy and now, after a few letters they were friends.

A small chuckle graced Harry's lips. But the bliss did not last long because of the pain.

His small peace didn't last long. Footsteps were getting closer to his room. Harry thought about closing his eyes again, but the last time he feigned sleep, he woke up in excruciating pain. So he accepted his fate and waited for his next bout of torture to begin.

Louder and louder, the footfalls came. Harry's heart was beating out of his chest. Fear and anxiety was creeping throughout his entire body. When the man came to the door, Harry saw that he was carrying someone. Harry just saw a black robe and he got a sinking feeling in his stomach. He knew that his lessons were about to start again.

(Oh how he hated his lessons!) The man put the body on the floor. Harry struggled to sit up. There was just something in him that kept edging him to see who his captor brought. Every move a struggle, Harry clawed his way to the end of the tattered bed and looked over on the floor.

Despair began to fill Harry. Even without his glasses, seeing the white blonde hair, he knew exactly who it was.

No no no no no no no! Harry thought. He couldn't. He wouldn't. There was no way he was going to hurt his friend.

They were friends now. Draco listened to him when no one else would. Even though it was a short talk, Harry enjoyed their talk on the Astronomy tower just the same. No arguing. No fighting. No cursing each other. Just two boys talking.

"Well," the grungy voice said. "Today, I have a special treat for you. Today, you're going to cast the Avada Kedavra. And what better way to do it, than on a Death Eater right here?"

Of course Draco was a Death Eater. Harry had spent the best part of the school year trying to get others to see that. But that didn't mean that he should die! Harry looked up at his captor and, for the first time, spoke.

"Please," Harry begged. "Don't make me."

"You will perform that curse," he said. "You must learn to deal in the Dark Arts. That's the only way to defeat them." He pointed at Draco's unconscious body. "Now, get up and cast the spell."

Harry wearily got up, but looked at his captor, tears welling up in his eyes.

"Please, Professor Moody," Harry pleaded. "Please don't make me kill him."