"… can't believe you said that! That's the most absurd, utterly ridiculous--"

She trailed off when she caught sight of Harry, who had just appeared in the doorway. Her anger transformed into a bright smile.

"Harry! Ron was just telling me what an utter ass he's been to you the last few weeks." She turned a glare towards Ron. "And he's very sorry."

Harry glanced at Ron, whose face had gone redder than his hair. He wondered which one of them had initiated the conversation. Hermione, probably… She'd seemed a bit suspicious yesterday when he stammered yet another flimsy excuse about why he and Ron weren't visiting her together-- "Er, detention… schedule problems… Ginny's upset about Dean…"

She was watching Ron expectantly now; the redhead looked chagrined, but his lips were set in a thin, stubborn line.

Hermione let out an exasperated breath.

"Honestly, Ronald, what did you expect him to do?" she demanded. "Leave him to a Dementor? I'm not going to let you leave until you apologize!"

"Sorry mate," Ron muttered, staring somewhere above Harry's head.

Hermione sent Ron a withering glare. "Oh, and you sound so sorry--" she said scathingly.

"He was just worried about you," Harry said, hoping to forestall another insincere apology. "Really."

Ron glanced at him, startled.

Hermione was eyeing him skeptically, and Harry added quickly, "We all were. It's not a big deal."

Hermione took the cue and left the subject; it was only an occasional glare Ron's way that betrayed her continued irritation. Harry launched into a conversation with her, ignoring Ron's questioning gaze.

When Madame Pomfrey informed Hermione that it was high time she caught up on some sleep, she rolled her eyes.

"Honestly, I've been sleeping for weeks!"

With a huff, she flopped back into the bed.

"Can you two take back all these things--?" Hermione asked, gesturing to the personal effects that had somehow migrated from her room onto the bedside table. "I don't know what Lavender was thinking… I'm gone for a few weeks, and she dumps half my belongings in the hospital wing! You'd think she was just waiting for an excuse to clear me out of Gryffindor…"

Later, as Harry and Ron levitated two boxes Hermione's belongings back to Gryffindor Tower, Ron trailed to a stop right in front of the portrait hole.

"Er, listen," he said, eyeing Harry uneasily. "Thanks for that-- back there. You know, when she gets going--"

"It was nothing," Harry said dismissively.

He turned to call out the password, but Ron's hand on his arm stopped him. Harry pulled from his grip as though it burned.

"No, it was--" Ron faltered a moment, cringing. "It was stupid of me, saying that to you."

"Was it as stupid as almost getting me killed?" Harry snarled, with a flare of latent resentment. "Or--" he lowered his voice. "Snape? You almost exposed him!"

Ron colored. "Merlin, Harry-- I said it was stupid! I was a bloody idiot, okay? But, er--" he eyed Harry, as though trying to figure out his words, "You did get to punch me. So it wasn't all bad for you."

Harry stared at him, thrown from his anger by the turn in the conversation.

"And, erm, if you hadn't been trying to talk some sense into me," Ron forged on, "You probably would have gone on to flatten me."

"Yeah, I would have," Harry said, his tone still cold.

Ron was clearly trying to amuse him, to draw him from his anger. Harry hoped it wouldn't work.

"That's something, there," Ron added helpfully. "Being tougher than a Weasley…" His brow furrowed suddenly. "I mean, you probably would have gone on to flatten me, but you might not have--"

Harry couldn't help it now. The anger was slipping away.

"Make no mistake," he said, trying not to smirk. "I was winning until I tried talking sense into you."

Ron's expression grew animated. "No, you see, I said you probably could have flattened me, meaning it was possible, but if you really think about it--"

"No, no, Ron," Harry said, shaking his head. "I was going to win. But it takes so much energy to get anything through your thick head, that it just sapped my strength--"

Ron aimed a fake punch Harry's way, and Harry found himself grinning as he reeled back from it.

"--but I was definitely going to be the winner," he persisted.

Ron's arm fell back to his side, and Harry found himself returning his grin.

Maybe I should just admit I can't hold a grudge to save my life, he thought wryly.

Ron's grin slipped from his face.

"I really am sorry," he said, suddenly serious. "I don't know why you're still friends with me."

Harry closed his eyes, feeling his scar twinge unpleasantly; he was ready for this stupid fight to be over. "Let's just forget about it, okay?"

Ron looked like he wanted to say more, but Harry called out the password.

"Come on. Hermione's going to kill us if we don't get her things back to her room."

"-- And tell Lavender to put them back, 'Exactly, and I mean exactly where they belong!'" Ron mimicked, rolling his eyes.

Exchanging a reluctantly friendly look, the two boys ducked through the portrait hole.

* * *

Harry was lingering in the potions office, glancing idly over the Dark Arts titles peering from Snape's bag, when his father appeared in the doorway.

"Come along, then," Snape said impatiently, casting his gaze between Harry and the books. "You are inconveniently early."

"Sorry," Harry said, digging his hands into his pockets and following him into the office. "I'll wait..." At Snape's forbidding look, he amended, "I'll wait quietly."

"That you will," Snape answered coldly.

Harry leaned against the doorway, watching him retrieve ingredients directly from their pouches and cast them swiftly into the cauldron. Snape didn't even need to consult his books, it seemed; the most complex potions just came to him by instinct.

It wasn't until the potion began sputtering that Snape retreated a step, the tension draining from his shoulders. Apparently he'd completed the tricky part. He now turned his attention to Harry, watching him from across the chamber through dark, perceptive eyes.

"I noticed you speaking with Mr. Weasley at lunch today."

Oh, this would not be fun.

"Yeah," Harry said. "We're speaking again."

"You have forgiven him then," Snape said sourly. "You have simply allowed his offense to pass. Amazing how quick you are to 'turn the other cheek.'"

"He was upset," Harry argued. "People do stupid things when they're upset."

Snape dipped a ladle in the cauldron, and shot him a dark look as he stirred. "He physically accosted you--"

"Actually, I physically accosted him. "

No need to fill Snape in on why.

"--and he apparently accused you of a sordid affair with Draco Malfoy," Snape said, pronouncing the name with distaste. "Yet, you forgive him… No harm done."

"Basically, yeah."

Snape's mouth twitched, as though he'd thought of a perfect insult, and was frustrated he couldn't use it. He shot his potion a scathing look, probably in lieu of glaring at Harry.

"You are too forgiving," he said shortly.

Harry tried not to smile, grateful for what he knew was a considerable degree of self-restraint.

"Don't worry," he said wryly. "I know for a fact it's not hereditary."

Snape shot him a sour look. "Indeed, it is not."

He glared back down at the potion.

"If I'd had my way, both Weasley and that bloody werewolf…"

Snape trailed off, a fact for which Harry felt more than a little relieved.

Harry watched idly as Snape added ground runespoor eggs, his movements jerky and his expression dark as though he remained displeased. He considered and then rejected the notion of trying to figure out the source of his consternation. He felt like he'd already encroached far enough into Snape's personal territory two days earlier; anything more would almost be a violation of this uneasy peace that had settled between them.

He was struck suddenly by how odd it felt, to sit in Snape's presence without some feeling of restless discontent He'd once taken it for granted he'd always feel miserable around Snape. But perhaps for the first time since-- well, ever-- he felt as though he could sit in the same room as him without constantly holding a defensive position, without feeling the ground erode beneath his feet.

It was funny how in one moment, after Snape had disarmed him, knowing he'd just lost the chance to save his best friend, he'd suddenly understood why his father was the way he was.

Snape had played upon Harry's guilt and the prospect of having the death of his father on his conscience. And he'd unwittingly handed Harry the very key to understanding him… because for the first time, Harry was able to step right into Snape's place and realize exactly what was going on inside his head. It was the only instance Harry could remember where he'd suddenly understood Snape as acutely as Snape seemed to understand him.

And his words in the hospital wing had obviously hit home; Snape hadn't even tried to stop him when he'd cured Hermione.

This strange new feeling that he understood Snape… and, dare he venture?-- the feeling on Snape's part that Harry understood him-- seemed to have been enough to break the impasse between them, strip away the last of that wariness that perpetually set them at odds.

Harry dared not mention it; he wouldn't speak of it, not to Snape. But it felt like a new understanding lingered on the air between them.

And if Snape was being prickly, Harry was pretty sure it was just because Snape was… well, prickly.

The older wizard removed the cauldron from the fire and set it on a rack to cool, extinguishing the fire with a wave of his wand.

Harry rose to his feet and drew his wand, prepared to retreat back into Snape's office for their Occlumency lesson.

"Wait a moment," Snape said, gesturing for Harry to lower his wand.

Confused, Harry dropped his wand to his side.

"First we will discuss Bellatrix Lestrange," Snape said, watching him coolly.

Harry hadn't expected this. His grip grew weak around his wand. "Now?"

"We touched upon this the other night," Snape said, watching him closely. "And yes, I did see you perusing those books, you silly boy. I think we should clarify now your intentions towards her. Do you still intend to kill her?"

Harry stared at him. "Of course. I-- she killed Sirius. And Tonks."

"And I suppose you feel you would be remiss in your affection for them if you did not avenge their deaths?" Snape said dryly.

"Yes!" He fell silent for a moment, feeling foolish. "Well, no. I don't know. It-- I guess it makes no difference to them now, anyway, does it?

"It doesn't," Snape said. "But you feel obligated."

Harry shrugged, still finding this a difficult subject to speak about.

Snape drew closer, watching him intently. "You realize that if you wish to punish her, there are worse things than death."

"Such as Azkaban?" Harry said darkly. "Wow. It did work so well the first time they stuck her in there."

"You oversimplify the situation," Snape said tersely. "Yes, she did emerge from Azkaban relatively… I cannot say 'sane', but relatively undamaged." His black eyes narrowed; he was watching Harry's expression closely. "But her strength in Azkaban was born of her conviction the Dark Lord would rise again. She is a fanatical follower-- the Dark Lord is her faith; he has no disciple of greater conviction than Lestrange."

Harry listened, suspecting where this was going.

A cold smile touched Snape's lips. "It was only faith that sustained her during her tenure in Azkaban, her unwavering belief that the Dark Lord would rise again… But sometimes life, Harry, is the greatest punishment. If, indeed, it is your lot to destroy the Dark Lord completely, then your vengeance has already been had. No one can bear a life without hope, not even Lestrange."

"Great," Harry said sarcastically, thinking of the difficulties entailed in that. "So I just need to fulfill my destiny and I'll make her pay, too. Maybe if I have time between classes, I'll pop on by and do it tomorrow."

Harry hadn't intended to sound so bitter; his voice simply came out that way.

"I do believe," Snape said, watching him through glittering black eyes, "that you presume too much by supposing any proactive measures of yours will have any hand in the Dark Lord's demise."

"You think I'm being arrogant again?" Harry snarled, suddenly angry. "You're the one who brought it up!… I didn't choose this!"

"No," Snape parried coolly. "You did not. You would be a fool if you had. You are a sixteen year old boy, and decades of immersing yourself in the darkest spellbooks in the world would still very likely fail to yield the mechanisms for the defeat of the Dark Lord."

Harry stared at him. "So what are you saying? I should just… do nothing? Let whatever happens happen?"

"I am suggested," Snape said waspishly, "not only that you do nothing, but that you accept there is nothing you can do."

"You can't seriously be suggesting I just-- just give up." At Snape's level gaze, Harry's incredulity mounted. "You think I should just lie down and say I have no chance… that I shouldn't even bother?"

"You do not have a chance," Snape responded, "and you shouldn't even bother."

Harry stood there, unable to believe what Snape was saying. He floundered for a long moment for some suitable reply, but Snape pressed on:

"If the prophecy is true, and you have some 'power the Dark Lord knows not'," Snape said, his voice sarcastic on the last words, "then I'm certain it will surface, and the way will be made known. If it does not, it is hardly any fault of yours. At present, there's very little action you can take by way of defeating such a vastly superior opponent. It's patently ridiculous to strive for a victory that you can never hope to achieve."

"That's a horrible thing to say," Harry said quietly. "It would be my fault… it would all be my fault what happened if I gave up."

"It would not be giving up," Snape sneered. "'Giving up' implies some action on your part can truly affect the outcome of your situation. That's not true. As the situation currently stands, your defeat by the Dark Lord is inevitable, thus it can't possibly be deemed your fault. If some event transpires to change the situation, you may reevaluate it then."

Harry couldn't muster a word to say. He couldn't believe Snape was saying this. It was-- it was awful!

"Put aside that infernal Gryffindor pride and consider the sense of what I have been saying," Snape ordered. "You have assumed a misguided mantle of responsibility, when in fact, some examination of the reality of your situation will liberate you from it."

"I'm not a coward," Harry said. "I don't-- I don't want to run from it."

Snape smirked. "Of course you don't."

He turned and stalked into the adjoining chamber.

"Clear your mind," he ordered from the next room.

Harry was still reeled by Snape's words as he picked himself out of his chair and made his way into Snape's office. He really couldn't believe what Snape had said, that he shouldn't even bother… That he should recognize his limitations and heed them, give up upon hope for the impossible.

It was an awful thing to say; everyone else encouraged him to be something greater. The very House of Gryffindor demanded the courage to strive for something greater.

For a moment, he was threatened by anger. It was just like that greasy git! Saying he wasn't that capable, telling him not to bother because he simply wasn't good enough… It was a horrible thing to say!

He dared not admit to himself that, somehow, it made him feel marginally better.

It should have infuriated him. It should have roused his defiance, made him want to prove Snape wrong.

For some reason, though, it was a relief to have at least one person who saw him as the inept kid he still felt he was, one person who wouldn't be shocked and disappointed when he failed.

Snape would never feel he'd let them down. Snape would never blame him if they lost. And coming from a person who was not kind enough to spare his feelings with a pretty lie, he knew it to be true.

When his father cast the legilimens on him, for the first time in months, Harry was able to shove him out of his mind.

* * *
]
"I should remember this," Harry said at the end of their session, clutching his pounding forehead.

"Remember what?" Snape said, raising Harry's fringe with a sweep of his thump to assess the appearance of his scar; he seemed to use its degree of irritation as a gauge for what potion to give Harry after their Occlumency sessions.

"I should remember that you were right," he said.

He caught Snape's eyes. Snape raised a questioning eyebrow, compelling Harry to elaborate.

"You seem to understand me better than I do. Sometimes, at least," Harry said, feeling exhausted to the point that he'd abandoned his reserve. "You-- it's like you always seem to guess right. I wouldn't have thought so… not until it was easier to block you. And the other night, er, well maybe you had some points there, too."

Snape withdrew his hand and let Harry's fringe brush back down over his forehead; there was an odd look on his face, as though he weren't entirely sure how to react. Harry felt a pang when he realized how unaccustomed Snape was to being appreciated for much of anything.

"I should have realized it sooner," Harry added, a bit bolder. "I really could have listened to you more."

His thoughts turned to that first night when Malfoy arrived at Snape Manor, Snape's warning not to leave his room. If he had only listened to him, maybe everything would be different now. Maybe Malfoy wouldn't be trying to kill them…

Well, he'd probably still be trying to kill Harry. But not Snape or the fictitious 'Septimus.'

"While I will admit I have questioned many of your decisions," Snape spoke at last, "You do generally employ sound judgment… You do not make the decisions I would make, but your choices are often not without merit."

"I went to rescue Sirius," Harry said darkly. "I was stupid. You wouldn't have done that."

"No," Snape said flatly. "Nor would I have spared Pettigrew. I would have left Draco Malfoy to die at the hands of a Dementor. And if I'd encountered my most hated professor, suffering in the aftermath of torture, I would have 'left him to rot'. My life would have been considerably easier in many respects… but I am not you."

He leaned back and watched Harry speculatively.

"As you can see," Snape concluded, "we are very different people, you and I. You dare to gratify your nobler impulses, and I myself have never had that fortitude. You rescued Miss Granger from a troll, and to this day she is your friend. Black,"-- Harry noticed he did not quite spit the name this time,-- "owed his life to you, and was devoted to you in return. We approach matters very differently, which is one of the reasons you'll very likely live out your life surrounded by loyal friends, and I'll very likely die alone."

Snape spoke coldly, matter-of-factly; he clearly hadn’t intended to evoke pity, but Harry was suddenly overcome with a powerful wave of it. How lonely Snape's life had to be, isolated with his potions, living the deceptive life of a spy, too caustic for friends, alienated from any family.

"You won't die alone," Harry said quietly. "I'll be here. After all, I'm your son. It's part of the deal. "

Snape sent him a withering look that almost made Harry retreat, disavow his statement. Harry regretted what he'd said-- Snape did not appreciate being pitied-- but the finest shreds of Gryffindor courage forced him to maintain eye contact.

"And you, er, might need a kidney one day."

Snape stared at him for a long moment, in which Harry wondered if he was about to be shot down. Then, unbelievably, the corners of his thin mouth twitched as though he were reluctantly amused.

"I might," Snape acknowledged. "Especially if I am regularly immersed in saccharine discussions such as this."

Harry grinned, the tension broken in a single moment.

"I won't make it a habit if you won't," Harry quipped. "But knowing you, that might be asking too much, huh?"

Snape shot him a dour look.

"Go back to Gryffindor and sleep, Mr. Potter. Your exhaustion has clearly rendered you delusional."

Harry gave him a cheeky grin. "Yes, sir."

Snape rolled his eyes and retreated into the brewing chamber.

He set about gathering his books, and after a moment, his eyes found Snape, peering into the depths of his cooling cauldron.

Suddenly Harry could picture vividly Snape's life-- lonely rooms saturated with potions fumes… looming in front of classrooms of students who neither liked nor respected him… apparating to a dark wizard to whom he was practically a slave… lying, manipulating, deceiving… always standing at a distance.

All to redeem himself for the fatal mistake of believing in a cause… And sacrificing the only family he had.

Harry's thoughts turned to Lucius Malfoy, Snape's only friend in school… Now his enemy, purely because he was protecting Harry.

Snape's words haunted him. "Use this spell on Miss Granger now, and you do not merely throw away your only leverage, you throw away mine."

Harry sent one last glance at Snape before leaving the office. Through his mind flashed those days and nights since Snape had taken him from the Great Hall and sneeringly informed him they were father and son. However much he'd hated Snape at times, however many angry words they'd exchanged, he could honestly see now that Snape had made sacrifices for his sake, and received so little in return. And asked for so little in return.

A fierce, protective warmth kindled inside him, and Harry turned away.

Malfoy won't hurt him again, he vowed silently. I swear it.

* * *

Harry was aware of the voices in the distance. He was in the Gryffindor Common Room, and Ron was baffled as to why his Wizard's Chess pieces kept speaking to Harry in parseltongue. Harry was translating in broken English, telling him the snakes were mocking Ron's new goatee. Meanwhile, Ron's goatee had swelled into a giant, cumbersome beard rivaling Dumbledore's-- a beard that also spoke parseltongue-- when the voices in the distance swelled and Harry found himself pulled from the scene, drawn by a wave fierce, cruel delight.

He was in a dim, ornate chamber, smirking. Frantic figures argued before him-- a bedraggled woman divested of any hint of restraint and a tall, cool aristocrat whose composure was clearly being put to the test.

"--the courage to tell him, dear brother!" Bellatrix cried, waving at an alarmed blonde boy who appeared to be fighting not to retreat behind the shelter of his father. "TELL HIM! Tell him you murdered his mother!"

Draco froze, seemingly forgetting his attempts to escape attention. He stared, stunned, at the woman.

"Do not repeat this slander in the presence of my son," Lucius snarled, taking a menacing step forward as though cutting off Bellatrix's line of sight would hide his son from her voice.

Bellatrix cackled-- a high, shrieking laughter that verged on hysteria and made Harry smile.

"Oh, but he should hear the pretty details!" she cried. "He should know you MURDERED my sister-- STRANGLED HER like a common MUGGLE--"

"SHUT UP!" Draco bellowed, whipping out his wand. "STOP SAYING THAT!"

Bellatrix giggled madly, eyeing Draco's wand as though he held all the menace of an infant brandishing a rattle.

"The poor widdle baby doesn't want to hear the twoof," she sneered. "Your daddy killed your mummy, little Draco. Your widdle biddy spells aren't going to change that!"

"I said STOP IT!" Draco screamed, casting a furious glance at his father, his cheeks flushing red. "Why are you letting her say that? WHY DOES SHE KEEP SAYING THAT?"

Lucius did not spare a glance for his son, watching Bellatrix with cool, calculating appraisal. "We will discuss this later, Draco. Lower your wand."

"But--"

"Do not raise your wand in the Dark Lord's presence!" Lucius roared, casting Draco a warning glare, before meeting Harry's gaze with apology in his faint smile.

His son stared at him beseechingly, not receiving anything by word or look from his father. He turned again to see the delighted anguish of his aunt, and then to Harry, who could not suppress his amusement at this sordid scene.

"Master!" Bella dropped to her knees. "Give me leave to punish him! Let me hurt him!"

Malfoy stiffened in alarm. "My Lord?" He sounded a bit panicked.

"No, Bella," Harry hissed. "I will not tolerate any damage inflicted upon one of my lieutenants."

Bellatrix dipped her head reluctantly; Lucius shot Harry a grateful look.

His son suddenly roused from where he'd been frozen. He rushed to his father's side, as though seeking refuge from what he'd heard.

"It's not true, is it?" he pleaded. "It can't be true. It can't be."

Lucius sent him a cold, unyielding look. "Silence. You are making a spectacle of yourself."

Draco stepped back, gaping at him. All propriety forgotten.

Lucius lowered his voice, to a pitch where it was barely audible.

"We will discuss this later."

Draco reeled back, as if he'd been struck. "No… it can't be-- you can't have--" he shook his head in fierce denial.

"Silence your son," Harry drawled, his amusement fading into irritation.

"Draco--" Lucius said, stepping closer--

In a flash, the boy disapparated.

The scene dissolved around him…

* * *

Harry jolted upright in bed, groggy, horrified. Voldemort's amusement lingered at the back of his mind like something noxious, and he stumbled from his tangled bed sheets.

It took his exhausted brain a long moment to wrap around what he'd just seen.

Draco-- Lucius…

Lucius had killed his wife.

Draco's father had killed his mother. Good God.

The devastation and horror on Draco's face burned behind his eyelids; he couldn't shake the image from his mind.

Draco had just learned his father had killed his mother.

Harry pulled his robes on with shaky hands, still shocked. He couldn't believe it. His mind returned to the boy he'd seen, hunched in a chair in Snape's office, tears streaking down his face.

Lucius killed Narcissa Malfoy.

Harry mindlessly grabbed his map and his wand, determined to tell Snape at once what he'd seen. He yanked his invisibility cloak over his head and started down the staircase. Snape needed to know this; this was huge.

At the entrance hall, Harry froze, the full import suddenly sinking in.

Draco had disapparated. Where had he gone?

Something tugged at the back of his mind… A notion, perhaps a fanciful one, but--

He dug out his Marauder's map and held it aloft in the dim torchlight. Then he saw it.

A dot labeled Draco Malfoy, just inside the apparition boundary. He stared, transfixed, as the dot crept first closer to the school, then halted again.

Draco's here…. Harry thought, his heart pounding wildly. Draco's here… I have to get Snape--

And then the dot started back-- slowly, reluctantly, but it was retreating.

There was no time to get Snape. He had to get Draco now before he left.

Harry grasped his wand and sprinted out into the night.

The dot moved backwards and forwards, as though caught by indecision. Then it started towards the apparition boundary again and threatened to disappear from the map entirely. Harry felt his heart leap and tucked the map away, throwing himself into tearing towards Draco's location.

He was out of breath by the time he crossed school boundaries and trailed to a stop, feeling his first flicker of unease. He was beyond the apparition wards… Maybe this wasn't such a good--

It was then that he caught sight of Draco, his head buried in his arms against the trunk of a tree, and Harry's fears were forgotten.

He debated as he approached the merits of pulling out his wand… But it would only take Draco a split second to disapparate; he didn't want to seem like he was threatening him. After what he'd just learned…

He felt a pang of pity. He pulled off his invisibility cloak, and kept his wand at his side just in case he needed it, but not immediately in Draco's line of sight.

"Malfoy."

The other boy's head whipped up. He pulled out his wand, and nearly tripped over the roots of the tree stumbling back from Harry. The blue light of early dawn caught the faint glisten of tears on his cheeks.

"What do you want Potter? Get away from me!" Draco cried, his voice breaking.

Harry stepped closer, then slowed when the other boy cringed backwards instinctively.

"Look," Harry said softly, "I know what happened. I know why you're here."

Draco glared at him, furious, terrified; his hand shook where it held the wand.

"You don't know anything, Potter!" he roared. "Stay back! I'll hex you!"

"I'm not here to do anything to you, okay?" Harry said reassuringly. "See? I'm not even pointing my wand at you."

He could hear Draco's ragged panting in the hushed air; the other boy's eyes were swollen-- he'd been crying for a while.

Very carefully, Harry ventured, "I know what Lucius did to your mother. I--" Harry fell silent, trying to figure out what to say. "I saw everything."

Draco's face crumpled in pain. "How--" his anguished voice barely choked from his lips. "How? Who told you?"

Harry dared to draw closer to the other boy, willing Draco to trust him.

"I have visions. I see what Voldemort sees when he's feeling a strong emotion-- angry, happy." He felt something foul boil up in his throat. "Amused."

Tears welled up in Draco's eyes again. "He thought it was funny. The whole time, he was…" Again he choked on his words.

Harry could see the pale, thin form trembling in the cool air, the quick, frantic breaths clouding into faint mist.

"I hate him," Draco whispered.

Whether he referred to Voldemort of his father, Harry could only guess. He'd venture it might be both.

"I HATE HIM!" In one fluid motion, he tore the Malfoy crest from his cloak and yanked at it with his fists, trying to tear it to pieces. "I hate him… I hate him… I hate him…"

The fabric would not yield, and Draco's fury only seemed to mount. He stamped it into the ground, screaming incoherently.

Harry hovered at a distance, at a loss, wondering if he should do something more.

Draco abruptly fell silent, staring blankly at the defiled family crest. And suddenly his head shot up, his crazed eyes riveting to Harry's.

"EXPELLIARMUS!"

Harry was knocked backwards as his wand flew from his hand.

He froze on the ground as Draco drew closer, wand raised, his concern for the other boy subsumed by this sudden, very real danger.

"I told you to stay away from me…" Draco's voice shook. "I TOLD YOU!"

"I know you did," Harry said, feeling anxiety dancing in his stomach at the crazed look on Draco's face. The other boy could simply kill him… no one would be here in time to help…

"You should have stayed away…" Draco repeated hysterically. "I could kill you now, Potter. I could do it."

"Yes, you could," Harry said carefully, fighting his instincts to flee. He looked between Draco's wand and his face before slowly pulling himself to his feet. "But I don't think you want to."

At the bemused look on the other boy's face, Harry felt his courage mount.

"I think you came here for a reason," Harry forged on, watching Draco's expression carefully. He saw from the flicker of unease in the other boy's eyes that he was right. "You must have. You came to see--"

The words froze on his lips. Not Dumbledore. Draco had no reason to trust Dumbledore.

"You came to see Snape, didn't you? You came to ask him for help?"

Draco's eyes narrowed, his posture stiffening. "You don't know anything, Potter."

"I know a bit more than you think, actually," Harry replied, daring to draw a step closer. "I know he'll protect you from Lucius and Voldemort. I know you can trust him."

Draco sneered at him, seeming to gain confidence from Harry's ignorance.

"You're an idiot, Potter!" he scathed. "You really think Snape can be trusted? You think he wouldn't turn me over to the Dark Lord in a second?" He glared back at the school. "Snape's a Death Eater. He'll only help me if he thinks he can hurt my father… he'd kill me in a second."

He turned a fierce glare at Harry, and Harry wondered how much he should pretend to know about Snape.

"Bet you didn't know that, did you?" Draco said viciously, misreading his look. "Snape's a DEATH EATER! He'd kill you if he could! And he'd kill me, too. You're stupid if you think he'll protect me."

"Draco, listen--"

"The only thing Snape could do is hide me from my father," Draco continued, his voice laced with fury. "They hate each other, after all. But I was stupid to come here."

Draco eyed him for a long moment, as though uncertain what he should do, his wand trained relentlessly on Harry. After a long moment, he let out an angry breath and sent a spell lashing out at Harry's wand that knocked it into the distant underbrush.

"Get out of here, Potter," Draco ordered. "Come back for your wand tomorrow. Just leave me alone."

Harry hesitated. "What are you going to do? Are you just going to go back to them?"

"I DON'T KNOW!" Draco shouted, brandishing his wand threateningly again. His eyes had welled up with tears again. "GO!"

"All right," Harry conceded, raising his hands. He really hated leaving Draco there, and he really hated leaving his wand there.

He felt an oppressive sense of failure descend upon him as he backed away. He'd wanted to do something-- anything-- to help Snape out with Lucius.

Maybe there was still time. His mind raced over the possibility of running as soon as he was out of Draco's sight, getting Snape--

A loud crack split the air.

Harry didn't need to see his face to know who it was. He yanked his invisibility cloak over himself faster than he'd thought he could move.

Draco, for his part, started violently, then whipped his wand around towards the new intruder.

Lucius Malfoy.

Father and son faced each other in the half-light. Harry felt like he might choke on his anxiety. He couldn't get away in time. All it would take was one word from Draco…

"What do you want?" Draco demanded. His expression was twisted with pain and betrayal; he made no effort to wipe away the tears coursing down his face.

Lucius seemed to take in Draco's state in a quick sweep of his eyes; he wisely chose to hang back; Harry noticed he hadn't drawn his wand.

"I thought I might find you here."

"Did you?" Draco snarled.

"And I understand why," Lucius said gently. "You feel hurt and betrayed. You were hoping Severus would help you punish me."

Draco's shoulders heaved violently, as though he were fighting a sob. "You deserve it!"

"Perhaps I do," Lucius conceded, his expression twisting with something that approximated guilt. He made no move to grab his own wand, holding is distance as though in respect for Draco's magical skills. "I never wanted that horrendous event to transpire. I never imagined I'd do such a horrendous thing. I loved your mother dearly-- she was dearer than life to me. I never wanted that to happen."

"Why did you do it, then?" Draco demanded in a strangled voice.

Harry tore his attention from the scene and cast his eyes about for a means of escape. The ground was littered with dead twigs, forest debris. He was too close to Lucius; it was pure luck he'd apparated in with his back to Harry. But now, there was no way he'd be able to pass without being heard…

Damn it, if he just had his wand…

His only hope lay in the fact that Draco hadn't revealed his presence to Lucius, that Draco's eyes glimmered with hatred, fury, and betrayal as he stared at his father. How agonizing this was-- his fate rested in Draco's hands.

"I think you know why it happened, Draco," Lucius said quietly. "I think you know what pushed me to those limits. I'm sure you've heard the others snicker about her-- her indiscretions. And when I came to see my wife-- the wife I loved so dearly, and that man-- in our home…"

He closed his eyes heavily, as though caught by a powerful wave of emotion.

"The most important thing in this world to me," Lucius said, his eyes sliding back open. "Is family. My family. My wife and my son. My. Son."

Draco stared at him, frozen as though he'd been paralyzed.

"You are the most important thing in this world to me, Draco," Lucius whispered, in a gentle, loving voice. "My entire existence is about you, about the two of us-- father and son. Your mother defiled my love for her… She defiled our family. And with all these horrendous events that have transpired-- my unjust imprisonment, Severus's betrayal… it was too great a strain. I couldn't bear to see her treat our love so callously… throw me away to play whore to a half-blood…"

"Don't say that," Draco hissed.

"You and I are Malfoys, Draco," Lucius persisted, taking a step forward. "We are the inheritors of an ancient legacy, Draco. None are like us in this world. None have our noble bloodline, none our ancient fibers of strength. You may journey from one corner of this world to another, until its very end, and you will never find another who understands you as I do… there will never be another who loves you so unconditionally."

Tears slipped down Draco's cheeks. His wand wavered.

"Don't let this bond-- this noble blood of ours-- be torn apart because of a woman's misdeeds," Lucius said appealingly. "You and I-- father and son-- we are worthy of this legacy. Are you simply going to throw it away? Will you let her destroy it?"

Draco was silent; Harry was afraid he might be considering Lucius's words.

Don't listen to him! Harry thought, horrified. He's manipulating you, don't you see that?

"My son," Lucius said, still in that affectionate tone, "If you choose to abandon me now-- if you choose to march through those gates and seek Severus to plot my undoing, I forgive you."

Shock washed over Draco's face.

Harry closed his eyes, pained. He knew this maneuver.

"You are my son," Lucius whispered, "and I will love you whatever misdeeds you commit..."

His smile faded, and his expression grew solemn, almost pitying.

"But I will fear for you, my son… I will mourn for you, because one day you will realize you've destroyed the single person on this earth who truly cared for you, who truly valued you. And I never want you to experience the pain that will cause you. I love you too much to wish that upon you."

Draco looked devastated by Lucius's gentle acquiescence. The elder Malfoy, with a damnably understanding look on his face, stepped aside for his son to pass through the apparition boundary, into the protective shelter of Hogwarts.

Draco watched his father with an expression of absolute anguish.

"Go ahead, then, Draco," Lucius said gently. "Do what you wish. It is your right. And I will never challenge it."

Draco bowed his head, his eyes sliding closed. His entire body was shaking, his expression pale and strained. For a long moment he stood there, and Harry knew Lucius's words were doing their work, playing on his fears. Even amidst his own fear, Harry could remember how Lucius had tried to isolate Septimus, make him feel like he was his only ally in the world. He knew Draco, at this moment, was probably feeling as though his entire world was about to slip out from under his feet.

Harry felt like he might be sick. He suddenly knew exactly what was coming.

When Draco looked up, he seemed strangely calm.

"Accio invisibility cloak," he called out to the air.

Harry made a desperate attempt to cling to the treacherous fabric, but it slipped right through his fingers, leaving him fully visible, and entirely defenseless, not ten feet in front of the shocked Lucius Malfoy.

He knew he couldn't get to safety in time; his heart thudded violently in his ears.

A dark smile curled across Lucius's lips.

"What an unexpected surprise, Mr. Potter," he drawled.

The words stirred Harry out of his shock. He jolted to his feet and lurched forward, knowing he wouldn't make it.

The stunner hit him before he'd taken three steps, and the world tunneled into darkness.