FEST FIC: Eislean cuir stad air (Part 2) - Harry/Draco (NC-17)

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Part 1


May 1996

Harry's sixth year was hectic and confusing. The prophecy about the White Dragon was always in his mind, taunting him with its possibility and inevitability. He must find it, otherwise all hope was lost, but how should he even go about it? He knew that asking Dumbledore was the fastest way to information, but it would also come with a lot of pressure and guidelines. Harry wanted to pursue this by himself, without an authority figure overseeing him.

Dumbledore was currently searching the remaining Horcruxes, giving Harry time to learn in the interim. But Riddle was gaining power, both physically and politically, so they would have to make a move before too long. His changing of tactics had worked, it seemed; the very same people who had refused to join Lord Voldemort were flocking to the banner of the handsome, smooth talking politician, Tom Riddle.

He spent quite a bit of time with Dumbledore, which was illuminating and confusing at the same time. They covered a lot of topics, including Riddle's childhood, his first rise to power, the circumstances surrounding the creation of his Horcruxes and his defeat by Lily Potter's love for her son. Learning about Riddle's Horcruxes was terrifying, he knew first hand how deadly they were and how well they worked. It was a lesson he would never forget, so learning there were more of them chilled him. They also talked about the prophecy which Harry was still amazed by; his prophecy.

He kept expecting Dumbledore to bring up the second prophecy, he must know about it, Harry thought...but he never did. He did, however, have Harry study the blueprints of Riddle Manor that he had recovered from the Muggle town it neighboured, as well as the wards and protections that surrounded it. While it was interesting, Harry didn't know why he needed to study all this; certainly they would want to confront Riddle on neutral ground, but Dumbledore insisted. The reason why came to Harry at last when Dumbledore mentioned that one particular room was said to house the legendary White Dragon, a weapon of great power.

Harry froze, his mind whirring. He tried to act cool, but Dumbledore must have noticed something, as Harry was not a good actor. He didn't say anything about it however, to Harry's relief. And when Harry tried to question him further, he simply said it was a "weapon of great power, to the wizard who knows how to use it.” Then he added an unhelpful, “put it out of your head, dear boy, that is a tale for another time.”

Harry rolled his eyes and allowed Dumbledore to change the subject, but he didn't put it out of his mind at all. He thought about it incessantly, as a matter of fact. He picked out the fastest and safest route inside Riddle Manor to the room where the White Dragon was kept, and studied the wards more intensely with Hermione. They put together a tentative plan to liberate it, as the prophecy determined he must, but Harry was more than a little apprehensive about it. It would help if he knew anything about what they were looking for. On the other hand, there was plenty of time before they would be able to implement the plan, so he supposed more research was in order. Hermione would be delighted.

The problem with that was that they had been unable as of yet to find anything relating to a White Dragon, besides the obvious references in the magical beasts section of the library. It was frustrating for Harry, but he feared Hermione was taking it the worst. Having uncovered nothing at all, it seemed her winning streak was coming to an end. Harry couldn't help but chuckle at the thought of Hermione on a broomstick with a book.

It was the beginning of May when the Death Eater attack came. Harry had long suspected that Theo Nott was up to no good; he had been acting more suspicious than ever, and of course, the cursed necklace, the poisoned mead and Harry's inability to get into the Room of Requirement when he was certain Nott was in there bore out his theories.

All these things culminated in the invasion of Death Eaters into Hogwarts. Fortunately, their goal was thwarted, with much help from Harry's Felix Felicis. However, the school was badly damaged, Bill Weasley was killed and Dumbledore critically injured. Harry realized that, if he hadn't given his friends the Felix Felicis, the aftermath could have been much worse. If losing Bill Weasley to a Death Eater's wand was supposed to be lucky, he didn't want to imagine what would have happened otherwise. They had to leave school early, so he wasn't even able to talk to Dumbledore about it, but he was grateful that the Headmaster had been well enough to ensure that Ron was still allowed to join him and Hermione at Grimmauld Place, after Harry escaped the Dursley's. Harry knew that the time had come to liberate the White Dragon from Riddle, and that they had to act quickly as Riddle was gaining influence even as his Death Eaters were spreading fear. They had to destroy the Horcruxes, true, but without the White Dragon Harry feared he wouldn't have a chance. Prophecy had shaped his life, and he had no reason to doubt it. Once Harry had arrived at Grimmauld, he set to research immediately. The Horcruxes, the White Dragon, not to mention a way to get past Riddle's wards. When Ron and Hermione joined him, they continued their research. Harry was beginning to feel itchy, and desperate. Time was running out.

*

They were all gathered in the kitchen for lunch, Hermione still flipping through one of the tomes she had liberated from the library, when Dumbledore made an unexpected visit. He had been successful in locating a locket, that he had been led to believe was Slytherin's locket but, unfortunately, it had proved to be a fake. He tasked them with finding the true Horcrux, and engaged them in a discussion about Riddle Manor and it's protections.

“I hope very much that none of the Horcruxes are currently in the Manor,” Dumbledore said as he sipped his third cup of tea. “It is indeed a shame that we are not aware if one is kept there, for a day is fast approaching that would be ideal for a retrieval mission, should such a thing be needed.”

“Oh?” Harry said, nearly choking on his tea as Ron elbowed him in the ribs.

“Is there something important going on?” Hermione asked. “Perhaps it's a good time to send someone in anyway, to have a look around.”

“Oh, I do not think the risk is worth the effort, not without actual information about the item and its location,” Dumbledore replied. Harry and Hermione shared a significant look. Of course they knew well that the White Dragon was being held there and where. Hermione had also studied the type of wards extensively, she was sure she could adjust them to allow Harry entrance, if they could put their plan into motion.

“Exactly what is happening that night sir, if you don't mind me asking,” Hermione could not help but dig for a more information, and Harry was quite grateful.

“I have it from impeccable sources that Riddle has a reverie planned on the evening of June the fifth. If the event follows the precedent that Riddle's followers have set in the past, the house will be nearly empty for the entire evening. It is a shame that such an opportunity will be missed, but even if we were more certain of the possibility, we have no idea where it would be kept, and what protections may be in place.”

“I suppose you're right,” Hermione agreed. “It is a shame.”

“Well, if we determine that there is Horcrux at the Manor, we will have to find another opportunity to retrieve it. But I do not believe it is very likely that Riddle would keep such a crucial item so close to where he resides. He is better served placing them in disparate locations, in case of an attack.”

“It does make sense,” Harry said. “He wouldn't want to risk losing a Horcrux, in case he was killed again.”

“Yes, exactly,” Dumbledore replied. “Well, I believe it is time for me to go. Plenty of repair work to be done at Hogwarts. We are planning to begin early for those students still needing their NEWTs and OWLs. Yes, Miss Granger,” he held up a hand, silencing Hermione before she started. “Professor McGonagall will be in touch with you shortly.”

“Harry, my boy,” he said as he stood, smoothing his robes down. “If you would see me to the door. Good day Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley.”

“Goodbye Professor,” Hermione said, as Ron echoed with his own goodbye. Harry stood, giving them both a look before following Dumbledore up the stairs to the foyer. They moved quietly past Mrs. Black in her portrait and then stopped at the front door. Dumbledore looked down at Harry with a fond expression.

“I have something for you Harry,” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small piece of paper, folded in half. “I have a feeling you may be needing it in the near future, and while you might think me daft for giving it to you, please do keep it safe.”

Harry took the paper, unfolding it to find the address of the very house he was in written in Dumbledore's handwriting.

“Sir, I don't,” Harry began, but he was cut off.

“Nonetheless Harry, I demand that you keep it safe until you need it. Trust me on this, please.”

“Yes sir,” Harry said, putting the paper in his pocket. “I will.”

“Good. Now, I will be off. Just do what you need to do, Harry and the rest will be taken care of,” Dumbledore gave him a wink and slipped out of the door, closing it silently behind him as Harry looked on bemusedly.

*

June 1997

Draco woke up, cocooned in warmth and a feeling of safety, something he hadn't felt since he'd been forced from his mother's side so many years ago. A pair of strong arms were wrapped around him, one pillowing his head and the other draped across his hip. Harry's chest was pressed against his back, his breath fluttering across the back of Draco's neck. He shivered, it felt delightful.

The previous day came rushing back. His birthday gift had been dinner with his parents before the ceremony forced on him by Riddle, after which he had been escorted back to his room to await the solstice that would bond them permanently. He had gone to bed almost immediately, sleeping restlessly until the dream of Harry that had forced him out of bed. Then Harry's arrival had turned his whole world upside down. The escape, Ron and Hermione, the Knight Bus and finally, 12 Grimmauld Place. He remembered being unable to sleep in the room he'd been given, and asking Harry if he could sleep with him.

He blinked a few times, trying to sort it all out in his head. He was distracted when he felt Harry's arms tighten, heard him breathe deeply, his nose nestled in the short hairs at the back of Draco's neck.

“Harry?” he whispered tentatively, unsure of the protocol in cases such as this. Harry was aware, or Draco's query had woke him, because his body tightened, pulling back from Draco even before his arm was levered out from under Draco's body.

“I'm so sorry,” Harry began, pulling away completely and getting out of bed quickly. “I'm so sorry, I didn't mean...you were asleep and, that is, I was asleep too, and I didn't know...”

Draco laughed at his unease. “It's alright, Harry, I understand. I didn't mind, truly.”

Harry stopped his nervous pacing, much to Draco's relief. “You didn't?”

“No,” Draco answered immediately. “Did you? Is it a bad thing? I've never been ins situation like this before.”

Harry stood very still now, staring at Draco with wide eyes. “Well, I haven't either,” he said.

“Oh,” Draco replied, looking down at the bedspread. "Have you never woken up in a snuggle before?"

“A snuggle?” Harry asked, gobsmacked. “No, I...I've never slept beside anyone before.”

It was Draco's turn to be gobsmacked. “But...didn't you sleep with your parents when you were younger?” Harry shook his head, his hair more askew than usual.

“No, I...well, I don't remember them,” Harry said sadly, sitting on the bed once more.

“Oh, I forgot, I'm sorry,” Draco said, leaning over to rest his hand on Harry's thigh. Harry twitched, but didn't get up again. “Didn't your guardians snuggle you? You were very young when you parents died, surely they...” He trailed off at the anguished look on Harry's face.

“My aunt and uncle didn't care much for me,” Harry said. “They resented that they had to care from me at all, so I...no. I've never been snuggled.” He looked up into Draco's grey eyes, wondering how such a cold seeming colour could be so warm but, on Draco, it was.

“Well, that's horrible,” Draco said, moving closer to Harry again. “I haven't seen much of my parents for the past few years, and it had been a while since I'd begun sleeping on my own, but...well, I remember waking up between them since, well, since I can remember. They always kept me safe, until I was old enough to take care of myself.” Draco talked on, without needing any type of response from Harry, who was glad of it. He didn't know how to respond. Draco had been locked up for five years, away from the world, kept away from his parents at the will of a madman, but from the sound of it, he had been given more affection, had been shown more love in the time before his incarceration, than Harry could have conceived of during his entire childhood

He found himself suddenly jealous of Draco, despite knowing that he'd been a prisoner of Riddle for the past five years, for Merlin knew what purpose. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice that Draco had stopped talking and was gazing at him curiously.

“Harry, are you okay?” he asked, moving even closer to Harry. Before Harry could respond, there was a knock at the door.

“Harry, are you awake?” Hermione's voice called out.

“Yes Hermione, I'm up,” he replied.

“Good, Dumbledore is here, he'd like to speak with us. Also, Remus and Mrs. Weasley have arrived for lunch, it's almost ready.”

“Okay, we'll be out in a few minutes,” Harry said, cringing even as he said 'we.'

There was a moment of silence as Hermione absorbed the information. “Well, I won't bother waking Draco, then,” she said wryly. “Dumbledore wants to see him too.”

“Okay,” Harry said, unclear as to what, if anything, he should add. What do you say when you've spent the night spooning with a boy you've just met, and your best friend catches you out?

There was another pause, before Hermione's footsteps could be heard making their way toward her room where Ron was likely still asleep. Harry looked over at Draco, blushing a bit at the tempting picture he made.

“We should, uh...we need to go,” he stammered, ignoring the way Draco's flushed cheeks and messy hair made him want to sink back onto the bed and kiss Draco senseless. His blush deepened. “Dumbledore doesn't like to be kept waiting, he's quite busy.”

Draco nodded, dragging himself out of bed with all the enthusiasm of a Niffler in a bin of cheap plastic trinkets. Harry couldn't help but grin at him as he felt he felt much the same way. He wasn't looking forward to the explanation Dumbledore would no doubt require. And while he wasn't thrilled about the inevitable lecture, he was almost as apprehensive about Mrs. Weasley's reaction, though hearing that Draco had been a prisoner would soften her up almost immediately. To Draco, anyway. She wouldn't be pleased with Harry, Ron and Hermione for sneaking out. For that matter, neither would Remus.

Harry sighed. It was shaping up to be a very long, tiring day. He glanced over at Draco, amused to see him riffling through Harry's dresser, scoffing at the clothes and generally making a mess.

“Don't you have anything worth wearing in here?” Draco asked scathingly. “I can't meet new people in my pyjamas. Especially since they're your pyjamas. It's just not done.”

Harry crossed the room, stilling Draco's search while pulling out a pair of jeans and a t shirt for himself. “Why don't you wear what you wore last night?” Harry suggested, confused as to why Draco needed different clothes at all.

Draco gasped, his face a picture of shock. “Wear yesterday's clothes? But, they're dirty. That's disgusting, I couldn't.”

Harry stared at Draco for a few moments, unsure whether to throw his hands up in defeat or laugh until he cried. Draco's outrage was amusing, over such a small thing.

“No one here cares what you wear, Draco,” he explained.

“What kind of people don't care about basic hygiene?” Draco's face was, if possible, even more shocked.

“It's not...I mean, we,” Harry ran a hand through his hair. “We care about hygiene Draco, but if your clothes are still clean, why not wear them again? Doing the laundry is time consuming, and we just can't spare that kind of time for something so trivial.”

“Trivial?” Draco was shaking his head in wonder. “Cleanliness is never trivial, Potter. Besides, that's what house elves are for. Honestly.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “We don't have house elves Draco, we do everything by ourselves,” Harry said, sighing again.

“No house elves!” Draco was scandalized. Harry was bemused at how someone so utterly lacking in social skills could at the same time be such a stickler for upper class ideals. As if he was trained but had never had a chance to use that training in context.

“Well, until we can get you some new clothes, it will have to do. You hardly wore your clothes last night, so I'm sure they'll be fine for the day, okay?” Harry reached out and gripped Draco's shoulder, rubbing his thumb across the bare stretch of collarbone visible where his pyjamas dipped. Draco shivered, a reaction which caused Harry's cock to twitch in interest. He pulled his hand back quickly, and turned to put his own clothes on.

“We should get moving, they'll be waiting for us.” He heard Draco let out a long sigh, before he moved to the door.

“Alright,” Draco said, “But you'll have to wait for me, I have no idea where to go.”

Harry looked up at him and grinned. “No problem.”

*

Draco hurried across the corridor to the room he'd been led to the night before. He shucked the overlarge pyjamas, folded them and placed them beside the clothes he had left there the night before. He dressed quickly, not at all happy about wearing the previous day's clothes, but he understood Harry's point. He had barely worn them, and without house elves, he had no idea how to clean them. He'd have to ask Harry for help later.

When he was dressed he sat on the bed to wait for Harry, still trying to come to grips with what had happened in the last few hours. He thought that he should be panicking a lot more, but Harry's presence was like a balm to him, easing the fear of the unknown and the distance from his parents.

Harry knocked a moment later, pushing the door open and peering in. “Ready to go?”

“Yes,” Draco stood up, taking the hand that Harry held out to him.

“It'll be alright,” Harry said, giving Draco's hand a squeeze. “Everyone is really great, and they'll understand why you're here.” He smiled at Draco, who couldn't help but smile back. He followed Harry out and down to the entryway, then to the staircase at the back of the house that led to the kitchen.

Everyone was seated on benches around a long wooden table taking up the bulk of the room. Draco spotted Hermione talking to a chubby red haired woman, who Draco decided was Mrs. Weasley, Ron's mother. Ron was devouring a plate of sandwiches, but looked up to grin at Harry and Draco when they entered. Draco sneered at his mouth full of food. Ron was a bit of a slob.

Then Draco noticed the two men deep in conversation at the head of the table. There was a very old looking man in bright robes, his long silver beard pooling on the table. He was talking to a frail looking man with greying hair and worn out robes. Both men looked up when Harry cleared his throat, pulling Draco further into the room with the hand that was still holding Draco's.

Draco blushed as he quickly became the center of attention. He held Harry's hand tighter and moved closer, half hidden behind Harry's body.

“Everyone, this is Draco,” Harry said, tugging him out a bit, introducing him to the newcomers. Draco nodded at each in turn, a little overwhelmed. He hadn't had this many people focusing their attention on him for years, not including the ritual that Riddle had performed the previous night, but that had been disconcerting for entirely different reasons. Dumbledore stepped closer as he was introduced, holding out a hand for Draco to shake.

“Mr. Malfoy, how wonderful to see you doing so well. I must admit to some worry about you, these last five years.” Several jaws dropped as Dumbledore turned to Harry. “Harry, I am quite pleased that you were able to recover young Mr. Malfoy so quickly, I had feared you would ignore my hints and miss the opportunity. That would have been most disastrous.”

Dumbledore stepped back, gesturing to the table. The others were still silent, staring in wonder at Draco, and Harry was fidgeting a bit at their shocked looks.

“Please, do sit down boys. Molly has prepared a lovely lunch for us, and there is much to discuss.” He turned his attention to Mrs. Weasley. “Molly, if you would?” She snapped out of her trance, nodding as she moved to set another tray of sandwiches and a bowl of fruit on the table for Harry and Draco.

Harry sat, tugging Draco down with him. He picked up a sandwich, aware that the room was still silent. Before he could speak up, Ron belatedly exclaimed, “I thought you looked familiar. Malfoy? You're joking, right?”

He was staring at Draco with ill disguised repulsion, which, after his acceptance the night before, kind of hurt.

“Yes, Weasley,” Draco sneered. “Is there a problem?”

“No,” Harry began, but Ron spoke up again.

“Yes, there's a problem. We all know the Malfoys are filthy Death Eaters. If you're one, you must be as well. You were in Riddle's house, after all.”

“Ronald,” scolded Mrs. Weasley, even as Hermione smacked her boyfriend on the arm.

“I knew he was a spy, Harry. He tricked you into bringing him back with us, even now they're probably track...” He never finished the sentence, silenced by a word from Dumbledore.

“Mr. Weasley, you are quite mistaken. Mr. Malfoy is no more a Death Eater than I am, he has truly been held hostage by Tom Riddle since the age of twelve.” He said authoritatively.

“But sir,” Harry spoke up at last. “If you knew about Draco, that he was kept there, why didn't you rescue him before?” Harry moved closer to Draco, protectively.

“Because it was not my place to do so,” Dumbledore replied. “It was your task to liberate him Harry, in accordance with the prophecy.”

“But Riddle could have hurt him,” Harry insisted. Dumbledore shook his head.

“No, Harry. Despite his keeping Draco against his will, Riddle intended him no harm, quite the opposite. You do remember the prophecy, do you not?”

“Yes,” Harry said.

“Riddle intended to bond with Draco, thereby keeping him from giving assistance to you. By binding Draco's power to his own, even if Draco had escaped, he would have been powerless to help you.”

“I don't understand, sir.” Hermione spoke up, raising her hand as if she was in a classroom. “The prophecy says that the power of the White Dragon will enable Harry to defeat Riddle. It doesn't say anything about Draco.”

“Doesn't it?” Dumbledore replied. “In fact, Draco Malfoy is the White Dragon. There is nothing in the prophecy that precludes him being so. Riddle's actions have proven that he is, in fact, the weapon that will enable Harry to bring about his defeat.”

“But what, exactly, is the the power he possesses, Albus?” Remus Lupin spoke up at last, eyeing Draco speculatively. “How can we be sure that the prophecy has been interpreted correctly?”

Draco was stunned. He had listened to the discussion, amazed to hear that he was the subject of a prophecy, the same as Harry had been. He knew about his magical status, he knew that he could be used to help another wizard, indeed Riddle had intended to use that power himself, by binding Draco to him. Yet he knew, with utter certainty, that Dumbledore was correct, he had felt it before, when he saw Harry's picture for the first time. He was meant for Harry. While he didn't have a clue what power he had that Riddle had desired, or what he could so to help Harry defeat him, he had the proof that he was meant for Harry, and Harry for him.

“I've dreamt of Harry,” he said, quietly, too quiet, perhaps for the others to hear him over their discussion. But they did, as all eyes turned to him.

“I'm sorry Mr. Malfoy, could you repeat that?” Remus said.

“I've dreamt of Harry,” he repeated, flushing as he glanced up at them, all frozen in astonishment. Draco took a deep breath and continued.

“I've dreamt of Harry every night, as long as I can remember. It was just flashes when I was young, just glimpses of him. And he wasn't a child, I always saw him as he is now.”

“Indeed?” Dumbledore said. “Please, go on.”

“I, uh...” Draco glanced around nervously, unused to the attention. “Like I said, it was just glimpses. Harry smiling, laughing, crying. Sometimes he was angry and scowling, and other times he looked sad. But it was always his face, as it is now. Over the years, the dreams changed, and I saw him more. They were repetitive, like visions of the future.”

Draco glanced up at Harry, blushing under his scrutiny. “I didn't know they were the future, but they must have been. Last night, before I woke up and Harry came to get me, I had the most vivid dream ever, but it was one I'd had before.”

“What was the dream?” Dumbledore prompted. Draco hesitated, but Harry took his hand again, squeezing it before lacing their fingers together.

“I was running. Running through a forest, terrified. I tripped, almost falling over, but the hand that was holding mine pulled me upright again, and a voice urged me to continue. I looked up and it was Harry, it's always Harry. He was telling me not to be afraid, so I wasn't. I woke up before we stopped running, but then...well, then it happened.”

“What happened?” Remus asked.

“Harry came into my room, looking for a weapon. I guess it was me, but we didn't know that.”

“So, you left with him?”

“Yes,” Draco said, looking Harry in the eye now. “He was so sure we could escape, that he couldn't leave me there. And I'd been dreaming of him my whole life, I just knew I had to go with him. As if I'd finally found him and I couldn't bear losing him again." He looked down, embarrassed.

“Weren't you afraid?” asked Hermione, but Draco shook his head.

“No, I was with Harry. Why should I be afraid?” Harry squeezed his hand again, and Dumbledore beamed at him. "Besides, after the ritual that evening, I knew that I had to get out of there. Riddle was going to bind me to him at the solstice, and I doubted I'd ever have another chance to escape."

“Indeed you would not have,” Dumbledore said. “And once the ritual was completed, your magic would have been bound irrevocably to Tom Riddle.”

“But why?” Ron spoke up again. “What's so special about him? And how can a Malfoy,” Draco cringed as Ron practically spat out his name, “ever help Harry?”

“You should not be so quick to judge, Mr. Weasley, despite any injuries his father may have inflicted on your family. Draco is completely innocent of his father's crimes.”

Draco glared at Dumbledore. “What crimes?” he demanded.

“Your father killed my sister!” Ron yelled, standing up, bracing his hands on the table top and leaning across it toward Draco. “And he tried to kill all of us, just last year. He's a despicable Death Eater, and you're just like him, I know it!”

“Ronald!” Mrs. Weasley stood up, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. “However Lucius Malfoy was involved in Ginny's...” She trailed off, seemingly unable to continue her sentence. She took a deep breath and continued. “However he was involved, it is not Draco's fault. He was just a child then, as you were, and he is not responsible for the actions of his father, however horrible.”

“I don't understand,” Draco said, glancing from one Weasley to the other. “My father would never...”

“He did!” Ron interjected. “He slipped a book into my little sister's cauldron five years ago, and it possessed her! It killed her, and your father is to blame!”

“Mr. Weasley,” Remus stood up, pulling Ron away from the table, turning his focus away from Draco. “Now is not the time to be laying blame. However Lucius Malfoy is responsible for Ginny's death, none of it falls to Draco. He is on our side, or have you missed how close he's become to Harry?”

“Too close, and too fast. How do we know it's not a trap?”

“We all understand your frustration, Mr. Weasley.” Dumbledore spoke calmly but firmly. “But the blame must be given where it is due. It was Tom Riddle who is responsible for the death of your sister. Lucius Malfoy was not aware of the true nature of the diary when he placed it among Ginny's possessions, I am certain of this. He is not blameless, to be sure, but the fault is with Tom Riddle. Who, as you are aware, took Draco Malfoy prisoner and intended to bind his magic, against his will. I am also certain that Lucius Malfoy, whatever his allegiances, is not happy about it.”

Ron opened his mouth,as if to argue, but Dumbledore held up a hand in warning. "I know you are angry, but we cannot allow past grievances to distract us from the matter at hand. Draco is on our side, and you would do well to remember it."

Ron glared at Dumbledore for a moment before turning his gaze to Draco, who was clinging to Harry, pressed close against his side. His face was white with shock.

“I don't believe it,” Ron spat, pulling away from Remus. “He's a Malfoy, and they can't be trusted. I won't have any part of this.”

The rest watched, shocked as Ron left the room, stomping up the stairs before slamming out the front door. A horrible shrieking began from the entryway. Remus sighed deeply. “Hermione, would you mind helping me with Mrs. Black?”

Hermione nodded, smiling weakly at Draco before standing and following Remus out of the room. Before long the shrieking stopped and Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

Mrs. Weasley wiped a her eyes before reaching over and placing a hand over Draco's, giving it a squeeze. “I'm sorry about Ron, Ginny's death affected us all very much. That doesn't excuse Ron's behavior but...well, I'm very sorry.”

“It's alright,” Draco said, giving her a sympathetic look. “I'm sorry if my father was involved, I can't imagine...” He took a deep breath, shaken by Ron's harsh words.

“Of course you can't,” Mrs. Weasley. “He's your father and we all believe the best of our loved ones. Besides, I don't believe he intended what happened.”

“I am sure he did not,” Dumbledore interjected. “Whatever his intentions, I am certain Ginny's death was not the outcome he intended. It was truly a terrible accident.”

Mrs. Weasley sniffled again, patting Draco's hand before standing. “I'll just be off then, there are things to do at home. Don't let it bother you, dear.” she smiled at Draco, dropped a kiss on the top of Harry's head and left, as Remus and Hermione returned.

“Well, that was an interesting discussion, wouldn't you say?” Hermione said to the room at large.

“It was most illuminating,” Dumbledore agreed. “And while we have much to discuss, I think it is best saved until after you boys have some lunch. Too much talk is hungry work. Perhaps we can all meet in the library, after you've had a chance to eat? 2 o'clock?”

Everyone nodded, so Dumbledore rose from the table. “Remus, perhaps you would join me there now? Let's leave the young people to their own discussion, shall we?”

Remus agreed, both of them heading up the stairs toward the library. Harry smiled at Draco, who smiled back weakly. He didn't have much of an appetite after Ron's outburst, but Dumbledore was right, he did need to eat. He picked up a sandwich and took a bite. It was quite good and he ate several, despite his nervousness.

When they were done, Draco and Harry went back up to Draco's room. They sat side by side on the bed, both of them unsure of what to say. Ron's outburst had been rather shocking, especially for Draco who had no idea about the things his father had done. All he knew was the man who loved him, despite his inability to free Draco from Riddle's clutches.

“Harry,” Draco began, looking at Harry uncertainly. Harry looked back at him, and some kind of understanding flowed between them. Harry shuffled closer to Draco, wrapping an arm around his shoulder, pressing them close together at their thighs, side and shoulders. Draco sighed and laid his head on Harry's shoulder for comfort.

Both boys were hyper aware of each, feeling every part of their bodies that were touching. Draco's head was spinning, Harry's arms were strong and safe and he smelled so very good. It was all he could do not to tilt his head up and press his lips to Harry's neck, to taste the skin there.

Now wasn't the time though, if it was ever going to be. Right now Draco was worried about his parents.

“Did...my father, I mean,” Draco began again. “Did he really do those things? Did he really kill Ron's sister?”

“No,” Harry replied, stroking his spare hand over Draco's cheek and turning him so that he was looking in Harry's eyes. “He's not innocent Draco, I'm not going to lie to you. But he didn't know what the book he gave Ginny would do, he didn't know how dangerous it was. I think he just wanted to scare us. Unfortunately...”

Harry trailed off, his eyes shifting from Draco's to some unknown point over his shoulder.

“You were there. I mean, that day we met in to the bookshop...while we were talking, that's when your father left the diary in Ginny's cauldron.”

“Oh.” They sat quietly, each lost in thought.

“Harry?” Draco asked softly, bringing Harry's attention back to him.

“Riddle isn't a very nice man is he? I mean,” he paused in thought. “I mean, I've always known he wasn't...because he took me prisoner, although he didn't tell me that then. I think my father knew the real reason, but Mother still doesn't.”

“I want to believe your father is just stuck in a bad place he can't get out of, but Draco...that's not all he's done. He attacked us in the Department of Mysteries a few months ago...on the same night I recovered your prophecy. I didn't know it was yours at the time, but...”

“He attacked you?” Draco sat back, and Harry's arms dropped away.

“Yes, it wasn't the first time we'd run into him. Regardless of how he feels about Riddle taking you captive, he is clearly loyal to him. It scares me and makes me angry to think that you might go back to him.”

“I won't,” Draco said, placing his hand on Harry's cheek, mirroring Harry's actions from before. “I told you Harry, I've been dreaming about you.”

Harry nodded, smiling weakly at him. “I remember. Your whole life, really?”

“Yeah. And always this face,” Draco said, tracing his hand over Harry's cheekbone, his jawline, down to his neck. “I've seen you like this all of my life, grown into a man.”

“Wow,” Harry whispered. Draco realized how very close they were, he could feel Harry's warm breath ghosting across his face. Harry's arm was still wrapped around his shoulder and they were still pressed together.

“Yeah,” Draco whispered back. The air felt heavy in a way Draco had never experienced before. Harry was staring into his eyes, his gaze unflinching, filled with something that made Draco hot and itchy. Draco licked his suddenly dry lips, and Harry broke their gaze at last, to follow the motion of Draco's tongue.

“Draco,” Harry leaned closer, his eyes flicking back up to meet Draco's gaze once more, and his green eyes were even hotter than before. Draco shivered--the intensity of those eyes was something he had only seen in his dreams. Never this close, never this real. He swallowed, his throat tight with some unknown emotion.

“Harry,” he whispered back, leaning closer as if pulled by a magnet, by Harry's personal gravity. He shivered again as Harry's soft lips brushed over his, once, twice, just a feather light kiss that left him yearning for more.

Harry leaned their foreheads together, placing his hand at the back of Draco's neck and digging his fingers through the hair there.

“Draco,” he asked quietly, raising his eyes to Draco's. “Have you ever...”

But he was cut off by a sharp knock at the door.

“Harry, are you in there?” Remus' voice called through the door. “Dumbledore is ready for a chat now.”

“Thanks Remus, we'll be right out,” Harry called back. He sighed deeply, tracing his fingers across Draco's cheek before dropping his hand. He pulled his arm away from Draco's shoulder at the same time, leaving Draco feeling somewhat bereft.

“We'll talk again later, alright?” Harry stood and moved toward the door, smiling at Draco.

Draco nodded, licking his lips again, and rubbing his sweaty palms against his trousers before standing and following Harry out.

*

February 1997

Shortly after his father's release from Azkaban, Riddle began to take dinners with Draco more often, almost every night. Draco was torn; while he loved having someone to talk to, he had never liked Tom Riddle and doubted he ever would. The small consolation he had was that they were rarely alone at these dinners. Draco's parents were permitted to join them, his father more often than his mother, but Draco was grateful for the visits any way he could get them.

They were also joined by his aunt, Bellatrix, who had been in prison as long as he could remember. He had no idea why she had been released, but it was clear she was mad. Draco thought that perhaps the Ministry was losing touch, if they had seen fit to release her.

As much as he disliked his aunt, she was far better company than some of the others who attended their dinners from time to time. Men like Walden McNair and Fenrir Greyback were in turns disgusting and terrifying. Draco had begun to dread evening, for fear that they would be there.

Their addition also turned the conversation to mudblood hate and pureblood rhetoric, which became tedious very quickly. Draco was certain of his own superiority as a pureblood, but the level to which these people took that was baffling. Draco found himself wondering often just what Riddle was attempting to accomplish and how successful he thought he would be.

Not that Draco would ever find out. At this rate he would never be allowed out of Riddle Manor.

One day, several weeks before his seventeenth birthday, Draco's father arrived during the afternoon, a rare occurrence as he usually visited for dinner. Even stranger was the summons that Lucius carried. It was unprecedented in Draco's experience.

“An audience?” Draco asked, as he dressed in the formal robes his father had indicated he should wear.

“Indeed. Mr. Riddle has declared that you are now mature enough to be told exactly why you are here,” Lucius said, adjusting Draco's robes.

Draco fidgeted and tugged at his robes, earning a warning slap of his father's hand. “At last,” Draco scoffed. “He kept me waiting long enough.”

“Now Draco,” Lucius scolded. “No need to be rude. Mr. Riddle has done you a tremendous service by protecting and educating you all these years. This knowledge was kept from you for your own peace of mind.”

“Peace of mind?” Draco asked, looking up at his father, his worry clear in his eyes. “Why would it make me worry?”

“You should not worry, but perhaps you would have been less sanguine about your situation had you known...well, it is not for me to say, you must wait until Mr. Riddle sees you.”

Draco looked up at his father who was fidgeting with the fastenings of Draco's robes. His father was attempting to hide it, but Draco was sure that he was as nervous as Draco was. Whatever the news was, Draco was certain it could not be good.

When they reached the audience chamber Lucius told Draco to be silent and to wait by the door until Mr. Riddle called for him. Draco had no problem agreeing, he would be as silent as the grave if it would keep him from Riddle's notice.

There were almost a dozen men dressed in dark robes gathered around a large table, chanting words that Draco did not understand. Lucius left him to join them, whispering a few words to Mr Riddle, who was seated at the head of the table. He nodded at Lucius, not sparing a glance at Draco. His attention was focused on a picture propped up in front of him. It was surrounded by candles and incense, from what Draco could see it was some kind of shrine.

The other men in the room ignored him as well, continuing their chanting as Lucius joined them. They seemed to be performing some kind of ritual or spell that was focused on the makeshift shrine. The chanting went on for a few more minutes until all the men began a complicated wand movement, one after another. The chanting reached a crescendo suddenly, many voices raised in unison along with their wands, which were then spun in circles, lowering gradually until they were all pointed at the map laid out directly in front of the picture.

Brilliant lights filled the room, joining one by one and then spinning together around the room as if the map was in the eye of a centrifuge. Draco watched in awe as the light became brighter and more concentrated as it spun inwards. At last, just before the light reached the map, it burst, exploding into an array of sparks that flew out of the room.

Draco's shocked gasp was drowned out by Riddle's enraged yell. He stood, clearly in a fury, dashing all the candles and paraphernalia from the table before grasping the picture and hurling it across the room. It smashed into slivers of wood and glass not far from Draco.

The gathered men cowered as Riddle raged, they cleaned up the mess as he made it, the candles, the incense, bits of paper and glass from the candle holders. All of it banished as Riddle continued what Draco considered to be a full blown temper tantrum. But he used the distraction well, inching across the wall toward where the picture lay shattered on the floor. He managed to shake the glass and broken picture frame away, folding the picture and placing it in his pocket quickly before any of them noticed.

He was almost too late. Lucius looked in his direction, noticing the pile of detritus under Draco's feet and flicked his wand to remove it. He stared suspiciously at Draco for a moment before turning back to Riddle who was now slumped in his chair with a snifter of some undoubtedly strong elixir.

“Find another way,” he declared to the room at large. The men shot nervous looks at each other, but didn't say anything.

“Find another way!” Riddle exclaimed. “Find him, or you will all pay the price.”

“Yes my lord,” The men spoke in unison, sending shivers up Draco's spine. They all turned to leave, filing past Draco and out through the door. He wished desperately in that moment that he was one of them, that he could leave as well. But he didn't even know who they were or what their business was. It was hopeless anyway. Riddle had fixed his eyes on Draco now, gesturing him forward.

“Draco, come here,” he said, and Draco had no choice but to do as he bid.

Draco approached the table taking the seat his father indicated, to Riddle's left and across from Lucius.

“Hello sir,” Draco said respectfully, keeping his eyes downcast. He didn't like looking into Riddle's eyes, it always left him feeling a sense of utter dread.

“How are you today, my boy?” Riddle asked.

“Fine, sir,” Draco said, not looking at his father either. The sense of dread was building already.

“You are approaching your seventeenth birthday, are you not?”

“Yes sir,” Draco replied.

“Well, it seems the time has come to tell you what is to come,” Riddle said, accepting a new glass from a shivering house elf.

“I would like that very much, sir.” Draco said, trying desperately not to fidget. Lucius looked very nervous as well, which was not helping Draco in the slightest.

“Well then, I will get right to the point,” Riddle said. Draco barely suppressed a snort, retorting in his head, 'at last.'

“Draco, I know you do not understand this power that you have, that has motivated me to keep you here. In fact, that is because, simply put, it does not exist yet.”

Draco looked up, meeting Riddle's eyes for the first time. There were as cold and dangerous as ever.

“If it doesn't exist, then why,” Draco began, but he stopped when Riddle held up a hand to him.

“It is because you my dear boy, are a priceless creature indeed. Your power is rare and may only be harnessed by bonding to another. I intend to be that person, for your own safety. The benefits to me will offset my sacrifices quite nicely, I think.”

Draco was shocked, staring at Riddle and then his father in turn, his mind spinning.

“Do you see why I have kept you here, Draco? If the wrong person were to understand what you are capable of, they could enslave you against your will, twisting you into something horrible, for their gain. I could not allow you to be treated this way, so I made the choice to keep you here, safe from the world that would seek to abuse you.”

Draco sat for several minutes, staring straight ahead, avoiding his father's eyes as well as Riddle's.

“What are you going to do with me?” Draco asked quietly after a seemingly interminable pause. Riddle's words had caused an epiphany, the words that sounded so very concerned for his welfare, so compassionate.

But Draco knew they were not. He understood in that moment that everything Riddle had proclaimed to protect him from was exactly what he intended to do. The dread had reached an apogee, filling him with a sense of utter wrongness, a certainty of maliciousness that had only been hinted at during his years imprisoned. Riddle had kept him away from the world in order to keep Draco for himself. He was intending to use Draco for the sake of power, Draco was sure of it.

“On your seventeenth birthday I will begin a ritual that will ensure your safety for the rest of your life,” Riddle said. Draco glanced up at Lucius, who was sitting as tense as a bowstring in his chair. Draco had never been more certain of anything in his life.

“How will it do that?” he asked, in a near whisper. The strength and hope was leaving him in a rush.

“We will begin a bonding ceremony on your birthday that will culminate at the summer solstice. It will bind you to one person, so that no other will ever be able to hold you against your will.”

“No one but you,” Draco said, rubbing his sweaty palms on his robes. Riddle's words had confirmed his fate, no further explanation needed. Almost five years of silence and holding his tongue, wondering without any answers was about end, and the result was tearing through Draco in a rush of desperation, anger and fear. He knew it was going to happen, but he couldn't stop himself. He didn't want to.

“Excuse me?” Riddle said, fixing Draco with a look that made him want to hide.

“You will bind me against my will so that you can have the power for yourself. That is why you've kept me a prisoner here.” Draco said firmly, meeting Riddle's gaze once more. The dread was still there, but now it was tempered by the knowledge that, no matter what he did or said, Riddle could not do worse to him than he already intended.

“Draco!” Lucius scolded, his face the picture of horror and shame.

“Silence, Lucius,” Riddle demanded, turning directly toward Draco. “What is the meaning of this insolence, boy? After all I have done for you, all I am sacrificing to keep you safe, how dare you treat me like this?” His voice was cutting and his tone cold. Not that Draco expected any less.

“How dare you treat me like this!” Draco exclaimed, pushing his chair back as he stood.

“You've kept me a prisoner here under the facade of hospitality for almost five years, telling me nothing and punishing both my parents and myself by keeping us apart, all so you could use me to further your own pursuit of power! You want nothing more than the power you think I can give you, which makes you no better than those who you say you're protecting me from. But it's all a lie! Isn't it?” Draco was furious, leaning forward on the table in a threatening manner, despite the helplessness of his position.

“Who are you, to think that you have the power to make these choices for my life? It's mine!” Draco turned to face his father then, letting the rage course through him.

“And you! You have stood by and let this happen! You let him take me away and keep me here and for what? So that I could be bound in slavery for the rest of my life? Why? What for?”

Draco was on a roll, but the train was coming to a halt, and fast. Before he knew what had happened, he was on the floor, screaming in pain as every synapse in his body was stimulated to the point of collapse. It went on and on, every second that passed felt like an eternity, until Draco was sure he would pass out from the pain. Before he could gain a release in unconsciousness the pain stopped, as abruptly as it started. Draco found himself panting, his endurance pushed past anything he thought was possible, his muscles still screaming with remembered pain.

He was pushed from his side with the toe of a boot, flipped until he was on his back, staring up at the twisted but handsome face of Tom Riddle.

“Apparently you are not as clever as I supposed, boy.” Riddle said with a sneer. “Did you not realize? The reason why I have the right to demand this price from you, and why your father has never dared to disagree?”

Draco shivered, the terror making him shake despite his body's recovery. Riddle stood tall above him, an imposing figure indeed, his wand pointed directly at Draco.

“I,” he said in a chilling, horrible voice, “am Lord Voldemort. Your father belongs to me, as he has since I marked him. And you, as his son, are my property as well. Your life is mine, Draco Malfoy. A fact you would do well to remember in the future, when you feel your mouth beginning to run away with you.”

Draco nodded, utterly speechless. Voldemort? But he was dead. Harry Potter had defeated him, fifteen years ago. It was impossible, but somehow it was true, of that Draco was certain. There was no other man to whom Lucius Malfoy would sacrifice his only son. He should have realized it sooner.

Draco's blood ran cold with the realization that there truly was no hope at all that he would be able to make an escape from this life that was being forced upon him. He was young, slight, and his lack of experience was as detrimental as his lack of a wand. He was helpless in the face of the greatest and most horrible wizard in centuries.

“Lucius!” Riddle barked, turning away from Draco's prone body. “Get him out of my sight. And see to it that he's prepared for the ceremony, and imbued with respect befitting my presence. I will not suffer this type of outburst again, conduit or not.”

“Yes my lord,” Lucius replied, moving quickly to pick Draco up. When it became clear that his legs could not support him, Lucius waved his wand and Draco felt suddenly weightless and disoriented as he was levitated. Lucius moved out of the room quickly, Draco's floating body right behind him. Before Draco was aware of the passing corridors, he found himself dropped onto his bed, jarring his mind back to the present.

“I cannot look at you now, you foolish boy,” Lucius said, his voice as cold as his eyes. “I will be back tomorrow to see to your proper education. Until then, I suggest you use the time to change your attitude. You have been given a great gift, Draco. You would be wise to remember it.”

And with that he was gone, the door promptly locked behind him. Draco sat alone in the middle of his bed, his head reeling with all that had passed, his body still aching from the brutality of the Cruciatus Curse. It was then that he remembered the hastily folded picture in his pocket. He drew it out with shaking hands, unfolding it carefully to get a good look at the person who Riddle had been so desperate to find.

Draco's surprise was great when he looked at the boy smiling out at him from an eerily still photograph. Although trapped on the paper crudely for eternity, the bright green eyes that looked out at him were familiar. More than familiar, Draco knew them better than his own. They were the eyes of the boy he'd spent his life dreaming of. The face of the only one who filled Draco's heart with hope at the very thought of him. They had never met, but Draco had always thought that this boy was the only one who could save him from Riddle. Now he was more certain than ever.

Did Riddle know? Had he found a way to see Draco's dreams? He had never mentioned it, but then again, neither had Draco so that didn't mean anything, really. Was that why Riddle was so determined to find him? Still, the truth was incontrovertible. The boy Riddle was desperate to find was the boy Draco had spent his life dreaming about.

*

Everything changed after that night. There was no more hiding behind falsehoods, no more pretending. Draco was not invited for dinner with Riddle again, nor did they take walks. Draco could not find it in himself to regret it, despite his utter loneliness and isolation. His biggest concern was that his birthday was fast approaching, and there was no escape in sight.

Draco pulled that stolen picture from his pocket obsessively, studying the face of the boy in it until the creases were well worn and he knew every wrinkle by heart. This face had followed him throughout his life, had shadowed every dream with his presence. Draco was certain that he was meant, not for Riddle, but for this boy he was desperate to find. Draco had seen his face almost every night of his life. Green eyes haunted him, now more than ever.

His dreams had increased in intensity and clarity since that night. They began to feel more like visions than simple dreams. In them the boy was interacting with him more, it felt real, as if Draco was really there with him. Draco wished badly that he were.

By the time his birthday arrived, Draco was apathetic and resigned to his fate. There was nothing he could do, alone, wandless, under lock and guard. All his studies were useless now. He ate very little of his dinner, alone as usual, completely ignorant of what was going to happen to him that night. His trepidation was extreme, and with good reason.

Strangely, he also felt rather apathetic about the whole thing. A sense of calm had enveloped him, balancing out the fear and hopelessness. He didn't understand it, but he wasn't going to fight it. He soon pushed away his plate in disgust, a guard opened the door and gestured him out. He sighed, bracing himself mentally for what was to come.

*

June 1997

Harry and Draco found Dumbledore in the library, talking quietly with Remus. He smiled and waved them in. They sat together on the cushiest loveseat, pressed against each other while Dumbledore eyed them speculatively from his armchair.

“Hello boys,” Remus said, smiling at both of them. “I see that you two have become quite close in such a short time.”

Harry and Draco shared a look, and Harry couldn't help but grin like a fool at Draco's blush. “Yes, I know it's a bit odd, but...” Harry had no other explanation, being with Draco just felt right.

“I understand, Harry,” Dumbledore said. “I am not surprised, given the nature of the prophecy and the intensity of the bond you will forge.”

“Do you know more about it, sir?” Draco asked, fidgeting at Harry's side.

“Indeed I do, Mr. Malfoy. But we will leave that topic for a bit later in the conversation, if you don't mind.” Dumbledore nodded toward Remus.

“Albus tells me that you were forced to leave very quickly last night, Draco. I can't imagine you had much time to pack.”

“No, I...just have the clothes I'm wearing. And my journal.” Draco glanced at Harry again. He loved having Harry's brilliant eyes on him, but it was odd to be scrutinized so closely by the other men.

“Well, that won't do at all,” Remus said, sitting back with a laugh. “I have arranged with Hermione to make a trip to the shops to purchase some things for you, essentials, clothing and such. Is there anything else you would like us to pick up for you?”

“Oh, thank you,” Draco said, grinning for a moment before his face fell. “But, I don't have any money, how...”

Remus held up a hand, exchanging a look with Dumbledore. “The finances are well taken care of, there is no need to worry about that. But I would like to take a few measurements and discuss what type of garments you'd prefer.”

“Alright,” Draco said, standing when Remus gestured he should. Dumbledore looked at Harry while they were distracted, smiling fondly at him.

“I'm exceptionally pleased that you interpreted my hints correctly, Harry. Time was growing short and our opportunities to liberate Draco were few. There was the added complication that you were the only one who was able to accomplish the task. Not only does the prophecy demand it, but it is unlikely that Draco would have trusted anyone else.”

“So you knew about the prophecy all along?” Harry asked, somehow unsurprised that Dumbledore had known, that he had led Harry directly where he needed to go.

“Indeed I did.” Dumbledore look at Harry from across his spectacles. “However, I was unable to do anything about it. I was comforted by the fact that, despite his isolation, Draco was well taken care of. Riddle most certainly would not have harmed him.”

“Oh, well,” Harry said, watching Draco converse with Remus. They were interrupted when Hermione knocked on the door.

“I'm ready whenever you are, Professor,” she said.

Remus exchanged an exasperated look with Dumbledore. His insistence that his former students use his given name instead of a title that no longer existed had fallen on deaf ears. Well, as it concerned Hermione anyway.

“I'm ready,” he nodded to Draco and rose, rolling up a scroll of notes and putting it in his pocket. “We will be back before dinner, I hope,” Remus said with a grin before he and Hermione made their exit.

Draco came back and sat beside Harry, shifting nervously under Dumbledore's scrutiny.

“I am very happy to see the two of you together at last. And that you are getting along so well.”

“Well, we...it's been interesting,” Harry said, glancing at Draco again. He couldn't seem to stop himself from doing it. It didn't help that Draco was gorgeous.

“I imagine so,” Dumbledore said, his smile widening.

“Sir, you said you knew more about the prophecy, about what is bonding us,” Harry said.

“I do. I was fortunate enough to have heard the prophecy involving the two of you, and was able to interpret it correctly, I believe. Certainly, things have worked out in accordance with it, which confirms my interpretation.”

“So Riddle imprisoned Draco to keep him away from me?”

“Essentially yes,” Dumbledore became much more serious. “Riddle had already begun a magical bond with Draco on the evening that you rescued him. Had he been allowed to complete this bond, it would have hampered any bond Draco attempted to make in the future.”

“But would he have been able to use this so-called power I'm supposed to posses?” Draco asked.

“I do not believe so. And as you well know, Harry, I am very rarely wrong,” Dumbledore winked at Harry. “Based on my interpretation of the prophecy, I believe that Harry is the only one who can form a complete, mutually beneficial bond with you Draco. If Riddle had succeeded, he would have made that bond nearly impossible, but he would not have been able to avail himself of your power.”

Harry chuckled humorlessly. “I don't think he would be very pleased when he found that out,” he said.

“No, he would not. And I imagine he would take his anger out on Draco,” Dumbledore added.

Harry took Draco's hand and entwined their fingers. “Then it's a good thing we got you out of there,” he told Draco quietly.

“Yes,” Draco replied, meeting Harry's eyes. They held the gaze for a few moments, until Dumbledore cleared his throat, reminding them of his presence.

“Indeed it is. Not only is Draco safe here, but your bond must be allowed to develop naturally, without any outside hindrances.”

“Sir, I don't understand, just what does the bond entail? And how will it form?” Draco nodded along with Harry, he was just as eager to know what would happen to them.

“On that topic I am less certain,” Dumbledore replied. “I am not sure exactly what the bond will entail, or how it will be formed.”

“But what about my power?” Draco asked. “What are these powers I'm supposed to have, and what am I supposed to do with them?”

“I do not know that either,” Dumbledore said.

“So we basically know nothing,” Harry sat back, clearly frustrated.

“We may not know very much, but now things can transpire as they were meant to, and I feel sure that we will learn very much as events unfold.”

“So all we can do is wait,” Draco said, looking at Harry nervously. He smiled slightly when Harry squeezed his hand reassuringly.

“You are correct, Draco. There is nothing else we can do but what we have been doing.” Dumbledore leaned forward, hands on his knees and addressed Draco directly. “Draco, I would like it very much if you would tell me more about your dreams. How often you get them, how clear they are, and if there is anything in the background that you can see.”

“I, uh...no, there's nothing in the background. I just see Harry, usually pretty closely, as if his face takes up my entire field of vision.” Draco replied thoughtfully. “His face is always quite clear, but nothing else ever is.”

“And how often do you have these dreams?”

“Most nights. As far back as I can remember, honestly. Harry has always been with me, since I was a child.”

“I'm sure that brought you comfort,” Dumbledore commiserated.

“It did. Especially after Riddle took me.” Draco leaned into Harry a bit more, holding his hand tightly. “I always hoped that he would find me, it kept me...happy, I suppose. I never stopped hoping that he would find me, though I have to admit it faded somewhat when Riddle told me what he was intending.”

“I can imagine it would,” Dumbledore said. Harry turned to face Draco more fully.

“I'm sorry I didn't find you sooner,” he said solemnly.

“It's alright Harry,” Draco replied, smiling at him. “You saved me from him, just in time. None of the rest matters, it was all worth it.”

Harry smiled back. Draco was right. It was all worth it, now that he was here.

“Well, as there is nothing more we can do at the moment, let us change the topic,” Dumbledore sat back again. “Harry, I think Draco could be of great use to us in researching the Horcruxes.”

Harry glanced sharply at Draco. Dumbledore had previously told him not to tell anyone about them. He was grateful the Dumbledore was sharing this information with Draco; Harry felt distinctly uncomfortable with the idea of keeping anything hidden from him.

“Horcruxes?” Draco asked.

“It's a long story my boy. Lets call for some tea and get comfortable. We're in for a long afternoon.”

*

June 1995

The prophecy glowed with a vibrant inner light that was visible from beneath the dusky orb that contained it. It seemed to be calling out to Harry, begging him to pick it up. Harry thought about resisting, but when he looked down and saw his name, he gave in. There was another name there but was obscured, perhaps if he wiped it off...

“Harry, what are you doing?” Hermione hissed, her wand out as if expecting an ambush at any moment. Harry picked it up, half expecting it to explode at his touch, but it didn't. The light burned brighter, and it pulsed beneath his fingertips.

“It had my name on it,” he said simply, giving Hermione a weak smile.

“Harry, over here!” Neville exclaimed for down the row, where Harry spotted another orb that called out to him. He pocketed the orb in his hand before moving to where Neville and Luna were standing. As he got closer he could see that the plate below it also had his name, as well as Voldemort's. Was this prophecy the reason his parents had been killed, why Voldemort had tried to kill him as an infant? A rush of anger overtook him as he reached out, plucking the orb off the shelf, holding it just a bit too firmly.

Shrill infantile laughter filled the space, echoing from all directions. The group of them closed, in, standing together in an attempt to protect each other, though they couldn't see who was there.

“Does ickle Hawwy think he's saved the day?” Harry spun around, searching for the source of the voice. “Too bad you're all going to die,” it continued, laughing maniacally.

“Silence,” another voice commanded. Harry watched as a dark shape moved forward out of the shadows. “Well done Mr. Potter,” said Lucius Malfoy. "You've done the Dark Lord a fine favour here, picking up that prophecy.”

“Harry, they've got us surrounded,” Ron hissed, but Harry's attention was directed toward Malfoy.

“Now be a good little boy and give it to me,” Malfoy demanded. “And I will spare your life, and those of your...friends.” The last word was said with a sneer.

“Never,” Harry snapped back. “I won't be a puppet like you, Malfoy.” He spat the name out as if desperate to get the taste of it off his tongue.

“You foolish boy,” Malfoy snapped back. “The Dark Lord holds far more power than you can imagine, and you will never succeed without. Give up now boy, and he may spare your life. But I am taking that prophecy from you, dead or alive.”

“You'll have to get through us first!” Neville shouted, moving forward to stand right behind Harry.

Malfoy merely smirked as the room was filled with cackling laughter once more, as a woman with wide, mad eyes slipped out of the shadows behind Malfoy. “Look at the wittle Longbottom, trying to be just like daddy. Well you're on your own little Longbottom, daddy won't be coming to save you. I saw to that.” Harry recognized the mad woman as Bellatrix Black, the woman who had tortured Neville's parents to insanity. Sirius' cousin. He reached a hand out to grip Neville's arm in warning.

“We're not afraid of you!” Ron yelled from the other side of Harry.

“I'm not giving you the prophecy Malfoy, so you can just stuff it,” Harry said with a firm voice that he hoped hid his anxiety. There was no sign of Sirius, and he was well convinced it was a trap. How were they going to get out of this one?

“Well then, you leave me no choice,” Malfoy said, flicking his wand. The shadows around them gave way, revealing figures in dark Cloaks, hemming them in on all sides. They quickly formed a protective circle, backs to the center. Harry could feel Ron and Neville beside him as well as Hermione and Luna at his back.

They were trapped, but they were not defeated. With a whispered word to the others, Harry made his plan known. At the count of three, all five of them shouted “Diffindo!” blasting the prophecies around them to shards that rained down on the Death Eaters.

The smash of the breaking glass was deafening as the group moved as one, running desperately toward the place where they had entered. Then chaos descended and Harry was lost in the battle.

*

When it was all finished, Harry sat on Ron's bed in the infirmary, slightly disgusted by the scars running up his friend's arms from the brains that had attacked him. Neville sat on the bed next to Ron's while Hermione and Luna were on the other side, both sitting a top the made bed, silent and mournful.

Harry took in a deep shuddering breath, his chest aching with the enormity of what had happened. The prophecy had broken, they'd fought desperately against the Death Eaters and , while chasing the fleeing Bellatrix, he'd been possessed by Riddle, which was not something that Harry wanted to remember, ever. Dumbledore had saved them, but Riddle had escaped before Minister Fudge and the Auror's had arrived. Predictably, Fudge did not believe that Riddle was even there, he certainly did not believe the man was a threat. Harry sighed. Fudge was useless. Lucius Malfoy and several other Death Eaters had been taken into custody, but Bellatrix had escaped with Riddle. Everyone else had sustained relatively minor injuries.

Except Sirius. He had not been wounded, but lost. Lost beyond Harry's reach forever, somewhere in the realm of the Veil. Harry shuddered, his chest aching as if preparing to burst open, his eyes hot and itchy with unshed tears. Now was not the time, so he blinked them back, forcing his attention back to his friends as Madam Pomfrey arrived to heal Neville's nose. She turned his head from side to side, waving her wand across it a few times and murmuring to herself.

“It's definitely broken, Mr. Longbottom,” she declared. “Now hold still, this will sting.” She pointed her wand directly at his face, incanted a crisp “Episkey,” and promptly shushed his exclamation of discomfort.

“It will be back to normal in no time,” said, cleaning the blood from his face with another flick of her wand. “I will be back with pain potions for all of you, and I expect you to take it easy for a few days.” She gave them an unnerving gaze before turning away.

After she had gone into her office, the five friends shared a few pitiful looks. Everyone was raw, Harry most of all. He leaned forward to hide his head in his hand when he felt it. There was something very hard in his robe pocket and suddenly he remembered the second prophecy, the one he had retrieved first. He pulled it out of his pocket and stared into it for a moment, wondering what the point of it all was. Sirius was dead.

“I forgot about that,” Hermione's voice pulled Harry out of his thoughts. She sat on the bed next to him and reached out a hand. “Can I?” she asked, so Harry handed her the glowing orb.

She took it tentatively, balancing it carefully, as if it would fall apart if she breathed too hard on it. But the glow that infused the orb while Harry held it faded almost immediately, becoming dark and still in Hermione's hand.

“That's strange,” she said, but Harry just shook his head.

“No, it makes sense, actually. Dumbledore did say that only the person who the prophecy was about could pick it up. Me giving it to you is fine, clearly, but the prophecy doesn't involve you.” Harry reached out and took it back from her. The orb began to throb with light once more, as soon as it touched Harry's skin.

“Are we going to listen to it?” Neville asked. “It didn't come cheap, that's for sure.”

Harry gave him a weak smile. “I think I've had my fill of prophecies for the night, thanks.”

“But you have to listen to it,” Luna said. “It might be very important. If it was me, I'd want to know.”

Harry silently agreed with her. He did want to know, but not now. It was too soon.

“Not here,” he said. “I'll listen to it later.” He tucked the orb back into his pocket, as Madam Pomfrey reemerged from her office, carrying a tray of potions flasks.

“A little something for all of you, then you can return to your dorms,” she said, and began handing out flasks. Harry took his gratefully, hoping that perhaps it could give him some peace from the guilt and sorrow. If only it were that easy.

*

Harry spent several days contemplating the orb, unsure if he was ready to hear what it had to say. He was certain of one thing: he wouldn't break the orb at school. There were too many ears to overhear, and too much at stake. He sighed, hiding the orb in his trunk and warding it and placing an imperturbable charm to keep it from breaking. He'd tackle it later, when he had peace and time to think about it.

The time came two weeks into his summer vacation. The Dursleys had gone on holiday, leaving Harry alone in the house, which suited him fine. He remembering how he would long to go with them when he was younger, hating that he was left with Mrs. Figg, but now the opposite was true. Of course, the fact that he didn't have to stay with Mrs. Figg anymore helped quite a bit.

He sat at the kitchen table, rolling the orb through his hands, mesmerized by the glow of it, the light that was just waiting to be released. It was almost a shame to break it, but he had to hear it. The pain of losing Sirius had dulled into an ache that never left, but it was bearable, most of the time. However, this prophecy might be vital, and he had to know.

He knew he would only have one chance to hear it, so he set up a tape recorder he'd liberated from Dudley's room. Thankfully, it still worked. He also had a sheet of paper and a pen, so he could write it down. Hopefully it wouldn't be too long. He reached over and pressed 'play' and 'record' to set up the tape, then scooted sideways on his chair. Picking the pen up with one hand, he held the prophecy out over the floor with the other.

He took a deep breath and, before he could convince himself not to, he tipped his hand, sending the ball to the floor.

*

Ron's room was orange and cramped as usual and the bright summer sun baked through the roof, making it hot and stifling as well. Harry sat on Ron's bed, fiddling with the tape recorder that he had used to capture the second prophecy. He was tempted to listen to it again while he waited for Ron and Hermione, but he already had it memorized so he supposed it would be rather pointless. Better to wait for them, to get their thoughts on it.

Harry had been troubled ever since he'd broken the orb a few weeks ago. The prophecy it had contained did nothing to ease his doubts about facing Voldemort, and it answered none of his questions. If anything, it added more questions. Now he had the added worry of the White Dragon to burden him. If the prophecy was correct, and Harry had learned through experience that they were to be taken seriously, then he had to liberate this White Dragon, whatever it was, or face failure. Which was not an option.

Now he had to discover what it was, where it was, and liberate it and figure out how to use it, what power it had and then decipher how to get to Voldemort. He sighed. It was not going to be an easy task.

*


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