Unofficial Portkey Archive

Chapter 33: The Beginning of the End

Ron caught Ginny already awake and wandering the halls early, and informed her about their meeting with Dumbledore and Sirius, and of Percy's sudden change of heart. He was surprised at how stoically she took it all in. With a simple grimace and nod and a promise to accompany him back to the Burrow later that morning, she continued to pace, brooding to herself, despite Hermione's best efforts to have her come with them to the Great Hall. However unhappy it made him Ron had no choice but to leave Ginny to herself, though nowadays she seemed to prefer it that way.

Breakfast in the Great Hall began, at least, as a common affair. Dumbledore, Lupin, Harry, Hermione and Ron slumped into the huge room round half past six, and moved to the front to eat together at the large teacher's table. All felt the strange emptiness the huge, otherwise deserted room carried when not full of the rest of Hogwarts inhabitants; even though they were fewer this year than ever before.

Not long after they had finished eating however, hundreds of students began making their ways through the great double doors with a great cacophony of sleepy voices and shuffling feet; all somehow managing to find their ways to their usual seats.

Harry Ron and Hermione quickly moved down to their normal spots at the Gryffindor table, each deciding that though they had already eaten, they wanted to be there when the morning edition of the Daily Prophet arrived.

Teachers filed in the side doors and sat down; none curious as to why Dumbledore and Lupin were there before them with empty breakfast platters considering that the evening prior, the Headmaster had woken and informed them all on what had just happened at the Ministry. However, although they had been given a whole night to think on it, the professors still passed edgy looks between them, and kept shooting quick glances toward the ceiling as if willing the owl post faster with the morning paper.

They hadn't long to wait.

With a blustery rush and the sudden sounds of hooting and whipping wings, the owl post arrived in the Great Hall. The wide open space above and toward the huge sky-like ceiling was filled with multicoloured birds, and each long house table, already groaning under the weight of food, soon bore letter scrolls, packages from home, and morning editions of the news.

With grimaces, the teachers and staff at Hogwarts snatched their copies of the Prophet and began at once to read, all readying themselves for the inevitable upset of fearful voices they were sure would soon begin.

For a few blissful moments, the familiar crinkling and crackling of unrolling newspapers, letters, and ripped packages, and the easy rumbling of voices were the only sounds heard round the Great Hall. Too soon though, the relative comfort of the morning was replaced with sudden outbursts of shock. Voices erupted in fear, and bodies twitched in their seats, turning to others for confirmation of what they'd just read. Amidst the fearful disorder, conspiratorial whispering over the article turned to accusing stares, aimed mainly at Dumbledore, and some at Harry.

The noise became almost deafening within only a few moments time and looking on, Dumbledore quickly decided that if not taken care of at once, the Great Hall might soon turn into one great upheaval. He sighed heavily and stood with arms outstretched.

"SILENCE! Silence, all of you!" he bellowed, though not unkindly.

With his commanding presence Dumbledore was able rather quickly to bring the Great Hall to a relatively hushed state.

"I realise what you are all reading and discussing amongst yourselves must come as quite a shock, though I must assure you it is quite true. Voldemort is back, and has been for some time now."

Frightful cries erupted again. Some even visibly shook.

"Having said that," Dumbledore spoke again, raising his voice above the din, "I also want to assure you that within the walls of this school and on these grounds, you are perfectly safe. You are in fact, better protected here than you might be anywhere else. "

The Headmaster paused then, thinking to himself how absurd it was to believe any speech he might deliver would put to rest fears that were now very real; ones that had been pounded into the students before him for most, if not all of their young lives. The story of Voldemort's rise to power, and his defeat by an otherwise normal baby boy had for many throughout the long years since, turned into the stuff of legend. How many of these children had, through years of no other news, come to believe the story of Voldemort and Harry Potter to be a finished one? The shock on their systems, and surely on those all across the wizarding world who, at this same moment, were now having to face hard truth must be devastating. What chaos must be erupting right now outside the protective walls of Hogwarts? What repercussions from this new shock might he, Harry and the school now expect to face? The harsh reality, Dumbledore knew, was that they had no way to predict what was coming. The inevitable waves of panic and accusation would no doubt soon swell up to roll over them, and they could only hope amidst it all to tread high above the tide and continue breathing.

For Dumbledore though, the worst part over all was having to look out into the throng of students before him and see the face that, even when not actively trying, he noticed above all others. Harry Potter would endure as much criticism and personal attacks as he, Dumbledore, would. Even now, having not yet read what the Daily Prophet had to imply concerning them, he saw distrust darkening the gazes of many students.

The Headmaster continued speaking with a distinctly weary sigh. "I understand that many out there would wish to place blame and suspicion upon myself, and upon the one amongst you who has for his entire life been fighting against the dark lord. Accusations might soon arise concerning the allegiance of some that sit before you here today. I won't insult your intelligence by pointing out that it should now be obvious you were told the absolute truth this entire time on Voldemort's recent actions, and on his return. However, should certain loyalties still be in doubt, I ask you all to think back. Think hard on your years here, and ask yourselves if the ones you question have EVER shown any reason for you to be suspicious of their intentions, or of their hatred of the dark arts."

Upon hearing Dumbledore's words some hung their heads in shame, while others continued to peer still a bit suspiciously at either the Headmaster or Harry. Dumbledore though had said all he intended to say that morning, and surrounded on all sides by the approving nods of his teachers, he lowered himself back into his seat.

Most of the students continued to stare at each other in stunned silence. Harry understood the feeling; it was one he'd come to know well. Thick shock and overloads of information must even now be smothering their systems like some sort of thick blanket. Eventually though, the fear would begin spreading thinner until, mercifully or not, it became a thin membrane of what would always remain a haunting apprehension; one so familiar to Harry himself that it seemed part of his very body.

Despite himself, Harry began to feel strangely displaced by the awareness now shared with the rest of Hogwarts. For too long, the nightmare of Voldemort's return had been only his, Ron's and Hermione's to bear; one around which they had built a strong bond. However, with the school's blinders finally removed, it now felt as if a few hundred had expanded their fortress against the world.

Harry grabbed onto Hermione's hand; the overwhelming urge to hold something dear and familiar close to him overshadowing even the stares of the students surrounding him.

Hermione gazed up at him, and somehow, Harry knew she understood exactly how he felt without needing to convey it. It was a powerful comfort.

"Mind how quiet it's got," Ron sombrely whispered from across the table. "It's downright eerie."

However, as news this horrifying simply could not be kept inside to brood upon, the silence was not to last. The beginnings of hushed murmuring soon turned into conversations which, if not for the palpable heaviness of anxiety throughout every word, might've sounded quite common and familiar.

Further down the table, a still mute, terrified Lavender hopped up and moved down toward Ron, shoving herself in the seat between him and Colin and grabbing onto his hand. Ginny, who had been seated beside her, looked on with an almost bitter expression on her face. She glanced down at the plate of eggs she had been aimlessly stabbing at ever since breakfast began, but still could not manage to bring a single bite to her mouth.

Wonderful news, the Minister's death... thought Ginny caustically. And now Umbridge the Bitch is head of the Ministry... Smashing. Every day since Bill's death had seemed to bring about a fresh wave of misery.

On a whim, she turned her head and glanced toward the part of the Slytherin table where Draco Malfoy usually sat. He was there, as usual, though he had a look on his face that showed distinct lack of surprise and quite a bit of revulsion at the news he had just read. It appeared he was quite obviously lost in thought, as unbeknownst to him, he continued over and over to rub his forearm.

Ginny was torn. No matter how much she wanted to distrust him, to hate him with every fibre of her being, she simply didn't. There was too much of a nagging something in his eyes, a something that spoke of an authenticity she didn't want to believe in. Might he have actually turned away from his father's beliefs? Had he pushed her away from him because he knew what was coming? Along with everything else, it was too much to think on, and a something that seemed trifling in the face of what was now happening.

Yet, even in the middle of it all she still felt drawn to him, and had the feeling he felt the same about her.

She had quite forgotten where she had been looking since her thoughts had overtaken her once again, and as she drifted back to reality, found her eyes locked with a pair of steel grey ones across the room. Ones that seemed equally lost and lonely, with a gaze that wished to draw her in.

Damn. She flushed bright red and acted as if she had been staring at something else before quickly turning away.

At the Slytherin table, sitting a bit removed from everyone else in his house, Draco flinched back almost painfully.

Hermione, sitting beside Harry and across from Ron, realised with a start that she had not even glanced at the Daily Prophet amidst the uproar, and quickly unrolled the newspaper and smoothed it flat, looking daggers at the headline gracing the front page.

Beside Lavender, Colin Creevey leaned toward them.

"Mind if I look on?" he said with a disarming look. "Seems to be a lot of excitement going round about it."

The three looked at each other until Ron spoke up. "Uh, normally it'd be fine Colin, but… today we sort of need to discuss a few things in private."

I'll give it over to you moment we're through…" Hermione said, glancing apologetically at him. "You understand, right?"

Strangely, something bordering on relief washed over Colin's face though he covered quickly. "Oh of…of course. No worries, then."

He leaned away and turned back to his omelette and a conversation with a very fidgety Parvarti Patil, who kept asking him what he thought would happen next. Although Ron and Hermione gave it not a second thought and turned away, Harry continued to watch him closely.

"Oh..." Lavender looked at Ron and spoke quietly, sounding a bit wounded. "I guess you'll be needing me to move as well."

"Only for a bit," answered Ron quickly. He peered anxiously at her. "Please understand Lav... There's some things we have to discuss privately, the three of us."

She sighed. "I know, but... once you're through might I come back over?"

Ron widened his eyes at her. " 'Course you can! I want you to."

This seemed to hearten her a bit, and she got up to move back down to her seat near Ginny.

Once Lavender had gone, Hermione opened her mouth to read the Prophet's headlines aloud, but paused as she saw Harry leaning forward on his elbows, peering distrustfully at Colin.

Ron frowned at him. "What's up?"

Harry shook his head darkly, still peering at Colin, although for his part Creevey didn't seem to notice.

"Something's not right with him," said Harry quietly.

"How'd you mean?" Ron whispered. "Something's been not right with him ever since Dennis, mate."

"No, it's something else," Harry replied a bit impatiently. "Something I can't put my finger on..."

Hermione sighed and leaned toward him. "Harry, if this is about what happened with him and I in the hall, he's already apologised for it."

"It's not…"

"What?" Ron jerked a bit in surprise. "What happened in the hall with you two? What'd he do?"

Hermione bit her lip and whispered. "He... grabbed my arms a bit too tight, but he didn't really mean anything by..."

"WHAT?" Ron snapped, beginning to rise a bit from his seat and tower over Colin. "When did... I'll murder the little berk..."

Hermione's eyes widened in alarm and she reached across the table to grab his arm. "No you won't, Ron! Harry's already done him enough without you adding to it!"

"Good, he's had his turn then, hasn't he!?" Ron growled as he eyed Colin malevolently. "Now it's mine."

Harry grabbed Ron's arm as well and shook his head. "He won't do it again. But that wasn't what I meant… It's just… something about him feels wrong… a familiar sort of wrong."

Hermione peered concerned at him, but Ron, though still angry, looked unconvinced.

"You don't think it's simply because he's been so choked over losing his brother? I've been cracked over Bill's death, and he wasn't even my only brother like Dennis was with Colin, was he?"

Harry frowned. "No... I guess he wasn't."

Hermione watched Colin thoughtfully for a moment as he absently picked at his food. "We should give him the benefit of the doubt for now, I think. He has been through a lot... Anyway, let's read. I'm dying to see what lies Umbridge had the Prophet mix with the truth."

Harry and Ron nodded; Harry forcing the still niggling sensation of something amiss to the back of his mind as Hermione smoothed out the paper once more and began to read.

"Upset my arse," growled Ron angrily. "…Likely threw a bloody party once he was dead..."

"Ron, let me finish." Hermione said, continuing on with the article.

"Reached for her wand, did she!?" Ron irately interrupted once again. "Only to help I'm sure..."

"You think?" Ron growled sarcastically. "Bloody worthless git..."

Hermione made a sound like a growling cat. "If you don't stop cutting in I'll hex you! Let me finish!"

"Well it's just too damn much!" Ron hissed furiously through clenched teeth. "Umbridge acting as if she gives an elf's arse whether Fudge lived or died! And being frightened of Voldemort as if they aren't on the same side... it's flippin' horseshit!"

"Right mate," replied Harry. "But I bloody well want to hear the rest, don't you?"

Ron finally conceded although quite grumpily, and Hermione, giving him one last warning glance, continued on.

Grimacing, Hermione plowed on.

Hermione growled ominously as she re-rolled the newspaper. "The old hag..."

Ron shoved a few bangers into his mouth, followed them with a long swig of pumpkin juice, and attempted to speak. "Well a'leas she din' name names..."

"She didn't have to," answered Harry, angrily buttering a scone to nothing but crumbs. "She all but scrawled it in herself between every line."

Ron shook his head and swallowed with effort. "Could've been talking about anyone, mate. We know who she meant, but she was pretty vague, wasn't she?"

Hermione looked at him incredulously. "Vague? There's not a wizard or witch who doesn't know how Fudge felt about Professor Dumbledore! Who did he hate and blame for most anything he could? Who, as Umbridge suggested, would be one of a very few powerful enough to break anti-apparition wards? Who was dismissed as Supreme Mugwump of the Wizengamot, giving him motive and access to the inner workings of the Ministry? Dumbledore! And on where and who, before the obvious recent activities, has Voldemort seemed to focus the most when attacking? Hogwarts and Harry, leading back to Dumbledore!"

"She's making as if his whole attitude toward the dark arts is a lie," said Harry. "As if Dumbledore actually works for Voldemort and has been giving him access all along to attack Hogwarts."

" 'We must be on guard for ones who have in the past been conveniently near during dark attacks," quoted Hermione, seething with rage. 'Ones whose actions might, under a clearer light, now be deemed as questionable.' "

Ron thumped a fist on the table and gazed at Harry. "That describes you too, mate."

" 'Course it does," shot Harry resentfully. "Just look round at how everyone keeps glancing over at me... as if they think now I'm some sort of bastarding disciple for Voldemort."

"…'Ones who have evaded detection by being clever enough to appear to fight against him, while perhaps in reality, even aiding him,' " Hermione read again, her breath hitching irately. She slapped the paper down. "I simply can't fathom anyone could believe such a great load of RUBBISH!"

"Doesn't take much in the state they're in, I suppose," Harry stated flatly. "Get the public in a panic and they'll start accusing anyone."

"But you and Dumbledore were the ones trying hardest to warn everyone he was back!" exclaimed Ron.

"Which makes them look even more suspicious if you see it the way Umbridge wants you to," fumed Hermione tartly. "I mean, what better way for Harry and Professor Dumbledore to throw everyone off their trail while secretly 'aiding Voldemort', than to act as if they're the ones who hate him most? It's what she's implied anyway."

Ron mused for a few moments while looking over Dumbledore's way, where the Headmaster sat calmly conversing with McGonnagol.

"Gods, she's a bitch," he said shortly.

Hermione turned wide eyes to him. "What!?"

"Umbridge," said Ron. "What, you don't agree?"

"Oh her…"

"Just now coming to that conclusion, are you?" Harry shot sarcastically at Ron. Covert gazes continued to flicker past and then settle back on him at every glance he made about the room, the maddening frequency of which was beginning to set his nerves on edge.

"No, 'course not," Ron bristled, eyeing him. "You're in a corking mood."

"Oh, well shouldn't I be now everyone in school thinks I snog Voldemort's arse?" Harry seethed acidly. "How in the hell do I get stuck being the one who has to fight him, and being the one everyone suspects is in league with him? What in the hell are they thinking!?"

"Exactly what Umbridge wants them to," Hermione broke in reasonably. "But Harry, Ron and I are with you no matter what anyone else thinks. You know that. Don't take it out on us."

Harry dropped his gaze and stood, sighing. "I'm…sorry, really... I'm just tired of... I've got to get out of here for a while."

Hermione looked up at him with concern and touched his hand. "Harry?"

"I'm fine..." He replied irritably. "Just need to get away from all the stares. I'll see you two later."

**********************************************

It was funny how, since they had discovered the Room of Requirement two years ago, Harry found he required it more and more. However, since for the past few months the room been adjusting to suit his mood, it now more resembled an area for bashing things senseless than for practising dark counter-spells.

How the place knew exactly what you needed was still a mystery, though each time Harry stepped into it and found a large area filled with punching bags, weapons, and human shaped targets; some charmed to fight back, he couldn't bring himself to try figuring it out.

It felt good to let out some of his aggressions; to, in his mind, replace the faceless hanging sandbags with visages of Voldemort and his Death Eaters, and either practice running them through with the sword, blasting them with wandless spells, or physically beating the sod from them.

By the time noon had rolled round, the room had already needed to replace all fifteen targets, some twice; a few of which were lying in smoky heaps of sand and burlap, having been mutilated by one or another particularly nasty spell.

Surrounded on all sides by mock carnage, Harry stood in the middle of the room panting and swiping at his brow; his button down shirt now off and tied loosely round his waist, and one hand still gripping the handle of a sword. He was just about to begin again, staring malevolently at a few fake opponents who had again begun raising swords or sandbag arms as if to throw out new spells, when the door to the room opened, and all activity stopped.

Draco Malfoy sauntered in with an air of general entitlement and looking round, raised a jeering eyebrow at the mess.

Harry snarled. In his rush to let loose his frustrations, he had forgot to seal it.

"Ah hell…" he growled savagely as he tossed his sword to the floor.

Malfoy crossed his arms and leaned casually against the far wall. "Manners Potter. Got some anger issues, have you? What'd these poor blokes ever do to you?"

"What the hell do you want?" replied Harry viciously. "In case it got past you, the room's occupied at the moment. You'll just have to be a good little ferret and wait your turn. And aren't you supposed to be in class?"

"It's lunch Scarhead, get a watch," sneered Malfoy. "And I 'required' a conversation with you believe it or not. Nice of you not to seal the door."

Harry kicked at a smouldering pile of sand and muttered a nasty expletive. Malfoy blew a low taunting whistle.

"You seem irritated."

"Up yours," Harry snarled again in a flat voice. "Enough with the clever banter. Just get on with it."

Malfoy regarded him in a self-satisfied manner and shoved his hands into his pockets. However, although he was trying to appear cool, Harry could see as Draco shifted from one foot to the other that whatever it was he wanted to talk with him about was anything but trivial.

Finally, he spoke. "You saw the paper."

Harry started. A look of hostile realisation suddenly dawned on his face.

"If you're here to slag off me being Voldemort's number one fan you can get out of it."

Malfoy scoffed, and rolled his eyes. "Lighten up Potter, for god's sake. Not everyone round here is soft in the head."

Harry narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "So you don't believe the Prophet…"

" 'Course not. Hell, you're not the type, are you? Good Gryffindor that you are."

Harry glowered at him. "Then what is it…"

Again Malfoy hesitated before speaking, as if he was grappling hard with something in his mind. He jammed his hands even deeper into his pockets and exhaled.

"He's building an army you know."

A derisive snort followed. "No shit, Sherlock…"

"I don't want to join."

In the quick silence that fell the two young men stood eyeing one another, hints of mistrust playing over both of their features.

For his part, Harry was sceptical. Malfoy's contempt for the dark mark that Lucius had forced on his arm had made it rather obvious the thought of joining Voldemort's ranks did not particularly appeal to him, though the reason behind it was questionable at best. However, Harry couldn't fathom why he was sharing his change of heart with him. He couldn't think of two people who disliked each other more, with the obvious exception of Malfoy and Ron.

"Why tell me…" Harry finally asked, watching him closely.

Malfoy set his mouth in a thin, annoyed line. "Skiving Salazar, Potter… as if you don't know you're head of the moral army round here."

"You mean Dumbledore," replied Harry flatly. "I'm just the mascot…"

"And future destroyer of all things mean and evil, epitome of righteousness, saviour of the moral and upright, etcetera, ad nauseum." Malfoy recited drolly. "It doesn't take a genius to figure out if you're not on one side you're on the other… This is me telling you I've chosen this one, god help me."

Harry smiled humourlessly. "And here I always took you for a middle-grounder… You know, the pansies who'd rather wait to see who wins?"

Malfoy glared hard at him. Potter's words hit a bit too close to home and he knew it. However, situations had changed.

"There is no 'middle ground' for me, Scarhead," he shot back acidly. "By now both Voldemort and Lucius know I don't plan to join them. Moment I step foot from these grounds I'm done for. I don't have a choice."

"So you only want to join us because Voldemort wants you dead, and you'll be defenceless if you don't, is that it?" Harry sneered scornfully. "Knew it had to be something like that."

Malfoy flushed an angry red. "What'd you care why I want to join dickhead?! It's not enough I want to, for god's sake!?"

"No it's not!" barked Harry. "How do we know moment you're needed you won't have slithered away unnoticed like some friggin' coward!?"

"I'm no coward," Malfoy stated in a hard, even voice.

"How can we be sure you won't change sides should the fight start going in Voldemort's favour!?"

"Haven't I proved yet I hate him!? Gods, what else do I have to do…"

"You don't believe in anything Malfoy," Harry interjected harshly. "Trying to save your own bloody arse isn't reason enough to keep you loyal, you understand? We couldn't trust you because you don't believe in any of this…"

"There's one thing I do believe in."

Harry paused suddenly, observing him, though the look on his face was one of wry doubt. He crossed his arms over his chest and silently waited.

Draco worked his jaw. His insides raged with indecision. Malfoy's aren't noble bleeding hearts; Malfoy's aren't weak do-gooders; Malfoy's don't let themselves become susceptible to emotion; Malfoy's don't feel for others, feelings make one weak. Malfoy's are cold, hard and impenetrable… Yet, he had been penetrated, hadn't he? And in the place he would have least suspected; one he had thought long dead...

"I believe in Ginny," he heaved out finally. "I believe in how I feel for her."

Harry stood as motionless as a stone wall, staring at him. In seven years of knowing the ferret he had never quite heard him speak the way he was; as if something or someone had broken past that hard, thick barrier and actually affected him. He couldn't help feeling sceptical, knowing that any moment the real Malfoy might suddenly emerge and take the mickey out of him for believing in sentimental rot. It left him feeling unnerved and not sure how to respond, though he was certain of one thing.

Even if Malfoy did care for Ginny how he said, it did not make him trustworthy.

"So you like Ginny," Harry shrugged. "Doesn't mean you suddenly believe in what we're fighting for…"

"Oh for god's sake, Potter!" Malfoy suddenly exclaimed angrily; the cool façade gone. "It's the best you'll get from me! I'm not some naïve freedom fighting do-gooder! I don't believe fighting for the 'right' side will suddenly result in some pansy-peaceful utopia world or any of that shit! I didn't grow up that way; no one ever worshipped me or plastered the word 'hero' across my forehead, alright!?… Only thing I know is this: Ginny taught me what it is to actually care for someone. I've never had that before. I never thought it was real. So when I say I believe in her, I DO. And if SHE feels that strongly about your cause or whatever the bloody hell it is, then I've got to think there's something to it."

Harry remained stoic, but something inside him, a something that before he might have promptly dismissed as impossible, shifted as he studied him. He still couldn't lump the arrogant little berk, but something told him he was being honest.

"Alright then… talk to Dumbledore. Let him know you've made up your mind."

Draco nodded curtly to him and turned to leave, but after pausing Harry called to him once more before he closed the door behind him.

"Oy, Draco…"

He glanced back at Harry, whose expression had turned hard as stone.

"I find you're flamming me, I'll pitch your arse to Voldemort myself."

Malfoy chuckled and left the room, slamming the door behind him.

As he stared after him though, Harry's expression remained deadly serious.

*******************************************

Dumbledore sat behind his desk with fingers steepled contemplatively beneath his long hook nose, and as if drawing out Malfoy's very thoughts, aimed a hard penetrating stare at the blonde Slytherin before him.

Despite knowing he had told the full truth to the Headmaster, Malfoy still felt unnerved by his sharp gaze. Surely Dumbledore knew that, had Lucius and Voldemort not made it impossible for him to do so, Draco's first instinct would have been to avoid the entire war. He must know joining his and Potter's side would afford Malfoy with protection. Did the Headmaster believe him when he said he wanted to join? If so, would he trust him? Did he think him a coward? Perhaps he did... But damn if Draco wasn't put in Slytherin for a reason. The term 'coward' was played a bit fast and loose as far as he was concerned. It was a tag Gryffindor arseholes had placed on their house; Gryffindor's who were too 'brave' and 'pure' to be cunning; who stupidly ran toward the fight rather than trying to think their way out first; who had absolutely no instinct for self-preservation… the thick-headed mongs.

Yet, here he was about to join them. Well…not completely by choice. What was the alternative? If he didn't join Dumbledore's and Potter's side, he would die by Voldemort's own hand. If he ran, he would be hunted down and killed. Moreover, if neither of those two did the job, the war would most likely get him. No matter how he swung it, he was doomed. Might as well go out with a bang…

Dumbledore blinked and leaned back more casually before speaking in his usual quiet rumbling voice.

"Your father has always believed Voldemort to possess the right beliefs when it comes to the wizarding race and those who are fit to belong in it… You yourself have, on numerous past occasions, seemed to be of the same opinion. You'll understand then, won't you, the reason I really must ask what has so drastically changed your mind."

Malfoy paused and fingered the edge of his robes to put off answering straight away. Without realising it, he pulled himself up more erect in his chair and studied his hands, his brain working overtime to formulate an acceptable answer.

"I've never had a choice other than to think how Lucius did. Growing up I learned bloody fast to agree with him… it was either that or have the sodding hell beaten out of me. Few days without food or water never hurt my belief system either." There was no way to disguise the bitterness in his voice, a fact Dumbledore did not overlook.

Malfoy gave an odd, hollow sort of laugh as he continued. "Doesn't matter a shit what I think now though, does it? There's no getting out of it; I'm dead no matter what I believe. Voldemort and Lucius have probably thrown a bloody party by now planning out exactly how to do me in. Might as well die for a noble cause as any, aye?"

Dumbledore hummed his agreement as he studied him, a shrewd gleam in his eyes. "Then you do think the war to be a good cause…"

"Not bloody likely to change much, but everyone's got the right to live, I reckon," Malfoy shrugged noncommittally. "Being powerful shouldn't give one the right to decide who should exist and who shouldn't; although by Lucius' standards, along with being pure-blooded it's the means by which everyone is measured."

"At one time it was the means by which you measured others as well," stated Dumbledore matter-of-factly, his fingers now clasped before him. "That the pure-blooded are smarter, more capable…and thus more powerful…"

Malfoy eyed him warily. The Headmaster seemed determined to draw out his own innermost workings and spread them before him like some sort of map to his mind. It must be obvious to him that Draco's thoughts and feelings would not somehow change overnight. He might be old and given to eccentrics, but there was no bullshitting Albus Dumbledore.

Draco paused and leaned back in his chair, observing the Headmaster in a calculating way. "I suppose I haven't changed much on how I view others."

Dumbledore nodded and leaned back in his chintz armchair as well, looking by all accounts comfortable and fully knowledgeable of all that surrounded him.

"I am aware," he answered simply.

For a few moments the two sat frankly observing one another. The only noises in the office were the slow whirring and tinking of unknown silver objects lying here and there on their highly polished wooden tables, the bogus snoring of portraits, and the clicking of Fawkes' beak as he perched serenely on his stand near the winding staircase leading to the second floor of the office, preening himself. The Headmaster contented himself with gazing admiringly at the bird for a while and left Malfoy to his own thoughts.

Only a few minutes passed, but Draco had never been known for his patience. Finally, he could no longer take the silence. Damn Dumbledore for being so bloody steady…

"Are you going to let me in or not!?" he finally blurted out, angrily.

Dumbledore turned his serene gaze back to him as if he had been waiting all along for the other to speak. "Tell me… why did you turn from your father's beliefs?"

Draco blinked at him, somewhat befuddled at the Headmaster's compulsion to know things he considered frankly unnecessary. It was irritating as hell. "I… don't know. I just felt differently… What the hell does it matter!? Surely you could use all the help you can get, what with…"

"It would have been much easier for you to simply agree with him, would it have not?" The Headmaster interjected in mildly interested tone. "I realise now you must feel you have no choice but to join us to be afforded some sort of protection, but all could have been simply avoided by choosing Voldemort's side."

The mere mention of his joining with the dark lord made Malfoy's skin crawl. He answered in a voice that managed to sound both fierce and nauseated.

"I could never join him."

"And your inheritance? You must have no doubts you'll lose it… "

"I've never quite been up to scratch as a Malfoy," growled Draco resentfully. "He would've found some other way to take it from me…"

"Your entire family will disown you," Dumbledore pointed out objectively. "Your name will be stricken from their records much like Sirius Black's was. Many of the remaining purebloods agree with Voldemort's views. You'll be alone…"

"I've always been alone!" snapped Malfoy bluntly, becoming increasingly irritated.

"Think of the power," Dumbledore insisted almost conversationally. "The acclaim you would receive as the son of Voldemort's second in command. He would surely set you high in his ranks…"

"I don't give a damn about his ranks!" Malfoy shouted angrily, his thoughts now completely confounded. "You think my life's ambition is to be significant to Voldemort!?"

"He is powerful," said Dumbledore. "He has many admirers, many followers,… many who would die to see his vision of a 'pure' world played out…"

"I would die to see it brought down!" Malfoy finally bellowed, enraged. He stood rigidly to his feet; his face flushed and his hands curled into tight fists. "He's a twisted bastard who thinks he should be allowed to decide who lives or dies like some sort of god! He kills people for pleasure! He killed Ginny's brother just to torture Potter for Merlin's sake! Just what the hell sort of bastard do you think I am!? Yeah, I might think there are some who are better bred than others but I'd never want to rid the world of the 'rest' like that sick son of a bitch!"

Draco stood in front of Dumbledore's desk heaving furiously, his hands clenched tight, his blonde hair uncharacteristically wild and out of place, and the now dreadful, icy feeling that he had just signed his own death warrant. He must be very different from what the Headmaster was looking for, he knew. He was no believer in the belief that everyone was 'born equal'. But at least for once in his life, he had been totally honest.

The Headmaster did not move an inch, but simply gazed at the young man before him, a very faint smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

"You may join."

The acceptance dawned slowly on Malfoy, and his hard expression and rigid stance soon gave way to slumped surprise.

*****************************************************

Around eight o'clock that evening Ron and Ginny, having just returned from visiting the Burrow, made their ways purposefully down Hogwarts' dim hallways and headed straight for the Head boy and girl's quarters.

Neither were in a mood to deal with a certain gormless knight, although as usual, Sir Cadogen sat waiting for them in full armour astride his trusty steed; this time with a long jousting spear in hand.

"Halt!"

"God's… Ron, just curse him," growled Ginny moodily.

"I shall NOT be cursed, knave!" yelled Sir Cadogen in a small voice made tinny by the visor over his face. "I am sworn to protect this land…"

Ron did not hesitate, but raised his wand. "Mutus!"

The tiny knight continued to gesticulate wildly, but suddenly, no sound made its way from his portrait. He stopped flailing and lowered his spear in defeat, allowing Ron to knock on the picture's wood frame.

A masculine voice sounded out the password and then called out to them.

"It's open."

Though Ginny and Ron pulled open the portrait and stepped inside, letting it bang shut behind them, Cadogen did not move an inch. He continued to sit eerily quiet upon his horse in the painting of the green open field; straining forward as if preparing to eavesdrop.

Ron and Ginny walked in to find Harry, sans glasses, shirt, and shoes, clad only in a pair of loose worn jeans, and his hair damp from a recent shower, lying on their common room couch with his head in Hermione's lap. She was already in her pyjamas, and sat with her legs folded under her, scraping her fingernails soothingly along his scalp from his forehead back, making his hair stand on end even more wildly than usual.

It quickly became obvious to Ron and Ginny they were intruding on a private moment.

"Oh…" Ginny murmured quietly, blushing.

Ron turned his head a bit out of courtesy. "Sorry mates… just wanted to let you know we're back… We'll see you at classes tomorrow though, I reckon."

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Harry beat her to it.

"What?… No, don't be stupid. Come sit down. Besides, I've got things to tell you."

With a grunt he raised his long form from his reclining position on the couch and sat up, casting his arm about Hermione and scooting closer to her to make room.

Immediately at ease, Ron dropped onto the end of the couch leaving room for Ginny in the middle, though she opted to sit in an armchair nearest the fire and keep her eyes fixed anywhere but on Harry. Ron and Hermione might be used to seeing a half-naked Harry Potter, but Ginny most certainly was not. She felt a distinct fluttering in her stomach and knew that, were she to look at him, she would blush three shades of the deepest red. After all, one did not have to be in love with a wizard to appreciate his body, did they?

And despite her best efforts, this thought alone made her flush.

"You saw Percy, then?" asked Hermione.

Ron scowled and leaned forward on his knees to regard her. "Yeah, we saw him. Worthless git… D'you know he acted as if he'd suspected for a while Voldemort was back, but didn't speak up so as not to embarrass the Minister!? Bloody codswallop!… Didn't even act half sorry he'd turned his back on the family for so long."

Harry frowned. "What about your mum and dad?"

"They're just glad he's decided to come back," Ginny replied, staring resolutely at Hermione as she spoke. "They've already lost Bill, I don't suppose now they want to disown Percy, though he is a lying wart. Anyway, at least he's finally owned up to the fact Dumbledore and Harry were telling the truth all along."

Harry raised one eyebrow. "Has he…"

Ron nodded. "Even apologised in a half-arsed sort of way. I suppose it's the best we can expect of him; he's always been a fat-headed prick, hasn't he?"

Wisely, neither Harry nor Hermione answered, though Ginny nodded her head in a sharp, agreeable way.

After a few moments, Hermione cleared her throat and shot a concerned look through her lashes at Ginny before speaking.

"Well… Harry's got news."

Harry looked at her.

"Malfoy," Hermione mouthed to him, with raised eyebrows.

Ginny saw her and started, sitting up ramrod straight. "What about him?"

Harry grimaced a bit reproachfully at Hermione's timing, but decided the truth would be out eventually. He sighed. "He's decided to join us."

"What!?" Ron's jaw dropped open in astonishment. "You're having us on…"

"Nope." Harry shook his head. "He burst in on me this afternoon while I was in the Room of Requirement… Told me he'd made up his mind and decided to join our side."

Ron watched him incredulously. "And you believe him?"

Harry paused for a moment, chewing thoughtfully on his lip. "I'm still a bit leery. He seemed genuine, but that doesn't mean a hell of a lot, does it? I sent him to talk to Dumbledore."

"I never took him for the sort who might actually care about something," said Ron, rubbing at his ears as if not sure what he had just heard was real.

"Remember when his father gave him the dark mark how he reacted, though?" Hermione pointed out. "He wasn't exactly chuffed with it, was he? Maybe there was a reason for it…"

Ron snorted bitterly. " 'Course there was. He realised now he wouldn't be able to run and hide anymore."

"Ron, you don't know that for certain," she admonished him. "Maybe he's got other reasons for wanting to join… I mean along with the protection he'll get from it…"

"I figured that was one reason," Harry added snidely.

"Along with it," Hermione emphasised sternly, eyeing Harry and Ron, "Maybe he actually does hate what Voldemort stands for. Maybe there's more to him than what we thought."

Ginny had not spoken a word during the entire following conversation and, sparing a glance over at her, Hermione saw her staring troubled into the fire, flame shadows flickering across her face. She frowned. She wondered how this latest news might affect Ginny's relationship with Malfoy, if indeed there was one left to affect.

Ginny suddenly stood and looked at the three, now not paying any mind whatsoever to the fact that Harry still sat there clad in only a pair of worn jeans.

"Well, I'm off… Got loads of classwork to catch up on, I'm sure. Michelle Garroty promised she'd take notes…"

With no more explanation she rushed toward the portrait door and yanked it open leaving as unexpectedly as she'd come in.

Hermione turned Ron's way and saw his whole body tensing; his face flushing an angry red.

"Ron…" she began in a warning voice.

"She's not gone off to study," he forced out through gritted teeth. "She's gone to find the damn ferret…"

Harry sighed. "We know."

"And it's all the same to you, isn't it!?" Ron exclaimed, flashing Harry an impatient glare. "Nevermind someone you've looked on as a sister for seven years is out to do herself in…trusting her heart to a no good piece of shit like Malfoy…"

"We can't control what she does, Ron!" Harry shouted back. "She's too old for you or me to go about trying to tell her who she can or can't love!"

Ron narrowed his eyes dangerously. "She does NOT love him."

Hermione stood, throwing up her arms in exasperation. "Whatever it is she feels, it's none of your business; either of you. And if Malfoy's turning out to actually care for what we're fighting for, maybe he's not such a git after all. Anyway, Harry's right, Ron. You can't control Ginny."

Ron exploded. "She's my sister for Godric's sake! What would you have me do, lie back and watch her fall for some wizard I KNOW in the end will hurt her!? What kind of brother would I be to do that!?"

"A normal one," said Hermione calmly. "You've told her how you feel, Ron. Now you've got to hope she takes to mind what you've said. And if she doesn't…"

"She'll have her heart smashed to bits," Ron blurted violently. "And I'll be forced to beat the shit out of the one who did it to her…"

"You'll be there to pick up the pieces, Ron," Harry said sagely, "and beat the shit out of him. It's what a brother does."

Ron looked over at him, and his face grew a bit less hard. "No offence mate, really. But how would you know what a brother does?"

Harry eyed him, unoffended. "You taught me.. didn't you?"

Ron stared at him, dumbfounded. He had never thought in his whole time of knowing him, that he had the stuff to teach Harry Potter anything. And yet, Harry sat there staring guilelessly at him, as if he honestly thought of Ron as his brother. He supposed he and the rest of the Weasley clan really had been the closest thing to a family Harry had ever experienced, but he had never really thought Harry truly felt himself one of them.

Ron felt as if some warm, genuine feeling had just trickled into him and gone down to pool in the pit of his stomach. He leaned forward on his knees and raked a hand through his bright red hair.

"Wow mate,… I.. never really thought you felt… I mean, I'm glad! I just.. I mean mum and dad already think of you as their seventh son… and Fred and George of course.. wouldn't take the mickey from you if they didn't.. and well, I.. of course, I've always… um.. always thought of you…like… I mean as part of our… as my…"

After a few moments of agonised floundering, Harry decided to spare Ron the pain of trying to voice his emotions.

Truth be told, it was rapidly turning painful for him as well.

"Merlin Ron, don't start getting all girlie on me. Gods, I couldn't take it."

After a moment of surprised silence, Ron visibly relaxed and laughed, sounding relieved. "I'm not half the woman you are, Potter. No use in denying it, I've seen your other wardrobe. You know, the one you keep back for special occasions?"

Harry scowled at him and reached over to punch him in the arm, which started a scuffle. Soon both were thrashing about on the floor, trading punches and guffawing aloud.

Hermione's tearful, fond expression quickly faded to one of annoyance.

"Ron!" she shouted exasperatedly, her arms crossed. "Harry, must you thrash about on the floor like a couple of bloody idiots!?… Stop! You're going to break something!… Go outside to fight, will you!?… Merlin, I swear you two aren't any better behaved than children! …"

Harry found it unbearably cute when she scolded like a mother hen. He grabbed her mid-rant about the waist and forced her down to the floor with them; both he and Ron relentlessly tickling her ribs until she squealed and begged for mercy.

************************************************

Ginny marched determinedly down the dusky stone hallways now lit with torches for the early evening, and with a clear destination in mind, headed toward the great oak double doors that served as entrance to the school. She had seen the expression on her brother's face as she had left Harry and Hermione's quarters, and held no illusions that she had fooled any of them. However, at this particular point, she could not bring herself to care. Too many thoughts and questions bombarded her mind; ones she had decided weeks ago were no longer relevant to her life to waste thinking on.

And yet, just when she had finally begun to file what she deemed 'the great mistake' back into the recesses of her mind; deciding to reopen it only to serve as warning against future bad decisions on dating; here she was, thinking on Draco Malfoy…again.

Angry with herself but still moving forward, she flung open the great doors and stomped out into the breezy, cool dimness of Scotland's early Spring evening. As she went along, it occurred to her that the previously stated fact was decidedly pissing her off.

She rounded the corner of the east wing of the building and saw ahead of her the distinct outline of six huge, staggered poles against the sky; three at each end of a field surrounded by high stadium seating that outlined the Quidditch pitch. It was deserted, thank Merlin.

Upon coming closer, she found she had been correct on where he would be hiding. The back half of a platinum blonde head and one raised knee peeked out from behind the largest of a clump of trees just outside the pitch. In one long-fingered elegant hand, Draco had plucked a very long blade of grass, and was twirling it lazily between his fingers.

Ginny narrowed her eyes. She was unsure why the sight of him sitting there so calmly annoyed her, but decided to draw courage from the aggravation and use it to fortify her nerves.

The fact she was shaking as she approached served to vex her even further. She stopped for a moment and took a deep calming breath before rounding the tree. Upon seeing him before her, leaning rather lazily against the trunk, she adopted a hostile stance.

Malfoy gazed up at her, his expression practised and blank. The only motion he made was to still the fingers twiddling the grass blade.

Ginny swiped her long hair behind her ear and placed her hands on her hips, huffing.

"Well."

Malfoy stared at her before subtly raising one eyebrow. "Well what…"

"You," Ginny said crisply. "Knew I'd find you here."

"Congratulations Red, you win the house cup."

"Don't get snarky with me," Ginny retorted. She glanced him over for a moment and then resentfully plopped down opposite him. "You know, it's funny. In the span of just a few hours, the most astounding changes can sneak you up. I never knew one's perspective could switch overnight."

Malfoy shut his eyes and tapped his head back against the trunk, his jaw rigidly set.

"Bloody sodding hell… Alright. Go on then Red, get it all out of your system. Nott's already wished he could nick his father's Muggle pistol to blow a hole in my head… More painful than a curse, he says." He laughed hollowly. "Actually believes by telling his father I'm 'defecting' he's going to be the one breaking the news to Lucius and Voldemort; as if they don't already know, the dumb prick. Fifth through seventh year Slytherin's side with him… They've all merrily wished me a one-way ticket to hell. Even Crabbe and Goyle won't speak to me… Gods, the day I'm actually craving their company…"

Ginny looked taken aback but stood her ground. "So you actually have joined us…"

Malfoy sneered at her in reply. "That hard to believe, is it?… I once thought at least you felt I had some decency in me."

"You aren't feeling sorry for yourself, are you?" Ginny scathingly replied. "Last I checked I was the one who'd lost a family member."

"I don't have any left to lose," Malfoy countered. "None who'll claim me, anyway. I suppose I should count myself lucky."

They stared at each other for a moment, at an impasse. Ginny felt herself falling into that cool grey gaze once again and decided immediately to snap herself out from it. She shook her head.

"Look, I didn't come out here to play 'who's got it worse' with you…"

"Why did you come out here, then…" Malfoy cut in bluntly, narrowing his eyes.

Ginny held his gaze, but soon found herself staring at the ground.

"I dunno, really… To see if it was true, I suppose."

Draco began twirling the grass blade between his fingers again. "It is."

"And to ask you why."

Abruptly, he stiffened and finally dropped the weed from his hand.

"Why…"

"Why did you decide to go against Voldemort?"

Draco growled aloud and balled his hands into tight fists. "Gods Red, you of ALL people should know I hate him!"

"I know!" Ginny answered sharply. "But with all the trouble it's causing you why didn't you just opt to run!?"

"I can't run. Voldemort has ways of finding you; especially when you've got his brand seared into your bloody arm." Malfoy shoved the sleeve of his jumper up his arm to show off the mark on his bicep, which for some time had been glowing and throbbing an angry red. "I join Dumbledore and Potter, at least I'm afforded with a bit of protection, however small. I join no one, I'm on my own. Might as well curse myself to death and call an end to it."

Ginny did not react to his last remark but merely glanced at the dark mark on his arm and continued to regard him carefully.

"That's not all of it."

"Actually, it about sums it up," Malfoy replied off-handily as he yanked his sleeve back down again.

"You could run."

He gazed at her as if she was mad. "Do you have plugs in your ears? Have you heard a bloody word I've said!?"

Ginny smirked. "I've heard every word you've ever said to me Draco… Including when you described all the hideaways the Malfoy's collected over the years in case certain 'illegal activities' were ever found out… Ones in several different countries; ones prepared to keep you fed, clothed and generally cared for; ones equipped with heavy anti-apparition, anti-track and imperturbable charms… charms any wizard or witch knows are very hard to sense another through."

"It isn't just any wizard or witch we're talking about in case you've forgot," Malfoy remarked dryly.

"Even HE won't have the power being so far away to sense a body through all of that," Ginny replied. "It would take him standing directly in front of the place to be able to lift the charms; and he'd have to find it first, wouldn't he?"

Malfoy continued to stare at her and did not reply; his expression giving away absolutely nothing. He merely picked another blade of long grass and began wrapping it idly around his fingers, his eyes now looking past her into the rapidly darkening sky; the colours of pink, burnt orange and dusky purple now painting the horizon over the mountains.

Ginny watched him for a brief time. He was hiding something, she was sure of it. She wasn't certain what it was, but damn if she wasn't going to find out…

"So what aren't you telling me?" She finally asked.

He let his gaze drift lazily back to hers. "Are you subscribing to some sort of bloody spy magazine, or am I just that interesting?"

Ginny smirked. "Don't try to distract me, it won't work. I've just proved you're story about having nowhere to hide is a lie. I'm waiting for the real answer."

"Super sleuth it is," Malfoy snorted. He regarded her evenly. "Really Red, it's not that complicated. Voldemort is a bastard. So is my father. End of story."

"And that's it…" Ginny stated sceptically. "I don't think so."

The wind had blown her thick red hair about her shoulders. The fading pastel-coloured sky behind her outlined her in a sort of unearthly fragile glow. Her skirt had risen up to a few inches above her knees, and her jumper was just snug enough that it gently highlighted her curves. Her eyes sparkled with a mixture of curiosity, defiance… and something else.

He supposed later it was the 'something else' that drove him to it, or perhaps it was simply that she actually cared enough about the real Draco Malfoy to search him out, or that she seemed to know him so well…

Whatever it was, without any warning, and even coming as a complete surprise to himself as the act was quite impulsive, Draco suddenly bent forward, grabbed a fistful of that fiery red hair, and crushed her mouth to his.

She stiffened, but the immediate downward-coursing zing of excitement in her chest caused her to yank him closer, grabbing fistfuls of the back of his jumper. Gods, but it felt good to be kissing him again, touching him... Her first thought, formed from pure shock, had been to push him away from her, but she quickly found she didn't possess the inner strength to do it. She supposed he had become an addiction. She'd had none of this type of closeness to miss before him, and now… The month or more without him had seemed like hell on earth.

Every sensation came rushing back. The way he tasted and felt, his scent, his touch, the way thrills of desire twisted and coiled tight in her abdomen as he moved over her… all five senses felt as if they were on the verge of overload.

It was he that finally fully grabbed her and took her to the ground with him, but had he not done it, Ginny was sure she would have. He was pressing too closely against her, his hands branding her skin, his hips grinding in a most intimate way… It was rapidly becoming too much, and she felt her brain turning to mush as if she was losing herself; a thing she had only ever known with him. There was no name to describe the experience, she supposed the only word to come close would simply be 'Draco'. And 'Draco' was overtaking her, again.

When he finally stopped snogging her senseless, their positions were such that he had rolled her over, and was now pressed firmly on top of her, staring down into her face. He was so close she could see the faint red stains on his cheeks, the way his grey eyes glazed over with desire, the way his blonde hair fell over his forehead, the way his gaze scorched her with such a heat she felt she might stop breathing…

He finally spoke, and in such a husky, low voice she had trouble making herself focus on his words and not on…other…things.

"You want to know why?"

Ginny dragged her gaze drunkenly from his lips back up to his eyes and blinked.

"Wh..why?"

Being a Malfoy, he couldn't keep himself from giving her a smug leer.

"Distracted, are we?"

"NO, I'm not you git," Ginny growled emphatically.

He flashed her an amused smirk, though the expression soon turned serious.

"It's because of you."

Ginny frowned. "Me… what'd you mean? I've talked to you about our side; about what we're fighting for, but you've just always changed the subject… I figured you wanted no part of it."

"I didn't, but my son of a bitch father gave me no choice, did he?" Draco replied stonily.

He paused for a few moments, sifting his thoughts through carefully and eyeing her as if still unsure he wanted to let her close again. However, there was no point in that line of reasoning. She had gone and taken the decision right from his hands. He had known as soon as she had materialised in front of him tonight there was no more hiding from it, whether or not she rejected him in the end.

He sighed. "That wasn't the only reason though."

Ginny wisely decided to wait for him to continue. Harsh as he appeared on the outside, she knew his inside as well, and knew he preferred to keep it well hidden from others, even her. He had grown up with the hard knowledge that any sign of vulnerability was seen as weakness and that ultimately, it left one scorned and shamed. Old abuses were hard forgotten.

He rolled off of her and sat up on his haunches, raking a hand nervously through his hair not unlike a certain enemy of his.

"When your brother was killed, something… switched. I dunno... I just... I couldn't be distant from it anymore. I wanted to be... hell, I laid awake nights trying to trick myself into it, but… I saw how Voldemort had practically tortured you and your family and... gods. I..I really..care.. for you. There wasn't anyone or anything before you I could say that about. There was no one I would've considered fighting for... much less dying for. I hated everyone. I hated the world." He paused then, and snorted at his own thoughts. "I suppose the feeling was mutual…"

"That's not true!" Ginny exclaimed vehemently, reaching out for his hand and grabbing his wrist instead. "No one's hated you. Well, Ron and Harry have certainly.. well.. had their differences... um... But, they just haven't understood you, I think..."

"I don't blame them," Malfoy cut in with a careless wave of one hand. Ginny watched his defences rise as he continued on in detached tones.

"I never cared; still don't much, I reckon. I never wanted anyone close to me. That way, if they burned me in some way… I guess it wouldn't leave a scar, you know?"

Ginny leaned forward, her face a mask of compassion, but saw Draco begin to stiffen when he saw it. He recoiled from even the appearance of pity, so she quickly hid it.

"No one can stay that hard, though," Ginny said in a carefully neutral tone. "And I imagine you have been hurt, haven't you? No matter how much you've fought against it…"

"Doesn't matter." Malfoy announced stonily. He set his mouth into a thin, annoyed line. "It's not what this is about anyway and we're getting off track. I.. I just wanted you to know... even if I hadn't been forced into choosing sides I would've decided to fight against him... For you."

Ginny's eyes welled with tears. A large stinging lump swelled and ached in her throat, making it difficult to breathe. He was willing to make such a huge sacrifice for her; he had made such an admission of deep feeling... It must've taken every nerve he owned to break open that carefully walled-off heart and hope he wouldn't be rejected.

How could she respond to that? Gods, coming from him it was so much more than just passing fancy or idle words. Draco Malfoy was not one to go about expressing much of anything, much less his deep feelings for someone.

In retrospect, much later, Ginny would wonder to herself if what she had said in reply, and the timing she had chosen to confess it, had not exactly been well considered. But at the present moment, she decided to herself timing wasn't important. All that mattered was that he had given her opportunity to say it; one that rarely, if ever, might have come along again. So, she decided to take her own advice; the same she had given Hermione some months ago prior to the All Hallows Eve bash.

She did her best to stop her trembling hands, took a deep calming breath, and seized the day.

"…I…love you, too."

Her voice was shaky, scared and full of emotion. Draco's gaze shot up to meet hers, the words slowly sinking in; his body suddenly, strangely filling to the brim with a kind of shock, wonderment, ..pulsing fear.. such as he had never before ever felt.

Her words flipped a switch in him, quite startling, not unlike the sudden erratic surge of blaring music from a radio. It was comparable to mad, rhythmical, violently chiming bells… The kind that woke one up from a sort of lifetime nightmarish dreamstate; the kind that signified freedom;… the kind that reminded him he was alive…

He peered at her suspiciously, his overly cautious heart telling him she might be less than sincere, but saw only a genuine gaze staring back at him.

And suddenly, miraculously, he existed.

In the world held by Ginevra Weasley's eyes he, Draco Malfoy…was loved.

A mixture of exhilaration and anxiety rushed through him and, articulate as he had always been, Draco found himself at a complete loss for words. He wanted to tell her he loved her back. He ached for it. He wanted to tell her she had shown him a side to life he had thought was all a lie; that she had opened him up to new possibilities and revelations; that everything he had just told her was a grander, considerably safer version of 'I love you' for his heart to relate.

Those three words had avoided, and been avoided by him all his life. He had learned early on to run from them.

But Ginny…

He knew what he meant; knew how he felt, but his long withdrawn heart refused him those..three..words.

He sat for a few moments opening and closing his mouth, irritating himself to no end until Ginny relieved him.

"It's alright. You don't have to say anything."

Malfoy gritted his teeth in frustration. "No! I don't… I've just never… Damn it to hell Red, I'm no good at this…"

"I know." She smiled at him. "I know you. It's alright."

For a few moments all he could do was sit and stare, but eventually baser instincts took over and he reached out to crush her to him once more, feeling somehow more alive than ever he had done before. If it took fighting a war just to own this one moment, he felt he might live to fight a hundred.

*********************************************

Weeks passed. A month. A balmy May replaced a rainy April and blew in on warm breezes. School went on as usual; students taking more to the outside to study as the weather grew even warmer, though the promise of upcoming N.E.W.T.s and O.W.L.s lent the school atmosphere a gloomy air.

Elsewhere, each day since Delores Umbridge's election into the role of Minister of Magic seemed to bring about new unsolved murders in the wizarding and Muggle worlds, and the passing of controversial, somewhat suspicious laws and decrees. She had recently decided to once again allow the Prophet to place important articles on the front page, a move that served to further inflame the fears of the wizarding world to newer, even greater heights; allowing her an easier time setting her new plans into motion. She had promised "protection" for those in the wizarding world falling under the category of Muggle born or half-wizard. The protection she was giving however, had begun to give some, namely Dumbledore and the Order, shivers of trepidation. Something just seemed off about it.

It had started with a decree that all wizards from Diagon Alley onto Hogsmeade Village fitting the category of Muggle born or half-wizard be moved close together to better ensure their safety. After all, it was much easier to guard one very large area, rather than hundreds of small ones, was it not? Her first large decree had been to build comfortable communes; small villages and communities, all paid for by the Ministry, to house those most directly threatened by the recently arisen dark lord. When some began to protest having to move from their homes, Umbridge decided, to make it seem less like a demand and more like a caring suggestion, to make the move optional. Only those who truly felt threatened and, (she implied during one community-inclusive meeting) who truly cared for their wives and children's safety, should feel motivated to move. After all, who was she to force anyone out from where they wanted to stay, however dangerous?

After, many opted to move to the commune, set right outside the village of Hogsmeade and constantly surrounded by Ministry loyal law enforcers and Aurors. However, those who held suspicions or concerns about the new decree, and who still held fast to the opinion that Dumbledore was not in league with the dark lord, had turned to him for his opinion. He had been cautious at first, deciding it was in the school's best interest for him not to completely alienate himself from the Ministry, but to simply give firm disapproval to Umbridge's plan. But the more non pure-blooded wizards and witches that died, despite the new Minister's 'safety plan', the more outspoken against the Ministry he became.

It had been the beginning of the large split between those loyal to the Ministry, and those siding with Dumbledore.

Because of the threat to those wizards not pure-blooded, or even those whose parents were just simply frightened of their children being caught in crosshairs while they were not around to protect them, some had opted to immediately remove their children from school. The already dwindled student population became even smaller. Where at least there had been three hundred or more students still attending, there was now less than one hundred and fifty, and their numbers decreased every day.

The dubious laws and decrees did not stop. Though Dumbledore and those with him suspected Umbridge had less than pure motives in mind, without real evidence it was impossible to try proving it. She was extremely clever in making her decisions sound as if they were really good for those witches and wizards most directly targeted. And, if some still died in the process, well, it was simply time to shore up securities even more, even though her methods had begun to be questioned. While in the beginning they came off sounding logical; later on, (to those who paid close attention), they seemed to include ulterior motives, with a tiny bit of the sinister thrown in.

Toward the end of May, Percy Weasley received first hand account of just such an instance. An instance which would start what those who survived later labelled "the beginning of the end".

He had arrived home late from work a week ago and announced to his family that after some true soul searching, he had decided to quit his job as new Prime Minister of Magic.

Arthur Weasley, who had been one of the ones suspicious and had been thinking of doing the same thing, approved. Molly, although she approved as well, was stunned. Percy's ambition had always been to reach as high into the Ministry as he could; to climb as high up the wizarding government's ladder as he could go. But he had brought something home with him from the office that evening. A very disturbing conversation he had had with Umbridge as she had sat earlier in the day, having her newest "safety law" furiously scribbled out before her.

***************************************************

(The Ministry of Magic one week ago, night of Percy's resignation, evening of May 21^st.)

Umbridge sat at her highly polished desk, plump fingers crossed before her and a satisfied, almost sadistic little smile upon her face.

Percy sat opposite her, watching as to his right, the new Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, a small, balding, elderly wizard with a nervous twitch, charmed his quill to take down her words.

"Our community is still suffering," Umbridge simpered out loud, speaking in tones that suggested she had memorised her speech long ago. "Our friends; our neighbours are still suffering under the brutal, unforeseeable attacks of the dark lord. As such is the case, I have met with my colleagues and have formed a newer plan, one which I hope will provide our part of the wizarding world, for as long as the threat of the dark lord remains, with the best protection we can provide against his evil. Scouts for the Ministry have found a large, very secretive location some two hundred miles from here in the Grampian Mountains; very hard to detect. The peak we have chosen is a Munro, standing at three thousand five hundred forty two feet."

(A/N: A 'Munro' peak is a Scottish mountainous peak that rises above 3000 feet, so named after Sir Hugh T. Munro who surveyed and produced tables of 236 peaks as the highest mountains in Scotland in 1891. The Grampian Mountain range is an actual range in Scotland.)

"Therefore it would take quite a bit of doing to not only make it up such a mountain, but to break through the barrier wards we've placed round the new encampments. It will be ready within a months time, May tenth; I've got every available construction labourer working on it night and day…"

Percy, clearly surprised, cleared his throat.

Umbridge stopped reciting and eyed him in annoyance.

"Ah… Minister Umbridge, I wasn't informed of this decision… In fact I was never even informed of a meeting about this, I'm quite certain…"

Umbridge shut her eyes briefly in what was supposed to be a scarcely tolerant manner. "Did you not receive my memo, Weasley? I sent yours along with the rest this past Monday."

"I never got anything," said Percy slowly, a small echo of doubt now beginning to resound in his mind.

"Well it is not up to me to see that you do or do not check your messages," she said pompously. "The committee, having understood the urgency has voted positively, and the matter has been settled. Now if you will allow me to finish…"

Percy said nothing, but continued to stare at her as she finished reciting. Something felt wrong; a nagging, suspicious sensation tingled at the base of his spine. Already the building of a commune outside of Hogsmeade had seemed a bit leery to him; after all, the dark lord only needed one good strike to rid Diagon Alley and wizarding Scotland of a fair amount of its Muggle borns and half-wizards, now they were all rounded up in one spot. Now, here she was executing a new plan, one that not only rounded them together again, but shipped them off to some sort of faraway, out of sight encampment for their 'protection'. It all reminded him of something he had studied back in Hogwarts, something that had historically ended up very dark and sinister…

"…obviously can't use the Hogwarts Express as it will be too close to end of school and will be needed for the students. Instead, we will be using the Hogsmeade Transport. It is the largest train we have available, and will comfortably carry up to at least four hundred witches and wizards…"

Senior Undersecretary Vetustus Elrod abruptly stopped writing and stared at the Minister. Umbridge immediately noticed the quiet absence of quill scratchings and looked up at him.

"Minister Umbridge... the Hogsmeade Transport is a freight train. Moreover, it's been retired for more than thirty years now… The great fire of sixty-five, remember?" He smiled trustingly at her. "You've simply misspoken, I trust..."

"There has been no mistake," Umbridge interrupted coldly, her eyes dangerously narrowed. "It is being brought out of retirement. It is the largest train in Hogsmeade. We'll have need of it for such great numbers."

"B..But it was labelled unfit for use after the fire, Minister!" Elrod stuttered, shocked. "Surely you don't mean to place all of those people in danger…"

"It will be overhauled and repaired before its use, of course," Umbridge stated matter-of-factly. "Once again, I must impress on you the severity of our situation, Vetustus. We must use every resource we have to keep our community safe until the danger has passed, do you not agree? And the farther away and hidden from the dark lord they are, the safer they will be."

Elrod sat stammering before her, with Percy looking on warily. She sent the elder wizard a shrewd, cold stare.

"I am not so oblivious as to misinterpret the dire situation we are in, Elrod. I had thought you to be of the same mind. Obviously I was mistaken." She sent him a humourless smile. "Keeping the wizarding community safe at all costs is our first priority. If you are of the opinion there are greater things to be going on about, I believe it might be time to replace you. After all we must all work together... for the good of the wizarding world."

Something in her expression and the ungodly glint in her eyes made Percy shudder. He had a feeling Umbridge was interested in more than simply the 'good of the wizarding world'. He was soon to find out just how correct he was.

Elrod finished taking his notes and left muttering to himself. The door clicked shut behind him, and Percy turned to find Umbridge smiling to herself and fondly eyeing a familiar looking book. Funny he hadn't noticed it lying on her desk before. The author's name, glinting gold on the spine, sparked some sort of recognition, but hard as he tried Percy could not determine where he had seen it.

"Philetus Harold," he murmured aloud, unaware he had done so.

Umbridge snapped briskly out from her thoughts and eyed him.

"You've heard of him?"

"Somewhere," Percy answered, frowning. "Can't quite grasp it, though."

As he watched Umbridge visibly relax, he narrowed his eyes.

"He was one of the greatest wizards of our time," she said quietly. "Pure-blooded wizard. However, to better further his cause he decided to live as a Muggle… a powerful one at that. Switched his own name… his life. Pity he lived and died so long ago…"

Again, something imperceptible made Percy shiver. Unconsciously he wrapped his arms about himself, staring at the book and it's title.

The Muggle Project: My Life and Cause, by Philetus Harold.

What was it about that name… It was in Muggle studies he had heard it… yes… But why had it been so significant…

"He had such dreams; such visions…" Umbridge whispered almost reverently. It seemed to Percy she now barely registered he was still in the office with her.

"He was a genius… But his intelligence was what ultimately did him in. Even the wizarding brain is susceptible to the madness caused by an over-brilliant mind. He went mental with it, ended up dying with only a spare part of the project finished. It was to be so much larger and more expansive than what little he accomplished. When he died, he left his extraordinary views of a better world to die with him…"

Something was clicking into place for him… a someone in Muggle history who seemed befitting of the person Umbridge's words had conjured. The image of a man Percy had found to be absolutely beyond horrifying…

He turned wide eyes to Umbridge, forcing himself to be calm. "It… it is late, isn't it Minister?"

Umbridge, brought back from her thoughts, watched him carefully for a few moments and then simply nodded.

Percy paused.

"…Have you read that book the whole way through?"

She nodded. "Several times."

He took a deep breath, composing himself. "You've gone on about it so fascinatingly. I wonder… if I might borrow it to read myself."

Every inch of Umbridge froze in place. She seemed to be staring through him, such was the intensity of her gaze. And for the second time in this very office, Percy Weasley was terrified.

"Oh I don't think so," she replied slowly, her eyes still glued to his. "It's not mine, you see. I've borrowed it from.. someone.. I greatly admire. He wouldn't be happy to know I'd loaned it out, I think. It's the only one of its kind."

"There were never any copies made?" asked Percy.

Umbridge shook her head. "Only the Muggle copy, and it leaves so much out. It goes by a different name."

The way she was scrutinising him, Percy decided not to push his luck by asking her for the title. She seemed on the verge of an outburst, and a mad one at that. Whatever secrets the book held, he would have to find them out for himself.

"Oh well, it's alright then," he answered nonchalantly. "I'll head out then, I think. I want to beat the floo traffic."

Umbridge nodded, her eyes boring into Percy's back as he made his way easily from the office and out into the torchlit halls of the Ministry, where he finally broke out into a full run.

********************************************

Some hours later Percy Weasley sat in a squashy old armchair in front of the Burrow's hearth, facing his parents who sat on the couch opposite him. He had related his story to them, but as only Arthur had taken Muggle studies in school, and had forgot most of what did not relate to his job in 'Misuse of Muggle Artifacts' as it had been so long, neither knew the name Philetus Harold.

Then as if struck by lightning, a thought occurred to Percy. Umbridge had said Philetus had switched his name to a more Muggle one. Not that he had changed his name or taken on a new one… but that he had switched it.

Could it really be that simple? Of course to anyone who hadn't heard Harry Potter's story of meeting a younger version of Voldemort in the Chamber of Secrets some five years ago, the puzzle might not be nearly as solvable. And yet… was the answer to his question staring him right in the face? Could Voldemort have chosen the very same puzzle for himself?

Percy took the bit of parchment bearing the author's name and laid it out flat on the table. He grabbed out his wand and pointed it.

Arthur Weasley frowned. "Percy, what are you doing?"

"You aren't about to blast a gauge in my coffee table!" Molly Weasley exclaimed, her face beginning to redden with anger. "It's more like Fred and George to go about something like that!"

Percy ignored them for the moment, his mind centred on what he was about to do.

"Primus Nomino!"

The letters lifted themselves off of the parchment, glowing orange, to float up and hover above the heads of the three Weasleys below. The room was thrown into an undulating orange glow not unlike how it was when the hearth was lit.

"We'll find out soon enough," said Percy. He waved his wand in the direction the floating letters.

"Acclaro!"

As Percy had suspected all along, the letters began to rearrange themselves.

Molly gasped aloud with recognition. With a burning horror, Arthur Weasley now recalled the name of the wizard turned Muggle who had haunted some of his dreams in school. The name had been burned into the minds of Muggles some sixty years ago, and remained to this day a bane that conjured up the worst possible visions in the minds of people everywhere, Muggle or wizard.

"My god…" Arthur breathed out.

"Minister Umbridge admires him?" Molly squeaked, grabbing onto Arthur's arm with such force that he felt sure he would come away with bruises.

Percy however, merely stared. It was as he had suspected from the moment she had begun to talk about him. The name had a few more letters in it than how it had been shown in Muggle history, but he suspected the man had shortened it to make it sound more Muggle. And now Delores Umbridge, Minister of Magic, was planning on mimicking some of his very worst deeds.

The name 'Adolphus Hitler' shone bright orange and hovering in the air for a few moments more before Arthur, roaring out loud, 'scourgified' it from his home.

************************************************

(two weeks later)

The early June sky above Hogwarts' grounds had darkened to inky shades of blue and black, smattered with grey-edged clouds. A light sprinkling of stars and a new moon, half hidden by clouds, were the only things that lit the night.

Harry and Hermione made their way slowly round the lake to an area most open and lit by the moon, and sat side by side to watch light ripple away on the water.

Harry was content to have her by his side for a few moments, but eventually the need to have her as close as possible won out. After beckoning her closer with one of his most engaging looks, which he needn't have worried about using, she moved onto his lap and allowed him to tuck her securely to him and circle his arms about her. She snuggled down enough to allow his chin to rest atop her head and waited for him to tell her what was on his mind, though she had a feeling she already knew. It was the same thing that had been on his mind, hers, and every other witch and wizard, no matter how young or old that lived on Hogwarts' grounds.

News of Dumbledore's suspicions, further heightened by what Percy had discovered, had not only leaked out all over school, but had made it's way all across Scotland, and wizarding England. It was no secret now the Ministry and Dumbledore were in a full out war, of sorts, with each other. Most every witch and wizard could now be divided into two categories: those who sided with the Ministry, and those who sided with Dumbledore. As predicted, the wizarding world had gone completely mad.

It was the last thing the Headmaster had wanted. The upcoming war with Voldemort and his army was imminent, but rather than having a fair many at the Ministry to count on for support, he had many who now not only looked at him as a possible supporter of Voldemort, but also as an opponent of the Ministry's "wonderful" efforts to keep the wizarding world safe. So many were so blind…

To Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny and even Draco Malfoy, all of whom had been informed by Hermione of Philetus Harold's evil plots to make purifying a race seem agreeable by starting off slow with Muggle Jews, and eventually working his way up to the purification of the whole wizarding race, it seemed incredible that anyone who had heard Umbridge owned such a book would not at least question her motives toward Muggle mixed wizards and witches.

To Harry, it seemed like an omen of worse things to come. And it wasn't as if he needed one.

He hadn't shared his suspicions with Hermione that Voldemort might decide to start the war by sending Harry a final owl demanding he come to meet him alone. It would be the logical thing for the dark lord to do; to try killing Harry and therefore regain all of his full powers before the war really began.

Then again, Harry knew he didn't need to tell Hermione his thoughts for her to suspect the same thing. She wasn't called the smartest witch in school for nothing.

The threat loomed between them like something alive. In their common room, every unexpected sound made Hermione jump and whip round toward the window. With every sword and wandless magic practice Harry had with his father, he left it having worked harder and faster that day than he had the previous. At breakfast when the owl post came, both immediately tensed until any letters Harry might have received had been opened and inspected, leaving Ron to wonder exactly what they were thinking.

The two had an unspoken pact with one another that they did not talk about it, though the point of that was useless. It was too painful, and ignored about as successfully as a large pink elephant standing in the middle of the common room.

Now here they were on Harry's request, sitting near the lake in silent companionship, his hands gently rubbing Hermione's arms as his own encircled her, keeping her warm against the night air's slightly damp chill. But Hermione, impatient as she was, felt if he did not soon decide to tell her what was on his mind, she might perform the Legilimens spell on him just to see if she could manage it.

"Harry…" she finally whispered, unable to stand it any longer.

He had buried his nose in her hair, allowing the familiar scent to calm him. He hummed out an absent reply.

"Hmm?"

She shifted her face toward him and placed on hand on his cheek. "Will you please tell me what's bothering you? You've been so quiet today."

"It's nothing, love." He sighed quietly. "I just want to sit here with you in peace while we still can."

But the quiet usually brought about the desperation that lately always came with it. Hermione could only stand a few moments of being so close to Harry before she wanted more. At night she often woke up abruptly, sweating and jerking from some horrific nightmare about Harry's death. It was at these times they seemed to have more trouble than ever keeping themselves from going to far, because Harry felt the same way.

Their bodies were reacting to their mind's desperation to stay together, for him to never have to leave, but even Hermione as analytical as she usually was, could not bring herself to care about the reasons. Tonight, all she knew was that she wanted to bring him so close to her own body that he might somehow become part of her and never be able to leave. Tonight she wanted him to have all of her, and her to have all of him, and damn any promises…

She turned around in his embrace, straddling his lap and moving her lips so close to his he felt her breath dampen his own.

The move left him startled… for a very ..brief.. moment.

"Harry…"

She breathed out his name so quietly, and with so much need…

She began slowly grinding herself down on his lap with little circular motions, her eyes dark and large and staring into his; her lips brushing his own and her tongue sweeping out to touch his. Harry felt himself hardening; helplessly jerking upward with his hips to meet her, his hands aching to reach higher and touch her breasts…

" 'Mione… please, I can't just do this and not ..ah, Merlin.. not want to…"

She widened her eyes innocently at him. "Not want to what?"

It was a move Harry found so sexy he almost lost his control.

His crystal green gaze burned with desire. His hands came up to grab her waist, pulling her down even harder against his lap, making her movements match his own…Didn't she realise what she was doing to him? Gods, it was hard enough every single night to lie in bed with her and not…not…

"Oh shit…gods, Hermione…I'm not gonna be able to just do this and…and stop…"

She said nothing for a moment. Her legs were spread wide over his, skirt riding up to her upper thighs, hips still moving in tiny circles, her core pressing and rubbing against his crotch, her breasts pressed and moving against the hard plains of his chest, mouth open and panting… She angled her head and moved her mouth to suck slowly on his neck, dragging her soft lips over to his ear, taking the sensitive lobe between her teeth, nipping it, suckling on it, her breath against it sending tingles of desire shooting outward and downward…

Harry felt himself straining so hard against his jeans he thought he might die from the need to take her… to spread her wide and plunge into her…to make love to her so slowly that she screamed…

Hermione sighed into his ear. "Why should we…"

And with those words, all the blood left Harry's brain.

With little effort he picked her up and laid her on her back in front of him on the grass, ripped his glasses from his face and tossed them aside, covered her with his body, and began to devour her mouth with his.

He was aware of the desperation; aware of the fact they were afraid of losing each other; even aware they were close to breaking promises they had made to each other that were very real. But none of it seemed to matter at that moment.

Her legs had snaked up to wrap round his hips, making her skirt ride up even higher. Harry's hand found its way from under her jumper and moved to cover the calf behind him, smoothing its way up the long soft limb to her upper thigh… moving up even further and taking the hem of the skirt with it…

Shaking but unable to stop himself, Harry moved the same hand under her thigh and up caress her arse, marvelling at the sensation of the soft cotton nickers against the pads of his fingers; the feel of the smooth skin as those same fingers slipped beneath the elastic and moved against the softness of those pliable rounded muscles, fingernails digging in ever so slightly…

She gasped into his mouth and plunged her hands into his hair, crushing fistfuls of it and tangling it between her fingers. She let go and allowed her fingers to make quick work of the buttons on his shirt; her hands finally, greedily pushing it open, smoothing their way up the hard muscles to his tight shoulders, kneading the flesh there and smoothing back downward over the taut muscles of his abdomen and to the waistband of his jeans. The muscles spasmed as he felt her slip her hand beneath the waistband and move lower to grab him.

He gasped into her mouth and stiffened. "Oh bloody hell…"

She felt his hand smooth over even further and down to sweep the fingertips between the crack of her arse, moving lower, and lower, and lower, pausing as the tips pressed gently into her wet opening…

She tore her mouth from his and cried out softly, her hips bucking up to press herself into his hand. "Oh god! Harry, please.. please..."

He was hyperaware that they had never quite gone this far before, and knew she was as well. A sheen of sweat covered them both. She moved her hand to unbutton and unzip his jeans, her hand snaking back in to stroke him once more, but this time, beneath the boxers.

Harry's eyes flew shut, his teeth ground together so tightly he could barely strain out a sentence.

"Oh my god, Hermione…"

His thumb brushed against her clit and she arched upward, panting open-mouthed, her body begging him for more, her legs parting wider... He allowed one, then two fingers to slip inside her and began to gently thrust them in time with the jerks of her hand against him.

It quickly became too much.

Hermione gasped, her breath hitching in her chest. "Please Harry... I want you inside of me... I want all of you, please... I want you to make love to me..."

And all the promises, the love he felt for her, the way he would never ever hurt her, and the way he wanted to ensure that if he didn't make it back from his confrontation with Voldemort, she would be free to move on, all came rushing back to his mind with the full force of a wrecking ball.

And it was these things alone that allowed him to finally get hold of himself… for her.

"Hermione..." He moved his hand from her and sighed, his chin dropping to his chest. "We can't."

She stared up at him. "I want to… I want you, Harry! I want to be with you."

"I want to be with you too," Harry whispered, putting a hand to her face. "So much you won't believe it… But we promised to wait."

"Damn the promise!" Hermione cried out suddenly, grabbing his face between her hands, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks. "What if there's no later for us, Harry!? What if… what if something h..happens!?"

Harry's jaw stiffened and his face screwed up in an attempt not to cry. " 'Mione, I don't want you t..to have given yourself to me if something does happen... I want you to be able to..to move on..."

"You think it'll be easier that way!?" she cried almost hysterically. "You think because we haven't done it I'll be able to go on living!? It won't be that way, Harry! It won't..."

"But we'll be closer than ever then, don't you see!?" Harry exclaimed, not caring now that tears ran down his cheeks. "I can't do that to you, Hermione... I won't."

Her face crumpled, and her shoulders began to shake with sobs. Harry felt a little bit of his insides die, and wisely decided the time for words was over. He grabbed her to him and held her tight, rocking her. And not for the first time in his life, he wished he was anyone else in the world but Harry bloody Potter.