Behold the Dragon of Ill Faith
He moves with rigid, deadly grace
Can new-found virtue undo vice?
Redemption comes, but at a price.2

Battle scenes, I’ve found, are always hopelessly over-rated. Be it in story books, history books (good ones and not those third rate ones about goblin revolutions they made us read at school) or one of those Muggle movies things the mud - sorry, pureblood habits die hard - Muggleborn, (Granger) makes us watch from time to time.

Stories will never describe what it's like before battle commences. Oh yes, you’ll have the ten page motivational speeches and the two and a half chapters droning on about whatever emotional turmoil the hero is in but you’ll never know what it’s really like unless you were actually there. In a book Chapter 14 ends with an internal monologue or two and Chapter 15 starts smack in the middle of battle. Well, maybe I’m being unfair. There’ll be another motivational speech, and then it’s ‘Curses to the right of them! Curses to the left of them!’3

The worst part is the waiting. When you know that any time soon you have to grit your teeth and be off to fight the good fight. Well, there’s no such thing as a good fight. Some die, some are wounded - and as old Mad Eye Moody will tell you body parts are hard to replace - a few end up insane. Then there’s the people left behind - the orphans, the parents, the widows and widowers. And now I’m beginning to sound like the jaded war veteran that I am, moralising and all.

Hmm, I’m only nineteen and I’m a war veteran already. Don’t even know why they insist that I take my Auror training exams - I’ve definitely had enough on the job training. Of course what I’ve been through is nothing compared to what Ron and Potter and Granger have been through but frankly I wouldn’t mind if I never saw another battle again.

The worst thing about this particular battle is that this is the big one. The siege of Hogwarts. We’re all sitting here in the Great Hall patiently waiting for the Dark Lord and his army to show up (and slaughter us all as likely as not). Everyone’s talking cheerfully about what they are going to do after this damned war is over and how we’re going to trounce the Death Eaters. No-one’s looking anyone else in the eyes though.

We have to win this battle. Note the emphasis on the have. It’s your classic ‘do or die’ situation. This is the night (or day, it‘s only an hour before dawn) the prophesy comes into play. If Hogwarts falls we’ve lost the war. Oh this is the big one alright - everything comes down to this - the last stand of the Light.

God I’m tired. I haven’t been able to sleep all night. I could have slept in one of the dormitories for a few hours (which is what almost everyone has been doing and what is recommended - tired soldiers are good curse targets) but I’m just too jittery. So now I’m not exactly sleepy but there’s a general dullness about me. It’ll clear up when the action starts and the adrenalin kicks in.

Ron comes to sit next to me and squeezes my hand discreetly. We don’t want our families to know about us just yet. Potter and Granger know and that’s two people too many in my opinion. Well, I guess Potter would have figured it out sooner or later no matter how preoccupied he is. He shares a flat with Ron, after all, and there are only so many late night projects that we could be working on that he wouldn’t be involved in. Granger apparently put two and two together and came up with five. Potter swears he didn’t tell her and I’m inclined to think he’s telling the truth. He has much more important things to do than sit around gossiping about which reformed elite pureblood is dating his best friend.

“Alright?” my lover asks.

“Hmm,” I say and squeeze back, wishing I could climb into his lap and feel his arms around me. I’m terrified that I’ll never see him again after today. That one of us or perhaps both of us won’t make it.

“Dray -” he’s says somewhat hesitantly using the nickname that I hate. My name’s Draco and it’s only two syllables long. Why does he feel the need to shorten it to one? But I let it drop this time. He falters and then tries again.

“Draco…”

“Yes,” I say impatiently. Then I feel awful for being so snappy with him but I just want him to spit out whatever it is that’s on his mind. The Dark Army could attack any time now and I may never get to hear what he has to say.

He grins. “You’re always so impatient. Look, what I’m trying to say is that I lo-”

I jump to my feet. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear his goodbyes. If I’m to stand a chance at surviving this battle at all I have to believe that I can and that our side is going to win and that is not what is going to happen if I start saying my final goodbyes.

“I’m going outside for a smoke,” I say interrupting Ron and my voice comes out two octaves higher than normal.

“Draco, what’s wrong?” he says standing up as well.

“I know and I do too but I don’t need this right now and I have to go out and be by myself right now because it’s what I have to do -” I’m babbling and Ron takes me by the shoulders and shakes me.

“Yeah I know, Dray. Go out, get some fresh air, sort yourself out. But then I need to say a few things.”

I nod and stumble out of the hall as fast as I can. My left leg is rather stiff which is exactly what I need. A souvenir from the last battle, two months ago, which we lost. A nasty little curse which causes muscles to paralyze. Whoever it was that cursed me, and I place my money on dear Auntie Bella, was aiming for my chest but their wand slipped and it got me on the leg instead. Lucky me. If it had hit my heart I would have died. The healers at St. Mungo's did a great job, but it still hurts and gets stiff in the cold or if I overtax it.

I’ve come to the Main Doors now and they’re slightly open. I can see Professor Snape, my parents and all the other reformed Death Eaters sitting or standing on the Entrance Steps talking and smoking. Reformed my arse! The only reason they’ve switched sides is because they realized that they were better off without the Dark Lord. I can’t say so for my godfather; Uncle Severus is the only one who really repents taking the mark. Dad started to “follow the light” after my fifth year when he was packed off to Azkaban for a spell. There he had some time to do some serious thinking and he finally figured out that the Dark Lord was not going to storm the prison to release his not completely faithful followers, and that his Lord had no intention of sharing power. Also he realized that he could have his own way on the side of the Light as easily as he could on the side of the Dark if he played his cards right.

He and a few other like minded Death Eaters cut a deal for their freedom. With their Dark Arts expertise they’re all quite valuable assets. Besides, they have no scruples using a few Dark, illegal curses if they have to. Even Dumbledore isn’t above taking advantage of that.

I once asked Dad if he ever felt uncomfortable switching sides at the drop of a hat. He gave me an odd look and asked me why I thought that he should. “We’re Malfoys. We survive. And that, my boy, is the secret of our success. We persevere. We may have to take a few steps back and bow down occasionally, but we always come through on top.”

“What your father means, dear,” Mum had clarified for me. “Is: principals be damned! Who cares what side we’re on as long as it’s the winning side?”

My mother has never been the most subtle of people.

“Not much longer, now,” Dad’s saying. “Sun’s coming up.”

It isn’t really, but there’s a faint light in the East, announcing the start of a new day.

Uncle Severus sighs. “It’s going to be a beautiful sunrise. I might as well watch before I have to speak to the headmaster. It may very well be our last.” He’s growing sentimental. He must be getting soft with age. Or it could be that the sense of impending doom is mellowing him but let's not think about that.

Mum snorts. “Dear Severus, always so optimistic.” She notices me eavesdropping by the door and frowns. I blush.

“It isn’t nice to listen at doors Draco. Have I taught you nothing?”

“You’ve tried, but all in vain,” I say coming out to join them.

“Where did we go wrong, Lucius?” Mum says with feigned anguish.

Dad shrugs. “We should have sacrificed him to the family deity when he was born.”

“Do we have a family deity?” I ask.

“It’s still not too late,” Dad says ignoring me. “Draco, as soon this is over we’re sacrificing you and producing an heir who will not disgrace the family name by listening at doors. Really, we expected better of you. It’s so plebeian.”

“Yes, Father! Sorry, Father!” I say brightly and sit down on the steps next to my mother. My knee snaps loudly as I do so.

“How’s your leg?” Mum asks looking worried.

“It’s fine,” I lie.

She looks at me sceptically but doesn’t say anything.

“Really, it’s fine.” Why is it always so hard to lie to my mother? “It’s just a bit stiff. Healer Dresner said it would be like that for at least another three months.”

Neither of my parents says anything. Are they wondering, like I am, whether I will be alive three months from now? Will they?

Aargh! I have got to stop thinking this way. It’s imperative to keep a cool head before you go marching off to war. That bloke at Auror School said it would get easier with every battle. Well, that’s just bullshit! It’s worse every fucking time! You never stop being afraid. Never. The first time it was fun. It was like, “Woohoo! Lets all go kick some Death Eater ass!” Then you see people who you’ve known all your life fall and not get up again and you cause a few people to fall and not get up again as well and then it all changes and the war isn’t funny any more.

Oh God, we’re not going to make it through this! The Death Eaters are getting stronger and there seems to be more of them every time. There are all sorts of other things in the Dark Army too - giants, dementors, vampires, werewolves and Merlin knows what. Even if I survive the battle I’m the son of the Dark Lord’s ex-lieutenant of evil. He’s going to be especially pissed off with me and I have no doubts as to what He’s going to do with me. We’re all going to -

I’m brought back to reality when Dad slaps me in the face. He’s squatted down in front of me and looks both concerned and angry. Mum just looks worried.

“What is the matter with you?” he snaps. “You were hyperventilating. Pull yourself together for pity’s sake.”

“Do you have to be so harsh with him?” Mum says angrily.

“Look at him. He’s a wreck! I bloody well told you that you weren’t ready for this. It’s too soon after.” The last two sentences are addressed to me. Dad doesn’t want me fighting today. He thinks I’m not up for it yet and that I should stay off my leg.

“I’m fine,” I say hoarsely. “I’m just a little nervous.”

“Nervous? Ha! You almost wet yourself.”

“I’ll be fine once we get out there!” I shout at him. I stand up and glare down at him. He’s still crouching on the floor so I can loom over him for a change. “Would it hurt you to show a little compassion for once? Not all of us were born without a heart you know.”

“Draco!” Mum gasps.

Dad just stares up at me and says nothing. He isn’t supposed to look at me like that. As if I’ve ripped out the heart that I’ve just denied the existence of. He’s supposed to jump to his feet and tell me that he’s my father and that I will treat him with respect not just look at me with this sad, haunted expression.

He does stand up eventually, but with none of his usual briskness, and looks me in the eye. I’m exactly his height so he doesn’t have to bend down to do this any more.

“Is that what you think of me?” he asks. There’s a faint trepidation in his voice as if he doesn’t really want to know.

“I didn’t mean it,” I say quickly. And I didn’t. I know that my father isn’t infallible and I no longer want to be just like him like I did until a few years ago, but he’s still pretty close to my idea of perfection. It’s childish, I know. My father is anything but perfect. He’s manipulative, selfish and arrogant. He’s ruthless in his ambition and God, I know he can be a cruel son of a bitch at times but he’s still my father - and I’m not sure that I would have him any other way.

“I’m sorry Dad. I just snapped,” I say desperately trying to reassure him and not liking this new unnaturally sensitive side to him at all. “I know that you have a heart. I’m not sure of where you keep it, but I’m sure that you have one.”

What was that? I’m not sure of where you keep it… Bleh! Great going Draco.

Remarkably he smiles, rather wanly though. “I just don’t want you getting yourself killed,” he says. “I worry about you. You do know that I care, don’t you?”

I nod and try to swallow the lump that has formed in my throat. Dad nods too and looks away. I think he’s doing the same as me.

Mum stands up and arches her back. “What are they waiting for?” she asks. “I don’t know if I can take any more of this waiting. I should have stayed at the Manor. Lucius, how did you manage to talk me into this in the first place?

Father turns and smiles at her. He knows as well as I do that it’s her decision to be here and nothing that he could have said to her would have encouraged this if she didn’t want to. On the contrary - he’s been trying to dissuade her from duelling for months. Suffice to say, he hasn’t been very successful at it.

“Like this,” he says and kisses her.

This isn’t right. My parents do not indulge in affectionate displays in public. My father will kiss my mother when he leaves for work. Or if they are seeing one another off or picking each other up from somewhere or some other time which is appropriate to kiss in public. But those kisses are, while not totally devoid of any feeling, always perfunctory, brief, without any tongue and last exactly for three seconds. Yes! I have counted!

This one is much more involved than that. It’s deep, hard and intense. They’re kissing with a fervent passion that I‘ve never seen before. Bleh! I’m watching my parents snog. But I can’t look away. It’s as if they’re afraid that this might be their last kiss so they’re trying to put everything they’ve ever felt for each other into this one and they don’t care whose watching. That’s just me… everyone else is pointedly looking elsewhere. What if one of them dies? I don’t even want to think about how the other will cope. What if something should happen to Ron? How am I going to cope without him? I’d rather die myself than - Oh fuck! I’m going to start bawling any minute now if they don’t let go of each other. I know I will.

“Oh yuck! Old people making out! You’re supposed to keep the troops’ morale up, Uncle Louis, not gross them out!”

I have never been so pleased to see my cousin Tonks in my life. Urk! She’s got her eyebrow pierced. I haven’t seen that before. She’s so different from us that I still can’t believe she’s related to us.

My parents draw apart and my mother shakes her head. “You have no tact at all, Nymphadora.”

Tonks shrugs and runs a hand through short spiky pink hair. “Like you can talk Aunt ‘Cissa. You have about as much tact as a bludger.”

Father mutters something under his breath.

“I heard that,” says Tonks menacingly.

“I doubt you would have understood it,” he says snidely. “I wasn’t aware that you knew Bulgarian.”

Neither does he but she doesn’t know that and looks a little sheepish. She didn’t really hear him and Dad knows it.

“Why you seem to think that what I said was about you is beyond me,” he continues. “Don’t you have to go and knock something over?”

“Ha ha,” she says dryly. “Uncle Louis thinks he’s so funny.”

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that, Nymphadora?”

“As many times as I have to tell you not to call me Nymphadora, Uncle Louis.” She grins at me. “Wotcher, Draco!”

After three years of hearing her say it, I still have no idea what ‘Wotcher’ means. My pride always stops me from admitting it. I smile at her. “’Lo Tonks.”

“You two ought to be ashamed of yourself,” she says to Mum and Dad. “Draco here might have been scarred for life. I know I have been.”

“It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before,” lies Mum.

Tonks and Mum get along like a house on fire. Urgh! That’s an unfortunate simile to use, especially in light of what happened.

When my parents joined the Order of the Phoenix it was inevitable that they would run into Tonks and her parents.

Things were rather tense between Mum and her sibling for a while. I mean they hadn’t spoken for twenty odd years and they hadn’t exactly parted on the best of terms. Dad didn’t help. He was openly contemptuous of the whole Tonks family, especially Nymphadora.

The first time we met her was painful. As I recall Mum had been arguing with Andromeda about something - I don’t remember offhand - and Tonks walked in and her mother introduced her. Dad took one look at her and then asked Andromeda, “Why would you call a boy Nymphadora? And did he have an accident or was he born that way?” Let’s just say that things went downhill from there and skip the details.

As time went by things gradually improved. For one thing Dad became more important to the Order as the Dark Lord gained power. He hadn’t been in the Inner Circle for nothing. He knows what the Dark Lord is like and can anticipate his moves. We became more involved in the more dangerous aspects of the Order and slowly were seen as Allies and not as Dumbledore‘s latest ‘redemption’ project.

The summer I graduated from Hogwarts and started training as an auror, it was last summer now that I think of it, Mum and her sister were on good terms with each other and Dad had stopped insulting his in-laws. He wasn’t exactly pleasant, but for Dad maintaining a lack of malice was quite an effort. Well anyway, relationships were at an all time high when tragedy struck.

Tonks went home one night to find her house on fire and the Dark Mark floating over it. Once they got the blaze under control she went to see if her parents were alright. My tutor had been called out to investigate the incident and he told me to go along with her and report back to him with any news they might be able to tell us.

As it happened they weren’t able to tell us anything.

In fact they’d never speak again.

It hadn’t even been done with a curse. At least that would have been quick and painless. From the looks of things it had been as drawn out as possible. To make matters worse there was a message on the wall written in blood. The morbid part of my mind wondered whose it was - my aunt’s, my uncle’s or both of theirs mixed up together.

Morning Star.

Lucifer.

Lucius.

Apparently the Dark Lord used to call Dad that when he was first ordained as a Death Eater. He wouldn’t speak about when or why he had been given that particular epithet. Tonks had asked him if it were a code name of sorts and he had hastily agreed. I don’t think that was the absolute truth, chiefly because Uncle Severus wouldn’t look him in the eye for a week. I also caught him staring at my father with an expression very close to pity on his face. I mentioned it to Mum and she went rigid. I swear I heard the snap as her jaw locked. She told me in no uncertain terms to stop poking my pointed nose where it had no business of being and flounced off. I’m not sure that I want to know about it. I have something of an idea but it’s just too awful to be true. No - that can’t be it…

Well, the murders of my aunt and uncle were a warning for my father. A warning that this time it was only his relations by marriage that he didn’t really care about. That it would be just as easy to get to Mum and me and that our deaths would be just as grisly if not worse.

Things suddenly became much more personal for all of us. I think we had all known that the Dark Lord would have a personal vendetta against us but this made it all shockingly clear.

I suppose Dad felt guilty that on some level he was responsible for Tonks’ parent’s death. After all, they had only been murdered because they were related to him. Otherwise none of them were important enough to incur the wrath of He Who Must Not Be Named.

Anyway, Mum sort of adopted Tonks - you know, making her stay at our place until she got herself sorted out and trying to get to know her better and all that. Dad didn’t object and even made an effort himself. She seemed to welcome the attention though I think she had every right to hate us for what had occurred. But she is nothing like me. I’d go as far as to say that Dad actually likes her now. She still gets on his nerves and he gets on hers. For one thing she tolerates Mum calling her by her first name, probably because she is her mother’s sister, but she can’t stand Dad or me doing it. At first they would row all the time because Dad refused to call her anything but Nymphadora. Eventually she got her own back on him when she started calling him ‘Uncle Louis’.

Somehow I can’t imagine Dad as a ‘Louis’ or even plain ‘Lou’. It doesn’t suit him at all. But then Tonks’ first name doesn’t really suit her - it’s too upper class pureblood.

She’s arguing with my parents over their smoking habits.

“It’s disgusting, it’s unhygienic and unhealthy! How many more reasons do you need?”

In answer Dad lights two of them, hands one to my mother and offers me the packet. I take one, light it with a flick of my wand and inhale deeply. Whew! That’s better. I should have done this when I first came out like I intended to do.

“That’ll take ten years off your life,” Tonks says to me.

“After today that may not be an issue,” Professor Snape drawls from where he’s lounging on the steps. I suddenly feel very cold and it feels like a couple of bludgers have been let lose in my stomach.

“Thanks, Severus. We get of the topic of gloom and doom for two seconds and you have to say something like that,” says Mum. “Why don’t you go skulk in your dungeon somewhere?”

He ignores her and stares gloomily into the distance. We all do the same. We can’t postpone the inevitable. It’s going to happen sometime today. Perhaps we all need a few moments of quiet reflection. It sometimes helps me to focus.

Potter comes out of the castle and looks around until he locates my father who’s wandered off.

“Lucius!” he yells. “I’d like a word.”

He always calls Dad and everyone else that he doesn’t really like by their first names. It aggravates them because in a way he’s saying - you’re no better than I am. You may be older and smarter than me and have years more experience but you’re still just my equal. So it’s ‘Lucius’, ‘Severus’, ‘Amadeus’ (That’s Avery) but ‘Mr Weasley’. If Potter knew just how much he infuriates my father every time he calls him Lucius he would be very pleased. I tell Dad he’s just lucky that Potter doesn’t call him Louis.

He’s had to work with Dad for a while so they have come to respect each other in a sense, albeit grudgingly. I suppose you could call Potter and I friends if you were being generous, but really, we’ve just learnt to tolerate each other. It’s mainly because of Ron. I desperately want to like my lover’s best friend just because it will make him happy and I think Potter feels the same way. So we go out drinking together and discuss our assignments and complain about our tutors from Auror School but I can’t say that we’re friends. Compatriots perhaps, but not friends.

Dad takes his time coming up to Potter. “You rang, Harry?” he drawls lazily.

“I want to talk to you about the Non-Fiendo5,” says Potter very softly. He obviously doesn’t want to be overheard. I’m not supposed to be listening to this, but all I do is to sidle unobtrusively closer so I can hear more.

There isn’t any visible change in my father’s demeanor. He still leans languidly on his cane and gives every appearance of being bored with Potter, but his eyes snap to attention with a flash of steel and gleam with keen interest at Potter’s words.

“Oh?” he says, deliberately uncaring.

“I think I’m ready for it,” Potter says.

“You think so, do you?”

“I know so.”

The right corner of Dad’s mouth twitches. “That’s better,” he says. He glances at me and I bend down and pretend to be examining my knee.

“Let’s walk,” Dad mutters and strides away.

Potter slides up to me and hisses in my ear. “Ron wants a word. You’d better go in. He’s in a right state.” He looks at me accusingly and then hurries off after my father.

I’m furious. Oh right, Ron’s in a state so it has to be my fault. Why does everything that goes wrong in this place have to be my fault? Why does Ron have to go and tell him everything? If he doesn’t like something I’ve done why can’t he talk to me about it instead of going to his best friends? It’s none of their business.

I stomp off back towards the Great Hall. I sincerely hope I don’t run into Granger. If she starts mouthing off about how I’m breaking her poor little Ronnie’s heart with my cruel, uncaring behaviour I swear I’ll hex her and to hell with the consequences!

I’m suddenly pulled into an alcove by a pair of strong arms and the next thing I know I’m being kissed so hard that it takes my breath away. I feel all my anger melt away and I wrap my arms around my lover’s neck and hold on tight. He breaks off the kiss and nuzzles my neck.

“Hey, you,” I say stroking his hair. “What brought that on?”

“I couldn’t go out there without letting you know how much I love you,” he says without looking up. I feel something wet trickle down my neck. Damn! I’m no good with tears! It’s usually him who calms me down when I’m in hysterics.

“Don’t - don’t please,” I whimper, clinging to him. I’m almost in tears myself. I knew that this would happen. “I’ll be fine. We both will be, you’ll see. I love you too, Ron.”

He sobs and holds me tighter. “Oh don’t!” I say desperately. “There’s nothing to worry about. We can do this, I know we can.”

He pulls back and I kiss the tears off his face. “I just don’t want to lose you,” he whispers.

“You won’t,” I say forcefully. “I have no intention of dropping dead and I’m telling you now Ronald Weasley - if you die on me I’ll kill you.”

He laughs dryly at the absurdity of that statement.

“We’re going to knock them flat,” I say. “The only Death Eater you have to worry about is my father.”

“Your father?” he says blankly

“When we tell him about us he’s going to try and kill you,” I say solemnly. I’m joking, but I suddenly realize that it’s the truth. Our fathers loathe each other with an all consuming hatred. Even Dumbledore has given up on trying to make them see eye to eye and tries to schedule Order meetings so that only one of them is present at any given time. When Ron and I finally decide that the time is right to come out of the proverbial closet we’re in for some spectacular fireworks. Oh well, we’ll just have to cross that bridge when we come to it. Right now winning this war is the first thing on the agenda and everything else after that.

He smiles and kisses my nose. “You really believe that we can do this.”

“I do,” I say firmly.

And it dawns on me that I do believe it after all.

1. ‘…Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.’ From the funeral service in the Book of Common Prayer.

2. Behold the Dragon of Ill Faith

This belongs to me. I made it up. Go me!

3. ‘Curses to the right of them! Curses to the left of them!’ a Wizardized version of ‘Canon to the right of them! Canon to the left of them!’ from Lord Tennyson‘s ‘The Charge of the Light Brigade’

See 2.

5. Non-Fiendo. As far as I can tell fiendo is Latin for ‘the making’ or ‘it will be made’ so non-fiendo is the unmaking curse.

If you want to see the pairings and the general overview of this story you might want to take a look at A Song of Slash is a Gay Song from where I got the idea for this. This story is consistent with and leads up to the part of the song after the lines Lets skip ahead, to newer times; And newer generations... But this isn't all fun and games - it's quite serious and nothing at all like the light hearted, silly song of slash.The previous parts and ships of the song have little or no bearings on this story.

Each part will be in a different point of view. Draco narrates Part 1.

Part One

The Unmaking

After we’ve calmed down sufficiently we make our way back to the Grand Hall. The ceiling is a very light pink with the light of the dawning sun. Uncle Severus was right. It is a beautiful sunrise. I wish I had been able to see it properly but boyfriend-duty calls.

“Where’s Harry?” Ron asks. I don’t know why he thinks I'd know. It’s another matter that I do know, but why should I?

“He’s talking to my father,” I reply.

“He’s been hanging around your father a lot lately,” says Ron pensively.

“So?” This comes out more fractious than I intended. I love Ron, I really do, but when he starts to think he either comes out with ridiculously complicated scenarios or he won’t get the point at all. I don’t begrudge him for it. I actually think it’s rather sweet. I can’t help being nauseatingly mushy, I’m in love - but right now I’m not in the mood to listen to another one of his conspiracy theories.

“Nothing,” he says in the faraway voice that means the wheels of his mind are turning. “Drey, you don’t suppose Harry fancies your Dad?”

Gah! This is exactly the sort of thing that I mean! Of all the outrageously, outlandish absurdities in the world he has to pick that one. Hmm, I think all the three adjectives I just used mean the same thing. I do that when I’m flustered.

Ron laughs while I finish spluttering indignantly.

“No, I do not suppose Harry fancies my Dad! My father fancies my mother, thank you very much! I do not want a step-father and even if I did Potter would be the last person on my list with the exception of Longbottom!”

“Calm down,” says Ron. “It was only a- what do you call it - hypothetical question.”

“If you must know they’re talking about curses.” That reminds me. I want to know what all the secrecy was about. If there’s one person who can tell me it’s -

“Granger!” I exclaim as she approaches us. “What does the fido curse do?”

“The what?” she says in a long-suffering why-must-I-deal-with-this-moron tone. “For Merlin’s sake at least learn to pronounce your curses right if you can’t perform them.”

I’m tempted to tell her where she can stick her condescending attitude but Ron thinks a lot of her and I really want to know what Dad and Potter were talking about out there.

“Um, not fido… fendo… feido - something like that.”

“Fiendo?” she asks sceptically.

“That’s the one, yeah fiendo.”

She frowns. “That would translate to ‘the making’. There’s no such curse as the making curse.”

Oh yeah, smarty-pants? Then how come two of the most important wizards in this war were whispering about it? Oh wait there was more. “It was the non-fiendo. I remember now.”

“Non-fiendo?” asks Ron. “That would mean not making and frankly Drey, you are not making any sense.” He grins at his little joke. I don’t find it funny at all and glare at him. He ignores me and looks at Granger expectantly.

“A better way of saying it could be unmaking,” I say pointedly.

“I’ve never heard of it,” Granger says dismissively. “It doesn’t exist.”

“Just because you haven’t heard of something doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist,” I say nastily.

“I suggest you get your facts right. If it existed I would have heard of it,” she says superciliously. “You must have overheard wrong.”

Damn! Does everyone know about my eavesdropping habit? I try not to, but - alright I don’t try not to at all. But to have her pointing it out is especially peeving. From what Ron tell me of their early years at Hogwarts, they listened more at doors and under that blasted invisibility cloak than they did in class. I’m itching to tell the jumped up little Mudblood to go bugger off but I hold my tongue and say nothing. Actually, I bite it.

All those who were outside are slowly returning back inside the hall. Dad and Potter walk in, still deep in conversation. They’re headed to where we are standing but I’m not sure that they’ve noticed

“All you have to do is mark out your target and stay focused,” Dad’s saying to Potter. “You’ve got three battle-groups which are to make sure that you have a clear line of attack and your own group should be able to cover. It’s only a matter of waiting for the opportune moment and then - ‘zap’.”

We are divided into several small groups that we call battle groups. Granger once started to explain that in the Muggle world we’d be called platoons and squadrons and regiments and that their way is much more organised. However since most of the group leaders are pure-blood or have little knowledge of the Muggle defence system she found it too exhausting trying to explain how the whole thing works to us and gave up on it. We’re segregated as per our strengths and our ability to work together. I mean it would be pretty silly to put my dad and Ron’s in the same battle group. They’d murder each other instead of the enemy.

I’m in Potter’s group with Ron and a few others. We’ve trained together all this year and were given duelling lessons together our last year of school. We work well together as a team and we’re quite formidable in battle. I don’t know how we’d have gotten along if we hadn’t been flung together by the War. I try not to get any closer to my group-mates than I have to. It makes it all the easier to carry on if one of them falls. No prizes for guessing who’s in charge of our group.

“Easier said than done,” Potter mutters.

Dad nods curtly at him. “Good luck, Harry. You’ll need it,” he says and abruptly turns around and walks away over to rejoin the members of his own group.

“Ron, I need you to take command of our battle group,” says Potter.

“What?” gasps Ron. “You’re telling me now, when they’re almost on our heads? I thought you said that you’d be doing it.”

“I did,” says Potter testily. “But now I’ve changed my mind. If you don’t want to then Malfoy can do it.”

I gape at him. Who the devil does he think he is? “Huh?” I say - which isn’t really the scathingly witty retort that I had in mind.

I’m sure that Potter tries to be a fair leader - but he always assumes that he can change all our pre-planned strategies at the last minute to suit himself. It’s extra-ordinarily annoying.

“No wait -” says Ron hurriedly. “I didn’t -”

“Right, Malfoy. You’re in charge,” Potter carries on regardless. “I want you to cover my back.”

Right. When do we ever do anything else apart from cover his back? It’ll be Group one we need you to target the vampires, Group seventeen you’ll be covering the far left and Group thirteen (that’s us) cover Harry’s back. Bleh! Why don’t they just call us the PPP - Protect Potter Platoon?

“Now hang on,” I say angrily. “Are you going to tell us what brought on this change of mind? You can’t just expect us to drop everything and blindly follow whatever whim has taken hold of you. You can’t just switch command like that.”

“Then perhaps you’d like to take out Voldemort for me then,” Potter snaps heatedly and I try not to flinch at the name. “I’ll only get one shot at this and I can’t afford to screw it up. I can’t handle watching out for you lot on top of that, got it?”

None of us say anything. Granger looks away. It’s so easy to forget that the Boy who Lived has to go on living if we’re to win this war. It’s either him or the Dark Lord. At first when I heard the prophecy I thought - so what? Didn’t he realize that he would have to kill you-know-who someday? It’s practically a given thing. What’s the big deal? It wasn’t until a good deal later that I realized just how big a deal it was. How do you suppose a fifteen year old orphan, who’s never been a boy and who has just lost the one semblance of a parent that he’s ever had, feels when he hears that the fate of the world rests upon his skinny shoulders?

You and I can’t even begin to comprehend the enormity of the situation. I may be scared shitless over what I have to do next but at least I’m here because I want to be. I can give it my all and fight ‘till I drop, run away and hide like a little newborn pony or hang around and monitor the body count if I choose to do so. He doesn’t have that luxury.

Even my father and the other converts, who have been granted their freedom on the basis that they fight on our side, were asked if they would battle today or not. I think Dumbledore said, “I do not ask you to fight this last battle of the Light…” or words to that effect before going all motivational on us again.

I don’t think anyone has ever asked him if this is what he wants to be doing. He’s had his entire life mapped out for him before he was even born. What is it like to be the chosen one? What is it like to be the predestined saviour of the Wizarding world? What is like to have the most powerful Dark wizard in over a thousand years mark you down as his rightful prey?

I think in some ways it’s rather comforting to be insignificant. To know that while I live I may be a valuable player in this field, but my death will not really make a huge difference. No one except those who are my own will be affected if I am slain in battle. He cannot even die with the knowledge that he did his best. If he dies he fails us all. It’s terrifying enough to give me sleepless nights, so I have no idea what it does to him.

He holds our fate in his hands. The fact that it’s Potter could almost make me scream. That this scrawny, reckless, big-headed, hot tempered, impulsive idiot is to be the knight in shining armour for our kind makes me want to howl at the wrongness of it all. He just isn’t prophecy material. He isn’t especially striking or imposing or commanding. He’s just so damned ordinary and Mugglish that at first you don’t even realize that he’s a wizard. You’d never believe how powerful he is unless you actually see him in action.

Potter goes stiff and his pupil’s dilate. They become two wide, gaping black holes behind his glasses. A thin, extremely bright green rim is all that’s left of his irises.

Just as suddenly they contract again and he looks round at us with his familiar emerald pools.

“They’re here,” he says softly. “They’ve come.”1

Oh fuck!

Potter rubs absently at the lightening bolt over his forehead. “I’d better go and tell Professor Dumbledore,” he says calmly and then walks off, presumably to find the barmy old coot.

He doesn’t seem unduly perturbed about this. He speaks as if he’s merely announcing that Aunt Edna is coming to tea or the time of day. Perhaps I was wrong in assuming that he feels distressed or distraught over his predicament. He seems indubitably tranquil. Perhaps it’s a relief that this moment has finally come. No matter how this battle ends for him it will all be over. The rest of us lesser mortals however are not so lucky. We are all staring at each other too numb to move. I’m consumed with an all-compassing fear that’s far too great to even think of trying to put down in words. My insides feel as if they’ve been turned to lead.

“The enemy is approaching,” booms the magically enhanced voice of Dumbledore which is now several times louder than normal. “Please form your battle-groups and assume your positions. The time has come.”

…the walrus said, “to talk of other things.” 2 The things that pop into my mind at times of stress never fail to amaze me. Why I’m thinking of a Muggle nonsense poem I have no idea. I start to giggle manically. Ron looks at me with avid horror. Poor baby! He must think I’ve lost my mind.

“Draco?”

“Love you,” I say giddily. “Hang on two secs. I need my mum.”

I stagger off blindly to look for her.

She’s talking to my Dad and they’re strangely detached from the rest of the hustling crowd.

“Mum!” I say frantically barging in on them and then I hug her fiercely. This feels exactly like when I was leaving for Hogwarts for the first time when I was eleven. I don’t tell her that I’m terrified out of my skin. I don’t tell her that I love her because I don’t need to. She knows. The same way as she slipped my old stuffed dragon into my trunk eight years ago because she knew that I would regret leaving him behind. I still have that dragon. It sits on my chest of drawers at home. Its fur has faded from moss green to mint green and a lot of it has rubbed off and one of its eyes has fallen off but I love that dragon possibly even more than my broomstick. After all, you can’t cuddle a broomstick at night when you feel lonely and homesick. I wonder whether I’ll ever have children of my own and if they’ll have toys like Jasper that they can’t bear to give up. Somehow this seems like a good omen and I straighten up and grin at my parents.

“See you afterwards at the victory party,” I say.

Mum smiles. “See you there.”

Dad nods at me and then on impulse crushes me into a strong embrace. He lets go and pats me on the shoulder. “Make sure that Potter gets a good target on the Dark Lord,” he says. “And if you have to duck to avoid a curse don’t lean on your left side.”

I nod at him. “Yeah, I know.”

He glares at Tonks who’s standing behind us watching with a rather wistful expression on her face. “For the love of God change your hair to some less conspicuous colour, child. You’re going to stand out like a beacon!”

She looks touched at his concern and opens her mouth to say something but before she can Professor Snape touches Dad’s elbow. “It’s time, Lucius.”

We all go to rejoin our battle groups. We don’t look back. Ron grabs my hand as soon as I’m back by his side. Potter is nowhere to be seen.

We file out of the hall and assemble outside below the steps leading up to the main door.

Dumbledore comes out and Potter's with him staring out into the distance. Everyone looks at him expectantly. I suppose they would want him to speak word of encouragement to us all. I wonder why they don’t just leave the poor sod alone. He’s the one in need of encouragement.

He’s taken his wand out and is twirling it idly in his fingers. Dumbledore clears his throat.

“Huh?” he says “Oh yeah. Let’s get ’em.”

He trots down the steps and comes over to Ron and me and the rest of our group. Everyone’s applauding like he’s just delivered the ultimate speech of the century. Why do I get the feeling that ‘Let’s get ’em’ is going to become the closing remark of every speech delivered by any successful politician if we win?

“Well,” says Dumbledore, his voice rising above the din of the crowd. “You heard the boy. What are we waiting for? For Hogwarts, for the Order and for every institution of the Light! Let’s get ‘em!”

See, I told you so.

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

As far as battles go this one is rather mundane. The history books are going to be calling it the definitive epic battle that was both terrible and horrific and which thousands of lives were lost.

Ha! There aren’t even a thousand people to start with and as for an epic - it’s more a confused noise!

And I’m supposed to be in charge! Bleh! I fall to the ground to avoid an incoming curse. Whew that was close!

“Alright! Fall to the left,” I yell, jumping to my feet. “Potter, do you know where you’re headed?”

He ducks to avoid a curse aimed at him. “Far left,” he bellows. “I need to get to the far left.”

I glance over to where he’s indicated and I see him. The sight never fails to turn my blood to ice. He’s hideous. Bleached skull with those truly horrible eyes. I take a deep breath and shout to the rest of the group. “Come on people! We‘re headed to the far left” I always say people - never men; the weaslet is in the group and you never know when she might go all feminist on you.

Okay, I take it all back… this is anything but mundane! I barely have time to think before -

“Expelliarmus!”

“Protego!” I’m about two seconds late in casting the protective shield around myself so the force of the spell sends me crashing to the ground - my weight falling on my left side! Pain shoots up my bad leg.

On the plus side I do have my wand.

“Stupefy!” I scream at the Death Eater, I can’t tell who it is because of the mask. He wasn’t expecting me to be able to attack so the spell takes him by surprise and he keels over stunned.

I try to get up but my leg gives way. My battle group has already moved away. He who falls behind is left behind. That’s the rule. They’re rapidly approaching you-know-who and - Potter’s right side is completely exposed!

For Merlin’s sake is no one in charge?

I see a Death Eater approaching him and pull myself to my feet frantically. At this range I won’t be able to get a direct hit but if I can just distract him.

“Impedimenta!” I scream. The curse doesn’t hit the Death Eater but he’ll have felt the draft and - oh yes - he’s turning.

“Expelliarmus!”

Before I have time to react, the spell slams into me, knocking the wand out of my hand. It also lifts me a few feet into the air and I land - again - on my bad leg. Oh God! It feels as if the bone just splintered into several pieces. I know that nothing of the sort has happened but - oh god - it hurts so badly!

The Death Eater approaches slowly - obviously taking his time, enjoying watching me writhe in agony. I twist around crazily trying to locate my wand. It’s just out of my reach.

“Poor widdle Dwakie… all alone and helpless,” Oh no! It’s her! “Does he want his Auntie Bella to take care of him?”

So this is where it ends, does it? I refuse to look at her. I will not let her have the satisfaction of seeing how terrified I am.

“It’s time for you to die, nephew!”

My heart;s pounding so loud I can barely hear anything else. I close my eyes tight. I’m not brave enough to watch her cast the curse that will kill me.

Thump!

Huh! That was a man’s voice. A voice that sounds extremely familiar… and I’m still alive!!

I open my eyes to see my father standing over me with a very annoyed expression on his face… but he isn’t looking at me. I follow his line of vision and I see Bellatrix Lestrange’s lifeless form lying on the ground next to me. Her mask askew, he eyes are open and staring, her face contorted into a sneer.

Someone pulls me to my feet, roughly. I turn my head to see Professor Snape at my side. “I’ll get him out of here,” he shouts over the clamour of battle.

My father nods and turns away to fight another Death Eater. Uncle Severus hands me my wand. “Keep a good hold of this,” he says. “No more fighting for you today.”

Before I can protest a horrible blood-curdling scream fills the air. As one the entire battlefield turns to the source of the noise to see Potter and the Dark Lord at the very edge of the grounds close to the forbidden forest.

The Dark Lord seems to be alight with purple flames. The magical fire’s consuming him and he’s screaming with agony. He falls and suddenly there’s a blinding flash of light from where he collapses.

Uncle Severus lets go of me and grabs his left forearm in pain. He groans and across the battlefield I can see my father and all of the other Death Eaters, past and present, doing the same.

After a minute he straightens up and draws his sleeve up. “It’s gone,” he says, his voice faint with wonder. “The mark’s disappeared.”

I’m flooded with relief so great that I couldn’t possibly describe it in words, not even if I used up an entire dictionary.

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

Alright Draco, just calm down - you know that your father’s alright, so that’s a plus. Mum’s probably gone to have a shower or powder her nose or something - you know her. And Ron’s - well he must be fine - he’ll be checking out his family first - you know how many of them there are. Everybody’s going to be fine.

Oh there’s Dad! One down two more to locate. What has he got his hair in a ponytail for?

“Dad!” I yell to catch his attention. He turns around and looks relieved.

“Draco!” he says and comes up to me in a few quick strides and hugs me tight. He lets go just as suddenly.

“Where’s Mum?”

There’s something dreadful in his face. And now as I look at him properly I realize how haggard he looks - as if he’s aged ten years.

“What?” I say shrilly. “What’s the matter?”

“She’s fine,” he says looking away. “They’ve just taken her to St. Mungo’s for a little spell damage.”

St. Mungos? That means that her injuries were too serious to be seen to here. “Dad!” I say fearfully. “She - she’s not -”

“I said she’s fine,” he says harshly. Then he softens a little. “Look, I’ll just go find that cousin of yours and make sure that she has suffered no lasting damage other than the kind she chooses to inflict upon herself. Then we’ll go see your mother. We can get you checked up and all.”

I nod. “Don’t wander off,” he says and goes presumably to look for Tonks.

Don’t wander off. How old does he think I am? Six?

Oh God! What’s happened to Mum? No! Don’t think of it… look for Ron instead. Ron!

I look frantically round the field, but I can’t see him anywhere. I spot Potter a few meters away and I limp over to him.

He looks rather dazed. His eyes are strangely blank -almost dead.

“He’s gone,” he says softly. “He’s just gone.”

If I didn’t know him better I’d say he was quite upset about it. He’s probably just in shock.

“Yes, Potter he‘s gone. He isn‘t ever coming back. Well done,” I say very slowly and clearly as if to a very small child. “Have you seen Ron?”

“Ron?” he asks puzzled. “He’s here, somewhere,” he waves his hand vaguely in the air. Well even I know that! I need to know if he’s alright!

“He isn’t coming back,” says Potter. I start and gasp at him and then I realized that he’s still talking about He-who-has-just-been-liquidated.

“Potter, are you alright?” I ask, wondering (not for the first time) if he is completely sane.

He shakes his head a couple of times, rather like a dog trying to get a fly out of its ear.

“It’s just odd,” he says. “He’s gone.”

I have no time to stand here and try and shake some sense into this idiot. I need to find Ron! I leave him to his lunacy and walk off down the field.

Ow! My leg is killing me. I’m going to have to show it to my healer when I get out of here.

I see something moving on the floor some way around where the Dark Lord fell and I hurry over as fast as the splintering pain in my leg allows.

There’s someone with black hair lying face down on the ground. From what I can tell, it’s male. They moan softly and move uneasily. Yep, definitely male.

Probably just regaining consciousness. I squat down, trying to keep my weight off my left leg and turn him over.

Shit! It’s just a kid. He’s barely fifteen years old, at the most sixteen. I thought they had cleared out all the students two weeks ago. I suppose one stowaway out of three hundred isn’t bad. I wonder if he was on their side. Maybe that’s how we missed him. I’ve never seen him before, which isn’t saying much. If he snuck away to participate in this battle he could very well be a Gryffindor.

He opens his eyes and squints at me. Merlin! They’re just like Potter’s! This kid could be his younger brother, they look so alike.

He’s terribly confused. He looks as if he has no idea what he’s doing here. It’s possible he’s confunded, or he could be suffering from short-term memory loss. I grab him by his shoulders and hoist him to his feet.

He’s lighter than I expected. He’d be my height if he was standing straight; as it is he’s awfully unsteady on his feet and it’s all I can do to keep him from falling back where I first found him.

“Easy kid, I’ve got you,” I say, hoping he doesn’t decide to pass out again - or worse, throw up on me. He’s looking rather green.

“Ca - Caelestis3?” he says shakily.

“No, sorry. I’m Draco. What’s your name?”

Caelestis. That’s odd. Caelestis was my grandfather’s name. I start to steer him towards where there are people equipped to deal with this. If nothing else Pomfrey will be able to check him for internal bleeding and curse effects

He stares at me and trips over his robe. It’s much too long for him and it slips off one shoulder as I help him sit up. His eyelids fall shut and he tries to lie down again.

“Hey,” I shout in his ear shaking him roughly by the shoulder. “Come on! You have to stay awake.”

He looks at me blearily with pain filled, bewildered eyes. “What’s your name?” I ask again.

He thinks about this for a few seconds and then sits up straighter. “Tom,” he says firmly. Then he smiles at me proudly like he’s just said something exceedingly clever

“That’s great. Well Tom, do you think that you can walk.”

He nods uncertainly and I help him to his feet.

“Caelestis,” he says with conviction as I half lead - half drag him towards the makeshift camp they’re starting to set up to treat the more serious curse victims.

Why does this boy keep calling me that? Who is he? Some sort of time traveller pulled here from fifty years ago through a portal that Potter managed to open when he blasted the Dark Lord? Gah! I’m beginning to sound like Ron.

He’s having trouble staying upright with his robe tripping him up all the time. Where the hell has this kid come from? With what he’s wearing he can’t possibly have meant to be in the battle. He looks for all the world like a little boy who’s decided to play dress-up in his father’s or elder brother’s robes, especially in the light of the extremely gormless expression he’s got on.

He suddenly whimpers in pain and falls - on me. My knees buckle and we both crash to the ground.

At least it’s close enough to the first aid tent.

“Hey!” I bellow. “I could use a little help here.”

Pomfrey and Pince hurry over and conjure up stretchers. I start to protest that I’ll be fine as soon as they get this kid off me but I find myself levitating in the air alongside him. Oh well, might as well enjoy the ride.

I take a couple of painkillers and tell the nurse in no unclear terms that I am going off again. Potter comes crashing along from somewhere - and I do mean crashing. He’s sprinting like a long-distance runner in view of the finishing line. He drops down where Pomfrey is trying to get the kid to drink a disgusting looking potion. He keeps pushing it away.

Potter stares at the boy bringing his face a few millimeters away from his as if he can’t believe that he’s real. The boy stares back bemusedly. He reaches out and touches the boy’s cheek gently; the boy flinches and pushes his hand away.

“There you are Harry!” gushes Ron’s mum, who has materialized from somewhere. “Oh my dear boy, what are you doing?”

There’s a sharp intake of breath and I turn around to see Dumbledore and McGonagall staring at the kid as if he’s the Dark Lord himself. Dumbledore moves very slowly, as if he’s approaching a dangerous beast and draws Potter away from the boy. Then he signals to several other people, my father included and they start to whisper and hiss, with much waving of hands and turning around and glancing furtively at the kid, who’s still bedazzled and is still resisting Pomfrey’s efforts to feed him the potion. Personally I don’t blame him. I wouldn't drink that either.

But who is he?

Whoever it is he’s obviously important enough to bring all these people away from their activities and stand around discussing him.

I march up to Potter, who has detached himself from the small cluster of haranguing wizards and witches.

“Who is he?” I snap jerking my thumb in the kid’s direction.

“That’s Tom,” he says with a very small smile. “He hasn’t gone after all.”

Huh? Looks like Tom isn’t the only one in la-la land.

“Potter,” I say. “What. Is. Going. On?”

There’s someone handing out water. I grab a glass and throw the contents into Potter’s face. I’ve always wanted to do that.

“Thanks,” he says shaking the water out of his hair. “I needed that.”

“Anytime. So who’s the kid?”

He frowns. “Tom Riddle.”

“And who is he supposed to be when he’s at home?”

He stares at me. “I thought Ron told you about the Chamber of Secrets?”

He did but what has that got to do with anything? Hang on - hold your hippogriffs - Tom Riddle!

“He’s that Tom Riddle?” I gasp. “He’s the Dark Lord?”

“Hmm,” says Potter. “Oh by the way Ron was looking for you. He seemed upset about something.”

Ron! That means he’s alright! Oh thank Merlin!

“Draco!” There he is!! He runs over and oh God it’s so good to feel his arms around me. I never want to let go. He tilts my chin up and kisses me hard and it’s like coming home.

“DRACO!”

“RON!”

We draw apart hurriedly. Our fathers are staring at us and they look as if they’re about to spontaneously combust.

Oh fuck!

We’re doomed!

1. ‘They’re here… they’ve come.” -Frodo, just before the Nazgul attack in Osgiliath in The Two Towers. I wrote that bit the day before I went to see The Return of the King so I was on a Lord of the Rings high.

2. ‘ The Walrus and the Carpenter.’ from Through the Looking Glass by Lewis Carroll.

3. Caelestis means ‘of the sky’ or ‘heavenly’

This is the end of Part One.

Next up Part Two: The Undertaking Hermione narrates.

Part Two

The Undertaking

The Muggle-born witch so clever and wise.
There’s naught that escapes her all-seeing eyes.
While trying to make sense of a world torn apart
Do you listen to reason or hear out your heart?

I do not like being surprised.

As a Muggleborn you’d expect to be surprised at every turn when you first enter the wizarding world. I think that’s one of the reasons why I read up so thoroughly on it before I started Hogwarts. I wanted to be able to say, “Oh that doesn’t surprise me in the least. I know all about it. Let me tell you.”

Apart for my legendary thirst for knowledge I also felt that I had something to prove. Even before I had read up on the pureblood’s prejudice against Muggleborns I knew that I would be expected to not be as good at magic as those students that had grown up in a magical background. I wanted them to see that I could be just as good, even better than all of them.

Of course, all that my “Notice me! I‘m a genius!”2 attitude did was to effectively turn me into the school snot. I often wonder what my life would have been like if Ron and Harry had not saved me from that Troll. Would I still be considered as the school nightmare?

Being one of Harry Potter’s best friends has meant that my life has been full of surprises, most of them unpleasant ones. Over the years so many weird things have happened that I was beginning to think that nothing could surprise me anymore.

I wasn’t surprised when Ron and Malfoy started seeing each other. I had long suspected that all the feuding between them was simply unrequited sexual tension. Luckily they got together in our sixth year. I don’t think I could have taken much more of their brawling without screaming “Oh just shag already!”

I wasn’t surprised when Harry went through his I’ll-shag-anything-if-it-doesn’t-shag-me-first stage. I was concerned, yes. Surprised - no. We all have our ways of dealing with stress. I knew that he would get over it sooner or later and he did. Of course he then proceeded to withdraw into himself to the point that he’d forget Quidditch practices half the time. He perked up a bit in the seventh year but he never was as carefree as he had been before. Ron came up with a dozen and a half reasons why, from post traumatic stress to something to do with the alignment of the planets to an evil plan of Voldemort’s. I rather think that he just grew up.

I suppose that I surprised a few people when I didn’t go into Auror School like Harry or into curse-breaking like Ron. But, I think that it was rather obvious that I would prefer to go into Research instead. While I’m all for fighting the forces of evil, I don’t want to be doing that for a living. What I’m doing has exactly the type of mental stimulation that I like. If I were an Auror I’d be bored to death.

I’m not surprised that Harry tried to use an illegal, dark curse to kill Voldemort, nor am I surprised that it was Lucius Malfoy who suggested it. That man will stop at nothing to get what he wants and before yesterday the death of his former master was definitely on top of the list. If Voldemort had won then he would have been better off perishing in the last battle. Come to think of it, so would I.

I lied when I told Draco that I had never heard of the curse. I had overheard Snape and Malfoy Senior muttering some two months ago. I had no idea what it was but I had no time to check up on it. When Draco asked me about it at the crux of battle I thought the wisest course would be to dismiss it; no use having him all riled up. Lucius Malfoy seldom keeps things from his family. When he does so, you can bet your life savings that said secret is very dangerous indeed. Take the Chamber of Secrets debacle for example.

I was surprised when I was called to an emergency post battle Order meeting and even more so when I saw exactly what Harry’s curse had produced, or rather I should say whom. I knew who he was at once even though I’d never seen him before in my life and had never even heard a good description of what he looked like. When Harry described what had happened in the Chamber of Secrets he had been very vague about his nemesis’ appearance in his youth. I believe his exact words, when I asked, were: “He was tall… erm… and he… had… uh… hair,”3 which wasn’t very helpful at all as at the time most sixteen year old boys were both taller than us and they all had hair.

Ginny was slightly more helpful. She said that that the younger Voldemort had looked exactly like Harry, except that he was much taller and no glasses.

When I saw the boy I found that wasn’t quite true. His colouring was very similar to Harry’s, but there were several differences. While they are both too thin, Harry has always been skinny; I’d call Riddle slender. They both have jet-black hair, but Harry’s is thicker and messier and it sticks out all over the place. The other’s is finer, and I think it would probably curl a little if he allowed it to grow longer. Riddle is about Malfoy’s height so he’s a few inches shorter than Harry is but he may grow taller. They’re both unnaturally pale but Riddle’s skin is much more translucent than Harry’s, which tends to get dry in almost any weather. The most noticeable similarity between them is the eyes. They’re the same shape and the exact same shade of green and both of them have ridiculously long eyelashes, except you don‘t really notice Harry‘s because of the glasses, but that’s where the similarity ends. Harry’s eyes tend to show exactly what he’s feeling. I’m not sure who it was that said that eyes are the mirrors of the soul. That’s what his eyes are like. Riddle’s eyes are the exact opposite. They give nothing back except your own reflection. They sparkle with a strange, twisted gleam but you can’t tell what he’s thinking.

No-one had any idea what had gone wrong and they were all arguing about it.

“You were the one who came up with this spell!” Mr Weasley said to Mr Malfoy accusingly. “Why don’t you tell us what happened?”

“That may be true,” sneered Mr Malfoy. “But that -” waving one hand aristocratically at Riddle, “was not the required result. I did not force the boy to perform the spell.”

I wanted to know what had gone wrong as much as the next witch but I didn’t think we were going to get anywhere by debating over whose fault it was. I also wasn’t sure why Riddle was present.

“Gentlemen, we are not here to ascertain who is to blame for this most unexpected turn of events,” said Dumbledore (Whew! I thought. At least someone agrees with me.) “We must decide what is to be done with -,” he paused, as if trying to decide what to call the green eyed monster sitting in a corner of the room watching intently, “him,”

Well, that’s one way of saying it. At least he hadn’t said that like Mr Malfoy.

“Wouldn’t it be better to find out how much he’s aware of first?” I said. “Is he mentally sixteen as well or has he retained all the memories he had when he was Voldemort?” Someone had to think of it.

Kingsley got to his feet. “I suppose an informal interrogation could be arranged,” he said. “I’ll see to it immediately.” He crossed the room in a few step and hauled the boy roughly to his feet. Riddle stumbled; the effects of the curse had obviously not worn off yet. “Come on, we don’t have all day,” he said and dragged him from the room.

Harry, who had been so quiet that I hadn’t even realized that he was in the room, got to his feet so hastily that he knocked his chair over. He didn’t bother to put it back but hurtled out of the room after Kingsley and Riddle.

Well, that was odd. I understand him being anxious about the boy but this was more like full-blown panic.

“Well,” said Dumbledore. “I suppose the rest of you had better go rejoin the festivities.”

“Ron,” said Mr Weasley warningly as everyone began to disperse, and led him away taking him firmly by the elbow. Draco was nowhere to be seen, he hadn’t been at the meeting. I wondered if his father had locked him up somewhere to keep him away from Ron’s influence. He had certainly been livid out there in the first aid tent. And Mr Weasley had very much resembled a bull about to charge at the Matador’s red cape. But really, kissing in the middle of a field - what did they expect?

I’m worried about Ron, though. He really loves the little ferret. He’ll probably try and talk Draco into eloping or something if their parents don’t come round. But does Draco love him enough to turn his back on his family and his riches, I’m not so sure. I’m just afraid that Ron is going to end up getting badly hurt.

I didn’t go back to the festivities, but headed straight for the Ministry. I had no idea where Harry had run off to and I didn’t think that the Weasleys would appreciate me sticking my oar in as they sorted out the latest family crisis. (I’m sure that is exactly how they are going to see Ron and Draco’s relationship). Besides, I wasn’t going to be able to sleep before I had resolved the issue of what had gone wrong with the curse. I wasn’t even sure about what the curse was supposed to do apart from destroying the victim and my division’s library was just the place to start looking.

I must have passed through a score of parties at the ministry itself. At one point I came across Marcus Flint, who appeared to be giving Percy Weasley an amateur tonsillectomy with his tongue. Oliver Wood had also joined in on the fun and was sucking on Percy’s neck. Now there’s something you don’t see everyday. I knew that Percy was dating one of them or perhaps even both of them behind the other’s back but I never expected a threesome. But there’s Percy for you. Whenever he does anything he has to go the whole way.

Seven hours and as many coffees later I’ve finally found what I was looking for in an obscure ancient-looking text.

Well, it seems pretty straightforward to me. The spell ‘unmakes’ the victim by destroying them, turning them back into what they were made from: earth, ashes and dust, like they say in funerals. But if you cast the spell you have to be sure that this is what you want to do and that you know what you’re doing, or else the spell backfires and you’re the one who ends up as ashes and dust.

Wait a minute… return to ashes of thy past.

Oh dear, I think I’ve just realized what went wrong.

What does Severus Snape want to see me for? I’ve just had a floo call from him asking if it’s convenient for him to pop round. I’ll admit that he isn’t quite so formidable once you’re out of Hogwarts, and he and I have been getting along better ever since I was forced to ask for his help in that Ancient poisons project but still it’s Snape! He isn’t the type of person to go calling on an old student. If it was Lupin I’d understand, but Snape…

There’s the crack of someone Apparating and the next thing I know Snape’s in my kitchen. I suppose he would have used Apparition. Some parts of me still expect him to turn into a bat or a large raven and flap about.

“Hello, Severus,” I say coolly. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

I’ve picked up the habit of calling him Severus from Harry. I’ll never get used to it though. In my mind he’s still Hogwarts most dreaded professor for whom I can never do anything right.

“Hermione,” he says in greeting. “I was wondering if you’d have any Veritaserum on you.”

I stare at him. Alright, so I’m very fond of potions and I think they’re fascinating but why should I have powerful truth serums illegally lying around my flat? It’s a different matter that I do; I made some in my spare time a few months ago.

“Any particular reason why I should?” I ask cautiously, better safe than sorry.

He shakes his head viciously. Greasy strands of hair go flying. I wonder for about the millionth time why he doesn’t do something about it. While he’s never going to be good looking or handsome at least he won’t look like a walking corpse if he cleaned himself up.

“Believe me, I have better things to do with my time than to be going around performing Potion raids on Ministry employees,” he sneers. “There is an immediate need for that particular serum and I find that I have run out. Seeing as how it will take me a full moon cycle before I can prepare any more it is necessary that I look elsewhere.”

I scowl at him. Why does he have to be so patronizing? “Perhaps I do have some,” I say. “But I want to know what it’s going to be used for.”

“Interrogation,” he says.

“It’s against wizarding rights to administer Veritaserum during an interrogation,” I say.

He smiles nastily at me. “Indeed it is. But when the interrogation is unofficial and no-one can prove that it happened then who is to say that it did? Also, when the interrogated wizard himself technically does not exist, at least not for the Ministry, then his rights cannot be violated as he has none.”

Why can’t he ever give me a straight answer? “So, you need it to interrogate Riddle then?” I say.

He nods. “He won’t talk. Do you think if you looked you would find some? If anyone asks your name won’t come up.”

“They’ll probably be too busy partying to notice or care,” I say. “I’ll come with you if you don’t mind.”

It’s obvious from his face that he does mind but he simply shrugs.

I fetch the Veritaserum, pat Crookshanks who’s started to rub against Snape’s legs the

crazy cat has no account of taste - and grab a coat and my bag from the other room.

“Where to?” I ask.

“Order headquarters,” he says and we Apparate.

When we arrive at 12 Grimmauld Place we hear a colossal din going on. Of course the fist thing we hear is Sirius’ mother. Why do I always forget to look up a spell to shut her up? I swear after this whole Riddle thing is sorted the next thing I do is to find out how to remove a permanent sticking charm.

Even louder that old Mrs Black’s screams of “Blood-traitors! Filth! Cretins!” - She really ought to learn some new insults, these are beginning to get old - are the voices of Harry and Lucius Malfoy.

“Don’t talk to me like that, you obnoxious little son of a Mudblood!” Malfoy would use that particular insult. I don’t know why he chose to say little though; Harry’s taller than he is.

“I’ll talk to you anyway I want to, you bigoted, inbred twerp!”

“Oh lovely!” mutters Snape under his breath and sweeps off into the room. I follow him as fast as can.

Harry and Malfoy senior are glaring at each other, both very red in the face - at least Harry’s very red in the face, Malfoy’s whiter than usual. Remus seems to be trying to reason with them.

“This isn’t going to help,” he’s saying. “Can’t we sit down and discuss this in a civilized manner? We’re all adults here.”

“No,” snaps Malfoy. “That magically challenged brat, isn’t”

“There was nothing wrong in the way I cast that spell,” says Harry hotly. “I did everything you fucking told me to. Don’t blame me. You must have fucked up the instructions.”

“There is no possible way I could have made a mistake,” says Malfoy clenching his fist and his teeth. “I told you not to attempt it unless you were sure. You assured me that you were. Is it my fault that you don’t know your own mind?”

“I was sure!” Harry shouts at him. “WHY WOULDN’T I BE SURE THAT I WANTED TO DESTROY VOLDEMORT?”

“How the hell should I know?” Malfoy yells back. “All I know is that you didn’t put your all into it. You didn’t try hard enough. You’re the one who was holding back! Maybe you’ve grown so used to all your bloody fame and glory that you didn’t want it to end. Maybe you didn’t want to destroy him!”

Harry lashes out suddenly and punches Malfoy so hard that he falls to the floor. His head hits the stone with a sickening thud.

Remus rushes over and manhandles Harry into a chair while Snape tries to stop Malfoy going for his wand.

Malfoy is busy swearing and cursing. Because Snape has managed to wrench his wand out of his hand and is doing pretty well at keeping him pinned down Harry isn’t in any immediate danger.

They’re all shouting at each other so I can’t make out a word what anyone’s saying. Sirius’ mother has started off again.

I’ve had enough of this.

“Silencio” I chant waving my wand and they all fall silent except for the old shrew in the painting who’s out of the circle of my wand’s influence.

“Right,” I say firmly to the four wizards. Harry, Snape and Malfoy all glare at me, Remus just looks amused. “We’re all going to sit down and then I have something to say which I’m sure that will interest you. I know what happened with the spell, but I’m not going to say anything unless you promise to stop arguing.”

With the exception of Remus, they glower even more fiercely but they all sit down at the table. Harry and Malfoy won’t look at each other though, Harry looks at me expectantly and Malfoy stares fixedly at the snake's head on his cane.

“Right,” I say again. “So no screaming and shouting?”

They all nod and I say the counter spell so that they can talk again.

“No that little demonstration is over, Miss Granger,” hisses Malfoy through his teeth. “Would you be so kind as to tell us what went wrong?”

My moment of triumph has arrived. This ought to make them sit up and take notice. “Nothing went wrong,” I say smugly. “The spell did exactly what it was supposed to do.”

“What?”

“Oh really, girl! I’m sure you can do better than that!”

“You’re out of your depth, Granger!”

They all shout out together, their voices colliding with each other. Remus frowns, “Are you sure you haven’t made a mistake, Hermione?” he says. “All the books say that he was supposed to disintegrate into dust. What happened was hardly the required result.”

I smile, “Books can be misleading.” I bend down and pull out the notes I made two nights ago out of my bag. “I came across this when I was looking up on the curse.”

Malfoy snatches it out of my hand irritably and glances at it before throwing it back towards me across the table. “We’ve seen that before. Why don’t you explain what the devil you’re babbling about and stop wasting my time.”

“I would if you’d let me,” I say equally irritated. At times like these I wish that he’d been Kissed back when he was at Azkaban, he’s just - no, that’s an awful thing to say - I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. He’s just so aggravating - always treating me as if I were a particularly gormless house elf that he’d like to kick.

“The line Return to ashes, dust and earth is misleading I say. It’s only a metaphor. It probably comes from the whole ashes to ashes, earth to earth concept. What the spell really does is described in the lines Return to ashes of thy past and From whence thy came thou shalt return. Here again ashes of thy past is misleading - you took it for its literal meaning. Ashes is just used figuratively. Unmake doesn’t mean that the victim burns into ashes. That would be a burning spell, wouldn’t it? It turns you back to what you were in the past. It undoes whatever you’ve made of yourself, which explains the line: Thy life shalt not, mere dirt be worth which again you took for its literal meaning. A wizard’s life is usually formed and based on his magical prowess and strength. Generally his life begins to take shape after he starts showing the first signs of magic. Turn him back to what he was before he is an established sorcerer and I’m sure most wizards would think that their life would be worth nothing. Voldemort was Tom Riddle so that is what he turned back to. The time before he had completely lost his - well, for the lack of a better word I’ll say innocence. Do we know for sure how old he is?”

“Fifteen,” says Harry, faintly. “That’s all we were able to get out of him before the mind clearing potion kicked in.” The other three just stare at me. Malfoy rendered speechless? That’s a first.

“Fifteen,” I say pensively. Of course, it all fits. “That was before he found the Chamber of Secrets and opened it. He may have not even have come up with the name Voldemort back then. The spell’s taken him back to just about before the idea of Lord Voldemort had even formed properly in his mind. The spell did exactly what it was made for. And we know Harry must have really been sure about wanting to cast the curse because it didn’t backfire on him and we have a hostile fifteen year old on our hands instead of a victorious dark lord and a hysterical ten year old.”

I sit back and fold my arms over my chest self-satisfied. I can’t help wanting to gloat. Chalk up another victory for the Mudblood. Eat my dust, Malfoy!

He’s looking deflated. “It looks like I owe you an apology” he says rather stiffly to Harry. Now it’s Harry’s turn to look smug. “Apology accepted,” he says and twirls the fingers of his right hand condescendingly.

“That’s sorted, then,” says Remus. “Do you have the Veritaserum?”

Snape nods, “Where is he? Upstairs?”

“No,” says Remus. “Dumbledore had him transferred to Hogwarts. The less people that know about this the better. The headmaster also felt that he might cooperate in more familiar surroundings.”

“Hogwarts!” yells Harry enraged. “No one told me that you’d moved him!”

Snape rolls his eyes and goes over to talk to Malfoy while Remus deals with Harry. I follow Snape, as inconspicuously as I can. There might be something that I need to hear.

“… just a phase. He’ll get over it soon enough,” Malfoy’s saying. Oh great! More Malfoy-Weasley angst is just what I need. I’m not in the mood to hear more jangling on the gay wizarding version of Romeo and Juliet, so I turn around to get back to Harry and Remus.

“How’s Narcissa?” Snape’s saying. What Malfoy says next makes me stop in my tracks.

“She’s alive. Barely. They said… if…” he’s having difficulty getting the words out. “If she didn’t come round… in two days… she probably wouldn’t come round at all.” His voice cracks at the end.

Oh dear, I don’t want to feel sorry for him. But that explains why he’s been so irritable of late. Christ! I’m feeling sorry for Lucius Malfoy of all people… He wouldn’t appreciate it if he knew.

“I’m sorry, Lucius,” Snape says.

His head snaps up and he looks at Snape furiously. “She isn’t dead yet,” he hisses. “You have nothing to be sorry about.” He storms off and - oh God! Don’t slam the door! - Too late! He’s woken up the banshee…

Snape turns to look at me. “Eavesdropper’s seldom hear any good of themselves,” he says.

I shrug. “Well, around you and the Malfoys I seldom hear any good of myself whether I eavesdrop or not.”

Remus and Harry come up to us before he can formulate some kind of a response. I’ve struck Malfoy and Snape speechless in the space of an hour; it has to be some sort of a record.

“Where’s Lucius?” Harry asks.

“St. Mungos,” Snape says shortly. “To Hogwarts, then?” They nod soberly. Am I the only one for whom Narcissa’s condition is news? I hate being the last one to know.

“I’d forgotten about Mrs Malfoy,” Harry says. “How -”

“Let’s just go,” says Snape and Apparates with a pop.

We follow suit and are soon at the gates of Hogwarts. We soon catch up with Snape striding across the grounds.

“Someone ought to tell Dumbledore about Hermione’s findings,” says Remus.

“I want to see Riddle,” Harry says. He hasn’t said I’m not going to him, so there but that’s what his tone implies.

“I’ll go,” says Snape. “I have no particular wish to see the former - or perhaps I should say future Dark Lord.”

“I think Hermione should go too,” I say. “Seeing as they were her findings in the first place.”

I hand over the Veritaserum to Remus and hurry after Snape who had started to walk away toward the left as soon as he volunteered to go to the headmaster.

“Don’t you want to know what he says under the Truth Serum?” I ask him.

He shakes his head. “Your explanation of the curse made it perfectly clear that he will not have anything of value to tell anyone. If the Dark Lord has been unmade, as you say, to Tom Riddle, then why should he retain any of his former memories?”

“If he has nothing to hide, why should he be so hostile?”

“If you suddenly found yourself in another universe or timeframe surrounded by people who were busy quarrelling over why you were not dead, would you be cooperative?”

Damn! The man has a point. “At least now we’ll know that for sure.”

“It doesn’t make a difference.”

“A difference to what?”

We’ve arrived at the castle. He’s led me to a side door which he hold open for me.

“To what is to be done to him.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not up to your usual standards Miss Granger. I’m sure if you think about it that brain of yours will come up with the only definitive course that we can take. Here’s Albus.”

He’s lost me. The only definitive course? What is he going on about? But as the Headmaster is approaching and he must be told what happened in the battle field. I file away all the questions I have for future reference. It will have to wait.

Another emergency meeting in three days… I don’t think that’s ever happened before. Why is it that I’m always the first to arrive? I hate it when that happens. At least it’s at Hogwarts and not at Grimmauld Place. It’s very unsettling to be all alone with Sirius’ mother screaming at you from her portrait.

Snape walks in. “Are we the only ones here?” he asks.

I nod. “The early bird ends up wasting a lot of time,” I say. He smile wryly and sits down next to me.

“Why did the interrogation take so long?” I ask. I wasn’t allowed in. Apparently they were only letting the tough Aurors and nasty people interview him and I fit neither of those categories.

“He resisted for some time.”

“You can’t resist Veritaserum!” I snap.

“Oh no? Actually it’s quite easy once you know how,” he says. “While you are compelled to tell the truth that does not necessarily mean the whole truth. For example if I were asked my name under Veritaserum I would be able to say Elias Alexander, those being my middle names.”

“Severus Elias Alexander Snape,” I say. “What a mouthful!”

“Quite,” he says. “At least no-one has ever mispronounced any part of my name as ‘ninny’. But you get my point?”

“Yes,” I say. “But then how would he know? Veritaserum wasn’t invented till the early fifties. That was after his time.”

“There were other truth potions in existence though, and no-one could ever accuse him of being slow on the uptake. I believe they fed him the entire bottle. Such a waste.”

“Hmm… I suppose they should have just waited until he was too exhausted to lie or as you said speak the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.”

“Exactly. It’s a pity that you were not allowed in.”

“What did you mean earlier, about there being only one thing that could be done about Riddle?” I say. I’ve got him alone and there’s no way I’m going to let this lie.

“Well, think about it. You can’t be that naïve.”

Dumbledore, Harry and the other members of the Order start to come into the room. The Weasleys come in with the exception of Percy, who never really reconciled with them after my fifth year. He never joined the Order either. I catch myself looking out for a long red ponytail and a fanged earring. It’s been over a year since Bill died and I still forget that he’s gone.

Draco isn’t there. He’s probably staying with his mother. Lucius is there, though his eyes are rather vacant and dull. He looks a million miles away. He takes the chair on Snape’s left and stares down at his hands. He keeps fingering the thin band of gold around his ring finger.

Harry keeps looking over his shoulder at the door.

Kingsley is the last member of the Order to come into our meeting room. He’s half dragging-half supporting a limp black clad form with him. What have they been doing to Riddle? He’s still wearing the too-long robe that he was first found in, it’s torn at a few places. His eyes are barely open and they’re so bloodshot that they’re almost totally red. They no longer hide what he’s feeling. His eyes as well as every other part of him scream exhaustion. He doesn’t look as if he’ll be able to stand without support if Kingsley lets him go.

He does let him go and as predicted, he falls to the floor unceremoniously, a small heap of black fabric, pooled on the floor. No one appears to be concerned

Somebody ought to do something. Oh yes someone has decided to check that he’s alright and is kneeling beside him. Is it just me or is there something decidedly strange in the fact that the someone happens to be Harry?”

Dumbledore gets to his feet, “We are here to discuss what is to be done about Tom,” he says. So it’s Tom now is it? What happened to him and that?

“What’s to discuss?” says Mad Eye Moody. “Potter has to finish him off. The sooner the better if you ask me.”

Harry looks up, his eyes very wide and very disturbed.

“True,” says McGonaggal. “I would suggest Azkaban but the Dementors probably would have no effect on him.”

The lump on the ground whimpers.

“Can it be done though?” says Charlie Weasley. “I mean, can the killing curse be used? What if all it does is disembody him again? I don’t think we want him to rise again for the third time.”

Alright, now I’m disturbed. Here are a bunch of civilized, kind-hearted, and all together decent people discussing how to kill a fifteen year old boy. I look around at all the unsmiling, severe faces, wondering what’s happened to us all. When did the war stop our ability to feel and turn us all so cold and stone hearted? My gaze falls on Snape. He smirks at me, but it’s more sad than sardonic. “See what I meant?” he mouths at me.

“Wait,” I say desperately. “You can’t just kill him!”

“Now, Hermione,” says Mrs Weasley. “You’re confusing him with a real boy. What he really -”

“He is a real boy!” Harry says coldly. “Did none of you listen to what she found out about the spell?”

“Didn’t you listen to him back there?” says Kingsley angrily. “He’s full of venom. If we leave him be he’s going to turn back exactly to what he was before.”

“He’s just afraid,” says Harry defensively. “He’s terrified. I told you if you’d just let me talk to him alone-”

“To what purpose?” says Snape. “How can you be so sure that it is fear and not malice?”

He’s only saying this to make this difficult for Harry. I know that he believes every word that Harry has said about Riddle simply being a young boy frightened out of his wits. He’s said as much to me himself, earlier in the day. But he will disagree with something just because Harry’s saying it as a rule. I wish they’d all just grow up!

“Because I can feel it,” exclaims Harry. “I can feel everything he does. Don’t you remember anything?”

Oh yes… that. I’d completely forgotten, but it’s been over two years since -

“If that is true,” says Zacharias Smith acidly, “then doesn’t that prove that he is the Dark Lord? Even if he doesn’t remember it he’s still the same. If the spell had turned him back to a normal boy you wouldn’t be able to.”

Oh dear, I think he has a point.

“Don’t be a complete prat!” says Harry. “What has that got to do with anything?”

“Harry,” says Tonks gently. “I know how you feel. It’s hard to have to dispose of someone who seems to be as helpless as he does, but you have to. It’s either him or you. We can’t take the risk that-”

“Maybe you can’t but I can!” yells Harry at her. He jumps to his feet pulling Riddle with him, who looks as though he’s going to be sick. “I’m not going to kill him!”

“Perhaps it would be better not to,” says Remus mildly. “After all this way we can keep an eye on him. If we were to try to end his life he may end up disembodied again like Charlie said. I don’t think we can take that risk. Do any of us want to be fighting another war twenty years hence?”

I see what he’s doing! He’s trying to put it in terms that will appeal to this rabid bunch out for blood. Why couldn’t I have thought of that?

Everyone starts to shout at the top of their voices. I can’t make out much, but it’s obvious that with a very few exception in the room everyone disagrees with Remus. So much for that angle.

Dumbledore gets up again and raises a hand. He looks very old and tired. I don’t think he likes this anymore that I do. It takes a few minutes but soon everyone’s sat down again and is silent. It’s a very tense sort of silence though.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please let us not lose our heads,” he says. “I myself am not sure what is the best course of action to be taken. That is why we must discuss this with calm and open minds. The first thing to be taken into account is Tom’s mortality. Is he or is he not mortal? Once we -”

“Oh for Merlin’s sake!” says Lucius Malfoy tetchily. “If that’s your only hang up have him Kissed by a Dementor and then incinerate the body. We can sit here for hours discussing how many of his former powers he has retained and not reach a conclusion and I don’t have the time!”

How much time does his wife have left? Is she slipping away? I’ve never seen him so desperately upset before. But with such a fool-proof option to get rid of him does Riddle stand a chance?”

The boy in question looks just about as terrified and distraught as someone who’s just heard his own death sentence can be. Without as much as a sound he suddenly slips from Harry’s grip to the floor in a dead faint. Harry gives a soft cry and kneels over him.

“I’m sure you have a very busy social schedule, Lucius,” says Mr Weasley. “But I don’t see how some party could be more important than this. Or I suppose that now you’re in the clear you have no use for the Order any more. Typical!”

Oh God, he doesn’t know.

“Dad!” says Ron wretchedly.

Malfoy gets to his feet in a rage. A vein stands out in the centre of his forehead pulsing and flickering. “You lowlife pretentious bastard!” he says softly though he’s shaking in anger. “If you really want to know what is more important for me I suggest you read the obituaries in the Daily Prophet tomorrow.”

There’s a sharp intake a breath from my right. Snape is staring at Malfoy in horror. Obituaries? Does that mean that-

“Lucius?” says Dumbledore shocked. “Is she..?”

“Yes,” he says in lifeless, toneless voice, “she’s dead.” Tonks stares at him unbelievingly for a few seconds and then bursts into tears. Remus puts an arm around her and makes various sssh-ing noises. “So you’ll understand why I can’t stay and attend your jolly little party,” Malfoy says and stalks out of the room. Snape gets up and follows him without so much as a by-your-leave.

There’s a tension-filled awful silence in the room after he’s gone broken only by Tonks’ sobs. I don’t know why I feel so upset. I hardly knew her.

“Well,” says Padma Patil staunchly. “I’m sure we all are very sorry for his loss -” oh yes, she knows what she’s talking about, she lost her sister last year, “- but I think that his suggestion was a very good one.”

“No!” says Harry heatedly. “You can’t be serious. Professor Dumbledore, you can’t just let them do that!” He looks at him desperately for support over Riddle’s prone body.

“Harry, I wish there were another way,” Dumbledore says desolately. “But it is for the best.”

“How can you say that?” Harry yells. “You of all people should understand!”

“Oh come off it, Potter,” says Smith. “Stop trying to be so noble. It’s the only way. I say we call for a Dementor right now.”

There are faint mummers of approval from almost everyone in the room. Oh dear, it looks like Riddle really is doomed. I can’t just sit here without doing anything. This just doesn’t feel right! Harry gets there first.

Harry gets to his feet and whips his wand out. “Take one step towards him and I’ll kill you,” he says softly. “That goes for all of you. So help me God, I swear if you even try it I’ll hex you into next week.”

It isn’t an empty threat. He’s deadly serious. If anyone should try to harm Riddle he will hex them.

There’s a stunned silence. We seem to be having a lot of those today.

Smith is the first to recover. “You’ll what? You’re actually defending him? He’s insane!” The last comment is addressed to the room in general.

“Perhaps,” says Harry. “But insane or not I mean what I say. I know that you need signed permission from the Minister to get a Dementor. I think that being the boy who lived should give me enough leverage to make sure that the only way you’d ever have access is to one is if you were on the receiving end of it’s affections.”

Smith goes very red but he says nothing. He knows what Harry said is true.

“Harry, he’ll need constant supervision,” says McGonaggal. “Who would volunteer? We can’t keep him at the school with the other students. What if he were to run amok and start to kill the Muggleborn students?”

Somehow I sincerely doubt that. The Tom Riddle that I’ve heard of wouldn’t be stupid enough to do something like that.

“I volunteer!” says Harry. “I’ll do it. I’ll watch him twenty four hours a day if I have to.”

“He would have to be magically restrained for a time,” warns Dumbledore who’s looking a lot happier now. “Other than that, my dear boy, if you are sure -”

“Oh, I’m sure,” says Harry. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life.”

“Professor Dumbledore, this is insanity!” protests Mrs Weasley. “You can’t seriously be taking this into consideration. What if he tries to kill Harry? You can’t let him put his life in danger like that.”

“It’s my life and I’ll put it where ever I want,” says Harry.

“But Harry,” says Ron anxiously, “I know you think you can change him and all that, but poisonous toadstools don’t change their spots. I don’t think it can be done.”

“I won’t know unless I’ve tried,” says Harry. He bends down and lifts the unconscious boy off the floor with some effort. “If that’s all, I’ll be taking him to the hospital wing. You can bring in those restraints any time you want, Professor,” he says and walks out carrying the comatose form.

I don’t wait to see how the rest of them react but go after Harry. He’s nowhere to be seen. Ginny follows me out.

“He’s flipped,” she says to me. “He’s totally lost it.”

“I don’t know,” I say. “For the first time in two and a half years I think he’s finally got it all together.”

“Then you’re mental, too,” she says.

We walk to the hospital wing in silence. When we get inside we see Madam Pomfrey clucking over Riddle, who’s still out cold and fussing over him. Harry watches her intently. We go up to him.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” I say.

“Of course he doesn’t know what he’s doing!” says Ginny explosively causing Madam Pomfrey to glare at her. Ginny lowers her voice but her tone is still one of dire urgency. “Don’t you remember what he was like in the Chamber, Harry? He seemed to be normal and helpless to me when he was in the diary. But he’s twisted and devious inside. He’s like a clinging vine that holds onto you for support but then slowly sucks your life and soul away. He’s a parasite - a weed!”

“Maybe,” says Harry with a small smile. He looks down at the boy, who until a few days ago was the bane of his life, with something an awful lot like fondness. “But, weeds are flowers too, once you get to know them.”4

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

1. The Muggle-born witch so clever and wise

I made this up. It belongs to me!!

2. “Notice me! I‘m a genius” - Hermione in the hand puppet movie theatre.

3. “He was tall… erm… and he… had… uh… hair.” - One of my flatmates from my first year at university describing a boy, whose name she couldn’t remember.

4.“Weeds are flowers too, once you get to know them” -A. A. Milne, Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh

Next up Part Three: Devotion Harry narrates.

“And when he shall die, take him and cut him out in little stars and he shall make the face of heaven so fine that all the world will be in love with the night and pay no worship to the garish sun.”

They don’t understand. None of them do.

They think I’m so accustomed to playing the hero that I don’t know how to stop. They think that I’ve grown used to have someone to save; that I need to be rescuing someone from the Dark so badly that I’ll even resort to trying to save the disposed Prince of Darkness himself.

In a way, it’s true. I’ve been hailed as the Boy-Saviour of the world ever since I was eleven and I don’t know what else to do. I don’t know how to be anything else apart from Harry Potter. I’ve been living under the shadow of Voldemort for so long that I can’t imagine going on without him.

Lucius thought that the Unmaking went wrong because I wasn’t trying hard enough. He said that I didn’t give it my all. That I was holding back. I’m glad I hit him, the smug inbred poodle. He has no right to accuse me of not doing everything I could for the Light. He has no right to point his treacherous, self-preserving finger at me. And above all he has no right to have hit the bloody nail smack on its head.

I didn’t want to cast that curse. I didn’t want it all to be over. And none of them will ever understand.

When I spoke the words and he fell, I felt it. I felt it more acutely than the most loyal Death Eater. It was as if something had ripped the heart out of my chest. I was hollow inside, an empty shell. It was worse than losing Sirius, it was worse than anyone I’ve ever lost. It was worse than anyone I could ever lose and if I had the choice I would have traded all of them - every single one of them - to bring him back.

None of them are a part of me like he was, and he was a part of me. I can barely remember what it was like before he and I - before we - I suppose it all goes back to Sirius falling through the veil. If I hadn’t lost Sirius the way I had I never would have taken my Occlumency seriously - the pun was completely unintentional. I was filled with hatred so intense that it was absurdly easy for Voldemort to invade my mind. Then for the first time I actually did something that Snape had told me to.

I did. The entire holidays I practiced. Practiced calming myself. Deliberately provoked my Muggle relatives to berate me, scream at me, even to turn on me physically, just so I could practice to clear my mind of all anger.

Count to ten; take a deep breath, think of your happy place… I tried every trick I could. I read every book on meditation I could lay my hands on. He was never going to get into my mind. My thoughts were my own and I had no wish to see his. Never again was he going to use me as his pawn.

After my sixth year started, I followed Snape around for a month until he agreed to start teaching me Occlumency again. He didn’t give up without a fight though. I’m pretty sure that the only reason he took me on again was because Dumbledore ordered him to, otherwise he never would have willingly suffered my presence. He was furious that he had to take me for NEWT level Potions. How I managed an O still befuddles me.

I behaved myself around him even though he was as insufferable as ever. My lack of reaction angered him all the more and he goaded me with choice insults on my personality and my family. I believe he was trying to get me to blow up at him just so he would have an excuse to refuse to teach me any more.

I kept telling myself that it was good practice. But all the same at first it was excruciatingly hard not to react. I’ve never been very good at keeping my temper under control, especially where Snape is concerned. I’d bite my lips until I drew blood sometimes, to stop the words that rose to them. It paid off eventually for I grew much better, so much so that even Snape had to admit that I was doing well. It was hard going though. Voldemort plagued my dreams and hampered my waking hours trying to break into my mind. He wasn’t pleased at all and redoubled his efforts to break through my defences. I retaliated anyway that I could. I even ended up persuading Snape to increase my Occlumency lessons from one day a week to two or sometimes three days.

Hermione clucked approvingly and told me how pleased she was that I was finally growing up and that I should be very proud of myself. Ginny approved too, but she is a more pro-active sort of person and thought that I should pay more attention to duelling as opposed to demonic exorcism - that was how she put it. Neville looked worried and told me that he was afraid that all the strain on my mind might drive me mad. Ron came up with the first of what Malfoy affectionately calls his ‘conspiracy theories’ and the rest of us call his ‘insane notions’. He decided - and Luna agreed with him, I swear if he was straight those two would make a lovely couple - that Snape and I were having a clandestine affair with each other which had started because Snape had seduced me at the behest of Lord Voldemort who thought that I would be easier to kill if I was shagged out of my skull.

See what I mean?

Anyway I wasn’t the one boning Malfoy. I was too busy with keeping the bogeyman better known as Voldie out of my mind and the events after that to realize what was going on until Ron and I decided to share a flat together after graduation.

Around Christmas I was finally able to block him out for good. He did everything he could to penetrate my psyche and I did everything I could to keep him out. This resulted in head splitting migraines, but I would not let him in again. And then something unexpected happened. A particularly agonizing mind battle on New Years Eve caused me to black out. When I regained consciousness I found that I could feel what he was feeling.

It wasn’t anything like fifth year when I’d burst out laughing hysterically when he was happy. My emotions were not affected by his directly. I suppose feel isn’t quite the right word to use. I could sense everything that he was feeling. It was rather like I had somehow keyed into his aura. I was certain that the connection was two-way. He would be able to pick up on whatever I was feeling as well.

Dumbledore said that I shouldn’t worry unduly. Neither of us would be able to see what each other was thinking so he wouldn’t be able to see any of the Order’s plans.

The one good thing that came out of it was that he stopped trying to read my mind.

Reassuring though that was, that wasn’t what I was worried about. I didn’t want to be walking around all day knowing that Lord Voldemort was feeling murderous or homicidal. I didn’t want to be able to sense his viciousness, his sadism, his cruelty. At first I would go rushing to the headmaster’s office every time the Dark Lord had a mood swing but I stopped after a week of being politely rebuffed and being sent to the hospital wing for a calming potion.

Now one of the important things in Occlumency is to clear your mind of all thoughts before you sleep. The time I spent in bed before falling into slumber was the time I would think about the events of the day and go over whatever it was that was going wrong so when I had resumed lessons with Snape a few months earlier I found this particular clause rather difficult. I tried everything I could that would sooth me so that I could achieve the emotionless state required but to no avail. Around Halloween Snape had been threatening to stop teaching me if I didn’t manage it. Ron suggested I try - there’s no attractive way to say this - jerking off. By this time I was desperate enough to start eating flobberworm bogies if I though they would help so I did take up Ron‘s suggestion. Unsurprisingly it worked. There was an embarrassing moment when Snape, pleased with my progress asked me what I was doing different but that’s something that I’d rather forget. Anyway I regularly touched myself when I couldn’t get to sleep.

Two weeks after the link between Voldemort and myself had been triggered I couldn’t sleep. I was furious that no one seemed to be taking the situation very seriously and kept telling me not to worry and he was extremely wrathful and brutal that night. My hand sort of wandered down there and I started to pump myself in a familiar, comforting rhythm.

The vengeful feelings were instantly replaced with astonishment and horror. I realized with grim delight that I was making him feel exceedingly uncomfortable. Ha! I thought Up yours, Voldie!

I came a few seconds later and I registered relief, frustration and arousal. I had been too caught up in my own climax to be aware of his unfulfilled lust. I felt rather disgusted with the idea but I fell asleep before I could give much thought to the matter.

When I awoke the next morning he was still frustrated and a little confused. I was in a better mood than I had been for the past six months. At last I had found a way to get my own back on him. Of course it didn’t make up for everything he had put me through, but it was a start. As far as I was concerned if I could make him feel a little ill at ease then I was all for it.

From that day I took my late-night activities to an unprecedented level (at least for me). I found that there were several people who would happily shag me or be shagged simply so that they could say that they had done the Boy-who-lived. I lost my virginity fairly quickly, to Lavender Brown and Blaise Zabini - at the same time… if nothing else the experience was certainly enlightening. I broke up with them soon after. What followed next was a string of one night stands and relationships, with either sex - the longest of which lasted a little under two weeks. Witch Weekly was having a field day. I even tried to get it on with Malfoy - I mean the little prat is rather cute if you look at him from a certain angle and his family had joined our side. He ran off like a bat out of hell and the next thing I know I’m involved in a flaming row with Ron. He was squalling like a scalded cat over consorting with the enemy and how one could never trust a Malfoy. I sneered at him and said that maybe he was so riled up about it because he wanted to be the one consorting with the enemy. At the time I didn’t know that he already was. He went red and muttered something about having to go and stroke his ferret.

I wasn’t deriving great pleasure from my escapades but then neither was he. He grew increasingly angry and distracted every time. My indiscretions bothered him to no small degree and that was enough for me. I actually found it quite amusing to think of him calling off Death Eater meetings and Muggle attacks because he was waylaid by me and my rampaging hormones.

Several of the members of the Order and my friends were quite worried about my turning into the school bike. Hermione headed straight to the library to read up on teen psychology and safe sexual practices and I regularly began to find books on my pillow with titles like When to say no and Sexually Transmitted Diseases: What they are and how to prevent them. I put a stop to it by politely asking her if she had the wizard’s version of Kama Sutra in her collection. Ron deduced that I was being slowly poisoned by an untraceable venom, that was being fed to me every day by a malignant house elf under the service of the Dark Lord, and which had aphrodisiacal properties. I thanked him for his concern and suggested that maybe he was the one who was being slowly poisoned. Neville was convinced that the strain had driven me insane and joined Hermione in the library - only he was looking up on homicidal sex maniacs - and side-stepped me completely. I decided the only thing to do was to leave him alone; if I were to pursue him he’d probably think that he was my next target and scream rape. Ginny told me that I was looking for affection and love in all the wrong places and was trying to equate love with sex. She said that I probably had an inferiority complex paired with a strong wish fulfilment tendency and it was a result of the abuse and neglect that I had suffered during my formative years. I think she had gotten hold of one of Hermione’s psychology books. Luna told me that I was a free spirit and that this was my way of retaliating to the confines the school kept me in. She said that sex was an art that I was using to express myself with and that I should do whatever I could to keep my fire alight or it would be extinguished by the cages of an unsympathetic, repressive society. I have no idea if that was supposed to be some sort of hint or whether it was just Luna being her own indecipherable self.

Thankfully none of the teachers or other adults tried to give me advice or offer any explanation as to my new found promiscuity. I think I would have died of embarrassment if McGonaggal had started to give me an impromptu sex-ed class or if Snape had sat me down for a man to man talk about the birds and the bees.

One hot night in March I was alone for a change. I didn’t bother wearing pajamas to bed anymore and I had thrown off my covers. I was used to Voldemort feeling unsatisfied, irritated and aroused so I thought nothing of it. I was just drifting off to sleep when - what the hell was that!?

A sudden jolt of pleasure had surged through my body. I lay still for a few seconds and then closed my eyes when it happened again. And again.

I was beginning to tremble with undiluted lust. I was growing hot - hotter than the still, sultry night and every part of me was tingling with desire. In no time at all I was rock hard. It was all the more exciting because I had no idea what was happening to me. It was as if some phantom admirer of mine had - hang on - I realized with alarm that he had decide to give me a taste of my own medicine. He was - well, I had no idea what he was doing but it felt incredible. I struggled to take hold of myself as another wave of sensation swept over me. Was this what it felt like? Was this what I did to him? If that was the case then I didn’t know why he was so disgruntled over something so breath-takingly erotic.

The knowledge that this was Voldemort doing things should have repulsed me. I think I got even more aroused than before but I was also highly indignant. He was not going to get the better of me. Right mister, you asked for it I thought. Two can play at this game.

With that I grabbed my cock, a little harder than I intended to in my haste and rubbed myself up and down. He was surprised and taken aback but then I felt the waves of pleasure overtake me again with renewed vigour. I was teetering on the edge now and was leaking hard but I took a deep breath, waited a few seconds and then I brushed the head of my cock with two fingers gently and then spread my own pre-come over my length.

Then as I began to thrust into my own hand I felt the shattering waves of his ministrations pass over me and the sensation of both our efforts combined was unlike anything I had ever felt. Every nerve was on fire. Every filament of my body was alight with lust and passion and I fisted myself with pure need and want.

I didn’t last very long and neither did he. As the force of my orgasm overtook me I felt his climax hit. It was mind-blowing. There were sparks behind my eyes and I screamed out in ecstasy, loud enough to wake the entire tower. I was coming harder than I ever had before in my life. None of my own fumblings or any passion I had ever shared with any other had been as intense.

I shuddered and gasped as the last few spasms shook me. I was still reeling in the dizzying aftermath when Ron stuck his head through the curtains. “Harry, you alright? I heard a yell”

His eyes widened in horror at the sight of me, panting and naked, covered in sweat and seed, one hand still wrapped around my now flaccid cock.

“Aaawk!” he gurgled and yanked the curtains back.

Well, I thought, that went well.

It wasn’t a voice in my head or anything like that. It wasn’t even like reading something out of a book. It was more as if a thought had popped into my head that was not my own. His thoughts.

How? I thought and then realized that it must have been what we had just done together that had opened some sort of mental connection between us.

You’re getting smarter as you grow up, boy. Another alien thought. Maybe there’s hope for you yet.

Because it wasn’t a voice that I was hearing, but rather a thought that I was thinking, there was no intonation and no emotion was conveyed by it. But I could still feel him. I could read satiation, smugness and an undertone of excited apprehension. That probably meant that he had not anticipated this new development. It was as new to him as it was for me

You haven’t answered me. And now I was getting a faint annoyance from him. Was it good for you?

Wicked, I thought cheekily. We have to do it again some time.

Amusement.

Potter, you’re an absolute - he was cut off suddenly. It was rather like he had hung up on me in a telephone conversation.

That thought surprised me. It was my own but still it was weird. Considering how weird the day had started out to be I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised that I didn’t want him to go.

He hadn’t really gone anywhere. I could read surprise and bewilderment from him as well. He also seemed more than a little put out.

The connection had been closed. It was as if it had never existed in the first place. Apparently it only lasted for a few seconds.

I got up slowly, pulled on my pajama bottoms and headed straight for the showers. As the water hit me so did the realization of what it was that I had done. I wasn’t exactly sure what had just happened but in my mind I equated it to having had sex with Voldemort.

Sex. With. Voldemort.

By any sane standards the words Voldemort and sex should not have even been in the same sentence.

I felt filthy and unclean and tremendously guilty. At the same time I also felt excited and rather giddy. But no, this wasn’t something to be thrilled about! This was wrong, depraved, perverted, exquisite, delicious.

I would never allow it to happen again.

I realized that I had just committed myself to a repeat performance. I hadn’t only simply committed myself to it, I had suggested it!

I felt myself growing more and more excited at the prospect. And my anticipation was not the only thing that was rising. I glared down at my budding arousal and cursed my traitorous body. Then I firmly turned the water to cold.

Ron wouldn’t look me in the face for a week. To this day he has never walked in on me without knocking or yelling first.

There was not going to be a next time I told myself. I was not going to even touch myself again until I had found a way to defeat Voldemort. Besides, it was too dangerous to let him have access to my thoughts. I had no illusions as how deadly that could prove. Nope. It was going to have to stop right here, right now.

No more night time experimentations for you, Mr Potter.

My resolve lasted all but two days.

A proper duelling class had been set up for the sixth and seventh years by our new Defence against the Dark Art’s Professor who was some old friend of Dumbledore’s called Myron Underhill. Thankfully he was competent without being a Death Eater in disguise. In the lesson I’m interested in he divided us into pairs to try out the Confundus charm on each other.

“The beauty of the Confundus,” he said, “is that it’s harder to block than Stupefy or Expelliarmus, mainly because your attacker won’t be expecting you to use it. Once he or she is confunded it’s a piece of cake to stun them, but you have to be very quick about it. There should be as short a time lag between the two spells as possible. A confunded person with a wand is a danger to himself and to everyone around.”

My duelling partner was Malfoy.

“Scared, Potter?” he asked.

“You wish!” I hissed.

This was becoming a little ritual of ours when ever we had to duel each other.

We raised our wands. Bowed and then poised to strike.

“On three,” shouted Underhill. “One, two… three!”

Then to my horror I felt the same strange pleasurable rush of two days ago spread through me. I gasped and shivered.

I must have moved because Malfoy’s curse brushed passed my ear and he was adept enough at duelling by then not to have missed a stationary target.

I struggled to compose myself when it happened again. My knees bucked.

It happened three or four times in quick succession. By now I was flushed and my breath was coming out in short quick puffs and I was growing painfully aroused.

The phantom touch stopped and I whined in frustration.

Malfoy was goggling at me as if I had grown an extra head.

“Are you alright?”

I wiped my forehead and nodded shakily. I just hoped that he wasn’t going to start again until I was alone.

“I’m okay - I’m alright… I’m feeling better!” I said brightly and grinned at Malfoy. It must have come out manically because he gulped and started to look around for help. Thank God for loose fitting robes. My erection was pressing achingly into my briefs and if he had seen it I’m sure he would have joined Neville in the homicidal rapist research.

“If you’re sure,” he said raising his wand again.

Another wave passed over me and I moaned.

“Professor!!” yelled Malfoy. “Something’s wrong with Potter.”

The last thing I wanted was to draw more attention to my predicament.

I bolted out of the room as fast as my trembling legs would carry me and darted into the first storage cupboard that I saw. Luckily it was empty.

“No,” I whispered as yet another spasm shook me. I was not going to succumb to temptation. But it felt so good.

As the spasms sped up and became more regular I humped the air desperate for some friction, desperate for relief - desperate to come.

My fingers scrabbled with the buttons of my trousers and I yanked my briefs down with them violently. My cock popped out, hard and dripping.

I grasped it roughly and started to stroke, moaning wantonly. Two hard tugs and that was all it took to shove me over the edge. My climax seemed to trigger his own and I ascended to a peak of bliss that I had never imagined existed.

I collapsed on the floor in a shuddering heap. The front of my robes was splattered with come. I groaned at my lack of control and dropped my head into my hands, which wasn’t a very good idea seeing as they were very sticky with my semen.

Smug bastard.

Smug, sardonic bastard.

Smug, sardonic, self-satisfied bastard.

No! That’s not what I meant - Oh God! Don’t Stop!

*

And so began the strangest, most unexpected sexual liaison that there ever was.

I found myself powerless to resist his advances. Whenever I would experience the sensual flush of his touch I would drop whatever I was doing and find somewhere secluded where I would join in .

For the first few weeks I walked around with a semi permanent hard on all the time. What made it more exciting was how forbidden and illicit it was. The secrecy that was crucial for the pair of us to keep at what we were doing was all the more enticing. It was wrong on so many levels, but no matter how I tried I could not feel guilty about it. Any few sparks of guilt that I might have had were promptly snuffed out whenever I felt him.

The mental link between us seemed to exist for a longer time period every time we came together. The logical, reasonable thing to do would have been to warn someone of if but I was afraid that they would make me stop… seeing him? Sleeping with him? None of these really fit. In any case I didn’t think that I could bare not having those waves of intense pleasure sweep over me and having him whisper wonderful, terrible things to me so I said nothing. It was our dirty little secret and that was exactly how I liked it.

The conversations that we had after sex were not as disturbing as what you would expect from the Bringer of the Apocalypse, which was what the Daily Prophet had started to call him. I remember he found that particularly amusing.

Oh yeah, so you you’re saying that isn’t what you want? That all you want is world peace and to help old people and orphans? Oh- and lets not forget that you are passionate about saving the environment too!

*

When my sixth year ended - with appalling exam results - and I was sent back to the Dursleys for what I vowed would be the last time ever, I locked myself in my room and only came down at mealtimes. In fact I would have been happy not to come down at all and just have them pass me food through a cat flap but they had taken the threats my see-off party has given then at the end of my sixth year to heart and wanted to make sure that I ate and was not starving myself to death. Apparently Uncle Vernon thought that I might kill myself while I was under his roof just to spite them and get them in trouble with the other ‘freaks’.

By now the mind-link would last up to an hour or so post coitus. I welcomed the company and initiated sex as often as I could… not just because I was growing addicted to him but sometimes just so I could have him be with me.

The good thing was that he only had access to the thoughts that I wanted him to see. The same went for me. He didn’t have any idea about what the Order was up to - well, neither did I most of the time, but he couldn’t find out the little that I knew. On the same coin the only way I would know about the Death Eaters was what he chose to tell me.

On the plus side at least my homework was impeccable.

God, no! Go away! I have to finish this potions essay!

I mean, the O aside, why did you take Potions for NEWT level if you hate it so much?

Snape was so shocked at the quality of my essay that he quite rightly suspected that I hadn’t done it myself and demanded to know who had. I told him snidely that Voldemort had helped with all of my summer assignments. I got detention three nights in a row scrubbing the floors of the east wing corridors for Filch without magic for my cheek.

You’re in where?

It was true. I didn’t hate him anymore. He was the focus of my life. He was all I could think about. Every chance I could I would steal away just so that I could be with him. I withdrew into myself and avoided my friends as much as I could.

I knew that if anyone suspected anything amiss and they investigated the matter I would not be able to bear his loss, so I tried to act as normal as possible. I went to Quidditch Practise, hung about with the others as much as I could tolerate and laughed and smiled to the best of my ability. The mind-link between us would remain for a long time now so that helped. Even if we were both too occupied with other matters to have anything to say to one another it was a comfort to have him there.

I was obsessed. Addicted. I was drawn to him as a moth is drawn to a flame. I craved him more with each passing day. Every moment that could be spared was not enough. And the limits of our meetings were beginning to wear me down. I was far from satisfied. I was falling deeper into madness… and into him.

Gah! I mean in that way, you idiot. Dumbledore! Thank you for a most disgusting image.

Oh dear, I’m sorry…well I like Tom better than Voldemort, anyway. It’s more personal.

No! Not that - I need you. This isn’t enough any more. I need you to touch me, to hold me. I want- I want you to take me!

We both knew that it wouldn’t last. It couldn’t. No matter how much he possessed me we knew that the prophesy would hold and we would be forced apart. No matter how much he consumed me and turned me inside out one of us would have to destroy the other and I knew that if it were me I would in turn be destroyed by what I had done. No matter how much I loved him - yes, loved him, it would never be safe enough for me to meet him in the flesh.

His hands would never touch and caress my skin. His lips would never touch mine. I longed for him, slit red eyes and serpentine though he was, I craved his touch more than anything in the world. If the devil had come out of Hell and offered me one hour with him in return for my soul I would have given it up in an instant. He already played my body like a maestro, would it not be even more breath taking, more mind shattering if it were real? I doubted that I would survive the intensity.

But one day it would come to an end. We tried to cling on to what we had for as long as possible. As the weeks and months went by I left Hogwarts and started Auror training and he set about forming his armies. The times when we had to meet in battle were awful for me. But we surreptitiously avoided single combat with each other, trying to postpone the inevitable.

In my mind I saw him as two separate persons. One was the deformed serpent - the hideous inhuman spectre that I was born to destroy. The one my scar burnt at the very sight of. The one I was meant to send to the depths of hell where he belonged. The other was my lover, my life, my everything - the one I could never have enough of. The one who I would willingly follow to the bowels of the earth if he wished to go there.

As the months went by however it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep them two separate entities. It was becoming heart breakingly obvious that they were one person. Every time we met in battle we grew further apart. He would grow more distant and unreachable every time he suffered a defeat and I would wait for his anger and vengeance to abate so that I could snatch another few moments of forbidden pleasure with him.

As the Death Eaters grew stronger they began to inflict serious damage on us. I found his morbid delight quite alarming and the distance between us increased exponentially. I loved him still, but I realized that he would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. That he would not let me stand in the way of his victory. He would kill me when he had finished toying with me, and I could no longer overlook what I had to do. Unless I wanted to condemn the world to unconditional suffering I would have to destroy him sooner or later. And I dreaded the coming of that day.

Then some two months ago after the Light suffered one of the worse losses that we had so far I overheard Lucius Malfoy talking to Snape. Even though Lucius wasn’t the devil personified to me any more I still loathed the man. I had to work with him and I did realize that he was a valuable asset to our side but that didn’t mean that I had to like him.

He detested me as well, and he personally blamed me for Draco’s injury. Probably because I was in charge of our battle group.

“I don’t know, he’s just always so out of it,” I heard the elder Malfoy saying. “If you ask me the Dark Lord has nothing to worry about.” I stiffened realizing that they were talking about me.

“Surely you don’t mean that, Lucius,” said Snape. “I admit that Potter does seem to live in a world of his own most of the time and I can’t stand the brat any more that you can, but he is quite formidable in battle. He’s getting very adept at the Avada -”

“The Avada Kedavra is not going to kill the Dark Lord,” snapped Malfoy. “Not even if it is Potter who casts it.”

“Then we must find another way.”

“There is a spell I know of,” Lucius murmured. “It might be what we’re looking for.”

“Then why don’t you -”

“Too dark, too dangerous and all together far too difficult. It requires a tremendous amount of power and great strength of mind. Besides, there are about five hundred things that could go wrong. Dumbledore would have a cow if he knew I had even considered it.”

“That bad?”

“Worse.”

I didn’t stay to listen more. I didn’t think I could without losing my temper. How dare Malfoy presume that I was not up to doing what I had to do. My bad mood carried into the night.

Nothing.

Once you win this war?

You’re going to miss me?

And he was gone.

The next day I went to see Lucius and told him that I wanted to learn about this dark, dangerous curse that he didn’t think I was capable enough. I was so angry with Tom for calling it off so cruelly and casually that I thought that now I was finally ready to let go.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

I told Malfoy that it was odd not to feel him but in reality when he fell it was the most agonizing thing that I’ve ever felt. It was far worse than any torture that I’ve ever been subjected to. I couldn’t feel anything except my own overpowering, overwhelming despair. He was gone - he was gone and I was alone. I had never felt such acute, piercing, stabbing loneliness in my entire life. It ate away at my insides - into the very fibre of my body, into my heart and mind and soul. It felt as if part of my soul had been torn away from me.

I couldn’t stand it. I wanted to scream with my desolation and grief and the numbing pain. I wanted to scream until my throat bled and my voice had worn out. I had longed for a time when I could lie down without having to feel him before I slept. I had longed to be free of the presence that haunted my subconscious but now I was paralysed with loss. I would have preferred death infinitely compared to this heart wrenching anguish that consumed my whole being.

Death… that was it… After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure - who had said that to me? It seemed like an eternity ago. Suddenly I felt very calm and collected. It made perfect sense. They didn’t need me anymore. Voldemort was gone. The prophesy was fulfilled and I was vacant and empty with no reason to carry on. My life was meaningless. My entire life had been moulded by him. He made me what I was. For almost ten years the sole purpose had been to destroy him and for the past two years he was the only reason that I even bothered to get up in the mornings.

Nobody would notice if I slipped away from the victory cheers and celebrations. They were all too busy wrapped up in their jubilations to notice that my soul was in tatters. He was gone and he had taken my will to live with him. As for how they would the other would take it - I just didn’t care. They’d get over it anyway.

I started to make my way towards the Forbidden Forest. Let there be one more reason for the students to want to visit it.

Ha! If one thing I had no intention of staying behind. There was nothing left for me here - nothing.

Then I felt something. It was very faint - almost intangible - but there was something.

I turned around so fast that I tripped over my own feet and landed face down on the ground. I made my way back through the battle-field - it will never be just the Quidditch Pitch in my mind again - as fast as I could. I rather think that I sprinted.

It was him. I could feel bewilderment, exhaustion and fear. All of was very faint, very hazy as if it was coming to me from very far away but all I cared about that he was still there and still alive.

I almost wept with joy when I saw Malfoy dragging him across the grounds. No words can describe the measure of relief and liberation that I felt. I think I would have started singing and dancing if Malfoy’s leg hadn’t given away under their combined weight and he had called for help.

I was ready to scream with frustration when they took him away again. When they started discussing ways to exterminate him I was this close to hexing someone. I hadn’t come this far to give him up without a fight.

Well he’s mine now, after all the threatening and name-calling and brawls that would have done any seedy bar proud. He’s mine and I can’t let him go. I’m exhausted but I’m not going anywhere. I’m terrified that if I go to sleep he won’t be here when I wake up.

Madam Pomfrey tried to chase me away a few hours ago. She says he’s not going to wake up for another eight hours at least with the amount of sedatives he’s been given.

I told her I didn’t care. She gave me a very odd look and then let me be. It’s nice to see that the Boy-who-lived status is still holding out even after I appear to have lost my mind. That’s what they all think - that I‘m insane- apart from those who are calling me a saint.

Saint Potter! - And pigs might fly.

If they only knew exactly why I can’t bare to let him go. I’d probably die laughing from the expression on their faces if they didn’t kill me first.

The Non-fiendo unmade him not to the elements from which he was formed but to who he used to be. Full Circle - back to when he first began to lose his innocence. As I look down on him, sleeping an unnaturally peaceful, drugged sleep, I wonder if I’ll be able to keep him. I know in my heart that if I can make him believe in himself the way I do - he will be able to redeem his soul. I know that it isn’t going to be easy. He’s irrefutably drawn to the dark. I know this as well as I know that my days will be dark without him. He craves power and supremacy more than any desire of the flesh or fortune. And he fears death - more than anything. Almost as much as I fear going on without him. As much as I fear that even now they will take him from me and lead him to the Dementors, where the fire in his eyes will die.

So I will watch. Watch him as if my life depends on it. Actually my life does depend on it. Should anything happen to him I would die. If I can keep him safe from them, I can help him find himself. If I can kill Voldemort perhaps I can find Tom Riddle.

Like the phoenix he has arisen from his own ashes. He has returned to the boy he used to be. If I can only keep him safe from them who would cause him harm or try to use him for their own means maybe he will stay this way.

And maybe I can save my own soul while I seek to preserve his.

Maybe I can rise again from my own ashes.

Maybe I will be able to become the boy that I used to be.

***********

“Every breath you take and every move you make
Every bond you break, every step you take
I’ll be watching you.
Every single day and every word you say
Every game you play, every night you stay
I’ll be watching you.”
~Sting; Every Breath You Take

***********

End.