• 1-One That Stood Alone
• 2-Bleeding Heart
• 3-Questioning Conditions
• 4-Haunted Memories
• 5-Passionate Actions
• 6-Solemn Decision
• 7-Sinister Paradise

There was a rush of words and insults flew from angry mouths. Hermione was knelt near Harry, gently inspecting his condition. A hiss escaped her lips and she bit back the tears. There were several angry scars all along Harry's arm. Blood soaked down through his robes and into the starch white of his school shirt where the scarred arm rested. Pulling out her wand, Hermione closed her eyes against the shouts from across the room. Her mind conjured forth the appropriate healing spell then a cleaning one. Soon Harry was left lying on the sofa, eyes shut and face contorted into that of the familiar pain she knew was in connection with You-Know-Who. There was no spell to heal that pain. How could they have neglected Harry this much? Some of these scars had to be over a year old... this had been going on since sixth year, if not before that.

"Bloody hell, Weasel, you prove your stupidity even further than I could possibly begin to imagine. If I were going to injure your precious Potter why in all the hells would I bring him here?!"

"You're trying to trick us! Harry wouldn't have done that to himself! You must have been doing something to him, Malfoy, and so help me..."

"Going to do something about ieaseeasel? I'd love to see you try."

"Without your bodyguards it should be pretty easy." s wes were drawn and Hermione stood, her own outstretched at both of the others.

"Expelliarmus!" Both boys' wands went flying from their hands. Ron turned, sputtering at what Hermione had done. Malfoy's eyebrows shot upwards in surprise before his lips curled in contempt. "Honestly, you two! You are both seventh years or have you forgotten? Mal Malfoy, you are Head Boy. Such childish behavior is hardly appropriate of someone with that title." Draco's nostrils flared but he only clenched his jaw tighter. Granger's words had brought his attention to the reason he was here in the first place, resting on the sofa behind the bushy haired girl. His eyes narrowed and teeth clenched tightly against one another to fight off the worry which knotted in his chest and threatened to spill forth.

"But Hermione-" Ron's words were cut off with a glare. The redhead averted his girlfriend's gaze, focusing only on the floor beneath his feet and making all attempts at ignoring the Slytherin who caused every nerve in his body to twitch with the need to beat the boy into a bloody mess. Hermione called for both of their wands, walking over to the freckled Gryffindor in order to return his. She leaned in to the boy, a loose embrace isolating them from Draco. The blond looked away from the act, lips upturned in disgust. He hadn't come here to see their atrocious signs of pathetic love. In fact, he failed to see why he had brought Harry here in the first place. Surely, it would have been better had he brought Harry to Snape. Sure, his godfather wouldn't be too pleased with dealing with Potter, but he wouldn't have to witness the dramatic acts of these two. And then he could at least be closer to the pained borod rod Sev for more information on just what the hell was going on.

The rage was fading from his frame and he thought of striking up another row with the Weasel in attempts to ignite it once more. He would much rather deal with the fury than this sickening fear in the pit of his stomach laced with such heavy dread he couldn't even name.

His narrowed eyes focused on the raven haired boy across the room. Harry lay on the sofa, scarred arm over his chest and the blood gone from his being. Only Draco could still smell the lingering odor in his nostrils, feel the dried stickiness against his palm where he had grabbed at the boy when he had fallen. Draco's gaze raked over Harry to rest on his face, his throat working at keeping back the choking sound which threatened to spill from his lips. Deathly pale, the palor did not suit the usually tanned Gryffindor Golden Boy. His eyes were clenched tightly shut and his lips stretched in a thin line of internal pain. Beads of perspiration shimmered on his skin, and Draco wanted nothing more than to take the few steps forward and kneel at that figure, brushing back the tufts of wild raven hair from the pained face. Wanted nothing more than to wipe the scar from that forehead and throw the curse back at the Dark Lord, demanding he return both of their freedom.

"Malfoy?" He blinked, not having realized that Granger had been standing in front of him with his own wand outstretched towards him for the taking. Tilting his head up in a mock gesture of arrogance, he was proud that his hand did not shake when he retrieved his wand. It was only then Draco noticed the concern in the eyes looking up at him. No, not this from the Mudblood. Scowl. There. All signs of concern were immediately wiped away by anger. "What happened, Malfoy?"

Draco crossed his arms, easing his voice into its usual drawl as he told them how he found Potter in the owlery, not giving them a reason as to why he was there himself this late- it was none of their business. Ron's fists were clenched at his sides and he stood further away from Draco, leaning against the same sofa Harry now lay upon. Once Draco finished, he darted forward with an accusatory finger pointed in the blond Slytherin's direction.

"See! Why would you even come here if that really happened? You did something to Harry and you're just worried that Madame Pomfrey will be able to track it!" Draco growled low in his throat.

"Obviously," his voice dripped with disdain as his cold gaze bore into Weasley, "you don't give a damn about your supposed 'best friend.' Do you really think if I were to bring Potter to the woful ful Pomfrey that she would let him go that easily? Those wounds are self-inflicted. I would think even you would know the consequences of such actions." Ron's mouth clamped shut and Hermione sighed, one hand working at the strain which had begun to sting behind her eyes. Suicide was not taken lightly in the wizarding world and for any signs of such, extreme psychological steps were taken immediately. No doubt if they involved the supposed saviour of their world, the steps would be even more hurried and desperate. Had he brought Harry to the infirmary within seconds of discerning the origin of the scars, a Psycho-Analyst mediwizard from St. Mungos would have appeared to berate the boy and prod at his mind for the reasoning behind such dire actions.

"Why are you still here then?" He glared in response of the calculating gaze from Granger. His lips were pursed in thought as he rattled through possible explanations which could keep him the enemy and evil Slytherin he was supposed to be. Pushing back strands of silvery blond hair as he gave into the habit, his gaze drifted over to the raven haired boy and all excuses fled his mind. Emerald eyes opened, squinting to make out the shapes before him. When their eyes met, Harry's own slightly widened. His hand frozen, fingers locked about his golden strands, Draco couldn't pull his gaze from the emerald which glittered back at him. Emotion sparkled there before being marred by pure agony as his face contorted into a suffering mask of guilt and disgust. Draco recognized the longing behind the pained expression- the absolute wish for another's touch to push back the fear and suffering. The irrational need for human contact just to know that you weren't alone. Harry was calling to Draco with his gaze. He rolled over, throwing his upper body off the sofa as retching sounds pierced the heavy silence. Draco moved before he could give it any further thought.

"Ssh, Harry. It's alright." His lips brushed against the boy's ear so that the comforting whispers could obe hbe heard by him alone, one arm encircling his waist as the other smoothed back the wild hair. Once the vomiting had stopped, he looked to Harry for confirmation. The weakened boy nodded, sinking into the loose one-armed embrace and used the Slytherin for support. Draco drew his wand, muttering a cleaning charm so that the mess was gone from sight and mind. The room was perfectly still for several blissful seconds before all hell broke loose.

"What are-! You slimy-! Get away from Harry!" There were hands in Draco's robes, pulling him up and away from the boy pressed at his side. Cold glaciers met the raging ocas Ras Ron and Draco glared at one another, mere inches apart.

"I suggest you let me go, Weasley, before I hex you into next week." Red splotches marred the freckled face in rage but Draco found himself thrown to the side rather than knocked up the bracket. He stumbled, grabbing at the edge of the sofa for support. Standing to his full height, he lifted his head in a most elegantly cold manner.

"Harry, are you alright, mate? What did o too to you? Was he the one who caused You-Know-Who's vision? That's it, isn't it?! Malfoy's working for You-Know-Who and was trying to weaken you for him or something!" Draco's wand was drawn and pointed towards the offending mouth, his own splash of red marring his porcelain mask in anger. He knew nothing about the Dark Lord and the idiotic Gryffindor's audacity to align him with the serpentine beast struck too close to home for Draco. Before he could open his mouth to hex the offending git across the room, a shaky hand was raised towards him in a silent plea for him to stop. Draco's wand slowly lowered as his eyes shifted back to Harry.

He looked smaller somehow, sinking into the soft cushions of the sofa beneath him. One shaking hand was held upwards towardsco ico in a silent motion for him to withdraw. Upon further inspection, Draco noticed the entire boy's body was shaking. Physically biting back the need to rush forward and ease the shivers which rattled the raven haired boy, he was sure he could feel the tang of blood in his mouth where his teeth bit into the soft flesh of his lower lip. Slipping his wand back into his robes, Draco tore his gaze from the boy below him who was so close he could reach out and run his fingers through that mess of hair. Turning with a dramatic flourish of robes, Draco only stopped when he was standing at the door.

"I would think Potter's friends would care more for him then to toss about accusations of the Dark Lord's plans for his demise right under his pathetically shaking form." Raising his head, he pointed his nose in the air with the highest amount of regal scrutiny. "It is not polite to speak of one's possible death in their presence. Oe Gre Gryffindors so daft they cannot even grasp the most obvious of correct social behavior?" His mercury glare was aimed directly at the redhead Gryffindor the entire time, but then shifted to Harry. Steeling himself, he let the anger he felt for the boy's reckless actions pour into his words. "And next time you decide to take your own life, Potter, do so out of my sight." He felt the coils of fear, worry, and anger tightening in his stomach, climbing their way up his esophagus to sting at his eyes and pierce at his heart. With a slam, he left the sodding fools behind him.

Storming into his own room, Draco slammed his door shut before slumping against it allowing his head to fall against his upraised knees. A shuddering breath escaped his lips and he clenched his eyes shut. He was alive. Harry was alive. And he pushed down all deeper thoughts behind the fear which shuddered through his frame at the thought of losing the Gryffindor boy. He didn't care. No, not like that. Yet he couldn't bring himself to uncurl from his place on the floor as the shudders of withheld emotion tore through him.

Back in Hermione's room, Harry swallowed past the heaviness at the back of his throat. There had been such anger in Draco's gaze but beneath it had been unsaid fear. The raw kind that threatened to tear you into pieces and leave you shaking in a corner crying for safety but too scared to let anyone close enough to help. Closing his eyes against the emotions, he fell back into the sofa as the questions began to fall from his friends' lips.

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Snape looked at the blond boy over the edge of his book. He remained sitting in the black armchair, eyes gazing into the fire which burned in the hearth. Without so much as a word, Snape turned his attention back to his book. This was the third night in a row that his godson had paid him a nightly visit, only to sit in that same armchair and stare into the fire. His silence worried the dark haired professor; he was used to an enraged Draco storming about the room and throwing things, but this silent boy who stared into the flames with a firm jaw set into place holding back his emotions puzzled him.

The pattern continued as such for another three days before he realized what that stiff profile was telling him. Draco gazed into the flames because it gave him a reason for the moisture that gathered at the corners of his eyes. His mouth was tightly drawn in a firm line because it threatened to betray him, twisting downwards into a painful shaking of lips and teeth. And if that hadn't told him what he needed to know, the way he had caught the boy desperately catching glimpses of Potter throughout his Potions class would have spelled it out for anyone who had both eyes and a brain. Which was precisely whe ihe issue to to be addressed.

Closing his book, Severus shut his eyes as he prepared for the conversation which was about to take place. He detested large displays of emotion- mainly because he did not know how to handle them. Undoubtedly, there would be such things pouring forth from the blond boy in moments. Steeling himself for it, his voice was casual when he asked, "What happened between you and Potter?"

Draco was jerked from his fire-gazing by the sudden inquiry. His throat worked at swallowing past the lump which seemed to have eternally taken up residence at the back of his throat- surely it had bought curtains and was planting a garden by now. He had tried his best to ignore the boy. He had. But he was bloody everywhere. In his classes, at breakfast, during Quidditch- no matter where Draco went there was Potter. What hurt even more than seeing Potter everywhere was the act he was forced to continue. He still had to be the snide, sneering Malfoy that everyone expected him to be; especially so after his slip in the Gryffindor lovebirds' presence. He was used to that, though, and it wasn't entirely difficult. The look in Harry's eyes... it was dead. Dead as it had been all through sixth year and the beginning of this term. The spark which had rested in those emerald orbs wasn't even roused to wake by jabs at Sirius Black. Harry Potter was gone and in his place was The Boy Who Lived.

"Nothing. I don't know what you're referring to, Sev." The Potions professor raised one eyebrow before crossing his arms over his chest. Draco met the deep black eyes, tilting his head slightly higher in a nonchalant manner. Snape only rolled his eyes.

"Draco, do not try your masks on me; I taught you practically every one." Draco's mouth turned into almost a childish pout. Blasted Sev. The boy's head fell and he stood, walking to the fireplace only to lean against it and stare into the fire once more. He felt the heat of the flames but it did not register further than a physical manifestation of warmth; this did not reach his core. Inside, Draco felt as cold as the glaciers reflected in his eyes.

"I take it there haven't been any more... private sessions... between you and Potter." The ons ons professor did not wish to hear of such things but knew the remark's effect on Draco. Snape closed his eyes against the crash of objects which once rested atop the fireplace. Ah, there went his grandfather's antique clock. He watched as said clock clattered against the stone wall, shattering the face and breaking off one of the arms. A warped sort of smile flickered on the professor's mouth. Surely his grandfather was rolling over in his grave right now. Good.

"How dare you! You told me to do this! You told me to stay away from him! Well I fucking AM and it's not doing either of us a whole lot of good!" Snape rested his hands atop the book on his lap as Draco lifted a glass carved serpent statuette from the destroyed mantleplace. "They don't even care! They're letting him die and forcing him into their cursed needs and wants without giving a damn about what happens to Harry!" Snape watched as the serpent flew across the room, crashing into the opposite wall. Ah, now it was his mother's turn to roll over in her grave. "They're supposed to be his bloody friends and they watch as he dies! And because of our self-righteous Slytherin ways there's not a damnable thing I can do about it!" There was another crash as the last remnants of miscellaneous things on Snape's fireplace fell to the floor.

"What has your father told you?" Draco stilled at the question. Leave it to Snape to read through his tantrems to the heart of the problem. Draco felt his body grow weary as the adrenaline drained from his veins. It was far easier to become engraged at sodding Gryffindors and their pretentious ways of using Harry, but to reflect on his father's written words... Sinking into the plush armchair, he looked at the floor because he did not trust himself to face the other man. Draco could not allow anyone- not even Sev- to see the fear in his eyes.

"He accepted. It's to take place over Samhain." His mouth was suddenly dry, all liquid seeming to gather in his eyes determined to force a tear past his steadfast defenses. "Voldemort is willing to look past my prior actions and allow me into the precious inner circle," his voice drawled out the news as though he should be pleased to hear such things. Then in a small voice he could barely hear himself, "He's going to use me to get at Harry, isn't he?"

Snape stood, placing his book on the table near his chair piled with transcripts and various other old and weathered texts. Taking the few strides to stand in front of his godson, he looked down at the boy. Mercury looked up at him, the glaciers melted and threatening to spill forth their water. It was the first time he had seen Draco so open since the boy was eleven. He remembered when Draco had come storming into his private corridors that first day, most upset that Harry Potter had turned down his hand at friendship. Even then, the small boy knew what this meant for his future. Lucius had given him an order and it was not carried out. Draco's only chance of freedom from his father had glared at him, then stomped on the slim chance of any sort of relationship other than that of enemies.

He had tried to find a way around it; Severus did not want his godson to be branded by the Dark Lord anymore than he wanted him to care for Potter. He had hoped they would put off initiating Draco into the fold because of the boy's actions over the summer. But Draco had found out why he was being so eagerly brought into Voldemort's inner circle. Potter was not breaking fast enough for the Dark Lord's liking and the man had found another method.

"I don't want to, Sev. I hate him." Long lashes fluttered closed over tear-ear-filled eyes in attempts at pushing the traitorous emotions back to the locked cage where they belonged inside him. Severus knew the remark was not merely directed at the Dark Lord. No, the boy's hate was aimed directly at his father but was inextricably entwined with the desperate longing which Draco had for his Lucius' love since he was born.

Reaching one arm out, he drew the boy against him. Feeling the arms wrap about his legs, Severus was all too reminded of his own plea for help some twenty years ago. Letting his other arm drape around the boy, Draco held onto his godfather as his body began to shake.

There was no going back. To protect what he claimed as his own, Draco would have to forfeit what little freedom he possessed.

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He watched the bloodied figure beneath him writhe in pain. He deserved it. He held out his wand, uttering yet another Cruciatus to throw the boy into an end fit fit of convulsions.

"It should have been you." The voice was distorted. It was his own but something else. No, Harry didn't want this. Neville looked up at him, his eyes rolling about in his head as they tried in vain to focus on their destroyer. He felt sick at the sight. No! No, this had to stop! Yet the curse was cast again and again. And again. "He deserved to die, Harry. He forced you to carry the burden of the prophecy, didnot?not?" The voice was his own but distorted with malice. Another curse fell from those lips and Harry tried with all his strength to stop it.

The scene shifted and he was in the cupboard under the stairs. Panic gripped him like a vice, causing his heart to pound in his small chest. His body was that of a seven year old, eyes large as they tried to focus in the black abyss. There was shouting outside. In the hall.

"The boy is no longer here! He is out of our care!" Harry scrambled into the corner, clutching at the torn and ragged blanket which smelled of mothballs. There were screams and the brighest of green lights illuminated the hall outside, filtering into his cupboard to highlight the whites of his terrified eyes. He was next. The green light was coming for him and he couldn't bear it. No, he couldn't.

His forehead exploded in white hot pain as the door to the cupboard was torn from its hinges. The tall silouette was unrecognizable at first but then the mercury eyes came into focus, the platinum blond strands of hair blowing in an invisible breeze.

"Harry..." Harry darted forward from the cupboard, his body returned to its current seventeen year old appearance.

"Draco!" Wrapping his arms about the boy, he sobbed into his shoulder. Arms tightened around his back and Harry froze. It wasn't Draco... this wasn't the blond Slytherin. Pulling back from the embrace, he was greeted by the young vision of Tom Riddle, red eyes piercing through Harry's core.

"Hello, Harry." Screaming, his mouth was covered by Tom's and his entire body wrenched in pain as his soul fought desperately to remain in its home. Teeth bit down on Harry's mouth as a long, snake-like tongue forced its way down his throat.

He screamed through it all.