and he never lies

Harry could count on one hand the number of people he trusted. Not with his life -- there were plenty of people who'd try to keep him alive, and plenty more he trusted to act predictably enough to let his guard down around them. But actually trusted? Only one, and only because he was as much a part of the plan as Harry.

He was also late. Harry paced the seventh floor corridor and tried not to think about anything in particular. Finally, a door appeared. "Sorry, Harry." Neville emerged into the hallway, looking exhausted. "Got a late start -- I had to wait for Malfoy to clear out before I could use the Room."

Harry could feel his expression darkening. "I wish I knew what he was up to." Neville rolled his eyes.

"So ask him," Neville said. "Stop playing into your own publicity."

Neville always got more blunt when he was tired. It was actually one of Harry's favorite things about him. There were two people Harry could count on to never tell him something just because they thought he wanted to hear it; Neville was the one who didn't hate him. Luckily, Neville just thought it was hilarious that he had anything in common with Snape.

"You think so?" Harry was well aware that he had zero objectivity when it came to the Malfoys, especially Draco.

"Yes." Neville leaned against the wall and pushed a hand through his hair.

Harry shook his head. "I don't know -- it's not like I can just walk up to him and say, 'hey, Malfoy, I've been pretending to be incompetent but I'm not really, and it looks like maybe you don't want Voldemort to win either, so do you think we could help each other out?'"

Neville just looked at him. "Why not?"

As if his thoughts had cursed him (and he'd certainly considered the possibility), there was a commotion at the entrance. It wasn't Moaning Myrtle, though, come to commiserate about the miserableness of boys and S-bends. No, that would be too easy. It was his trap charm, and from the sounds of it, precious Potter still wasn't doing his homework.

It wasn't even one of the more esoteric versions of the spell, just a garden variety "immobilize and contain" that he'd be embarrassed to use if it hadn't just worked. Next time he'd have to remember a silencing element, although it was nice to know who'd been stupid enough to get caught.

"Malfoy! Come out and face me!" He heard a muttered spell, followed by a not-at-all manly yelp. Forget silencing -- a recording element would be priceless. Draco rolled his eyes. Really, did Potter lack even the most basic knowledge? What good was a trap spell that didn't reflect magic from the inside?

He blocked out the string of insults that came next and took a deep breath before stepping into view of the doorway. "Hello, Potter," he drawled. "Fancy meeting you here. Get lost on your way to the Pathetic Hero Wannabe meeting?"

Potter's face turned red, then purple. It was possible he was actually hyperventilating with rage. "Let me out of this, Malfoy!"

Draco examined his nails. There were few enough joys in his life at the moment, and really, baiting Potter had always been near the top of the list. "No, I don't think I will. How long did it take for Tonks to rescue you on the train? I'm sure someone will wander by at some point." Actually, the spell would end on its own as soon as Draco got far enough away, but why share?

"You coward!" Potter spat, fingers literally twitching on his wand. "Fight back!"

Draco stopped halfway out the door. He'd never been known for his restraint, and he could feel the moment it slipped completely. It had been years of this, of perfect Potter bungling everyone's carefully laid plans, acting like a trod-upon innocent in his own life. His hands clenched involuntarily into fists. "I am!" he hissed, turning around to look him in the eyes. "For once in your life, use your brain, Potter, before you get us all killed!" He swept out of the room, hoping his steps covered the shaking.

Things got odd after that. More odd. Draco didn't think of himself as someone who had a lot of time to spend watching Harry Potter -- plenty of people were already doing that, and he hated to be common. Besides, Potter was spending vast quantities of time watching him, so usually all he had to do was look over his shoulder anyway, and there he was. For a week after the bathroom incident, Potter was still there, but the glare looked more considering than menacing. And then he stopped.

And then the second floor girls loo disappeared. It was still there, he was almost positive, but he couldn't find it. And it wasn't like he could ask anybody, because how would he explain why he was looking for it?

It wasn't hard to find Potter. Wait until curfew, then go wherever the Professors were conspicuously avoiding patrolling. It was obvious to anyone paying attention, which -- depending on how you thought about it -- was either reassuring (Dumbledore was completely confident in the safety of Hogwarts) or highly disturbing (Dumbledore was completely distracted by other things).

Either way, Potter was tucked away in an abandoned room off a third floor corridor that Draco vaguely remembered being banned at some point. And doing something that looked remarkably like school work, wand nowhere in sight.

"Why aren't you dead?" He supposed it was enough of a miracle that Potter was at least facing the door, and looked up as soon as Draco stepped inside.

Potter eyed him with nothing like surprise. "Who would kill me?"

"Come on, Potter." Draco didn't want to do the whole 'war? what war?' game. That couldn't be what Potter was up to.

"No, I'm serious. Nobody on Dumbledore's side is going to do it, and anyone rooting for Voldemort knows he wants to kill me himself. I'm probably one of the safest students here." The glamour dropped off Potter's quill, revealing his wand, and he grinned. "Plus I have this, and I knew you were coming."

Draco crossed his arms over his chest. "How?"

Potter just looked at him. "Nothing Voldemort can beat. Want to sit?" Draco only then noticed the second chair at the table. Potter nudged it towards him with his foot, and Draco scowled.

"No," he said, moving to sit down anyway. He pulled out his own wand and set it on the table -- set, not slammed; he wasn't five. It wasn't slamming as long as the table didn't shake, right? "And that's not good enough, Potter. Last I heard the Dark Lord could waltz in and out of your head like it was his own." He was pretty sure he hadn't said anything -- yet -- that would get him killed on sight. But he really didn't want to find out he'd been wrong.

Overlooking the fact that Potter's grasp of grammar was laughable, the idea was -- preposterous. You didn't just go around using legilimens on people; it didn't work like that. Though Potter's main experience with it must be from Dumbledore and Voldemort, and he supposed they probably were powerful enough to make it seem that easy.

"You want me to cast legilimens on you." He already knew he was going to do it. The temptation was far too great to pass up. But legilimens left both parties open. "I want a guarantee," he said.

"Just do it," Potter said flatly. "It won't take long."

Draco stared at him for a long moment. Obviously there was a point beyond which Potter wouldn't be pushed. He narrowed his eyes. "Legilimens," he said firmly, steeling himself for the rush of otherness that came from invading someone else's mind. Instead, it was like hitting a wall. Like Potter wasn't even there. It was like nothing he'd felt before, and he pushed harder. Still nothing. He poured more power into the spell, but it was like pouring water into the ocean, and he broke off with a gasp. "Those aren't occulumency shields. What is that?"

"Hogwarts. The castle." Literal generations of students had debated whether or not the castle was sentient, and to what degree, always without finding an answer. And now Potter had gone and gotten himself bonded to it. Why did he have to be the exception to every rule?

"Is helping, yes. Impenetrable shields, can't be taken off the grounds against my will. And I can tell who's around me when I'm inside. I'm safe, Malfoy."

Draco considered him carefully. Potter might be safe from attack -- was he also safe to trust? He wanted the answer to be yes. The lives of everyone he cared about were at stake. "Why are you doing this?" he asked.

There was a sigh from the other side of the table. "There's this prophecy --"

Draco cut him off. "No, I know that. Everyone knows that. You might as well have taken out an ad in the bloody Daily Prophet for all the secrecy that's maintained. I meant -- why are you suddenly talking to me? Why now?"

Potter fidgeted with his wand and looked like he was struggling to find words. Draco rolled his eyes. For that matter, why was he there, talking with Harry Potter, who'd shown himself to be hopelessly inept time and time again? (Despite his almost inconceivable skill with Quidditch and his impossible hair -- neither were enough to beat a dark wizard; Voldemort didn't even own a broom as far as he knew.) "You should know that's not exactly considered the thing to do in polite company," he said, gesturing towards Potter's wand.

Draco had been expecting a comeback about who constituted polite company. Instead, Potter blushed and set his wand down on the table with a snap. "Right," he said. "Well, because what you're doing doesn't make any sense. Voldemort's setting you up to fail; you have to know that." Potter broke off and looked at him hesitantly. "You know that, right?"

Slowly, Draco nodded. It wasn't like he hadn't thought about it. Killing Dumbledore wasn't a task you gave a sixteen-year-old when you wanted them to actually succeed. If it was that easy, Voldemort would have killed the old man himself. "But --"

"And you're smarter than that. I know you, I've watched you. So I thought there had to be something else going on, and maybe you'd want another option enough to help." Draco wasn't sure whether he should find that worrying or gratifying. Potter thought he was too smart to buy what Voldemort was selling (which was nice), but Potter had also figured out that something wasn't quite right about his actions (which was dangerous). On the other hand, who else watched him as irritatingly closely as Potter? No one, hopefully.

"Dumbledore --" Potter cut himself off like he hadn't intended to say anything, then forged ahead. "Dumbledore's already dying," he said.

The words hit like a punch to the stomach and Draco froze in disbelief. "His hand -- you've seen it?" Draco's mind was reeling with the implications of Dumbledore being gone, but he must have given some sign of agreement. "It's a curse; it's killing him. He's --" Potter looked away. Draco could still see the devastation in his eyes, and Potter visibly pulled himself together. "You see why it has to be now, though."

It wasn't that Draco had never comforted anyone. It was just that he'd never considered the possibility of comforting Potter, in the middle of the night as he tried to recruit Draco to the other side. He reached out a hand, but drew it back before it touched down. "Potter," he said awkwardly. He needed time to think. Potter just looked at him. "I'll think about it," Draco said finally. He could feel Potter's eyes on him all the way out the door.

***

Draco stayed away for two days. He'd originally planned for a week, but a tense communique from home changed his mind. It would look more desperate to Potter to be back so soon, but they were at war -- he was desperate. He stormed back into Potter's lair (where Potter seemed determined to lurk every night, despite the fact that anyone in the castle could find him there) and threw himself into a chair.

"What are you doing? And why you?" he asked without preamble.

Potter rolled his eyes without looking up from the parchment he was scribbling on. "My homework?" he said, ignoring the second question entirely. "It's due first thing."

That hadn't been what Draco was asking at all, but sure, he was curious about the homework thing too. He shrugged. It would be stupid to pass up an opportunity to gain information. "If you're so sure you're not going to live through the war, why do you even bother going to class?"

That got him a glare. "I don't know how that even got out. Jeez, it's not like I have a death wish or something." Draco snorted. Could've fooled him.

"Besides, it's part of the whole Harry Potter package," Potter continued, adding a sentence with a messy flourish. "Slapdash work turned in at the last minute, while somehow managing to get decent marks anyway? Mark of a plucky hero."

That did sound eerily like the general perception of Potter's academic approach. "Look, say I believe you. That there's more going on with you than just the 'plucky hero' thing. What do you want?"

Potter leaned forward in his chair, looking startlingly earnest. "I want to win this war. I want Voldemort gone, and people not living in fear. I want to pass Charms. And I want your help."

"With Charms?"

That got him a startled laugh. "Sure. But no, I want you to help me win over the Slytherins." Draco privately thought it would be a cold day in hell before he did anything of the sort, but kept quiet. If Potter was in a sharing mood, who knew what he might blurt out? He raised an eyebrow and said nothing. Potter sighed.

"Somebody's got to jump first," he said. "I act the bumbling hero, it lulls Voldemort into a -- hopefully false -- sense of security, because he thinks I'm the only one who can kill him and he has nothing to worry about. Dumbledore acts confident, and the Order rallies behind him -- and by extension, me. But anyone with an ounce of caution wants to see the proof. That's the Slytherins; that's where you come in. They'll listen to you."

Draco stared at Potter, wondering if he actually was as crazy as he sounded. Was insanity a strategy? Luckily, Potter didn't seem to expect a response yet.

"You said you know the prophecy, right? 'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches'?" He seemed to take it as a given that Draco would know what he was talking about. In fact, the prophecy was one of those pernicious rumors -- everyone knew there was a prophecy, and everyone knew it was about Potter and Voldemort, but he had so far been unable to find anyone willing (or possibly able) to share the exact wording. He shook his head.

"Really?" Potter asked. "I figured Voldemort would've spread it around."

Draco put another check in the crazy column. "It's a prophecy about how to kill him, Potter. I doubt he wants the gory details to be public knowledge."

"It's a prophecy, Potter. What am I supposed to be seeing? What's the 'power the Dark Lord knows not'?"

"Dumbledore thinks it's love," Potter replied with an eyeroll. "I think that's ridiculous. I think all of it's ridiculous, actually, but if we're assuming it refers to events that haven't already happened, then my guess is it's Neville."

"Longbottom?" Draco couldn't help it -- he laughed. "Tell me you're joking."

"What does anyone know about Longbottom? Good with plants, hopeless with everything else."

Potter said, "Exactly!" like that proved his point. "Neville's not even on Voldemort's watch list, but believe me, he should be."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Why are you telling me all this before I agree to help you?"

He tried to repress the shudder he felt imagining Voldemort's reaction to a declaration like that. From Potter's sympathetic expression, he hadn't quite managed it. "What about my parents?" Draco asked. "If I do anything that looks like I'm not following the plan, they'll be in danger."

Potter actually grinned. The question had been as good as a declaration, and Potter clearly knew it. "Not a problem," he said. "There's a place they can go; it's safe. I'll show you next time you're here."

"Charms essay?" Potter gave his parchment a little shake. "Unless you want to wait till I'm done." Draco thought he might like to stay, but he had no idea what Potter might read into that.

"I'll be back tomorrow," he said instead.

"Hey Malfoy." Potter acknowledged his entrance with a wave. Longbottom just gave him a wary look. "See?" Potter said. "He's here now -- we'll go up, take a look, it'll be fine. You need sleep, Neville. And one of us should go back to the tower tonight anyway."

Draco thanked a lifetime's worth of experience with uncomfortable silences for his poise in the long moment that followed. "Fine," Longbottom said finally, sounding resigned. "You want me to take your stuff up?" Potter handed over his bag with a muttered comment too soft for Draco to overhear, and Longbottom left with a last look at Draco. It was a look that said, 'if he winds up dead in the morning, I'm blaming you.' Since Draco had already figured that part out, he just shrugged. There might have been a smirk too, but it was a small one.

"That was surprisingly civilized," he said, sauntering towards the table.

"We got all the shouting out of the way earlier," Potter said easily. "Ready?"

Draco didn't know exactly what he was supposed to be ready for -- Potter was supposed to be demonstrating his solution for helping Draco's parents -- but Potter took his silence for assent, and headed out of the room at a brisk walk. They went straight to the seventh floor. Almost literally straight there -- it was like Hogwarts was bending itself to accommodate Potter's destination. When they arrived in front of where the Room of Requirement door was hidden, it suddenly wasn't. No pacing back and forth three times; the door just popped into existence as Potter approached. "Neat trick," Draco said.

"Playing favorites? Doting on you like everyone else? Don't worry, Potter, I'm used to it." Draco almost pushed past to enter the room first, but a thread of caution stopped him. And so he saw Potter's expression fall, then go blank.

"Right," Potter said, and Draco felt a twinge of guilt. He'd forgotten he was supposed to be on the not-mocking-Potter side now.

They stepped into the Room of Requirement in silence. Draco looked around -- not for the first time around Potter, he felt like he was missing something. "It looks like a kitchen," he said.

"Yeah, someone must be using it," Potter replied, which made no sense at all. "Hello?" he called.

"Harry!" Two (nearly) identical redheads dashed into the kitchen from -- somewhere, and shouted Harry's name in perfect synch. Draco suppressed a groan. The Weasley twins? Really? He was definitely objecting to any plan that placed the safety of his family in the hands of Weasleys.

"What's this?" one of them said. "Draco Malfoy?" He winced at both the tone and the volume. It was the middle of the night, for crying out loud. Was a little quiet too much to ask?

"Harry!" the other one repeated, loudly. "You didn't tell us you were bringing a guest!"

"We would have had a welcoming committee ready!"

Harry sighed and waved between Draco and the Weasleys. "Fred, George, you know Malfoy. Malfoy, Fred and George. What are you guys doing up here? Neville told me you were finished."

"Oh, we are. Do you see a door anywhere?" Draco didn't bother trying to figure out which twin was which. "We got hungry; and there was no bread."

"No, don't answer that," the other one said over the first. "No cheating. Malfoy, do you see a door?"

He looked around. He saw kitchen things. Seriously, how was he supposed to know what would be out of place in a kitchen? It wasn't like he'd spent a lot of time in them. He began a careful walk-through, determined to find whatever door they'd hidden. Behind him, he heard Potter say, "So you decided to bake some?"

It was bigger than he'd first thought. As soon as he was out of sight of Potter and the Weasley's, Draco stopped and closed his eyes. I need to see the hidden door. It was the Room of Requirement, after all. Sure enough, a door wavered into view on his right, between a countertop (complete with full tea set and, oddly, a toaster) and a curtain-covered window. "Found it," he called, adding a lazy drawl to his voice.

"What?" The Weasley's bounded back towards him. "Wicked!" one of them said. "That's not where it was before!"

"Turns out hiding something in the Room of Requirement isn't as easy as we'd like," the other one said, seemingly mostly to Potter, who was frowning. "We're still working on it."

Draco had a fair amount of experience working within (and around) the Room's peculiarities. It seemed like there was an obvious solution, and he weighed the consequences of speaking up. "Have you tried hiding more than just one?" he asked. It wouldn't solve all the problems, but it would keep people from doing what he'd just done.

Potter was still frowning, but one of the Weasley's nodded. "Someone looks for a hidden door, and fifty doors appear."

"Or hundreds," the other one said. "Thousands, even. It'd be just as easy to make it recursive; loop them back on themselves. Brilliant!"

It was like he could see their minds working. It was actually sort of terrifying, but he was beginning to see why everything they did turned out so big. They escalated. It wouldn't be subtle, but neither was Voldemort. With the twins adequately distracted, he turned to Potter. "Where does it go?" he asked.

"Where is everyone?" he asked. His voice came out quiet without conscious decision; it was just that kind of place.

"It's nighttime," Potter said. "Most of them are sleeping."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "How many people are down here?" It must be bigger than it looked.

"A few dozen or so, full time. Some come and go, like Fred and George." There was movement in the shadows -- Draco automatically went for his wand, but Potter just sighed and stuck his hands in his pockets. "And the kneazles," he added, as three of the cat-like creatures slunk into view. They made a beeline for Draco. "I'm not sure what to make of them, except that Voldemort's tried to recruit nearly every magical creature race except them, and Hogwarts can't -- or won't -- keep them out." He paused. "They like you, I guess."

The slight emphasis on "you" made Draco look up. All three kneazles were gathered around him, purring, and completely ignoring Potter. Potter looked vaguely irritated. "You're a Parslemouth," Draco said. Potter just looked at him. "That's why they don't like you," he explained. This was clearly news to Potter, and Draco's brain worked furiously as he reached a hand down to the nearest kneazle. It was butting its head against his knee, and he patted it absently. He was used to Potter being clueless, and clearly he was never going to do his own research, but Granger should have told him that. Or McGonagall. Even Dumbledore, though Draco was half-convinced the Headmaster was as crazy as he pretended to be.

"Potter," he said slowly. "Who else knows about this place?"

"Neville," came the prompt answer. Draco waited for the rest of the list, but Potter appeared to be done.

"Is that it?" he asked.

Potter nodded. "Well, Fred and George know it's in Hogwarts, because they're the ones using the Room for stuff." He was still looking at the kneazles. Draco couldn't figure out if Potter was the worst strategist ever, or just the most unconventional.

"Potter... Why are you telling me this?" If he just kept asking, maybe he'd eventually figure it out.

"Because I need you on our side," Potter said. "I don't want you just playing along until you find out enough secrets to run to Voldemort for a free pass. Ask now; I'll tell you -- anything you want to know. Then you can decide."

Draco narrowed his eyes. Potter might be lying, but he wasn't going to let an invitation like that pass. "Do you have a plan to kill him?" he asked. Might as well start with the big one.

Potter hesitated. "Not exactly," he said. "It's complicated." Draco waited. Potter looked at him for a long time before continuing. "Right. First, there's the Horcruxes. He's split his soul into seven pieces; that's why he keep coming back. Four of them have been dealt with already -- the one from when I was a baby, the one with Quirrell, the one in the journal, and the one one in the ring Dumbledore destroyed. That leaves two more other than Voldemort himself."

Potter looked like he was picking up steam and about to launch into his second point, and Draco decided he should probably stop pretending he had any idea what he was talking about. Clearly he'd missed a great deal. He held up a hand and sorted through the information for the most important parts. "Wait," he said. "What are the other two?"

"One is Slytherin's locket," Potter said. "And no, we haven't found it. Yet. The other -- 99% sure -- is Nagini."

"Can he tell when you destroy them?"

Potter shook his head. "The soul fragments aren't connected at all. We think that's why he chose Nagini instead of another artifact -- he has an excuse to keep her close by and under constant supervision."

Draco nodded. It would explain Voldemort's (multiple) returns to life, as well as his rampant insanity. Seven parts? It was almost too awful to contemplate -- there was a reason your soul was supposed to stay in one piece. "Okay. What else?" he asked.

Another hesitation. "There's a possibility that when the final piece of his soul is dying, Voldemort may or may not have the ability to suck the life energy out of anyone with the Dark Mark, killing all of them in the process. Also, Neville doesn't think we should kill him at all -- he wants to find a way to imprison him instead."

Draco filed everything away without further comment. "What do you know about Snape?" He wanted to get as much information as possible, as quickly as possible, in case Potter decided to change his mind.

"I know he's Marked, if that's what you're asking. And I know he's a spy. Dumbledore believes he's spying on Voldemort, Voldemort believes he's spying on Dumbledore. What I don't know is which one is more true."

It was Draco's turn to hesitate, but eventually he added to Potter's knowledge. "My aunt made him swear an Unbreakable Vow to protect me at the start of the summer. Why haven't you told anyone else about this place?"

"I don't trust them," Potter said bluntly. "Only Neville. The twins know we're in Hogwarts because they're in charge of disguising the entrances. There's one in their shop too -- it's how people get in, and it's the emergency exit if the castle is destroyed."

The matter-of-fact way Potter talked about the destruction of Hogwarts was frankly disturbing. "Why Neville?" he asked.

"Because he's Neville." Potter seemed to understand that this wasn't actually an acceptable answer to the question, because he added, "You'll see. It's just -- hard to explain, I guess."

The thought hit him out of the blue one night when they were studying for an exam. Well, Longbottom was studying. Potter appeared to be doodling maps in his textbook, and Draco had already memorized the study guide from the previous year's Slytherins. "That's why you're bonded to the castle!" He knew it was more than just shielding; it had to be.

Potter looked up from his map. "Because of the curse, yeah. Dumbledore broke his connection with Hogwarts to keep it from infecting her. I think she's lonely."

Draco nodded. Without looking up from his book, Longbottom said, "You guys know it's really weird when you do that, right?"

Potter laughed, and Longbottom smiled, but Draco didn't think he'd been joking. Potter was acting weird. More weird. The map he was drawing? Now covered an entire page in his book, completely obscuring the actual text. Also, Draco had assumed he'd have to explain his non sequitur before getting a confirmation. Instead, Potter had -- what? Been reading his mind?

"I'm not reading your mind," Potter said absently, still drawing. "Sorry."

Draco was officially confused, and rapidly headed towards creeped out. He looked at Longbottom, who was looking at Potter with a worried expression. Longbottom said slowly, "Harry, when's the last time you slept?"

When Longbottom was there, he usually fell asleep at some point in the evening, before Harry sent him back to the tower. Draco had replaced his "secret trips to the Room of Requirement to plot Dumbledore's demise" with "secret trips to the Room of Requirement for napping," but he was still feeling the strain of not enough sleep with the long hours they'd been keeping. Potter was always in the room when he arrived and stayed after he left, and Draco hadn't heard anything about him missing meals or classes -- so when was he sleeping?

"Hm?" Potter looked up and frowned. "I don't like sleeping," he said, the most evasive Draco had heard him since this whole thing started. "This is better."

Longbottom clearly had more to say, but he looked at Draco and shut his mouth with an unhappy expression. His expression was very much of the "not in front of the guests" variety, and Potter looked mulishly back at him. A change of subject was clearly in order. "So," Draco said. "If you don't sleep, how come you don't have time to do better in Charms?"

That got a laugh from Potter and Longbottom -- it was a small laugh, but it totally counted. "Because Flitwick pays too much attention," Potter replied, which made no sense, but at least he'd closed the book and wasn't drawing anymore. And suddenly he was back to blunt oversharing. "I'm way behind in everything," Potter said. "All my classes. There's too much to do -- moving people into the Chamber, negotiating with the other schools, researching that damned locket -- I had a hard enough time writing feet of parchment when all I had to do was not get killed by Voldemort. I've been..."

"Cheating," Longbottom offered, but he was smiling when he said it. "He cheats, in everything."

"Not Defense!" Potter retorted. "Snape gives me a zero no matter what I turn in," he explained. "Slughorn does the opposite in Potions; he's like the anti-Snape. I can do all the Transfigurations and Charms practical work, just... not in the usual way."

"Hogwarts helps him cheat," Longbottom added, apparently just to get the word "cheat" into the conversation again. "The whole castle is like his personal Room of Requirement. Most of the professors have no idea he's not actually learning the spells."

"Except for Flitwick," Draco said carefully. "Who pays too much attention." He was beginning to think he hadn't been paying nearly enough attention. How had he missed all this?

Potter scowled. Like it was a personal affront that he had one professor who was actually grading him on his ability to perform the required skills. "Exactly. Like I don't have enough to worry about."

***

There was no such thing as coincidences, so Draco was utterly unsurprised when the very next night Potter was called away to some sort of Weasley-related emergency and Neville said, "I need to talk to you. About Harry."

It was true that 'talk with Longbottom about Harry Potter' had never ranked high on Draco's list of things he expected to do. On the other hand, until fairly recently that list had still included 'kill Dumbledore or be tortured horribly by the Dark Lord.' It was possible some revisions were necessary. Longbottom appeared to be waiting for a response, so he said, "All right."

"This bond he has with the castle --" Longbottom trailed off, like he wasn't sure how to continue.

Draco decided to help him out. He wasn't being nice, he just figured they might be there all night if he waited for Longbottom to figure out what he was trying to say. "Do you think it's dangerous?"

"No. Not exactly, at least. Haven't you ever thought about why Professor Dumbledore eats so many candies?"

Draco hadn't had to think about it -- because Dumbledore was a crazy, crazy old man. He raised an eyebrow to convey the obviousness of the crazy.

Longbottom sighed. "Okay, what about Harry? How do you think he's suddenly able to just not sleep?"

He certainly wasn't going to say that he didn't know. "Spit it out, Longbottom," he said instead. "I haven't got all night."

"Every time he gets tired, he leans on his bond with the castle. He can stop sleeping, stop eating. Hogwarts is 'helping,' but she has no idea what it means to be human. Everything we do is fast compared to a giant pile of stone. She's slowing him down. Literally -- you should feel his pulse when he gets like this. It's eerie. I think the sugar high helps speed him back up to normal."

It sounded downright creepy. Also, why was Longbottom checking Potter's pulse? "Does he know?"

Longbottom just shrugged. "He talks to you as much as anyone. You could try asking."

***

Draco didn't ask. Soliciting other people's opinions wasn't exactly the Malfoy way. Instead, he took action.

"You look like a starving waif, Potter. Here, eat this." Potter took the chocolate with a somewhat bemused expression, and he ate it with none of the finesse that a confection of its quality (and cost) deserved, but he didn't question it.

And -- wonder of wonders -- it seemed to work. Throughout the evening, Potter seemed more... present. No drawing endless mazes of corridors in his books, no staring off into space.

He couldn't just push chocolate on Potter day in and day out, though. He had to get creative. And devious, since he found himself in near constant view of suspicious housemates. It seemed there were only two people Potter trusted enough to act as intermediaries. Draco certainly wasn't going to talk to Longbottom again, and the other one wasn't actually a person.

Draco explained it to Hogwarts like this: if you want to make Potter happy, and Potter likes chocolate, it follows that you providing chocolate would make Potter happy. He felt immensely foolish the whole time he was trying to communicate this message, standing in an empty Room of Requirement with his eyes closed and fists clenched tight at his sides. Not these, he added picturing Chocolate Frogs (truly the tackiest of chocolates). If Potter had to constantly eat chocolate, Draco didn't see why it shouldn't be the best. Can you do these? He focused on Honeyduke's premiere line of chocolates, wrapped in gold leaf.

Hogwarts obligingly materialized a plate of gold-wrapped chocolate candies in front of him.

Perfect.

It didn't occur to him until later that the origin of the chocolates wouldn't exactly be a mystery to Potter. "I think you should call me Harry," Potter said the next evening, not looking at him at all. He studied a chocolate carefully before touching the top with one finger. The wrapper dominoed outwards in a perfect circle, just as it was designed to do.

"Why?" He wasn't admitting to the chocolates, even if he was sure Hogwarts had already tattled on him.

But Potter's answer had nothing to do with candy. "Because then I could call you Draco. And then I could switch to calling your father Malfoy in my head instead of you. It's been confusing."

Clearly he needed to eat more chocolate; he was making less sense than usual. There were plenty of reasons why it wasn't a good idea, but Potter had never been trying to hide in the first place. He wanted people to think he was getting along with a Slytherin. And really, Draco's life could hardly be any more in danger from Voldemort. If 'not planning to kill Dumbledore after all' wasn't enough to get him top billing on the 'to punish horribly' list, 'appearing to be less hostile towards Harry Potter' was hardly going to make things worse.

"Fine," he said. "Eat your chocolates, Harry."

***

Gossip traveled fast. Blaise stopped him outside the common room as he was leaving for breakfast. "My parents are leaving the country," he said calmly.

"All right." The Zabinis were infamously neutral; it wasn't a surprise to hear they were getting out of the way before things went south. More south.

"I want to know if I should go with them."

Maybe Draco had been spending too much time with Griffyndors lately, because he knew he should have a rejoinder for that, and it just seemed like too much work. "If you want to avoid fighting, I'd say yes. Why are you asking me?"

"Come on, Draco -- if anyone's playing both sides of the fence, it's you. I heard about this summer, but it's not the Dark Lord you're sneaking off to meet every night, is it? Blaise looked around the hall. Draco took a second to be irritated that now Blaise was worried about people overhearing. "I'm just asking for an opinion."

"A dangerous opinion."

"These are dangerous times."

Draco figured they could probably go on like that for at least another four exchanges. His father would be able to draw it out to the point of missing breakfast entirely. Then again, it was breakfast. And Blaise wasn't exactly jumping on the pro-Voldemort bandwagon himself.

"I feel safer now than I did a month ago," Draco said carefully. He pushed up his sleeves to show un-Marked arms and raised an eyebrow at Blaise.

Blaise nodded. "Understood." Then he grinned. "You look better, Draco. He must be treating you right."

***

It wasn't hard to arrange for his parents to visit Hogwarts. "Just get them here," Potter had said, with precious little explanation. No one with the Dark Mark could be admitted to the Chamber -- Voldemort could use the Mark to identify their exact location, and there would go the whole "secret hideout" thing. Potter seemed to think it wouldn't be a problem, but he wasn't exactly sharing the plan with anyone. (Longbottom probably knew, but it would take a much more dire emergency for Draco to ask Longbottom for anything.)

So Draco had no idea what was going to happen now that his father and mother were ensconced in Dumbledore's office, exchanging cryptic (Dumbledore) and vaguely threatening (his father) inanities. Draco himself had been instructed to wait in the corridor like a child, which was ridiculous. He was composing a mental list of his grievances when Potter appeared around the corner.

"Ready?" Potter asked.

"Show up in the appointed place at the appointed time, along with my parents -- yes, I think I've absorbed the complexities of what I'm supposed to do." He narrowed his eyes. Potter looked suspiciously nervous. "You have done this before, right?"

Potter bit his lip and looked away. Oh, that was not good. "Not exactly," Potter said. Draco was ready to explode, but it took him a split second to decide between hitting and shouting, and Potter rushed words into the gap. "It'll work, I promise! I swear it, Draco. It's a ritual that mostly requires power, which we have." He actually went so far as to put a hand on Draco's sleeve, which shocked Draco into silence more than anything else. "You have my oath, this will work."

For all he told himself that he was just making the smart choice, Draco couldn't help but feel a tiny sliver that felt like actual trust. It seemed there was part of him that actually believed, not just that Potter could work the magic that would erase the Dark Mark, but that Potter truly wanted to help them, to help him. It was a part he was ignoring when he ushered his parents into the small room, already crowded with Potter, Longbottom, and his three chosen Slytherins.

"Who do you trust in Slytherin?" Potter had asked the night after they'd been to the Chamber of Secrets, and Draco hadn't known what to say. Trust was a tricky thing, after all, and never so simple as a yes or no question. For Slytherin House it was more like a labyrinth, but that was half the fun. Eventually, Potter had adjusted the question -- "Pick three Slytherins you trust enough not to purposefully muck up a ritual" -- and he'd been able to answer.

Greg, Vince, and Blaise met his eyes when he walked in the door, but didn't move from their positions in the room. There were five spots around the outside of the warded circle -- Draco and his mother filled the last two, with his father joining Potter and Longbottom in the center. Potter's secrecy was contagious -- no one spoke, and his father was blindfolded, all to keep Voldemort from learning exactly what was going to take place.

Draco had seen people being Marked. It was an hours-long procedure that involved blood, pain, and the most concentrated pure evil he'd ever witnessed. The Un-Marking ritual, on the other hand, was somewhat astounding in its simplicity. If he was interpreting the shifting power auras correctly, Potter was drawing huge amounts of magical energy directly from the castle, and feeding it through Longbottom.

Longbottom was -- he knew what Potter had meant, now, when he said it was hard to explain. Longbottom was good; he exuded it during the ritual the same way Voldemort exuded evil. It was startling, to say the least. He wasn't entirely sure why there were five other people involved, until Potter started visibly sparking power and he felt the protective shields pulling on his own energy to strengthen themselves. There had been no words spoken, it was all runes and intent and where the hell had Potter found this ritual?

The power ebbed and spiked, rolling through the room in waves. And then it was over. Potter shook himself all over in a way that was completely undignified, and Longbottom stumbled towards a chair that Draco was sure hadn't been there when he'd walked in the door. His father pulled the blindfold off (in a way that was completely dignified, as befitting a Malfoy) and looked at his arm in wonder. "He's gone," he said. "I can't feel him."

There was hugging (his parents), backslapping (the Gryffindors), and awkward handshakes (the Slytherins). Draco couldn't help but notice that everyone looked exhausted except for Potter, who looked ready to go another round or three. It was Potter who sent Longbottom and the Slytherins to the infirmary -- Draco was convinced he had some sort of arrangement with Madame Pomfrey -- with a made-up story about a run-in with a suit of armor in some out-of-the-way corridor.

And it was Potter who turned to Draco's parents and held out a hand for them to shake, like he'd never met them before, or maybe like he was trying for a fresh start. "Mr. Malfoy, Mrs. Malfoy. Welcome to Hogwarts."

***

Draco was mostly asleep when the arguing started. Or maybe he'd been all the way asleep when it started, and he'd just woken up when it got loud. Louder.

"You're being unreasonable! You can't just set an arbitrary timeline like that!"

"We told them where it is!"

"Not all of us are just ignoring school, Harry!"

It sounded like the baby Weasley, albeit more shrill than he usually heard her. Maybe she'd been spending more time with Granger. Potter's next words confirmed his guess.

"Ginny -- what we did with the Dark Mark today, it's not subtle. Best case scenario, Voldemort thinks Malfoy is dead. I have no idea how he'll react to this. We're running out of time."

"And worst case scenario, the Malfoys betray us all! Is it really worth the risk?"

Baby Weasley had some teeth. Draco wondered if she knew he was in the room. He wondered where Longbottom had gone off to. People were generally more polite when he was around.

"Yes! Because you want to know what the real worst case scenario is? That they're telling the truth, and we do nothing. It's his family, Ginny! You think I wouldn't do this for your family? For anyone's family?"

"My family chose to fight."

"And his didn't! That's what we're fighting for -- the right to choose, the right to be free of this."

There was along pause. "Harry... You know that... when we win--" And Draco grudgingly gave her points for saying 'when' instead of 'if' "--there will be other Dark wizards, other dangers out there."

He heard Potter sigh, and then the tiny domino sound effect of a chocolate unwrapping itself. The chocolates were fast becoming an unconscious habit, and Draco smirked from his sofa hiding spot. "I know, Ginny. But not this Dark wizard -- not Voldemort, not the one that's my responsibility."

"I just don't want to see you get hurt."

Draco subtracted all the points he'd previously awarded her. That was, without a doubt, the stupidest thing he'd ever heard a Weasley say -- jumping to the top of an already-crowded list. She hadn't even noticed when Potter switched from 'we' to 'I.' (In Potter's mind, everyone thought he'd defeated Voldemort for good as a baby. He felt like he'd let the world down when Voldemort returned ten years later -- like he'd made a mistake, somehow, and had to fix it before he could get on with his life.) Longbottom was always on him about not feeling personally responsible for everything Voldemort-related that happened in the world; Potter faked it better at some times than others.

He rolled to his feet silently and announced his wakeful state with a pointed cough. "Hello Weasley," he said. "I'd say what a pleasant surprise this is, but I'm trying to lie less."

"Malfoy!" The baby Weasley sounded shocked to see him -- clearly she hadn't known he was there, which was -- interesting.

"Sorry we woke you," Harry said. "Ginny's been working with Beauxbatons on retrieving the locket."

"Having some trouble?" Draco directed the question at Weasley, all politeness and concern. Feigned politeness and concern, of course, but at least he was willing to fake it.

"We'll get it," she said, ignoring Draco completely. "We'll go this weekend, all right? It's just taking time to work all your protections through his traps. I still don't know why you need this thing so badly. Have you seen it? It's hideous."

"It's important, Ginny. Be careful."

She shot a look at Draco that he couldn't decipher, then focused back on Potter. "Yeah, you too."

***

Blaise was following him. Draco just wasn't sure what to do about it. Blaise wasn't being subtle, which he was clearly capable of doing, so what was his game? On the other hand, if Potter was really able to sense everything happening in the castle, he'd already know.

He led Blaise straight to the third-floor classroom. "Company," he said, dropping into his usual chair. "Zabini's behind me." Potter looked at him as if to say 'well?' Draco shrugged. "He helped with the ritual. You're the one who wants Slytherins on your side."

Potter nodded and headed towards the door. Draco watched him stick his head out into the hallway and say, "You might as well come in." Blaise trailed in after him, looking a little disappointed at the lack of, well, anything that might have made the room seem less like an abandoned classroom and more like the lair of a mastermind fit to take on the Dark Lord.

The three of them looked at each other in silence for a long moment. Finally, Blaise held out a hand. "Blaise Zabini," he said, and Potter shook it firmly.

"Harry Potter." There was a quirk of a smile. "You might have heard of me."

Blaise smiled back. "Once or twice. I was expecting more, honestly."

Draco held his breath (half the time Potter seemed to be teetering on the knife's edge between confidence and despair) but Potter just laughed. "Me too," he said. "Look, Zabini -- everybody wants to believe there's something special about me, that I can fix this. And Voldemort plays into it along with everyone else, because it's convenient for him to have everyone watching me. I'm not -- well, when this is over, it's not going to be my name on the front of the Daily Prophet."

"I don't see anyone else stepping up," Blaise said bluntly.

"Let's take a walk."

They wound up at the Room of Requirement, which opened to reveal a dueling arena and a startled Longbottom. "Harry?"

"Don't mind us," Potter said. "We're just here to convince the skeptics."

The look Longbottom sent him could have peeled paint. But he squared his shoulders and walked to the center of the arena anyway. The sword materialized in his hand a split second before the first attack came out of nowhere. "Hogwarts attacks; he defends," Potter murmured, presumably for Blaise's benefit. "Physical and magical attacks."

It was incredible. Neville did more than just defend; he'd mastered the sword like it was his own wand. Blaise looked he'd been stunned, and Draco felt confident that whatever message Potter was trying to send, it had been received loud and clear.

Potter looked smug. "Now that is a 'power the Dark Lord knows not.'"

***

And then, inexplicably, they all ended up in detention. McGonagall stood up at Friday's breakfast (standing in for the Headmaster; Draco was sure it was a bad sign) and glared for silence. "It has come to my attention," she announced sternly, "that certain students no longer feel curfew applies to them. This is an unacceptable breach of Hogwarts rules. Each of the offending students will be receiving the details of their weekend detention before the evening meal." He could have sworn she looked right at him. Which was completely unfair -- it wasn't like he'd started the curfew-flaunting. "Rules do exist for a reason. That is all."

Worse yet, the detention was with Snape. It wasn't that Draco had forgotten about Snape's Unbreakable Vow to help him kill Dumbledore, he was just -- ignoring it until a solution presented itself. And Snape made it really hard to tell whose side he was on.

Draco and Blaise were the only Slytherins present, joined by Potter, Longbottom, Granger, and Weasley. Not the baby Weasley, either; the other one. Since Draco had never seen either of them at the nightly meetings, he had to wonder what, exactly, they'd been doing after curfew. Each other, one could only assume.

"They're training the DA," Potter whispered. "Get your mind out of the gutter."

Draco rolled his eyes. At least Potter had given up the pretense of not reading his mind. Where's the baby Weasley? he thought as loudly as possible.

Potter nodded towards the front of the classroom. A nervous-looking first year entered the room and edged towards Snape's desk. He practically squeaked when Snape looked at him. "Note from Madame Pomfrey," he said. Snape plucked the paper from his hand and glowered until he all but ran back out of the room.

Snape read the note, glared indiscriminately around the room, then returned to -- whatever he was doing. Grading, probably, or something he wanted to look like grading. It involved a great deal of muttering and angry writing. Potter whispered, "Hospital wing officially. France, unofficially."

The locket?

"They have it."

"Silence!" Snape didn't bother glaring at anyone except Potter this time. "I may be required to be in your presence, but I am not required to put up with your noise."

It went on like that all weekend. Draco eventually got bored enough to write not only his own Charms essay, but Harry's as well. Harry got bored enough to sleep, which was unusual enough that Draco spent an embarrassing amount of time just watching him. Luckily, he slept like a rock (which was possibly an alarming analogy, given his connection to the castle) -- Gryffindor's house points would have been in the negative numbers if Potter had managed to make a scene by falling out of his chair.

***

Draco and Blaise were released from detention early. Whether by whim or some sort of Slytherin solidarity, he wasn't sure, and they certainly didn't stick around to ask. By mutual agreement, they headed for the Room of Requirement -- privacy, food, and chairs that were actually comfortable. Draco figured it was as good a time as any to do a test run of his most recent plan. "I think I should go to Durmstrang," he said.

"Yeah right." Blaise scoffed like the idea was preposterous, and Draco shot him a glare.

"I'm serious," he said. "Everyone else is doing things, making some sort of contribution. And I've been there before."

"Well, I seriously doubt Potter's going to let you out of his castle for a trip to Durmstrang. He'll probably make me go; your boy's not subtle."

Draco flushed. "He's not my anything," he muttered. "And it's not his castle."

Blaise's expression was all incredulity. "Right. You've got no one but yourself to blame, you know. You're the one who taught Hogwarts logic."

Draco had been unable to resist gloating about the chocolate trick to Blaise. He scowled. "What do you mean?"

"If she wants Potter happy, and having you around makes Potter happy... I'm pretty sure you're stuck here for the duration. And it's not like you're not doing anything. You're like a -- liason, between Potter and everyone else."

"He's not crazy," Draco said, indignant.

"No," Blaise agreed. "I don't know what he is, exactly, and I don't want to know, but he's different than he was before. Less approachable, more -- unknowable. Those aren't the hallmarks of a good hero; not even a good figurehead. He needs you, Draco. He needs someone to be his human side."

Draco thought about it for a long time that night, staring up at the ceiling and listening to the castle settle around him.

***

Of course, Potter didn't bother waiting for another weekend to set things in motion. As soon as the baby Weasley was back, he was rolling ahead, and it was suddenly feeling a lot more crowded in Potter's abandoned classroom. Potter and Longbottom were both there, of course, but they'd been joined by what looked like half the DA -- including Lovegood, who always made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He didn't care what she saw, he just wished she wouldn't share it with everyone.

He nodded to the room's token Slytherins -- Vince and Greg had joined Blaise, and they waved back -- and made his way to the knot of people that was most likely to contain Potter. Longbottom stopped him before he could get there. "Draco, you're here!" he said. Was that relief in his voice? Much more quietly, he said, "You have to get Harry out of here. He's not helping."

"What do you mean?" With Gryffindors, he'd finally decided it was faster to just put the question out there. They had no appreciation for subtlety.

"We're making the plans to draw Voldemort here for the final battle. It's the location that makes the most sense, but Hogwarts isn't crazy about the idea, and it's making Harry a little..."

"More crazy that usual?"

Longbottom's expression was pure 'you said it, not me.' "Something like that," he said.

Draco didn't even need to use the lure of chocolate to get Harry to leave with him. They headed for the Room of Requirement, and he thought he heard a sigh of relief as the castle transformed itself into a rooftop for them, complete with night sky and gentle breeze. "Thank you," Harry said.

Draco said nothing. After a long minute, Harry said, "Who do you think hates me less? Your father or Snape, I mean."

"What? Why?"

"Because I think we need to get rid of Snape's Mark, and I'm not sure he won't try to kill me if we do. Your father didn't, but then again, you were right there."

Draco thought about it. He should have guessed that Harry would have moved on to a completely new problem. "I have no idea," he finally said. If only Snape wasn't so good at being ambiguously evil.

"Snape did swear an Unbreakable Vow to protect you," Harry said hopefully.

Draco hadn't mentioned that the Vow had been made under fairly certain threat of death by his aunt. "True. And he didn't kill you when you fell asleep in his detention. That's probably a good sign, right?"

"Should we do it tonight?"

"Waiting's not going to make it any easier."

"Maybe just a little longer in here."

They dozed off under the stars.

***

It was ironic, he thought. For all the baby Weasley's protestations about fighting, it was her family that was safe and sound guarding the non-combatants at Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. And it was the Malfoys who were guarding Potter's back as he faced down Nagini in the Chamber of Secrets.

"Nagini's been here before," Potter had said, days ago. "It should be easy to lure her back."

Draco was less than confident in the wisdom of fighting a giant snake in the former lair of a basilisk, but Harry was adamant. So there they were, in a newly vacated Chamber, while Neville and the rest of the Order was (hopefully) defeating Voldemort in battle above them.

Every noise echoed like the shushing of scales on stone. Nagini was a brutal killer, and he couldn't believe his parents were there, but they'd refused to be left behind. "You did manage to kill the basilisk," he said, trying to at least sound confident.

"Oh, I was using the sword then," Harry said easily. "Neville's got it now, so it's bound to be different."

There were footsteps behind him and he whirled, but it was Snape, slipping in to guard the rear entrance. "Potter, you imbecile. What were you planning on using this time?"

Harry grumbled. It looked like Snape was on their side after all, but removing the Dark Mark hadn't improved his personality any. "Wand. Knife. A large rock, if I have to. What are you doing here?"

"I am still a Potions Master, Potter. Of course, if you'd like me to take these vials of anti-venom elsewhere..."

They were interrupted by the sudden appearance of Nagini. If a giant snake could look surprised, Nagini did -- everyone stood frozen for an instant. Harry moved first, stepping forward with his wand in one hand and a silver knife in the other. Draco held his breath.

And then let it out, because they were just talking. Circling each other warily, yes; weapons out and ready, yes; actually fighting? No. Talking -- talking in Parseltongue, no less, so in some ways it didn't ease the tension so much as ratchet it up, but fainting from lack of oxygen wouldn't do anyone any good.

"She says came here to get rid of him," Snape said quietly.

"You can understand that?" Draco eyed him suspiciously.

"Potions Master, remember? I believe she's talking about Voldemort, and not Potter." He didn't sound reassured.

"Harry thinks she has a piece of Voldemort's soul in her," Draco said. In front of them, Nagini was coiling herself as if in repose, and Harry tucked his knife away. More Parseltongue, more standing far too close to the giant poisonous killer snake for Draco's peace of mind. It seemed as if hours passed before Nagini gave a surpsingly delicate shimmy and coughed up an egg. It barely touched the floor before Harry had it wrapped in a dozen crushing and containment spells, reducing it inexorably to dust, and then to nothing at all.

Draco stared.

"What was that?" he finally asked.

Harry gave Nagini a little pat before answering. "I think I owe Dumbledore an apology," he said, sounding sheepish. "I'm pretty sure we just defeated Voldemort using the power of love."

Even Snape appeared to be speechless. Draco tried to pretend he knew what Harry was talking about, but his expression must have given him away. His mother leaned in and said, "In the French way, dear. Like in tennis."

Love. Tennis. Zero was love because it sounded like the French word for egg, and the zero looked like an -- egg, of course. Damn Dumbledore for being so cryptic. Who knew Voldemort wouldn't have taken the time to learn everything there was to know about the natural powers of his familiar?

Harry said, "I guess if Dumbledore had told me that I should be on the lookout for the power of eggs, I wouldn't have believed that either."

Draco thought he heard Snape choke back an actual laugh. "What's going to happen to Nagini?" he asked.

Harry was patting her again, hands gentle on the rough scales. "She's free, Draco. She can go wherever she chooses, now."

***

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