The Redemption of Draco Malfoy

Chapter Twelve: Revelations

Several things happened at once. Harry tumbled backwards under Draco's weight, Ron lifted his wand and shouted a spell and Sirius lunged at Voldemort. Ron's spell hit Voldemort and ricocheted off him, hitting the wall instead. Sirius' assault was halted as Voldemort caught him around the neck and squeezed his throat. Harry looked up in horror, seeing the strained tendons in both Voldemort's hand and Sirius' neck. A terrible hissing sound reached Harry's ears and he saw steam begin to rise from his godfather's throat. Sirius yelled in pain.

Ginny cried out again and Ron looked on in despair. Hermione screamed as she saw Draco's limp form lying in Harry's lap. Harry could only watch hopelessly as Voldemort strangled his godfather with a single pale hand.

"Harry," Sirius choked out, his hands clawing feebly at Voldemort's. "Patronus."

What? Harry thought. What was Sirius talking about? What good would a Patronus do them? He didn't have time to dwell on his thoughts though - Sirius' flesh was burning beneath Voldemort's grip and he was struggling to breathe. Harry slid Draco to the floor and stood up, drawing his wand from his pocket.

It was difficult - extremely difficult - to think of a happy memory in the situation he was in. But Sirius' life depended on it, so Harry thought back to every happy moment he could ever remember experiencing. Being accepted to Hogwarts, he though desperately; winning the Quidditch Cup, meeting Ron and Hermione, playing Quidditch with Ginny, finding out I have a godfather. He focused intently on each and every memory, until he could see them clearly in his mind.

"Expecto Patronum!" he yelled. A jet of silver light erupted from the end of his wand and twisted itself into the form of a stag. The stag tossed its head and galloped forward towards Sirius and Voldemort. It stopped several feet away, stamping the ground and snorting loudly. To Harry's surprise, Voldemort hissed at it and cringed back, releasing Sirius. The stag advanced on the Dark Lord, pushing him back.

"Come on!" Sirius yelled, jolting Harry back to his senses. "We have to get out of here."

He ran forward and scooped up Draco, carrying him in his arms. Harry ran over to the others. "Come on," he urged them. Ron grabbed Ginny and hurried forward. "Hermione, come on," Harry shouted. She was staring vacantly at Draco, as though in a trance. Harry grabbed her wrist and pulled her forward. He followed Sirius and the others to the door behind Voldemort, who was backing away from Harry's Patronus.

They hurtled along a corridor, turned a corner and ran down another.

"I don't get it," Harry said as he drew level with Sirius. "Why did a Patronus stop him?"

"A Patronus is a projection of pure positive energy," Sirius replied. "It keeps evil at bay. The more evil the person, the greater the effect the Patronus will have on them. So for someone who's pure evil..."

"The Patronus will have more of an effect," Harry finished.

"Exactly," said Sirius. "But it won't hold him long."

They quickened their pace and turned another corner, the apparating chamber in sight. Harry ran forward as fast as he could, pulling Hermione with him. Ron and Ginny were in front of them. They reached the chamber and dashed inside. Sirius laid Draco on the ground. "Get the Portkey out," he said. "Quickly."

Harry could hear footsteps echoing along the hallway, drawing closer with every second.

"Harry," Sirius yelled, "give me your wand."

Quickly, Harry pulled out his wand and threw it to Sirius, then tried to fumble the cigar out of his pocket. Sirius raised his wand and pointed it at the wall. "Reducto!" he yelled. The spell hit the stones and vanished. Several small pebbles trickled from beneath the stones. "Reducto!" Sirius yelled again. Ron and Ginny drew their wands and added their voices to his. "Reducto! Reducto! Reducto!"

The mortar between the stones began to slowly crumble, tickling to the floor. One of the large stones gave a sudden jolt and slid free of the wall. Those above it fell loose and came crashing to the ground, and soon the entire wall followed, the entrance to the apparating chamber caving in. The hallway was blocked, for the moment.

"The Portkey!" Sirius yelled.

"Got it," Harry replied. He fumbled it out of his pocket and onto the floor. They all crowded around it and reached out, Sirius gripping Draco's wrist tightly.

"Now!" he said. Harry touched the cigar with his fingers and felt a sudden jerk inside his chest. The walls melted around and the room disappeared as he rushed forward in a sea of colour.

* * *

They hit the floor of the Manor's study as they were - Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny standing and Sirius in a half-crouch, clutching one of Draco's pale wrists. Harry was suddenly overcome by the sight of Draco's empty, expressionless face. Sirius had closed his eyes but there was nevertheless a vacant, hollow look to his face, as though something in it had taken flight with his life. Hermione was shaking with sobs beside Harry and both Ginny and Ron were staring in disbelief.

"We have to go," said Sirius. "It won't take Voldemort long to get through the rubble."

Harry nodded absently and not until Sirius had lifted Draco and carried him from the room did he find he could move. He turned to Hermione. "Let's go," he said, and ushered her from the room as though he were guiding a sleepwalker.

Sirius set a brisk pace for them, leading the way along the hallway outside the study and down the staircase to the first floor. He hurried across the large dining room to the front door, which Harry opened, and continued outside, where a pale dawn light was creeping over the horizon. The atmosphere seemed imbued with a stony silence, as though the trees were holding their breath as they swayed hypnotically in the breeze.

Sirius walked down the steps, quickening his pace, and started up the drive towards the main gate. Harry supposed that getting out of the Manor wouldn't be as much of a problem as getting in had been. Getting back to Hogwarts, though, would prove difficult. He wasn't sure how far Sirius could carry Draco, nor how quickly Voldemort would think to check the train station. With its frequent stops and proclivity for delays, the train would be slow going. Harry said as much to Sirius.

"There must be another way," Sirius replied. "Did you bring broomsticks?"

"No," Harry replied remorsefully.

Sirius spun around, looking in every direction, then started off around the side of the mansion. Harry followed, with the others in tow. Soon, he saw a long set of pens that Sirius was hurrying towards. Stables, he realised. He could hear snorting and stomping coming from within and he spied several sets of dark, red eyes through the slats in the wall.

Outside the stables were several carriages, lying in a desultory cluster. Sirius approached one and managed to pull the door open. Harry saw that, like most wizarding forms of transport, the carriages were larger inside than they appeared to be from the outside. Sirius lifted Draco inside and laid him down on one of the seats. Next, he opened the door to the stables and walked inside. Harry followed him in. There were over a dozen Thestrals occupying separate pens, some staring at them curiously and others drinking a dark red liquid from troughs in the corner. Sirius approached one; it reared its head angrily and snorted loudly, dust issuing from its nostrils.

"Damn," said Sirius, taking a step back. He looked over at the others and then towards the door. "Wait here," he told Harry, and disappeared outside. He returned a minute later carrying Draco in his arms.

"Sirius, what--"

Harry fell silent as Sirius held one of Draco's hands up to the Thestral's nose. The skeletal horse inhaled a deep breath and then lowered its head and pawed the ground.

"Quick," said Sirius, "unlock the pen."

Nervously, Harry reached out and unhooked the latch on the gate. The Thestral stalked out and stopped beside Harry. Sirius was already waving Draco's hand in front of another. Harry unlatched the gate and took the reins of the second Thestral.

"Come on," said Sirius. He led the way back outside and put Draco in the carriage again. The others hung back with odd expressions, though Hermione was still staring at the ground.

"They're Thestrals," Harry said helpfully. "I've got two."

Ron nodded and, somewhat awkwardly, helped Harry lead them over to the carriage. Harry fastened their bridles to the carriage and tested their restraints.

"Let's go," Sirius said, holding the door open.

"Come on, Hermione," Harry said, helping her inside the carriage.

Once they were all inside, Sirius looked at the Thestrals and said experimentally, "Hogwarts." The two animals snorted and tossed their heads, which Harry supposed meant they understood. He climbed in the carriage and shut the door.

They began to move, rolling forward as the Thestrals worked themselves into a steady gallop. The front gates parted smoothly as they approached to let them through. Harry breathed more easily once they were safely outside the Manor and on the road back to Hogwarts. He couldn't see the Manor behind them anymore but he felt a burst of sharp pain in his scar that told him Voldemort knew of their escape. He wasn't pleased.

* * *

The journey back to Hogwarts was a tense one. Everyone inside the carriage was staring at Draco's limp body, lying prone beside Sirius. Harry felt as if his stomach had fallen through the bottom of the carriage. At one point he looked worriedly at Hermione and asked her if she was okay. She didn't reply, though, and merely looked at him as though she couldn't see him.

When they arrived back at Hogwarts, Sirius threw the door open and stepped out. "I'll get Dumbledore," he said. "Wait here." He changed into his canine form and bolted off towards the castle.

Suddenly, Harry felt very alone. He turned and looked at the others. He wanted to comfort Hermione and give Ron a reassuring look and ask Ginny if she was okay, but he couldn't find his voice, so he waited in silence until Dumbledore and Sirius, now in human form, came hurrying out the doors and across the lawn. Dumbledore's eyes were ablaze with determination.

"Everyone is all right?" he asked Sirius.

"Everyone except Draco," Sirius replied grimly.

Dumbledore looked inside the carriage at Draco's body. "How did this happen?"

"Voldemort hit him with Avada Kedavra," Sirius explained.

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "We need to get him to the Hospital Wing, Sirius."

Sirius's brow creased in confusion. "But...he's dead, Dumbledore. There's not much point--"

"Sirius," Dumbledore interrupted firmly.

Sirius nodded and lifted Draco out of the carriage. Dumbledore turned to Harry and the others. "I think it best that all of you accompany us to the Hospital Wing. There is much we need to discuss."

Harry dropped down from the carriage and helped the others down. Ron put an arm around Hermione's shoulders and they followed Dumbledore and Sirius into the castle. It was still deserted at this early in the morning, the silence broken only by their footsteps on the stone floors. They continued up the marble staircase and reached the hospital wing, which was thankfully empty. Dumbledore instructed Sirius to put Draco down on a bed and went to find Madam Pomfrey. When they returned, Madam Pomfrey set several glass phials down on the table beside Draco's bed and began pouring ingredients into them.

"I don't understand," said Sirius. "There's nothing we can do for him. He's dead."

Dumbledore looked up. "No," he said, "he is not dead."

The entire present party - excluding Madam Pomfrey who was busy crushing moonstone into a vial - stared at Dumbledore in bewildered confusion.

"What do you mean he's not dead?" Sirius asked, voicing everyone's thoughts. "He was hit by the Killing Curse. There's no chance he could be alive."

"No," Dumbledore replied, "he is not alive. But neither is he dead." Dumbledore's remark was met by more stunned silence. For the first time since Draco had been hit by Voldemort's spell, Hermione looked alert and aware of her surroundings. "I should tell you, perhaps," Dumbledore continued, "that in my time I have seen one other person in the state that Draco is in. Sirius, too, has seen one." Sirius clearly wasn't following Dumbledore, and looked as baffled as ever. By way of further explanation, Dumbledore turned and looked at Harry. Sirius followed his eyes.

"Harry," Dumbledore explained, "survived the Killing Curse as an infant and he, too, was rendered into this state of consciousness afterwards. It is no easy feat, recovering from an Unforgivable Curse, especially one inflicted by a wizard as powerful as Voldemort. The body shuts down, as does the mind, most likely from shock. But Harry woke shortly afterwards and I am confident that Draco will do the same."

Harry goggled at Dumbledore. "Malfoy survived the Killing Curse?"

"Yes," Dumbledore replied simply. "He will live."

"But...how?" Sirius asked.

"That," said Dumbledore, "is a complicated question and one that I hope to address soon. But, for now, I require a word with Harry." Dumbledore turned towards him. "In my office if possible." Harry nodded in reply. "Poppy...you have everything you need?"

"Yes, Headmaster," Madam Pomfrey replied. "The potion should be ready in a few minutes."

"Very well then," said Dumbledore. "The others may remain here if they wish. Also, I would like to be notified as soon as Draco awakes."

"Of course, Headmaster."

With that, Dumbledore turned and started towards the door. "Come, Harry," he said. Harry looked briefly back at Draco's lifeless form and the others standing around him, then followed Dumbledore out of the room.

* * *

Dumbledore's office had, as it always did, a calming effect on Harry. It was usually here that he found himself at the end of whatever harrowing ordeal he had been through and it was here that he felt truly safe. Dumbledore directed Harry to a chair and then lit a fire in the grate. Merry red-orange flames sprang instantly into existence, bathing the room in a soft, autumn-coloured glow. Harry relaxed further as the warmth seeped into his skin.

"I imagine you have many questions, Harry," said Dumbledore, sitting down behind his desk, his bright blue eyes trained on Harry. "I will, of course, do my best to answer them, though I fear the answers themselves may raise yet more questions."

Harry kept silent as Dumbledore looked briefly at the fire before turning back to him. "To explain why Draco was able to survive Voldemort's curse," he began, "I must first explain why you were able to survive it, for the reasons are similar. I wonder, Harry," Dumbledore continued, "how much you know of the history of the Founders."

Harry blinked, caught somewhat off guard by the seemingly incongruous reference. He wasn't sure what the Founders had to do with Draco cheating death, but he knew Dumbledore well enough to know that he wouldn't digress. "I...know some," he replied hesitantly. It was true, they had been taught about the Founders quite frequently in History of Magic, but how much of it Harry had listened to he wasn't sure. Professor Binns had the unique ability to make even a full-scale magical war sound as dull as one of Filch's recitations of the Hogwarts school rules (all two thousand, six hundred and eighty nine of them) which the caretaker occasionally subjected an unlucky student to, until they inevitably fell asleep.

"What do you know?" Dumbledore asked in an encouragingly curious tone.

Harry hesitated. "I...know that the Founders were powerful witches and wizards."

"Very powerful witches and wizards," Dumbledore clarified. "You must understand, Harry, that they were far more powerful than any witch or wizard alive today. The Founders had access to magicks that we cannot even begin to comprehend. Many of them are lost to us today, but we do have records of some. For instance," he continued, "Helga, in particular, was famous for her Healing and Protection spells. Many witches and wizards have tried to replicate her spells, though the records we have of them are sparse. The only thing we can know with certainty is that they existed and that they were extremely effective." Dumbledore paused and tented his fingers beneath his nose. "What else do you know of the Founders, Harry?"

Harry cast his mind about. "I know that they fought a war...with Slytherin."

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, a very brutal war. The number of people killed at the hands of Slytherin rivals that of Voldemort. He was relentless in his conquests and the wizarding world could do little against his advancements. Only the other Founders were ever able to stand against him, though even they found it difficult to fight him. His ambitions were grand and there was one thing he desired above all else. Do you know what that was, Harry?"

"Immortality," Harry replied simply.

Dumbledore nodded again. "The greatest Dark Wizards have always sought eternal life, though none have ever achieved it wholly. The mysteries of immortality are not easily revealed, but there is always the possibility that they will one day be uncovered and should that day be the day of Salazar Slytherin, or Voldemort, there will be grave consequences indeed for the entire world. The Founders saw this and determined to prevent Slytherin from ever attaining his goal.

"The first thing they did," Dumbledore went on, "was to Protect themselves, for, as I said, only they could ever stand against the might of Slytherin. And so Helga, with the aid of Rowena and Godric, was able to devise Protection spells for each of them, to guard against Slytherin's many curses and dark magicks. These spells were, and are, extremely difficult to perform; not dangerous, but highly complex. You may ask why they were not cast upon whole armies, to Protect them against their enemies. The reason is that the spells themselves - as well as being difficult to perform - are highly specific, often only guarding against a single, designated witch or wizard. To Protect an entire army would drain the energy of the caster to a lethal extent. So the Founders Protected themselves instead.

"The spells, though, were not intended to affect their recipients alone, but rather their blood. They were devised so that the Protection would be inherited, passed down the generations to their heirs and descendents. Eventually, the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw lines died out - there are no living descendents today. Both the Gryffindor and Slytherin lines, however, have survived to the present day. You know, of course, that Voldemort is Salazar Slytherin's heir, but the Gryffindor heir, Harry, you are not aware of." Dumbledore stood up from his chair and took something down from the shelf behind his desk. "I wonder, Harry, if you remember this."

He did. It was the sword he had pulled out of the Sorting Hat during his second year, inside the Chamber of Secrets. The last time he had seen it its blade had been darkened with the blood of the Basilisk he had used it to kill; now, however, its blade glinted in the firelight.

"The sword of Gryffindor," Dumbledore said, holding the blade up to admire it. "It was forged and enchanted by Godric himself. He wielded it in battle many times and spilled much blood by its edge. Upon his death, it was passed down to his eldest son, who in turn passed it to his heir, and he to his, and so forth, down the many generations of Gryffindors, until, at one point, the sword was lost." Dumbledore laid the sword down on his desk and resumed his seat. "The common belief was," he continued, "that it had been hidden, by its Gryffindor owner, for some reason that remains unknown. For centuries, witches and wizards searched the globe for it, some for profit and others for glory. It was never found, however...until, that is, you pulled it out of the Sorting Hat." Dumbledore's eyes rested significantly on Harry. "There is a reason, Harry," he said, "why you were able to find the sword, and retrieve it, when no one else could; the same reason why you were able to survive Voldemort's curse as a child. Do you know what that might be?"

Harry shook his head, leaning forward in his chair.

"You are the heir of Gryffindor, Harry," said Dumbledore. "You are descended in a direct line, on your father's side, from Godric Gryffindor. By the actions of the Founders, you inherited their Protection, which shielded you against the Avada Kedavra curse and allowed you to reclaim the sword."

Harry stared, wide-eyed, at Dumbledore. He was lost for words. His mind was struggling to make sense of Dumbledore's explanation. He realised though, that it was sound. It explained why he had pulled Godric's sword out of the Sorting Hat and why he had not been killed by Voldemort's curse. It was a lot to digest but it certainly seemed logical.

"I'm related to Godric Gryffindor?" Harry asked. "And I'm Protected by the spell the Founders did?" Dumbledore nodded. "But...I thought there was no protection against Avada Kedavra?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Not today," Dumbledore replied, "but it was not always so. The Founders alone were able to defend against the Killing Curse, though as I said, the knowledge is lost to us."

"Are you saying I'm not affected by Avada Kedavra?" Harry asked in awe.

"No," Dumbledore replied sternly. "You are not immune to the curse. If you are struck with it again, you will die. It is impossible to know whether it was the original intention of the spell to provide such limited Protection, or whether the dilution of the bloodlines has caused its diminishment, but I have little doubt that it has now worn off. The reasoning behind my suspicion is no doubt related to your next question."

"Why didn't my dad survive?" Harry asked faintly, wondering how Dumbledore had known.

"Yes," said Dumbledore, nodding gravely. "I spent many months, following your parents' death, contemplating the point until I discovered the answer. I will explain it to you, though first it is necessary to answer a further question; your original question."

"Why Malfoy survived..."

Dumbledore nodded. "There is a convoluted line of reasoning that connects all of these points; I will do my best to explain it simply." Dumbledore looked once more at the flames dancing in the grate, before beginning his explanation. "If Draco were to trace his family line back several generations," he said, "he would find that, at one point, the Malfoys shared a common ancestor with the Riddle family."

Harry's eyes grew wide once more. "Malfoy's related to Voldemort?"

"Distantly, yes."

"Er...how distantly?"

"The Malfoy and Riddle lines separated many generations ago," Dumbledore replied. "Both, however, can be traced back to Salazar Slytherin." Harry saw the connection and was racked by even more astonishment. "Slytherin fathered many children to many different women, and as a result his lineage branched off several times. Only two of the lines have survived to the present day: the Malfoys and the Riddles. There is little Slytherin blood left in the Malfoy line, however, and Voldemort is Salazar's true heir."

"Does Malfoy know this?" Harry asked curiously.

"I suspect not," replied Dumbledore. "Lucius is in possession of this knowledge, as is Voldemort, though I doubt they have yet revealed it to Draco."

Harry frowned. "But...I don't understand. Why would Malfoy survive the curse if he's Slytherin's descendent?"

"A valid question," Dumbledore replied, "and one that leads me back to my original mention of Slytherin's aspirations. There are no records in existence that detail the process required to gain immortality, though there is one aspect of it that learned witches and wizards have long since agreed upon, and that is the sacrifice of one's child." Dumbledore paused at the sombre look on Harry's face. "We each possess within us the potential for eternal life, Harry," he went on. "Our children," he added by way of explanation. "Through them we are able to pass along our blood so that we may live, in some from or another, forever. That is the purpose of life itself. And so we know that the sacrifice of a child is required to balance the acquisition of prolonged life in the parent. You may see, now, why Slytherin fathered so many children."

Harry saw in his mind's eye a hundred faceless people; men and women created for no other reason than to give their father eternal life. He shivered with the idea, despite the warmth provided by the crackling flames.

"Whatever the process for immortality may be," Dumbledore went on, "it is both lengthy and complicated. Slytherin had no shortage of sacrifices at his disposal, but even so, he would not have found it easy to attain his goal. He was determined though and the Founders saw the danger in letting him proceed with his efforts. They therefore decided to cast upon Slytherin's own children, their Protection spells. As a result, Voldemort, Lucius and Draco are now in possession of this Protection, or were at some point."

"So that's how Malfoy survived?" Harry asked.

"Yes."

"But...what does that have to do with what happened to my dad?"

"It is Voldemort's Protection that we are concerned with," said Dumbledore. "It took me many months and many long nights to realise what had happened. In the end, it was a simple, logical explanation." Harry looked back in confusion. It didn't seem simple or logical to him. "When Voldemort cursed your father," Dumbledore explained, "the curse would have - I am sure - rebounded and struck Voldemort instead. The same happened to you, only Voldemort's Protection had been negated at that time. After the curse rebounded off your father, it would have struck Voldemort, whose own Protection would have rebounded the curse again, which would have then struck your father."

Harry saw it all like a sadistic game of tennis; the Avada Kedavra curse bouncing back and forth between Voldemort and his father, killing the latter simply because Voldemort had been the one to initiate the curse. Harry was suddenly filled with a raging sense of injustice. He pacified himself as Dumbledore continued to speak.

"This is the reasoning," he said, "that led me to the conclusion that the Protection spell provides only a limited defence against the Avada Kedavra curse. It is likely it still influences your ability to combat less severe curses, however - I have seen you resist the Imperius curse with my own eyes."

Harry was still confused. "But...Voldemort survived the curse that backfired on me...so his Protection would still have been intact."

"No," Dumbledore replied. "It was because of what happened to him after cursing you that led me to see what had happened with your father. Voldemort must have already expended his Protection or he would not have suffered such a grave fate. You may know already of the steps that he took towards immortality, during the height of his power. It was not total, but it was enough to prevent him from being killed even after he had lost his Protection. It was less effective, however, and so he was reduced to a shadow of his former self."

But not anymore, Harry thought, feeling as though the words had gone unspoken between them. He stared down at his hands, attempting to turn over the weight of information in his mind.

"You are tired," Dumbledore said. "You need to rest, Harry - you have been through an ordeal tonight, both mentally and physically. I suggest you get some sleep."

"What about Malfoy?" Harry asked.

"He will be fine," Dumbledore replied. "He will take some time to wake, but the potion Madam Pomfrey brewed for him should hasten his recovery. I think it is more difficult to awake from the curse at his age, than it was for you as a child. The body is used to itself by then and it takes time to reawaken itself. It should not be more than a few days, I would think." Dumbledore lowered his head, peering thoughtfully at Harry over his glasses. "There is much anger between young Draco and yourself," he observed. "You are not so different to one another, though. The shadow of Voldemort hangs over you both, though I think Draco will find the burden far heavier." Harry began to wonder at Dumbledore's cryptic remarks, and was about to question him when he stood to replace the sword on the shelf. "Good night, Harry," he said, turning back around and smiling warmly.

Harry stood up. "Good night, Professor." He walked to the doors and left the office, descended the moving staircase, climbed out of the door behind the statue of the gargoyle and then headed off towards his dormitory, as the rest of the castle woke around him.

* * *

"It's late," Ron said gently, looking at Hermione. "Or...early. We should go to bed."

Hermione nodded absently in reply. She was staring down at Draco, her fingernails digging painfully into her palms. The terrible gutted feeling of shock she'd felt a few hours ago had now been replaced with a tense, coiled sort of anxiety. Dumbledore had told her that he was alive, and Madam Pomfrey had assured her that he would wake soon, but even so...she was worried about him. His face was blank and empty; Sirius had mercifully closed his eyes so that he was no longer staring eerily up at the ceiling. Hermione nodded absently again. "Okay," she said. Madam Pomfrey had already retired to her office, after giving Draco his potion and Sirius had left a while ago to find Lupin. Only Hermione, Ron and Ginny were left standing around Draco's bed. Hermione stood and, after a last look at Draco, followed the other two from the room.

* * *

Harry didn't attend his classes the next day; neither did Ron, Hermione or Ginny. They were all incredibly tired, and spent most of the day in the common room, sitting together amidst a tense silence.

The following day they were all back in class. It was surprising how little they had missed. Harry had to remind himself that the entire affair with Voldemort and Draco's father had transpired in only a few short hours. Whenever Harry had a chance, he checked in on Draco in the Hospital Wing. He invariably found Hermione there, sitting beside Draco's bed with a sullen look, her leaden eyes staring fixedly at him. She would barely look up when Harry entered and the smiles she gave by way of greeting never reached her eyes.

The days turned into weeks and still Draco hadn't woken. The terrifying thought occurred to Harry that perhaps Dumbledore had been wrong and Draco was really dead. He didn't like to doubt the headmaster, and it seemed pointless to do so, but as the first week became the second and then the third, it seemed as though Draco might never wake.

So it was with a restrained curiosity that Harry approached Lupin's desk one afternoon, after he had been asked to remain behind after class. Lupin waited until the last student had filed out of the classroom before he spoke. "Draco's awake," he said simply.

Harry felt a tide of relief inside his chest. "Is he okay?" he asked.

"He's fine," Lupin replied. "He woke up about an hour ago, but I thought it best not to cause a stir amongst the other students. The Slytherins have been asking questions, of course, but Dumbledore has asked Madam Pomfrey to prevent them from seeing him for the time being. You can see him if you wish, though."

"Thanks," Harry said, and turned to leave. He briefly considered telling Hermione that Draco had woken up, but thought it best that the other boy had some time to recover before being inundated with visitors; so Harry made his way solo to the Hospital Wing, where he could hear raised voices coming from within.

"Quiet down, Mr. Malfoy," said Madam Pomfrey, sounding harassed.

"I will not quiet down," came Draco's indignant voice. "Look at these pyjamas! They've got polka dots on them. I look like a bad Christmas decoration!"

"Nonsense," Madam Pomfrey replied. "I think you look very smart."

He's awake all right, though Harry. He hesitated briefly and then pushed the door open and walked inside. Draco turned instantly at the sound, his face turning impassive. "Potter," he said, his tone still harbouring a hint of resentment.

"Hi," Harry replied awkwardly, coming to stand beside Draco's bed. The other boy sat up straight and folded his arms across his chest.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I came to see how you were doing," Harry replied.

"I'm touched," Draco drawled. "I bet you're pretty disappointed that I didn't cark it."

"No," said Harry. "I didn't want you to die, contrary to what you might think. None of us did."

"Right," Draco snorted, "I forgot - you're Gryffindors."

Harry looked irritably at Draco. "You don't exactly make it easy to feel sorry for you, you know."

"And why," Draco said haughtily, "would I want your pity?"

"I'm not offering you my pity, Malfoy," Harry snapped in reply. "But you might consider thinking about someone else for two seconds."

"Like who?"

"Like Hermione." Draco turned away and folded his arms more tightly. His jaw was set stubbornly. "She's worried about you, you know," Harry told him.

"I'm sure she is," Draco replied sarcastically.

"I'm serious," said Harry. "She's been in here every morning and every night waiting for you to wake up."

Draco turned back to Harry, looking dubious. "Why would she do that?" he asked.

"I don't know," Harry replied. "For some reason she seems to actually care about you. I wouldn't throw that away if I were you."

"Well, you're not me, are you?" Draco retorted hotly.

Harry fell silent as he let Draco's anger abate. He wasn't sure what he had expected to hear from him - an expression of gratitude? an offer of truce? - but he had thought that death would have at least blunted his sarcastic attitude. Clearly, nothing had changed.

"You helped us, Malfoy," Harry said, realising it was what he had come here for. "We wouldn't have found Hermione or Sirius if it weren't for you. I won't forget that."

Draco glared back stolidly. "I thought you didn't trust me?"

"Well, dying does add a certain credibility to your words," said Harry. "So...thanks."

Draco continued to glare. Harry let the silence between them stretch out a moment too long. "If you're expecting a thank you, Potter," Draco said fervently, "you can just turn around and walk out that door right now.

"Right," said Harry with a weak smile. "I think I will." He got to his feet and turned back to Draco before he left. "Don't take your anger out on Hermione," he said. "She doesn't deserve that. You should talk to her." Draco made no move to reply. Harry nodded to himself and walked towards the door. He stopped, with his hand on the doorknob, as Draco spoke behind him.

"Hey, Potter." Harry turned around, and saw the intensity of Draco's glare had diminished somewhat. "Th--"

"Don't mention it," Harry interjected with a smile. Draco looked back and then smirked, which Harry supposed was as close to a smile as he was going to get. He opened the door and left the room, still smiling to himself.

* * *

After Harry had left, Draco spent another agonising hour of boredom in the drab Hospital Wing, mentally citing all the flaws he could find with the décor. Painting's crooked, window's dirty, mirror's upside-down. But by far the worst was his red-spotted pyjamas, which he couldn't stand to even look at. He only hoped his hair was tidy.

At the end of the hour, the door opened and Dumbledore walked inside. Draco had anticipated the headmaster's visit but he had thought that he would be the one providing the answers to Dumbledore's questions. As it turned out, Dumbledore had a lot more to tell Draco than Draco had to tell him. He seemed quite informed about recent events, as well as many not-so-recent events. After his lengthy explanation, in which the words Founders, Slytherin, Protection spell and Voldemort featured prominently, Draco was left goggling at Dumbledore.

"I survived Avada Kedavra?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes," said Dumbledore, nodding.

"But, then...does that mean..." he trailed off and lifted his shirt to inspect his chest. The cuts inflicted by the spiky-faced demon had been mended and were no longer visible; but there, down on the left side of his torso, paler than the surrounding skin, was a scar in the shape of a lightning bolt.

"Bugger," said Draco.

* * *

Hermione was both anxious and unwilling to see Draco, but she knew she had to. After Harry had told her, as she was about to head down to dinner, that Draco was awake, Hermione had walked apprehensively to the Hospital Wing, the door of which she now stood in front of. She looked at it and wondered what Draco was doing on the other side. Would he be asleep - in which case Hermione could leave and put her visit off for another few days? Or would he be awake? And if he was, would he be thankful that she had come to see him or upset with her for the very same reason? Hermione realised it was a fruitless endeavour to try to predict Draco Malfoy's mood. Of all people she should know how easy it was for him to change his emotions at a moment's whim. With a deep breath, Hermione pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The torches had been lit already and the room was bathed in their soft amber glow. The sterile white surfaces of the walls, floors, beds and curtains contrasted sharply with the shadows in the corners, and with the blonde-headed boy sitting on one of the beds, staring back at Hermione with an expression that appeared to be both empty and weighted with significance. His eyes followed her as she approached his bed tentatively.

"Draco..." she said softly.

He turned his face away to stare at the wall. Hermione's heart fell, though she continued to look at him. "I'm glad you're okay," she said in a small voice. Draco's gaze fell on her again and it took a great deal of effort not to recoil from it. Hermione took another breath and another step forward. She put a hand on the bed, a foot away from Draco's leg and said, "I'm sorry."

His eyes seemed to grow darker. "I'm supposed to be the one who's sorry, Granger," he said evenly.

"Well...are you?" Hermione asked timidly.

"Would it make a difference?" asked Draco. "I know how much luck I had the last time I tried to apologise to you."

"I was hurt," Hermione said defensively. "I wasn't ready to talk to you."

"But now you are," Draco said dryly, "and I'm supposed to talk to you?"

"Not if you don't want to," Hermione replied.

Draco sighed, a heavy, weary sigh. He looked healthy enough now; no marks or cuts or bruises to speak of. But in his eyes, Hermione could see the remnants of what he'd been through and she wondered how much of that pain was because of her.

"Do you want me to leave?" she asked after a long stretch of silence.

"No," Draco said simply.

Hermione felt relief flush through her body and was surprised to feel it. She hadn't realised how tightly wound her nerves were, how vivid the sensation that she was walking on a thin rope was. She knew from bitter experience how easily Draco could explode and cut her with his words, and in the state she was in she didn't think she could handle that. So she treaded carefully and hoped for the best.

"You're leg's better?" Hermione asked to break the silence.

Draco nodded and looked up with a pained expression. "Look, Hermione--"

"Don't," she interrupted quickly. "Not now. I just...I can't do this now." Draco looked dejected. "Things are not okay between us," she continued. "I can forgive you for what you did to me - and I do - but I can't forget it as easily."

"So you don't trust me?" Draco asked. He made it hard to answer his questions, Hermione thought. Even lying in a hospital bed wearing a ridiculous pair of pyjamas he had the same commanding presence. His eyes were as sharp and piercing as ever and she didn't think she could lie to them even if she'd wanted to.

"You died for me, Draco," she said, making sure he noted the use of his first name. "I trust you."

A smile trembled momentarily on Draco's face as he looked down at his hands. It was gone in the blink of an eye. "I guess that's something then," he said.

Hermione felt the glimmer of hope inside her own chest. She wanted desperately to believe that everything she had seen in Draco during their time together had been real and not a product of his father's deceitful plan. There was goodness in him, she knew it. Whether he knew it, though, she wasn't sure. Again, she was forced to break the awkward silence.

"Do you know when you'll be out of here?" she asked.

"In a few days, I think," Draco replied. "Madam Pomfrey said I'd be out before the Quidditch Final."

"Oh, right." Hermione had almost forgotten about Quidditch and exams and school holidays. In the span of one night they had encountered the Dark Lord himself, foiled another of his plots to kill Harry and watched Draco die - things like Quidditch and school work just didn't seem that important now. But it would be good, for all of them, to have something to take their minds off what they'd been through.

"Will they let you play?" she asked.

Draco smiled and it was the first time she'd ever seen him do so, not smirk or grin or sneer but really smile. There was an edge to it though. "You think I'd throw away a chance to knock Potter off his broom?" he said.

Hermione sighed but couldn't help smiling. "I suppose it would be too much to ask for the two of you to get along, even with you dying and all."

"Some things never change, Granger," Draco replied, smiling more broadly.

Hermione smiled back and felt the weight that had settled inside her chest over the past few weeks finally flutter away. She still felt as though she was treading on ice, but Draco's smile, rare as they were, encouraged her. She decided not to push it though. "It's getting late," she said at length.

Draco looked up at the clock on the wall. "I guess it is." He looked down at her again, his face impassive one more.

"I can come and see you tomorrow if you like," Hermione said tentatively.

"I'd like that," Draco replied, to Hermione's delight.

"Okay. Goodnight," she said, and walked to the door. She remembered something though and turned back to Draco. "Draco?"

"Mmm?" he mumbled, looking up.

"Can you do me a favour?"

"What?"

"The Quidditch Final," she said, "when you play...don't think about beating Harry or winning - just think about getting the Snitch."

Draco looked at her curiously and Hermione took his silence as a sign that he would at least consider her words. "Goodnight," she said again, and left the Hospital Wing.

* * *

While Draco waited out the rest of his recovery in the Hospital Wing, safe in the knowledge that he was exempt from end of year exams, the others had no such luxury; so they found themselves, at Hermione's behest, frequenting the library during the day, struggling to cram all they knew about Accelerating Charms and Surface Transfiguration and Navitaserum Potions into their already crowded heads.

Harry decided that one of these regular study sessions might be the best time to inform the others of what Dumbledore had told him. His explanation was longer and less elegant than the headmaster's had been, but in the end it had the same effect.

"Malfoy's related to Voldemort and Salazar Slytherin?" Ron asked incredulously once Harry had finished speaking. "No wonder he's so evil."

"He's not evil, Ron," Hermione said defensively.

"Please, Hermione," Ron replied. "He wears polka dot pyjamas...he's evil."

"They're not his," Hermione protested on Draco's behalf. "And anyway," she added with her chin raised haughtily, "he's got his own pyjamas now and they're silk and I think he looks very..."

"All right, all right," Ron interrupted her. "Some of us have no desire to see our lunch again."

Both Hermione and Ginny giggled and even Harry shook with laughter. Hermione only wished Draco was here. She had tried to convince the others to go and see him with her but everyone's schedules seemed to conflict and Ron certainly was adamant that Draco stood a better chance of recovery if he didn't visit him. Hermione hadn't accepted that excuse though and so she'd dragged Ron into a particularly laconic meeting with Draco, during which they had both done little more than hone their glaring skills. And Ginny had been so unwilling to see him that she had literally dug her heels into the ground outside the Hospital Wing and plain refused to go inside. In the end Hermione had given up and decided that maybe it was best that she not see Draco too often herself. She had meant what she'd said, about not being able to forget how he'd betrayed her. She only hoped that changed in time.

"So you're a Gryffindor?" Ron asked Harry in awe.

"Descendent," Harry clarified.

"Does that mean you own part of this school?" Ron asked.

"I don't think so, Ron," Harry replied with a smile.

"But you could, say, fire Snape if you wanted to?"

Harry laughed. "And spend the rest of my life sniffing my food? No, thanks."

The pleasant palaver continued amongst them for quite a while, so that the amount of study they did was kept to a minimum, though even Hermione didn't mind. She spent a good deal of time thinking of Draco and whether he could ever sit down with them like this and chat good-naturedly. She found it hard to imagine though, and she usually couldn't get past Ron and Draco simultaneously hexing each other over whose leg had crossed over to whose side. Still, it was nice to dream. She looked contentedly out of the window, where the bleak winter weather belied her own serene mood.

* * *