Extended Summary: Draco Malfoy has a secret, a secret so important that he'd go to any lengths to protect it. And as he fights to keep it hidden, as Harry attempts to reconcile with his destiny and with the deaths of his friends and mentors, as Ron grapples with his jealousy toward the "Chosen One," as Hermione begins to wonder if her devotion to learning alone is more shackle than gift, and as Ginny bitterly tries to escape the control of her family, Voldemort and his Death Eaters close in. This is a story of drama and duty, sex and violence, death and passion, of people's innermost demons and loftiest dreams, and above all of the cosmic forces that connect it all together.

Author's Note: I've had the concept for this story for a very long time, and I was starting to sense my other HP Fanfic gravitating toward these ideas and themes, so I decided I might as well write it up. It's starting the summer before 6th year and (hopefully) go through the end of 7th. I'm aiming to incorporate a number of story lines, give attention to a whole cast of characters (although Harry and Draco will be the main characters) and topics from the book, and of course portray a number of different ships (There'll be various levels of D/Her, H/Her, R/Her, H/G, B/G, D/A...I'm not hinting as to what the final pairings will be though!) Any suggestions and comments are appreciated!

Disclaimers: This story is rated T for now, but it will very likely change to M in later chapters. And of course, the characters and world are all JK Rowling's.

Sirius is dead. The thought kept repeating itself in Harry's mind. It was the only thing he had been able to think of consistently since he'd returned to Privet Drive. He couldn't care less that Cornelius Fudge had been replaced as Minister of Magic by Rufus Scrimgeour or that the Prophet was printing dozens of public apologies and "Chosen One" articles each week or that either Ron or Hermione was writing to him nearly every other day. He hadn't even tried to come to terms with the prophecy Albus Dumbledore had told him. In fact, if it weren't for the fact that he had mentioned the letter in passing to Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia when it had arrived a week ago, he wouldn't have remembered that Dumbledore was coming this very evening to pick him up and take him to Grimmauld Place for the remainder of the summer.

As it were, Vernon had been griping about the arrival of "another magical freak" all day - going so far as to send Dudley to a friend's home for the long weekend - Petunia's face had remained frozen in an expression of silent, stoic disgust, and Harry had distractedly managed to pack his suitcase and send Hedwig ahead to Grimmauld. At the moment he was sitting on an armchair in the living room, his fingers continually fidgeting, and the thought still running through his mind: Sirius is dead.

"Damn good-for-nothing," Vernon mumbled. He'd be muttering under his breath the entire day in a stark contrast to Petunia's absolute silence. "Coming here, disrupting our household, bringing other dangerous maniacs to our door…" Looking for a reaction, he cast his eyes from the couch over to Harry. When, as had been the case all summer, the boy gave him nothing more than a blank and bored expression, he continued his complaints. "You know, I wouldn't be surprised if he wants something. These types of people always do. Why else is he personally com –"

Petunia shrieked as the doorbell suddenly rang and she shot her husband an expression that seemed to be approaching panic. For his part, Vernon clammed up as quickly as if someone had turned his mouth off with a switch, all overt desire to make his mind known gone. When the bell rang again and neither of them got up to answer, Harry rolled his eyes and walked to the door, wondering how they could possibly imagine this could be worse than the arrival of the Weasleys two summers ago. Vernon and Petunia followed a good distance behind him, holding each other closely, Petunia whimpering at regular intervals.

His poor mood notwithstanding, Harry almost laughed aloud when he looked through the peep hole and saw the deep blue of Dumbledore's eye staring straight back at him.

"Interested in Muggle architecture Professor?" Harry asked as he opened the door with a thin smile.

"I daresay, I have always been thoroughly impressed with those who live so fruitfully without the conveniences of magic. Those are lovely flowers." Harry didn't turn around, but he could imagine Uncle Vernon's face getting redder and redder at the sight of the thin old man with the flowing silver beard and hair and the long, purple, star and moon-covered robes standing on his porch talking about magic. It was bad enough to him that a man like Dumbledore was planning to enter his home, but the mere thought that others might see him would be intolerable.

Instead of entering the house immediately, however, and sparing the Dursleys the potential horror of having a neighbor note his presence, Dumbledore stood at the doorway twiddling his thumbs and smiling politely.

"W – would you like to come in Professor?" Harry inquired, after over half a minute had passed awkwardly.

"That would be wonderful Harry, but it would be awfully rude to enter a house into which I have not yet been invited." Dumbledore's expression was the quintessence of politesse, but Harry could tell by the twinkle in his eye that he was finding the all-too-uncomfortable situation amusing. His poor mood notwithstanding, even he couldn't completely suppress a smile.

"C – c - come in," Petunia finally said in a brisk, icy voice. They were the first words she had spoken that evening.

Dumbledore nodded, "My most sincere apologies for interrupting you at this late hour. I intended to arrive by seven this evening, but alas, I was detained."

"Detained by what?" Harry asked quickly.

Dumbledore seemed a little surprised at Harry's tone as he turned to face him, but he spoke with the same clean voice and polite demeanor as he had before. "A favor for the Ministry. They requested some assistance determining the clearance of a future employee. Considering our recent history I would have declined, but I am for better or worse a firm believer in giving people second – or third – chances."

Harry furrowed his brows in confusion, but before he could press further Uncle Vernon found his voice. "N – now you listen here," he began, drawing himself up to his full height. "None of this. M – mag – your thing and your M – Minis – your government…I won't have it in this house anymore I tell you! Jus – just take the boy and you don't bring him back you hear me!"

"My pleasure," Harry muttered under his breath as he grabbed his suitcase.

Dumbledore continued smiling politely, "Mr. Dursley, these dark times will be hard for everyone, wizard and Muggle alike, bu - "

"For everyone?," Vernon interrupted, ignoring his wife's whispered 'Vernon, no.' "Everyone? No, this – this is YOUR problem that – that YOU PEOPLE are pushing on OUR family."

"You think this isn't going to affect you whether I'm here or not?" Harry finally snapped. "Voldemort's not going to stop with wizards or even with ME. He wants t - "

Harry cut off his outburst with difficulty as Dumbledore placed a firm hand on his shoulder, but didn't interrupt.

"Mr. and Mrs. Dursley," Dumbledore began, in that low and calm voice of both knowing and authority that never failed to render most audiences silent and respectful. "I can only imagine what it is like to be caught in the middle of a war you neither understand nor, with all due respect, want to. I can reassure you that as long as Harry remains underage, neither Voldemort nor his followers can come near you."

By now, Petunia was holding on to her husband's hand so tightly the veins in her arms were bulging. Vernon looked as if he was seriously considering running from underneath Dumbledore's gaze and out of the room with his wife behind him, but the mere thought of leaving two wizards alone in his house must have stayed him.

"A – and whe – when he t –turns of age?" Vernon stammered.

Dumbledore smiled, "The Order will be here for you Mr. Dursley. After all, we too are, in some way, family."

Both Vernon and Petunia instantly looked offended, but before either could object Dumbledore smiled more widely, "Come Harry. If we delay any longer Ron and Hermione are going to think I'm the one trying to kidnap you."

Harry didn't laugh. He grabbed his suitcase and broomstick and nodded briskly toward his aunt and uncle. "I suppose I'll see you next summer," he muttered. They didn't reply, nor did Vernon shake Dumbledore's outreached hand. He didn't seem to mind, complimenting the layout of the living room one last time before following Harry into the yard.

"Ready to go Harry?" Dumbledore asked, leading him to a dark area between the bushes and garage.

He shrugged halfheartedly, "Not particularly Professor."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow quizzically, "I can't imagine you would prefer to stay with your aunt and uncle?"

"I'd prefer not to go to Grimmauld Place," Harry said more firmly.

Dumbledore looked at him closely. "I promised I would be more open with you Harry," he finally said. "I intend to keep that promise, but later tonight. Now. Take my arm."

Harry swallowed his frustration and grabbed Dumbledore's arm without a question. Suddenly, he felt his stomach drop, his body compressed inward, and his arm wrenched to the side. He shut his eyes tightly and when they were opened, he and Dumbledore were standing in the middle of Grimmauld Square. "Wow," he whispered.

"Side-along apparition," Dumbledore explained with a little amusement in voice. "An odd feeling for the first time. I suggest you eat lightly for the next few hours. Although I'm certain Molly will object rather bitterly to any refusals of food."

Harry stretched and shook his head quickly, trying to refocus and listen to Dumbledore as they walked toward the house. "The Order has added further protections," Dumbledore explained, "It's now impossible to apparate within five blocks of Grimmauld Place. Any Portkeys plotted within the same perimeter will be rerouted to the Ministry, as long as their security departments remain protected and un-infiltrated of course. And there are now Body-Binding and Tongue-Tying curses on the front door that specifically target our known Death Eaters. All that's left to take care of is Kreacher, and that you can do Harry."

"Me?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore paused with his hand on the doorknob and Harry once again felt those deep blue eyes x-ray through him. "Sirius left you everything," Dumbledore finally said. "That would include the house-elf."

Harry felt his throat tighten and a familiar knot form in his chest. Fortunately, he didn't have time to let it fester. He and Dumbledore had barely walked into the hallway before a loud female voice cried out, "Harry!"

Hermione ran down the hall and threw her arms around his neck. "Oh my God how are you?" she began quickly, "You've barely been replying to our letters. We were starting to get wo - "

"Damn Hermione," Ron laughed from the dining room door. "Slow down. You almost knocked over Professor Dumbledore."

Hermione's face flushed. "Oh! Professor, I'm so sor - "

Dumbledore raised his hand to stop her, "Nothing to worry about Miss Granger." He motioned for Harry to follow him into the dining room as Hermione went on.

"But really Harry you could have at least writtenback more than twice." She dropped her voice, "We thought that after everything with, you know, the prophecy and Si …"

Harry had no inclination to talk about Sirius at the moment. It must have read all over his face, because Hermione's voice trailed off and Ron quickly reached over to pat him on the shoulder. "Hey mate," he mumbled, "Good to see you."

"Harry." Molly put down the stack of plates she was carrying and walked over to give him a huge hug. "Oh Harry, you're so thin. What do those people feed you?"

"You can treat Harry's impending starvation in a few minutes Molly," Dumbledore said calmly, "Where is Kreacher?"

Molly sighed in frustration, "In that room of his, thank goodness. He made a special effort to be a nuisance today. Set off Walburga Black for hours." She shot a dark look in the direction of Mrs. Black's giant portrait. "Really Dumbledore, are you sure there's no way to get her removed?"

"I'll look further into it Molly," he promised. "Although for now we should continue to resign ourselves to sharing the house with Walburga." He turned toward Harry, "We all understand that you might not want to see Kreacher right now Harry, but considering his talent for finding loopholes in orders and his newfound…discovery of other family members, it would be best for the Order if he had very firm and limiting orders. As his master – and yes, Harry, you are his master now – you're the only one who can give him orders."

Harry didn't even try to keep the disgust off his face, "You want me to give him orders to stay put and not talk to anyone."

"I would actually suggest ordering him to work at Hogwarts."

"Merlin no," Ron muttered, ignoring Hermione's disapproving look. "He'll poison our food."

"Oh really Ron," Molly scolded as she walked out into the entryway and toward the set of stairs that led to the kitchen. "Kreacher!" she shouted. "Kreacher!" There was no reply, nor any sound of someone moving up the stairs. Molly reentered the room looking quite flustered, "Oh he won't come up. He never does until we don't want him."

The more they talked about Kreacher, the angrier Harry felt he was becoming. He pushed by Hermione and shouted out the door. "Kreacher come here!" he snapped loudly, "That's an order!"

"Really Harry," Hermione whispered disapprovingly.

He ignored her and continued standing at the door, "Kreacher."

They finally heard the house-elf grumbling up the steps. Without saying a word, he came to stand at the door and looked up at Harry with a look of disgust that rivaled his own.

"Kreacher," Harry began, trying to keep his anger under control. "I want you to go work at Hogwarts from now on. And don't leave the castle. In – in fact, don't go anywhere within the castle where you're not needed for work. And – and don't talk to the Malfoys or any of their friends or relatives or as a mater of fact to absolutely anyone in Slytherin. Actually, just – just don't talk to anyone there but –but the other-house elves and faculty members. And never talk about what you've seen or heard here. Is that clear?"

Kreacher didn't say anything at first, but after biting the inside of his mouth and swaying from side to side in apparent inner agony finally managed to spit out, "Certainly master." The last word sounded like vomit. A few seconds later, he had disappeared.

"That was little harsh Harry," Hermione objected. "He's barely going to be able to leave the kitchens."

"He deserves it," Harry spat.

"Amen to that," grumbled a brusque voice from the hallway. "Good to see you in one piece Harry," Moody said, shaking his hand firmly.

"Oh really Alastor," Molly rolled her eyes, "Stop being so grim."

"Not grim, vigilant. For all we know those Muggles could have put a price on his head."

Ron bit his lip to keep from laughing aloud and even Dumbledore smiled. "Please," he began, "before I leave Harry to your welcoming arms, I'd like to speak to him again…in private."

The amused looks that had grown on the faces of everyone but Moody fell, and Ron and Hermione looked anxiously after Harry as he followed Dumbledore up to the drawing room on the first floor. The latter sat at the writing desk and motioned for Harry to pull up a chair. He shook his head and stood standing.

"How are you Harry?" Dumbledore finally asked.

Harry shrugged again, "Fine."

Dumbledore looked at him over his spectacles, "Fine? Really Harry, if you're going to lie to me at the least be more creative."

"The closest person I ever had to a loving father is dead and it's my fault," Harry snapped angrily, "How do you think I feel…sir?"

Dumbledore ignored the tone and looked at him calmly. "It wasn't your fault Harry."

"If I hadn't go - "

"If," Dumbledore interrupted, "And if I had been open with you, or if another wizard had been fighting Bellatrix, or if your Occlumency lessons had gone better, or if Umbridge hadn't been at Hogwarts, or if Sirius had been less reckless, or if others who could have helped immeasurably had chosen to…There are innumerable 'ifs' Harry. In the end they mean very little."

Harry swallowed heavily, but didn't reply. He felt the sudden need to hold back tears.

"There are many things in this world worth living to fight for," Dumbledore continued, "and perhaps even more worth dying to defend. Sirius ran his life by that notion, no matter what may have happened to him. He'd want you to as well."

Dumbledore stopped to look at him, and Harry was silent for a minute. Then he sighed reluctantly. "I've barely thought about the pro…the prophecy."

Dumbledore nodded slowly, "Might I suggest that you tell Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger about it. What we admit aloud is often easiest to understand and to accept."

Harry nodded. He was relieved to hear Dumbledore give permission to share what he'd told; a part of him knew it would lessen the burden.

"The prophecy, however," Dumbledore continued with a heavy sigh, "is only the beginning."

"The beginning?" Harry said, frustration rising in his voice again. "You said you would tell me everything."

Dumbledore raised a hand, "About the prophecy. There is much more than that which I need to show and teach you Harry."

He nodded, "Thank you Professor."

"We'll start, weekly, when I return."

Harry's mouth fell open, "When you return?"

"Calm," Dumbledore raised his hand again. "I understand why you're angry Harry, but this time you really do have no reason to want to attack me. In fact what I…what I must do will directly inform what I must teach you. It will be a weekend, likely a week at most."

Harry almost objected, but the finality in Dumbledore's voice was absolute. He nodded again and let him continue.

"In the meantime, there'll be enough to keep you occupied." He cleared his throat and reached for a stack of letters on the desk, "Many young wizards, Harry, spend the some of their summer following OWLs in a practical work environment, an internship of sorts."

"I guess there must have been a brochure about that last spring," Harry replied slowly. "I – I have to admit I wasn't really focused."

Dumbledore smiled, "I know. So Professor McGonagall said." He ignored Harry's blush and handed him the envelopes, "Your OWL results. Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger's as well. You should be proud Harry; they are quite impressive. Impressive enough for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to invite you to work with them this summer."

Harry's mouth fell open again, this time in shock and confusion instead of anger. "W – what?" he stammered.

"The Auror, Arctor, and Law Enforcement Summer Internship is among the most prestigious of opportunities that the Ministry offers for student wizards."

"I – I want no – I want nothing to do with the Ministry," Harry insisted. "Especially after last year."

Dumbledore nodded calmly, "Understandable of course. But the Ministry is changing. Rufus Scrimgeour is a dedicated man. He won't take Voldemort lightly. And it's an excellent opportunity if you want to be an Auror. For one summer you will undergo the Auror training regiment, the Auror procedures, the Auror paperwork…You'll see what the Ministry knows about Death Eaters, what they can and can't handle, and what they are willing to do." He smiled, "Life must go on Harry. We should remember that. Voldemort would like to disrupt every aspect of our existence. We mustn't let him."

Harry opened his mouth to object again, but Dumbledore sighed and clapped his hands together. "Now Harry, if I keep you here much longer Molly might go into a panic. I imagine you want to sit and catch up with your friends no?"

It was an obvious indication that he was being dismissed and Dumbledore's eyes were looking at him over his spectacles as if he were daring Harry to argue. In the end, he merely smiled again. "Thanks Professor."

"I'll see you soon Harry. We have much to do."

Harry nodded and left the room. As he walked back downstairs, he looked at the envelopes in his hand for the first time. It was almost funny; after everything that had happened, he'd almost forgotten that he'd taken exams that under normal circumstances would play a huge part in the future course of his education and occupation. He almost felt a little nervous. But then Dumbledore had said they were strong scores…

"Harry!" A friendly voice shouted from the dining room table. A pink-haired Tonks waved at him from the table. She seemed skinnier and more drawn than before, but Harry barely had time to notice the changes before Lupin walked over and hugged him tightly. "Good to see Harry. Hope you're alright."

He nodded quickly and smiled. By the time he'd been greeted by Kingsley, Fred and George, and a reluctant Mundungus Fletcher – and had his skinniness reexamined by Mrs. Weasley again – he'd almost forgotten about the letters in his hand.

"What are those?" Hermione asked when he sat down next to her.

"Oh," Harry exclaimed. "Our OWL scores."

"WHAT?" For the second time that evening, Hermione almost knocked him over. "Merlin Harry why didn't you tell us? I suppose Dumbledore gave them to you. I've been wondering why they hadn't come yet. I knew they'd been released. Both Neville and Seamus mentioned them in their letters."

"She's been panicking," Ron muttered form Harry's other side. "Thought her scores must have been so low that Dumbledore was considering kicking her out."

"Oh don't be ridiculous Ron. I haven't been panicking. I'm only sure my Ancient Runes grade is abysmal. The Irish druid passage…I swear classical literature is easy but the druids have gotten me every time. And then there was the Transfiguration exam, I'm sure I - "

"Hermione if you don't shut up and open your envelope - " Ron rolled his eyes.

"You'll do what little brother?" Fred interrupted.

"Yeah that sounded like a threat there. You should be afraid 'Mione." George gave his brother a high-five as Ron rolled his eyes and looked over his marks.

"Not bad," he sighed. "Seven OWLs. No Outstanding's and I failed Divination and History of Magic, but I mean, who didn't right?"

Molly grabbed the paper from his hands and nodded slowly, "Good job Ronald. Although really, History of Magic." Despite the slight scolding, the pride – and relief – in her voice were obvious. She gave him a hug as she handed back the letter.

"Same here, seven" Harry said, as he looked at his marks.

Ron leaned over, "An Outstanding in Defense Against the Dark Arts, nice. And I mean, well-deserved of course."

Harry's stomach had fallen somewhat, "Not good enough to meet Snape's expectations for Potions though."

Ron shrugged, "Who cares? We're finally rid of the git."

"You need Potions to be considered for an Auror job though," Harry pointed out.

"Please. The Ministry gave you that Internship anyway right? And Hermione just go ahead an open your damn letter."

As the others were talking, Hermione had been staring intensely at the front of her sealed envelope.

"Your marks aren't hidden in the cursive letters of your name Hermione," Fred pointed out.

George laughed, "Much too clever for the Ministry."

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Oh really guys. And stop staring at me." Taking a deep breath, she quickly ripped the envelope open. Her eyes scanned the letter, and after a few moments she let out a sigh of relief, "Eleven."

"All Outstanding's I assume," Ron said drily.

"NO," Hermione protested. "I got an E in Defense Against the Dark Arts."

George gasped, "AN E! Oh Merlin…"

"Hermione your future's over."

"Yeah you've dropped below Percy's scores now."

"That's low dear…"

"They're going to rescind your internship when they find out."

Fred caught a glimpse of the twitch on Mrs. Weasley's face at the mention of Percy's name and didn't reply to his brother.

Harry noticed it too, quickly turning to Hermione and asking, "You have an internship too?"

She nodded, "The Carmenta Children's Organization. It's a social group. It advocates for facilitates that work with children. Fundraising, promotion…the like."

"There aren't any house-elf organizations," Ron supplied, obviously finding Hermione's penchant for social work a little amusing and not noticing her offended expression. "I'm at St. Mungo's," he offered.

"I – I didn't even know these types of internships even existed." Harry smiled as Molly filled his plate with a large piece of cheese soufflé.

Tonks laughed, "Not everyone does them. I skipped mine. Spent the summer playing music, working out, and getting into trouble with friends."

"We didn't do them either," Fred pointed out.

"Nope," George shook his head. "Told mum we'd work to get our grades up. Catch up with everything for our NEWTs."

"Which of course you didn't do," Molly interjected.

"Of course not," Fred said proudly.

"Spent the year working on inventions."

"Paid off too. Business is booming."

Harry bit his lip to keep from laughing at the mixed expression of disapproval and pride on Molly Weasley's face.

"Still," Hermione insisted, "Plenty of people do internships."

"Yeah," Fred agreed. "P – Percy, Bill, Charlie…You see what side of the family you've grouped into Ron."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Thanks. The family's really has been so supportive. Ginny's extremely amused. She says I have no natural capacity for healing."

"Don't know where she'd have gotten that," George muttered to Harry and Hermione's amusement.

"Where is Ginny anyway?" Harry asked.

"She's staying with Auntie Muriel until the end of next week," Ron supplied. "She wrote to us at the beginning of the summer, begging for a relative to visit."

"Of course she did," Molly said. "Poor woman, living all by herself in times like these. But then she doesn't want to leave her house either, so what else could we do?"

"I kind of envy Ginny," Ron muttered quietly. "She got to get out of the house. It's downright oppressive here sometimes. Not surprise Sirius was going ma…"

His voice drifted off as he realized what he was saying and noticed Hermione's dark look.

"Of course that's partially why the Order got internships," Hermione provided quickly.

"Yeah they thought we should have a break from this all," Ron pointed out.

"A bit of normalcy."

Harry gave a forced smile at his friends' attempt to overlook the reference of Sirius' name, "It's alright guys. I'm fine."

Dumbledore stared at the back of the heavy oak door long after Harry had swung it closed behind him. The twinkle was gone from his eyes. He sighed heavily and began shifting through the papers that were stacked neatly on the side of the desk. Halfway through the column of parchment, he found what he was looking for: a small notepad from his student days. The pieces of bound and straightened parchment – once perfectly clean and aligned for the compulsive academic note-taking of his youth – were worn and frayed after all these years; in fact, they hadn't seen an actual classroom since Dumbledore's final year as a student at Hogwarts. He had since been using it for far more critical purposes.

Sighing again, he picked up a quill and began writing on the top sheet in his customary neat, curved handwriting: It will take longer than I expected for him to accept everything.

He paused as the ink dried and suddenly sank through the paper, all traces of it disappearing from sight. For two minutes, Dumbledore stared at the once-again empty parchment with the same, unchanging expression of solemn equilibrium on his face. He picked up the quill to write again, but at that instant words in dark ink finally rose up from the parchment's surface, the letters almost identical to Dumbledore', as clean and shaped but thinner, sharper, and more hurried:

I'm fascinated. And busy.

Dumbledore sighed again at the sarcasm and replied:

He's in the same situation you were.

This time the reply came immediately:

Somehow I'm not empathizing.

Dumbledore ignored the comment. You know very well it would help him to hear from someone else who shares his burden.

I doubt you want Potter to hear what I have to say.

Of course I do. You're the only one alive with a similar destiny.

And I think that destiny's bullshit.

You cou – But he didn't finish writing before ink rose up from the parchment to replace his words:

What do you want Dumbledore?

What do you mean?

You know that I don't give a damn whether or not Potter's back with the Order. You know there was never a question of his not being safe anyway. You know I neither will nor should let him know what my thoughts on fate are. There's no other reason you could be in contact with me, now of all times. What do you want?

Dumbledore hesitated before replying: I couldn't tell you before, but I know where one of the pieces is. We can prove our theory about Voldemort. Maybe start destroying him. There was no response, so he continued: I'm asking you to come with me.

A reply came before he had even finished writing: No.

This time I'm not asking for a lesson. I'm asking for a favor from a friend. Just one weekend.

I think 'friendship' is hardly the word to describe our relationship. And I told you, this summer's favor is certainly the last I'm doing. I'm out Dumbledore. For good.

Dumbledore shook his head slowly but waited. Moments passed before he received an additional response: Take Potter.

Don't be smug, you know he's not ready.

Well that's not my fault now is it?

I know you never appr –

The answer's no Dumbledore. I've made my choice.

It took a while for Dumbledore to think about and finish writing his next words: And if I can't do it without you?

You're the greatest wizard of your age; you'll survive.

Dumbledore didn't even consider responding. He knew whom he was speaking with well enough to know the conversation was over. Taking a deep breath, he leaned back against the chair and stared at the ceiling, trying to keep himself from wondering how things had reached that point.

"How wonderful. They're calling Potter 'The Chosen One' now." Rolling his eyes, Blaise Zabini threw the latest copy of the Daily Prophet onto the coffee table next to him and leaned back in the brown leather armchair.

"What was that?" replied a drawling and distracted voice from the adjacent room.

"I said: 'They're calling Potter The Chosen One now." Blaise got up, walked across the room to the open door, and leaned against the frame. "Are you finished?"

Draco Malfoy looked up from behind his desk and sniggered, "What? You didn't know he was our savior from the forces of doom? And no."

"We're going to miss the train…"

Draco rolled his eyes and looked down again to write, "No we won't."

Blaise shook his head and started walking around the room. Malfoy's personal study consisted of one large, Gothic room filled with tall bookshelves and leather furniture and another smaller, circular room surrounded by windows that looked out over part of the property grounds. It was one of the best views in all of Malfoy Manor. "Are you sure you shouldn't hire someone for this work?"

"Hire someone to manage the family investments? Don't be ridiculous. Besides," Draco paused momentarily to shuffle a few papers, "it's not a considerable time commitment. Other people do the work. I approve, review, and criticize. Don't need anything more than sound financial sense. It's almost academic."

Blaise snorted, "Draco volunteering to take on a responsibility? Never thought I'd live to see it." He smirked as he imagined, quite correctly in fact, the annoyed look Draco was shooting him. "I figure, though, that you're a little off with your time estimates. Considering we're going to be late."

Draco replied in a slightly agitated voice, "Subtle hint, congratulations. And for your information, I'd already be done if I hadn't gone to the Ministry."

Blaise smiled widely and turned around, "Oh yeah. You got your security clearance today. How was dear old Dumbledore?"

Draco rolled his eyes, "You know, the usual. I think he was trying to look into my soul."

"Certainly a task I wouldn't wish on anyone."

Draco looked up at him, "You're on a roll today aren't you?"

"I'll stop when we finally leave," Blaise smirked. Considering Malfoy's general propensity for sarcasm and insults, Blaise thoroughly enjoyed any opportunity to get under his skin. There were benefits to be the best friend.

"Well perfect timing." Draco slammed his quill down, "Come on, the house-elves brought everything downstairs."

"Finally!" Blaise pumped his fist in mock success, then rolled his eyes and shook his head impatiently as Draco stuffed a few papers into a leather briefcase and locked the door both to the windowed desk room and to the larger study.

The two walked out of the study, through two of the sitting rooms that made up Draco's personal suite, past the indoor fountain in the center of the suite's small foyer, and into the large baroque hallway that ran through the heart of Malfoy Manor's west wing.

"I can't believe you're coming with me," Blaise snorted.

Draco smirked, "I know, it's difficult to admit you need a babysitter."

"Oh shut it."

"I mean," Draco continued, "international travel is exceedingly dangerous. You could get in over you head on the – what is it? – day and a half long journey to Milan."

Blaise rolled his eyes, "Please. The odds of anything happening to me are slim to none and you know it. My mother just can't risk being associated with another family murder. Although why she thinks you would be able to help is beyond me."

"Natural charm clearly."

Blaise snorted in reply. The two turned a corner and he headed toward the small door which he knew from years of visiting led to a guest suite and small, spiral staircase that served as a shortcut to the floor below.

Draco furrowed his brow, "Don't go that way."

Blaise turned and raised an eyebrow, but backed off when he saw the look on Draco's face. They walked on and Blaise whispered, "Is he…?"

"No. Been gone for about a week. I didn't ask where."

"Laying low?"

"Obviously. It's not as if our family's in favor at the moment."

"Botched Ministry job still a touchy subject?"

"That's putting it lightly."

"Ah. I assume then that's why you're spending the summer in London."

Draco shrugged, "It's a good opportunity."

"A good opportunity you don't need. Your last name is worth more than any internship." Blaise chuckled, "You tend to point out that fact fairly often."

"Nothing wrong with padding your resume," Draco objected. "Or sucking up to the Ministry."

"Or getting out of the line of fire."

Draco smirked as they began walking down the giant marble stairway at the intersection of Malfoy Manor's wings. "What can I say, I have an acute sense of self preservation."

"And an acute sense of generally avoiding commitment," Blaise mumbled.

Draco stopped and shot him an angry look, "Your point Zabini?"

Blaise raised his hands defensively, "None, none whatsoe – "

"Draco!" a high voice sounded from nearby. "Is that you? You boys are going to be late."

Draco rolled his eyes, "Coming!" He and Blaise walked past a number of the large agarwood doors that led to some of Malfoy Manor's largest public rooms – the reception hall, the huge guest parlor, the ballroom – and entered a small, private sitting room off the side of the east wing. Narcissa Malfoy was sitting in a French embroidered armchair, fanning herself furiously and sipping a cup of tea while trying to look less anxious and sleep deprived than she'd been for weeks. Next to her was a tall woman in her mid-40s with soft coffee-colored skin, long black hair, voluptuous lips, and well-defined cheekbones. She was lounging casually on a small couch, running her finger slowly around the rim of her cup without a seeming care. Even now it wasn't difficult to see how Faizah Zabini had seduced seven of the wealthiest wizards in Europe, or how she'd managed to kill the lot.

"We won't be late mother. We're just leaving." Draco leaned over and kissed Narcissa on the cheek, then kissed the top Ms. Zabini's hand.

"Draco," Faizah exclaimed in a melodious voice. "How you've grown…You must be taller than Blaisey by now."

Blaise rolled his eyes as Draco smiled, "Precisely ¾ of an inch taller Ms. Zabini."

Faizah shook her head, "Really Narcissa, I can't believe you're letting him travel back alone."

"It's not exactly going to be a difficult achievement," Blaise snapped, interrupting Narcissa's sigh.

His mother raised both eyebrows critically, "Don't be silly dear. If one of your friends hadn't volunteered to come with you, I would have hired someone. Petty thieves and murderers are running rampant nowadays and no one's doing a thing about it either. This family doesn't need any more tragedies."

Draco shot his friend a sideways glance, and he instantly noticed Blaise suck his cheeks in angrily. It made him look very much like his mother, which was ironic considering he only sucked his cheeks in when he was angry and his mother made him angrier than anyone.

"So basically," Draco interceded jokingly before Blaise became tempted to say something that would make them all uncomfortable, "you're lucky to be stuck with me."

Blaise sighed in resignation and dramatically threw an arm around Draco's shoulder, "Always have been my friend. Always have been."

Before Voldemort first rose to power, it had been easy to travel across Europe. Most wizards, even those with criminal records, could apparate from nation to nation with few restrictions, and what regulations did exist could be overcome by Portkeys strategically placed at secure checkpoints. In the panic of the 1970s, most ease of travel was revoked. Ministries across Europe turned paranoid, and only wizards with notable reputations, or notable fortunes, could cross borders without trouble. At the height of Voldemort's power British wizards couldn't even apply to enter most other European nations. The Department of International Magical Cooperation had devoted numerous resources over the past fifteen years to promote free borders, but Voldemort's recent and very public resurgence at the Ministry had quickly eroded any progress.

With international tensions high and Lucius Malfoy's incarceration making it impossible for the family to exact favors from any government contacts, the easiest way for two wealthy, young wizards to travel to Italy was on the high-speed train, across the English Channel, through Belgium, France, and across northern Italy. It was surprisingly a better journey than Draco and Blaise had expected. They spent over half the trip flirting heavily with a group of four French teenagers, and when these got off near Lyon passed the rest of the time in a passionate discussion about what it meant to be a Death Eater and what it took to earn a Dark Mark. When they finally arrived in Milan, it was a dark Saturday evening and mist was beginning to cover the platform.

"When's your train back?" Blaise asked as he found his luggage.

"An hour," Draco replied distractedly as he looked around.

"Damn. You're going straight to the Ministry when you get back aren't you?"

"Oh I'll have some time to get dressed."

"Which for you of course is all that matters."

Draco rolled his eyes and didn't bother retorting. "I should probably grab something to eat though, find the platform for my next train…You can make it the next few yards without me can't you?"

Blaise laughed, "I think my mother would be personally offended at your negligence. Besides, you have plenty of time. At least greet my uncle; the man loves you."

Draco grunted in reply. The two walked in silence past the tall iron railings that held up the rounded, glass canopy of the Milan station. Blaise craned his neck from side to side, trying to look over the heads of the numerous passangers bustling through the mist. "There we go," he finally whispered. He pushed ahead of Draco and walked quickly toward a tall, older man standing aloofly underneath one of the platform lights.

Francesco Zabini was the type of man whose very presence commanded unquestionable respect. He had two shiny, black, piercing eyes that stared coldly and resolutely in front of him. Blaise had the same eyes. The black velvet cloak that fell smoothly off his shoulders blended into the night, such that all that stood out from his straight back, mess of dark, curly hair, and full, well-trimmed goatee were two expressive lips and those shining, knowing eyes. He smiled thinly as his nephew approached and shook his hand.

"A good trip?" Francesco Zabini asked coolly.

"As good as could be expected sir," Blaise said respectfully. "You remember Draco Malfoy?"

The corner of Francesco Zabini's mouth turned up ever so slightly as he reached out to shake Draco's outstretched hand.

"Buona sera signore," Draco said. "It's a pleasure."

"The pleasure is all mine Mr. Malfoy," Francesco replied smoothly in a thick Italian accent. He stared closely at Draco as he slowly shook the boy's hand, making a point not to break eye contact. Draco seemed to swallow nervously under the direct gaze, but the polite smile didn't leave his face. He turned to Blaise when the handshake broke off, ignoring the fact that Francesco Zabini was still looking at him.

"I really should find my next train. Have a good summer Blaise. Come back with a bloody load of useful visions."

Blaise rolled his eyes, "I'll do my best. You just try to stay out of trouble."

"Trouble? Now that certainly doesn't sound like me," Draco laughed. He patted Blaise on the arm, nodded respectfully to his uncle, and walked away.

Blaise stood quietly by his uncle's side as the older man stared after Draco. When a minute had passed, he cleared his throat, "You do that very often sir."

Francesco finally turned to look at his nephew, "Excuse me?"

"Every time you see him…you give him an…exceptionally concentrated look."

Francesco smiled thinly, "He's a special boy."

"He's a Malfoy?" Blaise furrowed his brows. He knew his uncle too well to expect that any of his more cryptic statements would be explained unless Blaise saw the explanation first.

Francesco turned to walk out the station. He shook his head slowly, "No. Lucius is a Malfoy. Abraxas was a Malfoy. Lazarius was a Malfoy. No…no this boy is…un giovane molto speciale."

Blaise gave a frustrated sighed, "I don't suppose you'll tell me how sir."

Francesco grabbed his nephew's shoulder firmly. He almost smiled, "When you finally do see it, you'll understand."

Well? PLEASE review and let me know what you think. Any initial impressions, suggestions, etc. would be much appreciated! And of course the more you review, the faster I'll put up the next chapter.