Notes: A couple things before you read this chapter. First, I'm sorry I'm late. I mean, I'm not too terribly late, but I did promise this chapter in March and it's currently April. Second, I just want to remind everyone that this story is supposed to be fairly light-hearted. It's a romance chapter fic, even more so than my other HP stories, so while it might look like I'm taking this on a dark path, I promise things will work out just fine.

Harry sat down in the corner of the library and put his Arithmancy textbook out in front of him. Hermione had been told by Snape to stay back after Potions—something about a missing ingredient. Harry had wanted to wait for her but she'd shooed him on, giving him a look that meant she could take care of herself. He was less worried now because of Sirius's promise to take Snape in front of the Board if he was unfair. Hermione was meticulous so if Snape tried to give her a bad grade for a made up reason like a missing ingredient in one of her potions, it probably wouldn't last in an inquiry.

Flipping open his book, Harry found the section on probability combinations and began to read it again. He and Hermione had fallen into the habit of doing all their homework together so he hated to start that without her. But he still struggled with the more advanced concepts of probability so he figured now would be a perfect time to try to review it more.

He'd only made it through a couple example problems when a cleared throat interrupted him. Harry looked up and saw that Malfoy stood at the edge of his table. "Lord Malfoy," Harry greeted as cordially as he could.

Something about Malfoy's being had changed dramatically since the beginning of the year. Harry knew it had to do with Draco becoming a Lord, but it was still startling to realize that he no long instinctively tensed quite as badly when in Malfoy's presence. That didn't mean his muscles didn't tighten, but it felt more anticipatory than frightened. He no longer felt like a cornered animal who needed to strike out first or be attacked. Now, he could wait for Malfoy to set the tone of the conversation and follow from there instead. It was relieving.

"May I sit down?" Malfoy asked, gesturing to the empty seat next to Harry.

Harry let his head obviously tilt to the side to show his confusion, but he said, "Sure."

Malfoy pulled out the chair and sat in it, twisted slightly so he was facing Harry directly. He studied Harry for several minutes, glancing from him to the open Arithmancy textbook, then away at something over Harry's shoulder.

Harry resisted the urge to begin tapping the table. His body was still tensed for whatever this interaction was going to be and it made him want to move.

Malfoy blinked suddenly and pulled back. "Sorry," he said, as if somehow he'd noticed Harry's nerves.

Harry knew he could hide his body's reactions well—knew because the majority of people hadn't ever figured out that his years at the Dursleys had ingrained his flight and fight reflexes stronger than most—but for some reason he believed that Malfoy had seen right through him. The idea that Malfoy really could read him that well made him blush and he turned away in an unsuccessful attempt to hide it.

"Potter," Malfoy began, then he paused. "Harry, I wanted to give you a personal apology."

"You already did. And Sirius wrote that he'd received your official one too."

"Yes, however, it wasn't right especially how I reacted with you. I… I told you that I've known for a while that you're submissive. Ever since second year, even, because of how you reacted when the school discovered your parseltongue abilities."

The thing Harry remembered most from that time was how Ron and Hermione had shielded him from the glares and nasty comments of his classmates. It had been one of the strongest displays of loyalty that Ron had ever shown for him and while Hermione had stood at his side, it had been Ron who'd stepped in front of them and glared at the rumor-mongrels.

Harry blinked. "Oh," he said, looking back on those interactions now knowing he and Hermione were submissives.

"I should have stopped my behavior then. Knowing what you were, are, and yet still needling you, picking at your weak spots… it was deplorable." Malfoy looked down at his hands. "When I began to finally realize just how my father abused my mother, I also began to notice the similarities in myself. I am my father's son, however much I don't want to be anymore, and subconsciously I was mimicking his actions on you. I wanted to think that I was just a young Dominant butting heads with another young Dominant but I wasn't. I didn't fight with you like I fought with Weasley. I fought with you like my father fought with my mother: by pushing her until just before she broke and then letting up enough for her to recover so he could do it again. It was sadistic and disgusting and–"

"Malfoy, stop," Harry said, not liking how Malfoy was slowly turning in on himself. "It's in the past, you've apologized, and I wasn't truly hurt by it. Sure, you've always had an uncanny ability to find my weaknesses, but we were kids. I wasn't permanently scarred by any of your comments or childish hexes, was I?"

"What does your boggart turn into?"

Harry flinched back.

Malfoy smirked, but it was a self-depreciating one. "And there I spent nearly half of last year reminding you of that very fact, of how you feel when you were near Dementors. I can't atone for that, Harry."

And Harry suddenly couldn't take it anymore. He reached forward and grabbed Malfoy's hands. "Draco, listen to me," he said softly, but firmly. "I forgive you. Yes, you were horrible. Yes, some things you said gave me nightmares and made my life harder. But every time you struck one of my weak points to death, I learned to cover that spot up a little more. I wouldn't have lasted in second year being called a traitor by nearly everyone if it weren't for you. Your overt bullying was what reminded me that the wizarding world isn't just a magical place of hopes and dreams, it has real people who do real nasty things. I'm not saying I want you to go back to bullying me, but don't beat yourself up about it. I am fine. I'm more than fine. I'm better prepared now for what is probably ahead than I would have been had I come into the world and you and everyone else treated me like I was made of glass. So I forgive you, okay?"

Malfoy stared at him with wide grey eyes. They were expressive, those eyes, like swirling clouds with just a hint of threatening rain. Harry's breath caught in his throat.

"Whatever Dominant manages to capture your heart is in for some trouble," Malfoy said finally and pulled back.

Harry felt himself blush. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, Potter, that you have the extraordinary ability to get yourself into terrible situations and then get out of them by doing the exact opposite of what any normal person would do." Malfoy reached forward and lightly touched the bridge of Harry's eye and temple. "I like you better without the glasses. It brightens your face."

Harry huffed and physically turned away from Malfoy.

"Too much?"

Harry looked back at the young lord out of the corner of his eye. Malfoy confused him, but it was a good kind of confusion. "Just for now."

Malfoy nodded, easy as that, and stood to leave. "Thank you for entertaining me, Potter," he said formally.

"I don't mind if you call me Harry," he shot after Malfoy, though he wasn't sure why. It just felt right, something to make this sudden turn in their interactions.

Malfoy turned back to him. "Only if you call me Draco."

Harry looked down at his book, the numbers incomprehensible. "Bye then, Draco."

"I'll see you later, Harry."

And then Harry was alone again in the quiet corner of the library. He let the tension fall from his shoulders but for some reason his heart continued to beat wildly.

o-o

"Yes, Professor?" Hermione asked as she set her book bag on the nearest table and walked up to Snape's desk. She racked her brain trying to come up with the convicting potion. She couldn't remember messing up on any this year. She very rarely messed up during Potions class in general, but it was early enough in the year that she was sure she hadn't made a mistake thus far.

Snape waved a hand and levitated one of the near chairs to sit at the foot of his teacher's desk. "Have a seat, Miss Granger."

Hermione sat, a little impressed despite herself at the display of wandless magic. Snape almost never showed off his skills outside of his brewing. Even the time he dueled against Lockhart in second year had been more of a joke than anything.

"What potion were you referring to, Professor?" Hermione asked as she sat down.

"I confess, Miss Granger, that I lied to get you to stay after. You have shown exceptional work this year as you always do. I appreciate that with the passing of years you have matured as a student in class. It is much more enjoyable to teach you now than it once was." Snape paused, though hardly long enough for Hermione to be able to digest the startling words. "Then again, I have never been a patient teacher and have little tolerance for children. Beautifully budding submissives are a different story."

Hermione felt herself begin to turn red. She shifted uncomfortably in the hard wooden chair, not sure what she was supposed to say to the unexpected compliments. "Thank you, Professor," she murmured hesitantly.

Snape continued to stare at her and she couldn't make herself meet his dark gaze. There was an intensity about him, one she was unused to have focused on her. Too often he fixated on Harry when he was in the room and even when Harry wasn't, Snape had always dismissed her. But… not recently. Hermione suddenly realized that she'd been feeling this intensity for weeks. She'd thought it was nerves, because it was always a bit nerve-wracking to be in Snape's class, but now she recalled that she'd felt this stare on her more and more during class time and even a few time during meals.

"Is there anything else, Professor? I have some homework I need to complete," Hermione said, hoping to escape quickly so she could have some space to think more on this. The heavy air in the room was making it hard to think.

"I'm certain you have more than adequately prepared for tomorrow's classes," Snape replied smoothly. "Miss Granger, you just turned fifteen and though your new guardian," he said the word as if it were something nasty, "may not have prepared you, you should know that it is perfectly acceptable in our society for Dominants to look to you for courtship. Though you may not bond until you are of legal age, two years is the standard time for most courting protocols to be completed."

"I am aware, Professor," Hermione said. She wondered if the man was just concerned about her, but that made no sense. If anything, it should be McGonagall having this conversation with her, not Snape.

"Hermione."

She looked up, startled. Snape's black eyes were so very deep and she nearly got lost staring in them. The shakiness in her legs faded.

"I would very much like to court you," Snape said. "I know it is unexpected, but you have proven to me over the last few years that you are exactly the kind of submissive I have been waiting for. I would hate to be rejected from the chance to show you that I can be the perfect Dominant for you because of your guardian's schoolboy prejudices against me."

"Sirius has promised to accepted the courtship offers of Dominants Harry or I tell him we're interested in," Hermione said, the words falling from her mouth.

Those black eyes were so very deep. Hermione wondered if they'd always been like that, or if they'd darkened progressively, little by little, until they'd become a chasm-like hole.

All of the sudden, Hermione felt herself fall into the hole. She saw herself as Snape saw her, a moldable girl, young and growing more beautiful by the week. She was so very similar to a girl of his past, a girl with bright red hair and green eyes.

But that girl had been stolen away from him and now that he'd found a suitable replacement he was not about to let her slip through his fingers. Potions were too risky now that they were on guard after his screw up with the shellfish, but subtle prodding would work. She always did respect authority figures, didn't she? Surely it wouldn't take much manipulation for that respect to turn into admiration?

Hermione jerked away, her chair falling to the floor with a loud clatter. She turned to run, only to find herself immobilized in place. Her wand quivered in its holster, but she didn't have the strength to call it out. Her head spun.

"Foolish girl," Snape said, but it was in a chillingly amused tone. "Natural talent at legilmency too. You are a wonder. I'll just have to try another way."

She could only watch in horror as he circled around to her front and pulled out his wand.

No, Hermione begged.

"I have always enjoyed a good chase," Snape mused as he pointed the wand at her temple. "Obliviate."

Hermione found Harry in a corner table at the library.

"Hey!" he greeted. "How'd the thing with Snape go?"

"Oh, it was nothing in the end," she answered. "Re-reading the probability section?"

"Yeah. Didn't get as far as I'd like though." Harry blushed suddenly. "Malfoy stopped to talk to me."

Hermione blinked and leaned forward in her chair. "Oh? Do tell."

o-o

Fawkes flew to Harry while he was out flying. Just because he couldn't play Quidditch this year didn't mean he couldn't get away for a little while and soar the skies. Hermione was off in her Ancient Runes study group and Ron hadn't finished his Potions essay for tomorrow so it had been a perfect time for him to grab his Firebolt and leap out the window.

Fawkes interrupted him though with a dramatic flare of red and gold feathers and a small note clasped in his beak. Harry sighed, not sure he wanted to read whatever Dumbledore had probably sent. But he landed anyway and took the note from the phoenix. Fawkes chirped at him, a sad little sound as if he knew that something was wrong.

"Not your fault, Fawkes," Harry murmured as he unfolded the note.

Harry, I would very much like to talk to you. I understand I have made you angry this summer and for that I am deeply sorry, but there is some information you must be made aware of. If you will join me in my office at your earliest convenience, I would be most grateful. The password is Smarties. ~AD

"Do you know what he wants to talk to me about?" Harry asked Fawkes. Fawkes trilled in response, an urgent sound that almost made him want to jump back on his broom and race through the clouds.

"Okay," Harry replied. "I'll go."

Fawkes nudged him, a move very similar to Hedwig's when she was being affectionate, and took off toward the Headmaster's tower. Harry walked along the grounds until he found a door into the building and headed to the gargoyle. He said the password and was allowed up the spiral staircase.

Dumbledore sat behind his large desk. He rose when Harry came in. "Harry," he greeted without any of his cheerful my boy-ing. Harry appreciated that. "Please, have a seat."

"Yes, Professor," Harry said.

He noticed how tired Dumbledore looked, how thin his hair seemed, like his age was finally catching up to him. Dumbledore offered him a bowl of lemon drops silently and he shook his head against them. Dumbledore popped one in his own mouth and sucked on it for a minute. Harry waited.

Finally, the old headmaster sighed aloud and crossed his hands over top of the desk. "I've made more than my share of mistakes in my life, Harry," he said. "Many were the result of my own short-sightedness. I have always been grandiose and though it's served me well in some positions, it has resulted in some terrible things. I should have fought harder for Sirius to be given a trial. I didn't, because it was easier to ignore what my own gut was telling me and place you in an environment where I had believed you would grow up better."

"The Dursleys were horrible to me," Harry said. "You knew they didn't want me."

"I knew, yes." Dumbledore's eyes were fixed on his wizened hands. "But Sirius was always an irresponsible child, hot-headed and reckless and though he had a good heart, I worried for how he would have raised you. Had the Ministry given Sirius a proper trial and seen him freed, I wouldn't have protested him taking you as was his right. But it was my fault for not pushing deeper and discovering that his legal rights were ignored. I don't expect you to forgive me for your time with your muggle relatives, you've made it abundantly clear how you feel, but I am grateful that you've turned out such a noble heart despite it all. Tom Riddle would have taken such an environment and learned to hate all muggles. You are a better person that he ever was, Harry."

Harry hated to give into Dumbledore's words, but the man was being reasonable and honestly… "I probably am better off for the years I spent with my relative," he admitted. "Not that I would ever send another kid there, but growing up without knowing my fame was good, I think. And the anonymity of living in the muggle world did probably keep me safe at the beginning. But things are different now, the magical world knows who I am and isn't it better for me to be prepared for the world I'm to live in than be forced back into isolation?"

Dumbledore looked up at him then and Harry recoiled at the abject sadness in his eyes. "I had hoped to give you as much of an innocent childhood as I could, Harry, but it's rather obvious that I failed. Perhaps your experiences were good, because had you come to Hogwarts completely ignorant of the unfairness of the world I believe you would have died. I was pleased with how well you did in your first year. You exceeded my expectations, despite all I pushed you to do."

"So the philosopher's stone was a test." Harry had wondered about that for a while now. "Those challenges were too easy to be a real barrier to Voldemort."

"The stone you found was a fake. The real stone was never in any danger and is safely hidden to this day. Not even I know where it is, only Nicholas and his wife do."

"Why? Why throw an eleven year old in that kind of danger? Quirrell could have killed me."

"Quirrell would have never been able to kill you. Nothing but Voldemort's own hand could do so and I believed, correctly, that working through a possession wouldn't circumvent that."

Harry gaped. "Wha- what are you talking about?"

"Everything I've done, Harry, has been to prepare you for your destiny. I have made mistakes, done terrible things to you and others, but I made those sacrifices to my own conscience in order to save this world. You see, Harry, there was a prophecy that was made before you were born. And now, I believe, you are ready to hear it."

Dumbledore raised his wand and a familiar, raspy voice drifted through the still air of the office. "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives… the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies."

"Is that Trelawney?"

"Yes," Dumbledore said. "I know her performance in class has not given you much reason to believe her prophecies, but she is a true seer. You heard one of her prophecies last year, before Pettigrew escaped to rejoin his master."

Harry shivered. He didn't want to believe it but… he remembered how she'd looked when she'd given that prophecy. Her little predictions in class were all made up, but that didn't mean she didn't also have the Sight. "What does it mean? Seventh month… so July. I guess the scar is what marked me, right? But what power does Voldemort not know?"

"It is my opinion that love is that answer," Dumbledore explained. "Voldemort was born by consequence of a love potion and as a result he is incapable of feeling or even understanding the concept of love. You, Harry, love deeply when you decide to let yourself and it shows in your loyalty to your best friends and your godfather."

Harry thought about Ron, about falling out of love, about deepening his bonds with Hermione and Sirius. "Yes," he agreed. "I suppose it does. I don't really get how that knowledge would help me, or anyone, defeat Voldemort though. I can't just hug him to death."

Dumbledore gave him a weak smile. "Prophecies are tricky things and the answers are not always clear. All we can be sure of is that you are the only one who can defeat Voldemort, and Voldemort is the only one who can defeat you."

"Which is why Quirrell…" Harry understood now and it sickened him. "Why me?"

"Fate has chosen you. Beyond that, I can't answer. One cannot run from a prophecy, Harry. Fate is not kind to those that ignore her messages." Dumbledore stood and walked around his desk. He knelt down beside Harry's chair and took Harry's hands. "For what it's worth, I truly am sorry to place this burden on you. I am here to help you with this in whatever way you need me to. I think it's clear now that my previous plans have been maligned and I am at least smart enough to realize that forcing the same path would only hinder your quest."

"I need some time," Harry said, standing and shaking Dumbledore's hands off. "And I need to talk to Sirius."

"Of course. I can give you permission to visit him next weekend if you wish. You and Miss Granger should you want to include her."

Harry's first reaction was no, but then he thought about how it would feel if things were reversed and slowly he nodded. Hermione was his sister in all but blood, she deserved to know.

"Sir, do you think… is it even possible for me to beat him?"

"Fate would have have given you this quest if it weren't. Perhaps at the height of Voldemort's power it would have been near impossible, but the mere act of given you that scar put you and Voldemort on equal footing. He is but a wraith now and until he finds a way to regain a permanent body, he is stopped from hurting you. You have time, Harry."

"Which is why you told me now."

Dumbledore stood, wincing slightly as his bone's audibly cracked. "I have more information for you, but I shall wait for you to inform your godfather. I believe you'd been overloaded enough today."

Harry stared hard at the man. "When Sirius and I come back, you'll tell us everything. I can't win if I'm working blind."

"I promise."

Harry nodded and rubbed his face. There was a prickling in the corners of his eyes that said he was holding back tears. "I… can I go to Sirius now?" he hated the weakness in his tone, but the enormity of this situation was catching up with him and he just wanted to feel the safety of his godfather's arms around him. "I know it's a weekday, but…"

"I shall make excuses for your professors." Dumbledore grabbed the bowl of Floo powder and gently put it in his hands. "Return when you're ready."

Harry still didn't trust the man as much as he once did, but he understood now and so he accepted the peace offering and left without giving in to the desire to rage at the man. It wasn't Dumbledore's fault that he was Fate's bitch and it wasn't Trelawney's either.

But that maturity was hard to maintain and now all he wanted was to cry his frustration out for as long as he was allowed.

A flash of green fire later and Sirius pulled him close. "Pup? What's wrong? What happened?"

"I'll explain in a little bit," Harry mumbled into Sirius's chest. "Can you just… for a little while?"

"Of course." Sirius tugged him close. "I've got you, Harry. I've got you."

o-o

Extra: Happy Birthday, Fred and George!

(Well, it's a day late, but here's a little side story in celebration of our favorite twins' birthday, and because this chapter was a lot sadder than I wanted for this story so I figured I'd end on something a little happier.)

The first time George climbed into Fred's bed at Hogwarts, Fred was relieved. His little brother—a couple seconds littler but it still counted—was his touchstone and sleeping in separate beds had thrown him off. Their mum had given up trying to force them to do so at home years ago.

"Something the matter?" Fred asked, because George was shivering just slightly. He wrapped George in his blankets and put his chin on George's head.

"Just cold," George mumbled back. "Missed you."

To anyone else, it would have seemed ridiculous. How could you miss someone when you shared the same mealtimes, same classes, same bedroom even? But it had been lonely sleeping without George's warmth beside him, so Fred understood. "Me too."

George's breath puffed out against his collarbone and neck, sending tingles up and down Fred's skin. "Fred…"

"Yeah?"

"I don't think I'm a Dominant like Bill and Charlie."

Fred laughed. "Of course you're not."

"But–"

"It's okay, George. I'll take care of you. I always will."

"No you won't." George pulled back and glared at him. "Don't lie. If I'm a submissive then someday some Dominant will claim me and take me away from you." George put his hands to his face suddenly, as if hiding tear.

Fred growled at the thought of someone taking George. "Never," he said and pulled George's hands away. "You don't have to accept anyone who'd do something like that. And… you don't need another Dominant, George."

"I'm going to want one, someday," George said. He scooted back up to Fred's body, soft tears now tickling Fred's skin. "We've been watching Bill and Charlie. We know what it's like when puberty hits."

"Neither of them have found someone. Just cause you'll want to do it doesn't mean you have to."

"But what if I do? Maybe we'll feel differently then, but I don't want to want to leave you."

"I don't want want you to either."

"Shut up, you know what I meant."

Fred smirked briefly. "Yeah." He buried his face in George's hair for a moment. "Maybe… maybe we'll find someone who wants both of us? Maybe another pair of twins, even. And we can all live together in one big house."

"That sounds nice," George said. "We've got time to look, right?"

"We have plenty of time." Fred closed his eyes and breathed in George's hair. "I'm not letting you go. Not for just any schmuck. So whoever wins your heart is just going to have to accept me too."

"And whoever wins yours will have to do the same."

"Good, glad we've agreed on that." Fred kissed the top of George's head. "Now, if you snore again, I'm kicking you off the bed."

"It's you who snores, not me."

From the other side of the dorm, Stephen growled, "You both snore. If you're done with your little love fest, will you shut up now? Some of us are actually worried about the Charms test tomorrow."

"Sorry," Fred called back, not really that sorry. Charms was easy, after all, he didn't know what Stephen was worried about.

George giggled and pressed closer to him. "Night."

"Goodnight." Fred let himself fall to sleep, happy for the warm weight at his side and determined to not let the future stand in their way.