A/N: extra long for some reason... enjoy!
Nothing to report. Here's the chapter
Disclaimer: I own NOTHING!
Recovery is a bitter process, Draco remembered Adam saying. Now, he sat in Aideen's private rooms, playing whist, a traditional card game he had not played since his childhood. Aideen's torso had been bandaged, as well as her shoulder, and often she had to go shirtless. Spells had only healed her muscle, and too much magic would have drained her of energy. So, Adam had decided to heal her mostly by a Muggle fashion: Gauze and cloth. She did not complain, but the gauze was cold and bitter against her wounds. She was strong, not complaining. Draco admired her strength and zeal.
And he pitied her.
Evan had become quiet and reserved, guilt-ridden. Aideen was still recovering, with three new notches to her canvas of flesh. Though they stayed together, they were apart. Draco would often spend time with Aideen talking of social things, while Harry and Evan would spar.
Sabet had been asleep when the Harry and Draco had departed. Nothing more was expected of the vampire. Adam had said he would be out for weeks recovering. The strain of upholding wards for decades had finally brought him down. Faust had mentioned he was in charge of windows alone, and it left him with a migraine at the end of each day. Draco did not want to fathom how much magic was needed for the Haven, let alone for Hogwarts. This made him respect Dumbledore just a little more, not a lot, but a tad.
When they reached the school, Harry and Draco set about to prepare for the upcoming meeting of the unnamed organization, a meeting they had yet to call. Realizing their race's fragile state had borne some new fire in the two, one which they were intent to bring to life as a blazing fire. They spent hours in the library, and Harry found himself remembering Hermione's advice as he took notes and searched for specific texts.
Now, they sat in the newly arranged Room of Requirement, sitting by the fire on a love seat, both having specially made wine in pristine glasses. Harry found that though the wine was soothing, his growing and veracious appetite was still not sated. He kept this misfortune to himself, hoping it would pass. Now, he stared at his lover, listening as Draco spoke of the future, but only half listening as he pondered about his cravings.
"We'll need to establish our own Order, you know," Draco began, solemnly, finger gliding around the rim of his glass; "There are just too many sects, too many groups trying to drag us with them. Why not form our own? One for our generation, by our generation, of our own means, if not only for ourselves and our futures? I can find many flaws for this plan, but what plan is without fault?"
Harry nodded; "It sounds reasonable, love," he said; "Problem is, we would have to pledge loyalty to someone, something. And even though we may pledge to our race, what could we tell those who joined us? I think we should just build from the organization…"
"Exactly!" Draco said with a wicked grin; "Harry, take it from someone who has seen what happens when someone is forced into something: it doesn't work. By working from this little defense group, we already have people willing to join us."
"I don't want followers, Draco," Harry said with a sigh.
"Well why not?" Draco asked, genuinely curious; "I mean, that is what makes a leader a leader. It is by his followers."
Harry shook his head; "No," he said firmly; "Draco, I'm already on a high enough pedestal. And though the thought of having a circle of loyal comrades willing to listen to me is tempting, I can't accept it."
Draco pursed his lips; "Like it or not Harry, that is how things are for you," he said lowly; "That's how they will always be, I fear."
Harry resigned himself to look down, at his unfinished wine, rolling the glass with his wrist to swish the contents around rhythmically. Though it was a merely vibrant maroon mixture, he saw far much more. He imagined the coming months the hardship and trials. He thought of Draco being at his side and taking lead when he could not, something he had been doing more and more as of late. He also saw their allies, some old, some young, some ageless.
He then, for some reason, thought of his former housemates. Of Ron, of Hermione, Seamus, Dean, Neville… all of them. He would never find it in himself to forgive Ron, or Hermione. Yet he found himself missing the carefree nature of their company. They had always been thoughtful of him, but of their own, less stressful lives. Draco had his own matters, as did Pansy and Blaise. At times Harry found his hands empty with nothing to be done, while he watched the Slytherins bustle about in their aristocracy and melodramatics. He had done a great deal of thinking.
"I think I made a mistake," Harry murmured.
"How so, Harry?" Draco asked, attune to the sudden change in the air.
Harry looked at him; "We need them, Draco," he said; "The Gryffindors. All the people I left behind. We will need them."
Draco frowned; "Why?" he asked, sitting back; "They're naught but bumbling tricksters, Harry. Naught can come from them but another broken promise! You yourself know this to be true."
"Yes, but Draco, this war will be greater than even our reckoning!" Harry said; "It would be too detrimental to hold grudges at this point!"
"Harry, who is to say they aren't running to Dumbledore and telling him what goes on during our meetings?" Draco asked.
"They can't," Harry said; "Hermione cast a spell, a charm, so that no one may speak of our proceedings with someone who is not already to privy to the knowledge! I've seen the results of speaking out about it!" he finished with a heaving sigh; "Draco, now is the time for House Unity. I think… I think I will apologize…" he suddenly grew quiet, eyes growing as wide as Draco's.
"You will not apologize," Draco said heatedly, frowning again; "No, I forbid you. Harry, I understand you're evident walk to Martyrdom, but for god's sakes don't ever apologize to the wrong people!" His voice hitched, the subject touching something sensitive.
Harry's gaze softened, he reached out, but Draco shied away, rising. He set his glass down forcefully on an end table, and then walked over to lean against the mantle of the fireplace, fire dancing in his silver eyes. Harry was quiet as he assessed the situation.
"Draco," Harry said quietly, but Draco only shook his head.
"Nothing but mockery shall come from that, Harry," Draco said dully, but at the same time wisely; "You are a leader. Leaders apologize to no one."
"They apologize to the subjects whom they would die for," Harry said stiffly; "Draco, who do you want me to be? What do you want me to do? How have I angered you so badly so quickly?" he steadily rose, glass drifting off to sit by Draco's.
Draco did not stop the embrace that followed, burying his head in the crook of Harry's neck, and breathing in the indefinable scent. "Do not apologize," he said firmly; "Never regret what you do, Harry. Never. Apologizing just shows that you do," he looked up at Harry; "I know you are too proud. You would only hate yourself for doing such a thing. Besides," he shrugged; "How do you think I feel about it?"
Harry craned his head back to laugh. He then kissed Draco, a warm, tender kiss unlike their usual exchanges. Draco was taken about for a moment. He sensed the lust, as was always present with Harry, but also such a tenderness that could render anyone moved. Harry embraced him then, and there were no need for words to explain.
Another week passed, with no incident. The rest of the student body was to return on the following Sunday, two days away. Harry had taken a fascination with watching things. With no mass of bodies, the castle was different. Being able to see it vacant during the daytime was something of wonder, he had never felt such pride for coming than when he saw the entrance hall and the stain glass gleaming in the early morning sun.
It was here he sat, on the steps, reading. Draco had gone to the library again, but Harry could no longer stand the stuffy establishment. He flipped through the charms book idly. One he had nipped from the Restricted Section, it was useful to some degree, but nothing worth a celebration.
When the large double doors opened, Harry's' head snapped up and the book snapped shut. He watched as McGonagall and Snape helped Dumbledore in. The old man finally looked his untold age. He was tired, with bags under his eyes, and his one hand seemed burnt, disfigured. Harry rose at this, habitual concern rising up in him. He went unnoticed by his predecessors, who escorted Dumbledore into the great hall, where Harry knew was a back room that could quiet possibly link to the Headmaster's office.
He literally flew down to his chambers, putting the book away before hurrying back up to the surface. Soon, he found himself whisked to Dumbledore's chambers. He thought for a moment, and then said the password. The gargoyle almost seemed to nod before it turned away, revealing a staircase. Harry rode it impatiently, desperate to know the goings-on of the Order.
When he came upon the door, he became dead quiet. He contented with pressing his keen ear against the door, his hearing impervious to charms, and listened in.
"…Must stop this nonsense," it was Snape; "Albus, you will kill yourself."
A sigh; "I know this, Severus," Albus replied; "But it must be done."
"Done? Done!" McGonagall; "Albus, look at your hand! You are dabbling in things even Severus would not dare touch!"
"Hey now I resent that!" Snape exclaimed, and the two began bickering.
"Enough!" Albus shouted after a time, anger evident; "As you see, I have returned in one piece, be it as it may that my hand is a little harmed. That is of no countenance to the greater scheme of things."
"Albus," McGonagall now sounded so sincere, so concerned; "These Horcruxes that you… that you're finding… Don't you think that once you come into contact with them that… that You-Know-Who's aura could be transferred to your being?"
Albus laughed then, a dry, amused laugh, tired as he was; "No, Minerva, that will never happen," he explained; "A Horcrux has only one purpose: to keep a person alive even if they should die. It is a piece of the soul locked away in an object of importance to the spell caster. It's very complicated, and what little soul is transferred would not be wasted by passing on to the next person it comes into contact with. If that were the case, I fear this ring would not be harming me so…" his voice trailed off with what sounded of worry.
"We'll let you rest, then," Snape said shortly; "If you need anything, alert one of us."
Harry jumped away from the door, and tried to hide. He would not escape down the stairwell, they would find the door open and the search would be on. He saw a window, and ran for it. Wrenching it open, he climbed out and slammed it closed, flying out and hovering below the ledge, waiting. He heard the door open, Snape and McGonagall exchanged a few unsavory words, and then, all was quiet.
Harry decided to fly around for a bit, high enough to pass detection, close enough to see the world. He had a lot more thinking to do.
Draco had stumbled upon something dramatic, something that would shift the balance of power. He had snuck into the restricted section and had spent a good hour of snooping and lurking, finding this and finding that. But he had come across a text that could quite possibly give them the greatest advantage ever.
Objet D'art: What You Would or Wouldn't Want to Come Across or Create
The author was of no countenance, Draco had torn the book open in frenzy, knowing the book held a great importance within its dragon hide cover and binding. He flipped through countless sections, the book being as thick as he was broad in the shoulders. Most of the sections were broken down descriptions of various Egyptian artifacts. But there was the last part of the book, barely two hundred pages, devoted solely to Europe and its own eccentricities.
And that's where he stopped. Draco did not know why, but something buzzing in the back of his head grew steadily worse whenever he read the title of the section.
Dark Artifacts and How to Come About Them…
Repetitious, he would admit, but tantalizing none the less. He read the introduction, eyes eating up the words, setting down against a shelf. He conjured a cushion from thin air, and sighed as he readied himself for a good, if not helpful, read. He read for some time before coming across an alien word.
Try saying that five times fast, Draco thought with a snicker, but his innocent mirth faded quickly as he sobered. He read on, his heart sinking lower and lower. Slowly, pieces began forming in his mind. It explained Voldemort's at first weakened state, his appearance. Dumbledore's foolhardy disappearances were also explained. Voldemort was quite possibly the only wizard who had created them, and obviously, successfully. Dumbledore was searching for them.
But how many were there?
Having being in company with the Dark Lord on several occasions, and having listened in to many a meeting, Draco began to calculate. Voldemort had an unhealthy interest in all things occult and religious. He dabbled mostly in the occult, and of course, Dark Magic. He had seven secret hideaways, seven Death Eaters he considered Advisors, Seven wands he kept hidden in case, heaven forbid, his main one be broken in battle. He had been back for almost seven years…
Draco groaned as he leaned his head back; "Seven!" he breathed.
Suddenly, he heard a chair shriek as it was dragged back against the wooden floor, and soon the harsh tip-tapping of boots began heading his way. Closing and shrinking the book, Draco disposed of his cushion. He then headed for a window. Breaking it open, he jumped out, freefalling before arching up and flying straight into the sun's light, obscuring his shape, knowing Madame Pince would be shaking her fist and crying out obscenities at nothing. He then turned, arcing back to head for the lake, where he would land and finish reading the book.
Harry and Draco saw naught of each other until dinner, where they chose to stay quiet, relaying information mentally. Harry was full of admiration at Draco's impressive genius, and Draco smugly indulged in it for a time. Then they began talking openly about upcoming Quidditch, and how the season was going.
Then they both sensed a new magical trace, full of grief, accompanied by two older ones equally forlorn. Draco and Harry got up and rushed for the front doors, getting there as they opened. Hermione came in with aid of Tonks, who was holding her by the arm gently. Behind them, Kingsley, who was grimly carrying suitcases.
"Hermione!" Harry breathed, forgetting everything as he ran to the girl.
Hermione looked up at him, and he was taken aback. There was a long cut down her face, having just scabbed over. Her eyes were bloodshot from crying, bags under her eyes from stress and fatigue. She was disheveled, her hair pulled up in an attempt at a bun. He saw how her hands shook, tightly holding onto her wand, which she clutched at her chest.
"Hermione, what…" Harry's voice trailed off.
Hermione let out a sob and left Tonks, embracing Harry and continuing to cry. Taken aback, Harry was slow to return the embrace. He looked at Tonks and Kingsley for information. But Kingsley just set the suitcases down before accompanying Tonks to a waiting McGonagall.
Draco approached, unsure of his purpose for the matter. Inwardly he chastised Harry, but he had changed so much since the Incident at the Castle that Draco wondered if the spell had done something to him. He watched as Harry held his former friend, rubbing her back, silent, stoically the hero.
Draco walked over, and gently placed his hand on Hermione's shaking shoulder. Harry looked at him, pleading, and mentally asking to take her to their chambers, so she would not spend the night alone with two third year Gryffindors. Draco nodded.
"Come on, Hermione," Harry said gently, pulling her away to look at her; "Let's go talk, eh?"
Hermione nodded, a small smile on her lips; "Thank-you," she whispered.
Her hands still shook as she fought to level the cup with her lips. A small tray of chocolate sat in front of her, though she had yet to touch it. Harry and Draco waited for her to calm, Harry sitting by her while Draco took to standing by the mantle of the fire place .Their din was oddly stuffy, full of air thick to breathe in.
"What happened?" Harry asked quietly.
Hermione set her cup down with a clank on its little accompanying plate. She wiped her eyes; "My… my parents," she said, hiccupping; "They're… they're dead, Harry."
Harry's eyes widened, and Hermione nodded, for a time worrying her bottom lip; "I… I was getting ready to leave for home… And… and Tonks offered to give me a ride," she paused; "We had just gotten down the street, and then… we both felt this foreboding wave of… of something. We hurried back, but when we got there… nothing, there was nothing…" she rambled off, voice failing her.
"Shh, take your time," Draco said soothingly, though he did not leave his spot by the fire. Harry gave him a thankful look, and then conjured a handkerchief for Hermione to blow her nose with, which she did. She soon got over another onslaught of tears, and tried to compose herself.
"Hermione, I'm so sorry," Harry said, hand over hers; "Tell me, do you know who did this?"
Hermione looked away, "There was the mark…" she whispered, looking up; "Above… above what was left!" her voice hitched and she covered her face with her hands.
Harry embraced her, and to his surprise, Draco came over and did the same. "I'm so sorry, Harry!" Hermione wailed; "For everything, everything! Please, forgive me! Please, please I'd do anything, just please forgive me!"
"Shh, shh," Harry said, heart strings pulled taut. He glanced at Draco, who seemed unsure of how to handle the situation. He seemed sympathetic of Hermione, even though Harry knew for a fact he did not like the idea of magical blood mixing with the non, here he was.
"You're safe, though," Draco offered, "Hermione, there was a reason. Like there is a reason for everything…"
Hermione whipped around and glared at him; "You know nothing of reasoning!" she accused, "Nothing! You might be a Death Eater's son, you might be bonded to Harry, Hell, you might be a vampire, but that does not give you room to say that there was a REASON behind this!"
Harry and Draco stared at her. She stared boldly back from one to the other; "Yes, I knew, I've known," then she laughed a pitiful fake laugh; "How dare you doubt me, Harry! How dare you…" she leaned back into the sofa, overcome. Then, she was solemn once more; "Nothing was left," she mumbled; "Not even bodies for a proper burial… Nothing…" she was quiet, and then she fixed her ghostly gaze on Harry.
"They're picking off the parents of 'mudbloods', Harry. Seamus' parents have gone into hiding because of it."
Draco abruptly rose, heading for the small study. Harry was tempted to follow, but stayed as Hermione began to cry again. Draco inadvertently slammed the door shut, and cringed at its sound. Then shaking it off, he gathered up a quill, ink, and paper, and sat down at the desk. A candle flared to life, and he began to write.
"Where's Ron in all this?" Harry asked Hermione quietly.
Hermione sniffed; "Well, where should he be?" she asked, "Oh Harry, we're not together," she said; "I'm with Viktor. Ron's with Lavender…"
"Oh," Harry said. "I didn't know," he said, fumbling; "You'll stay here for the night. I can try to make this couch a bed, though I've never tried…"
"I'll do it the Muggle way, Harry," Hermione said with a small laugh; "Thank-you."
"For what?" Harry asked.
"For… for helping me," she said; "And for letting us be friends again."
Harry made an attempt at a small smile; "Hermione, I did a hell of a lot of thinking," he said; "And… I will never fully get over what you and Ron… did. But I realize that, in the coming times, I would have to set aside that anger. And, seeing you now… I knew I should have done it sooner."
Hermione sniffed, and smiled; "By God, you can be a man!" she said, and they shared a laugh.
Draco heard the laughter and rolled his eyes as he continued writing, having pulled out his thick text from before. He jotted down this and that on the parchment, particularly the aspects he failed to grasp.
Draco finished his random act of writing, and put his things away. He sat at the desk, merely staring at its cluttered surface. He could hear Harry and Hermione catching up. It was good that he talk to her again, Draco wagered. Though he had found Hermione annoying in the past, over the few months he'd come into contact with her had changed his perspective.
She was still a Know-It-All Bitch, though.
But she was an ally, one they would need. She was smart, and analytical. That would come in handy. Draco figured that if Harry was not keen to use his masses, he would. Their "Order" would need structure, and Draco would build that structure. He acquired new parchment, beginning to list the current members, all he had memorized, as was his nature.
There came a tapping on the window, and Draco was drawn from his work. He frowned when he saw a raven waiting patiently outside; Oswarae. He thought of letting him sit outside all night, but knew Harry would become upset. So, he rose with a sigh and went to open the window.
When he did, Oswarae just stared at him. /Master be planning/ his voice cawed in Draco's head.
"So since when am I master?" Draco asked curtly.
Oswarae chose not to answer and hopped onto Draco's shoulder. /Oswarae be getting many extra treats for his news/ he said. /I know what the old wizard be doing/
"Ooh really now?" Draco asked, walking over to the desk. Oswarae hopped onto it, nodding as Draco conjured a small plush cushion. "Do tell," Draco said.
Oswarae situated himself of the pillow, and then clicked his beak. /He go north, he go south/ he replied. /Looking first for teacup, and then, he find word about locket. Oswarae does not know about these things, but old wizard become very worried after tea cup/
"The Horcruxes," Draco whispered; "Oswarae, when did Dumbledore find out about the locket?"
/Dark place/ the raven replied grimly. /Dark, dark place Oswarae would not want to be/.
Draco nodded, worrying his bottom lip; "How did he look?" he asked after a time.
/His Age/ Oswarae replied.
Draco nodded grimly.
Hermione soon regained composure. After two days, Viktor came to visit her and the day she spent at Hogsmeade helped her greatly. She aided Draco and Harry in assembling the things they would need. Before they knew any better, school was back in session…
And it was Tuesday.
Hermione had talked with Ron, or tried. But the Redhead was stubborn. He still talked to her, and was friends with her, but could not let a grudge go. So, it was to be expected. He was the color of his hair. Seamus and Dean promised to help them. Ginny too, seemed to have accepted all that had transpired.
The Room of Requirement was ready. With books, playing fields, and ready students, Harry, Draco, Blaise, Pansy and Hermione stood at the head of the crowd, each the head of their own field. Harry was in control of wandless magic, Draco of Offence, Blaise with Dark Curses, Pansy of Defense, and Hermione of charms. Dean, Seamus, Ginny, and Cho were all to walk around and assist.
But before that, Harry thought he needed to explain the very meaning of War. So they all crowded around, Harry feeling much like a blunt coach talking to a rugby team.
"I hope everyone's holiday was wonderful," he began with a slight smile; "The rest was good. But over the holiday, I encountered something. Something grand and something that made me realize something greater. Every one of us know this war is in effect, that people are dying, and rules are being broken. Rights are being abused and things we once thought sacred have become ruin. People we know and care about have been harmed…" he paused; "But I must tell you all of my epiphany.
"We are the key to who wins this war. Yes, us. No longer can we be children. You think the Dark Lord has power?" he asked loudly, gaining confidence; "You think Dumbledore holds the cards? No! We do. And it's time we found out what we think is worth defending, worth dying for…" his voice trailed off; "And I believe it is this school."
"What!" Justin Flench-Fletchley asked.
"Yes, this very school," Harry said, pointing down at the floor; "Without it, how will our children learn? How will our future progress? I know for certain my children will go no where else. I might have some problems with this place, but it has served as a Haven more times than I can count. It can be the same thing should we need it in darker times."
He saw heads nodding, and murmurs of agreement filtered up. Draco cleared his voice; "My turn," he said with a sideways glance at Harry; "I received some unpleasant news from a source of mine earlier in the break…"
/What/ Harry projected to him.
/Just wait/ Draco replied.
"…And it makes me angry just as much as it makes me disheartened," Draco continued; "Death Eaters have begun to systematically sweep across Europe. Twice they have tried to attack Beauxbatons. They have caused Durmstrang to succeed to their 'campaign'. This is all hush-hush, mind you all," he stressed; "And they've begun to crawl on through Europe. I fear that, by spring, they will be encroaching on the shadow we cast here," he paused, letting it sink in; "Let me tell you what this means, because some of you seem very confused.
"More Death Eaters means the Dark Lord is gaining power.
"Dark Lords with power are terrible oppositions.
"Terrible Oppositions mean it's going to be very hard to win."
"The Dark Lord is amassing an army of Creatures, as well," Hermione said, standing stoically and gaining everyone's attention; "Ogres, giants, banshees, death eaters, werewolves, everything you can think of. This will not be the greatest battle ever to be brought upon our world."
Seamus abruptly rose, the focus turning to him. His face was flushed, he was scowling, anger beset in his words; "The Dark Lord's pickin' off the Muggle parents of witches and wizards," he said bluntly, looking around; "Mah parent's're 'idin' so they donna die. I know others are doin' tha same…" he paused, glancing at Hermione; "Some haven't been so lucky. I wilna stand fahr et. I won't!"
Dean ushered him to calm down, bringing him back to his side. Sympathy could be felt in the air for the young Irishmen, for every Gryffindor knew of how close Seamus was to his Muggle Father.
Harry nodded in affirmation, and then looked at the rapt crowd.
"This is War."
Meetings began to last long into the nights, and they ere moved to Saturday evenings. The students who came were adamant and everyone helped each other to succeed in whatever they were pursuing. As they began to delve deeper and deeper into a power they thought they did not possess, Harry soon realized that their organization was fast becoming a second-Order. He could not say he hated this, or that he condoned it. But still, he saw he was the untold leader of this brigade.
He hated that.
But he had to accept it. Draco had told him time and time again that he would trade places, and sometimes, he had. Harry could never express his gratitude, but Draco did not ask for any. He relished in the power, especially since most had accepted him and now merely viewed him as a figure of interest, not the "Ice Prince" of Hogwarts.
Now though, things had settled down. It was easily two in the morning of Sunday. Draco was in the living room, reading up on Dementors. The fire was crackling softly, Oswarae was asleep in his roost. No one had come to their door for help. No teacher had come down, or worse, the Headmaster himself.
But at that moment, Harry wanted nothing more than to for once be a generic face of a crowd. He stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, knowing that would not be possible. He frowned as he stared at his forehead. Just once, he thought, I wish you could go away.
He heard the rhythmic pulse of his headache, the only pulse he was allowed. At the reminder of his blood, Harry was forced into reverie of the night before…
"Now carefully, raise your wand…" Harry instructed, demonstrating the motion to the gaggle of Ravenclaws; "And then, flick—"
Harry, watch out!"
Whipping around, Harry saw a blue jet of light streak across his way. He felt a tingling in his back and in a flurry of ripped clothing and black feathers, the spell had been deflected.
Harry was frozen, not daring to breathe. Now, he was incased in a comfortable darkness, plumage blocking out the cryptic light of the Room of Requirement. Around him, he could clearly hear the buzz of gossip, and the vibration of footsteps lingered around him.
Had he deflected the spell on instinct?
Slowly, Harry lowered his wings, peering out at the crowd that had gathered. He saw Draco though, only him, and the distressed look his eyes projected. Hermione made her way through then, stepping in front of Harry, her wand out ,and then, a simple erasing charm left her lips. By then, Harry's wings had vanished, his shirt repaired, and it was as if nothing had happened…
He had been foolish, careless even, to let his guard down.
Harry sighed, wiping his face. Setting his hand down, they touched a pair of scissors. Harry stared down oddly, eyes focusing in on a fine blonde hair still caught between the blades. Draco had trimmed his hair. Harry picked up the scissors, and stared at his reflection. Though he had trimmed his hair in November, he decided that, since it was mid February, he was overdue. Nervously, he pulled a lock of hair, but stopped. He worried his bottom lip, unsure, and then looked back at the loo door.
"Draco? Can you come here?" he called.
Draco arrived not long after, and instantly took the scissors from Harry's hands; "Let me," he said slowly, "Sit on the counter."
Harry did as he was bidden, "Why do you want to cut your hair?" Draco asked.
Harry looked down; "I'm overdue…" he mumbled.
Draco chuckled; "Fine. Hold still. At least if I mess up, you're hairs so messy it won't matter."
"Hey! I take offense to that!"
Draco laughed again, then began trimming and snipping. He watched Harry's face contort from boredom to frustration; "What's on your mind?"
"Life," Harry said simply; "What did you get out of your read?"
"Well, seems that Dementors are really as horrible as we all imagined," Draco replied; "They are the only recorded things ever, in the existence of the world, to have the ability of destroying a soul. Completely."
Harry shivered; "And you wonder why I'm afraid of them?"
"Not now," Draco said with a grimace; "You know what other interesting fact I learned?"
"Do tell… Hey watch it, I need my ear!"
Draco laughed; "I like your ears too, you know," he said sensually, and then he sobered; "Dementors were once men."
Now Harry pulled back, shocked; "What?" he asked.
Draco nodded; "Some sick wizard works for the ministry, produces a batch of ten or so whenever they're needed. Dementors wear out. But anyway, yes. Most of them are fugitives, some Muggles some Wizards, all beasts in the end. It started out as an experiment to better understand the inner-workings of the soul, but all the sick fuck got out of it was a poor, decomposed being torn in half. All dementors know is to get their souls back. And they think that by sucking the souls of others, their souls will be put back to gether in the process."
"That's tragic," Harry said, for once pitying dementors. Then he started, not sure if what he thought was what he had. But yes, he did feel pity for them, if only just a small amount.
Draco nodded; "Yes. Anyway, that was the interesting fact I learned."
Harry looked down, "This war…" he whispered.
"Is hell to everyone."
a/n: well all, another quick one! I had the idea and I had to put it into words. So yup! There ya go! Review for more!