A/N: Sorry this one took so long. I hope it's worth it.

Yours forever, Tsona

Oh, God. My head. It felt as if a bludger were beating against the inside of his skull, beneath his shut, stinging eyes. His hands scrabbled, hoping to pressure the throb from his temple, clutched at his hair, thick and clumped, slimy beneath his fingers.

"Uhgh." He pulled his hands back in disgust and opened his eyes to see-

Mud. Mud on his fingers, mud on his drooping bangs, mud on his clothes, and mud beneath him.

But mud!

He rolled over and the pressure built in his head, made him momentarily blind with a groan. When the haze cleared, however, he saw that the world all around him was green- a brighter green than anything he could ever remember, a green almost so bright it hurt his eyes, made them sting again. After months of white snow, grey skies, and black shadows... The forest some ways ahead of him was not merely dark pines, but also deciduous trees with light green shoots at the ends of their elegant, ink paint branches. Mountains of bronze rose up behind them, still tipped with silver snow, but so far away from him that Draco couldn't care. Snow at that distance only reminded him how far he had come.

For while the landscape would have been lovely in its own right, he recognized it, had watched it sadly as it rolled into view each June, rejoiced to see it crest the hill on weekends.

To his left was the village of Hogsmeade. Its humble shops and cottages with their sharp-peaked roofs and smoke rising from a few of their chimneys and stovepipes were bathed in pale morning sunlight. Which meant-

Draco scrambled to his feet, forgetting grace, his robes and cloak tangling around his legs in his haste. His eyes grew round.

There it was! After months of longing for it- Hogwarts castle stood proud as he remembered it at the top of the cliff, its sloping grounds like velvet and the lake at the cliff's edge like deep blue satin under the brighter blue sky. Draco's eyes started to sting again despite the absence of mud and he ran a balled fist fiercely across them. Even now, even here where there was no one to see him, the effulgence of emotion seemed shamefully weak. "Women cry," his father would tell him, "young children cry, but not Death Eaters." But he was no Death Eater- he had broken free of them... somehow- and his father was miles away, whether he was still at Durmstrang or back in England.

He let one tear slide down his cheek, dragging with it the mud that was drying to his face, just to see what it felt like. It was warm, but not pleasantly so. His stomach twisted sharply and he wiped it away before it could reach his chin, so recently chilled by the Dark Lord's long, bone finger.

"You can't escape me, Draco. I'm as much a part of you as your own being. I'm so deeply entwined with your own self-"

Maybe I can't run forever, Draco thought. But right now...

Draco dug his nails into his palms, wanting to induce tears to prove he could, because Death Eaters didn't, because he doubted the Dark Lord even could, thinking that the tears might flood the Dark Lord from his system, that the hotness of them might burn him out like a fever did disease. But he hated the sensation, whether by the Dark Lord's control over him or his father's teaching. He soon opened his fists, taking away the stimulus with a sigh, dropping his eyes to muddied boots.

His wand lay in the puddle, the hawthorne wood bright against the dark, wet soil. He bent to retrieve it, tried to wipe it as clean as he could on his already dirtied robes. It remained cold in his hands. How long had he been lying here in the mud? he worried. What time was it?

His eyes roved along the line of the stonewall just behind him to where the two pillars stood, peaked by their winged boars looking ready to take flight. It had been nearly a year- a full eight months- since he had seen those boars. Last time, Draco had ridden through them in one of the dark compartments of the horseless carriages in silence, arms crossed over his chest, hunched over, sitting beside Crabbe, who was trying to make himself small to give Draco room, and across from Goyle and a squashed Theodore. "Hey," Theodore had said, "you all right?"

"Yeah," had been Draco's moody response.

He remembered sitting at the annual farewell feast, surrounded by melancholy, pale faces and the black drapery in honor of Cedric Diggory, who had not escaped his first encountered with the Dark Lord, who had been present at the rebirthing. He remembered Dumbledore's piercing blue eyes, Draco's stomach wiggling like frog spawn in a sudden current when they had flown toward him, pinned him during his speech. "Remember Cedric. Remember, if the time should come when you have to make a choice between what is right and what is easy, what happened to a boy who was good, kind, and brave when he strayed across the path of Lord Voldemort..."

Draco remembered. He remembered Diggory's wide, staring eyes and his father barreling through the last few rows of students and professors, tearing at them all like a nesting dragon to get to his son. He remembered Mr. Diggory's howls- they still sent a shudder through him, made him want to cringe back, away. That's what I'm escaping, Draco reminded himself. All of that. I'm not Diggory and I'm not the Dark Lord either. No one's making that noise because of me...

"Every guest in this Hall," Dumbledore had said while Draco had examined his then-elegant, put-together reflection in the back of golden spoon, trying to avoid those eyes, which already he felt were searching him out, "will be welcomed back here."

"Will be welcomed back... if the time should come when you have to choose between what is right and what is easy."

Draco wrapped himself in the muddy cloak, darting looks across the stonewall toward the castle, and walked across the new grass- pleasantly, surprisingly springy beneath his feet, not like the ice-covered snow at all- toward the muddy snake of the road and the gates. He wiped his fists across his face again, trying to rid himself of the grime of his inexpert Apparition.

They were chained shut. Draco reached out a hand to touch the padlock and felt the heat, the same heat he had felt when reaching toward the locked door of his dungeon cell in Durmstrang. He had been locked in there; he was locked out here. All that way... all that trouble... Did he dare risk a spell to open them? if even just to call someone? or would trying to break the chains be seen as an act of hostility? a black mark on his story of remorse?

So much for being welcomed, he thought, sliding back to the ground, folding his legs up against his chest. False words. How often had Dumbledore spewed them? How much could Draco believe?

"Malfoy? Tha' you?"

Draco sprang to his feet, dived for his wand, spun around. "Hagrid!" He'd never been more glad to see the towering, burly figure of the half-giant gamekeeper- actually, he'd never been glad to see him. Now, though, he was someone who could let Draco back into Hogwarts; some days Draco had wondered if anyone was closer to Dumbledore.

"We've been lookin' fer yeh," Hagrid said, staring hard at him from small, black eyes nearly hidden in the wealth of curly, black hair and beard.

"You have?"

"Didn' really want ter, o' course," the man continued in a low growl, pulling out a giant ring of keys from the pocket of his moleskin overcoat. "But Dumbledore said-"

"He knows I'm here?"

"Professor Snape thought yeh'd be on the way," Hagrid explained, now looking through his many keys. "Said yeh didn't Splinch. But o' course, yeh can't Apparate inter Hogwarts."

Of course! How could he have forgotten?

"An' with security as it is, yeh can hardly get in any other way either, 'cept on invitation. Dumbledore said yeh're ter be invited in, though, so-" Hagrid inserted a very small key into the bottom of the padlock and, turning it, the chains fell away from the gates.

Draco pushed them open, stepping between the boar-topped columns and onto the Hogwarts grounds- home. The smile pushing at his cheeks made his muscles ache from mere rarity of use. "Thanks, Hagrid."

"Don' thank me," Hagrid said brusquely, almost angrily, locking the gates behind Draco and beginning down the long slope of the drive to the castle. "I still think yeh're a rotten, spoiled scumbag. Besides, Dumbledore said ter let yeh inter the grounds. He wasn't specific as to what ter do with yeh next."

Draco, who had been jogging after Hagrid, froze. He'd realized it even just last night: Draco didn't deserve any kindness from anyone at Hogwarts, least of all Hagrid, whom he'd attacked without provocation almost from the moment he'd first stepped off the Hogwarts Express, maybe even as soon as he'd seen his bushy face through the window of Madam Malkin's robe shop the day he'd met Harry Potter. "Hagrid-" he began, but what could he say to possibly excuse his behavior?

Hagrid stopped too and turned to face him, his black eyes narrow and overlarge eyebrows low. "Look, Malfoy- yeh don' like me, an' I don' like you neither. Might be there's nothin' now that'll change that. Yeh know I don' think he ought ter have after what yeh did- goin' ter You-Know-Who and doin' who knows what- bu' Dumbledore said ter invite yeh in. Yeh haven't done nothin' yet ter make me hurt yeh, so I'm not going ter. An' I think yeh know if you hurt anyone here, I'm not the on'y person you'll have ter worry about. We'll keep it at that for now."

"Thank you," Draco breathed. "I know I don't deserve-"

"Cut tha' snivelin'. Now, are yeh goin' ter follow me all the way to me cabin? What are yeh going ter do?"

It was an open invitation. He could do anything, anything at all. But Draco found the words coming to him, leaving his mouth, "I think I have to see Dumbledore."

Hagrid grunted.

"Where can I find him, Hagrid? You must know."

"Probably up in his office, but yeh won' be able ter get up there on yer own. Guess there's nothin' for it, is there? I'll have ter take yeh."

Hagrid began back down the slope and Draco tried to keep up. "What do you think he'll do to me, Hagrid? Dumbledore, I mean."

Hagrid gave him a sharp look. "Yeh askin' me fer comfort, Malfoy?"

"Yes."

Hagrid looked up toward the castle and said, "He's a great man, Dumbledore, the very bes'. Probably he'll give yeh a second chance. Yeh'd just bes' be sure yeh deserve it."

"But Hagrid, I don't."

"Yeh migh' if yeh don' blow this un. Tha's all Dumbledore'll ask."

Hagrid led him down the hill, past the tufts of new grasses, sprigs of little, white snowdrops, past his own wooden cabin.

Hagrid was watching Draco from the corner of his eye. "Yeh migh' want ter clean up a bi'?"

Draco shook his head mutely, watching the muddy path beneath his feet, the great footprints made by Hagrid's boots, slowly filling with water.

They past the lake, which Draco found himself turning away from; its black waters mirrored his thoughts- dark nights and black masks, white faces and flashes of green.

The grounds turned up not long after that, a long line of steps forming the spine of the cliff that held the castle high above the surrounding area, nearer the bronze mountains beyond Hogsmeade. He soon shed his heavy cloak, bowing to the warmer, English weather and the steepness of the climb. The stairs had never seemed so long, Draco thought, as they reached the oaken front doors and he looked back the way he had come. Students were leaving in twos and threes from the greenhouses nestled halfway up the steep steps.

"Come on," Hagrid said, holding open the door.

Draco ducked beneath his arm.

Classes had just let out. Students were issuing from the dungeons and Potions into the flagstone entrance hall, were descending the marble staircase, books in their arms. The whole place seemed brighter than he had remembered, the gem-filled hourglasses in the corner glittering as sunlight streamed through the castle from the great glass clock face floors above. The students were all smiling, chatting, laughing and Draco moved toward them feeling more like a ghost, like the Bloody Baron, than anything else, so distant, so alien-

Hagrid passed him and cut a path for him through the students as he began to climb the marble steps. Several of the students broke off cheerful conversations to gawk at Draco as he passed; Draco did his best to keep his eyes fastened on Hagrid's broad shoulders.

"Is that...?"

"You know, I think it might be."

"What's he doing here?"

"Didn't he go off to join the Death Eaters?"

"Hi, Hagrid."

"Hello, Ginny."

There was a sharp gasp and Draco looked around to meet Ginerva Weasley's dark glower, looking so much like her older brother that Draco wanted to flinch. Her hand started to inch toward her pocket.

"I'm taking him to Dumbledore, Ginny," Hagrid said in a low voice.

Weasley snorted. "You ought to knock him out cold first, Hagrid. Or let me do it. I know some really good curses."

Hagrid chuckled. "Maybe some other time, Ginny."

"But Hagrid!"

"I think I can handle him."

Weasley's dark eyes narrowed again. "Fine. Come on, Kari. Alana!"

One of Weasley's friends had been trying to get a better look at Draco; Draco was avoiding her curious eyes, looking the other direction, but heard her "Coming!" and then the scurry of her feet, and as she caught up to her friends, "Why's he all covered in mud?"

Weasley replied, "It suits him. Reflects the inside."

Draco grimaced.

They hadn't made it even so far as the second storey when they were accosted again. "Hi, Hagrid!"

Draco stiffened, stopping this time before Hagrid did, his head jerking up at the familiar voice. The hallways were emptier now as people found their classrooms and the stragglers were clearly visible: Potter was leading Ronald Weasley with his obnoxiously red hair and the Mudblood Granger down the flight of steps toward Hagrid and Draco. Draco shuffled nearer the banister, hoping Hagrid's generous girth would hide him from the eyes of the trio. He had hoped he would feel something different when he next saw them, had hoped that, being hunted by the Dark Lord himself, he would feel some sort of odd connection to the Boy-Who-Lived. All he felt was the same hot anger coursing through his veins at the face that was more sharply angled now, but was nevertheless so open as to be boyish. Potter had taken so much from him, had handed him over to so much sh-

"What are you doing in-" Potter began asking Hagrid, but then those green eyes met Draco's and narrowed in like hatred. Draco saw Potter's hand dive toward his pocket and mimicked the motion, his fingers brushing the still cool wood of his wand. He would draw it if he had to, if Potter drew his. He watched Potter calculating the risk.

"Malfoy?" Weasley sounded as outraged as Potter was, but Draco didn't remove his eyes from Potter's; Potter was the greater threat. Perhaps Weasley noticed he was being ignored because his next question was for the gamekeeper. "Where'd you find him, Hagrid? He looks like he's been wallowing in some pigsty."

"That the best you can do, Weasley?" Draco wanted to know.

"I could tell you the pigs probably liked you better than anyone will here?"

Draco laughed, unimpressed, but thinking he heard a low chuckle from Hagrid as well, quickly exchanged it for a frown.

"Where did you find him, Hagrid?" Granger asked again.

"Up at the gates. I'm bringin' him to-"

"I don't care where you found him," Potter said quietly. "I just want to know why you didn't leave him there."

"Dumbledore sent me ter look fer him, Harry."

"Why?"

"Why? I, er-"

"Dumbledore will have his reasons, Harry," Granger said, laying a hand on his shoulder, trying to lower it perhaps from his ear.

"Oh? Like he has a reason for trusting Snape? Like he has a reason for not talking to me for a whole bloody year?"

"You and Dumbledore aren't talking?" Draco repeated, surprised. Potter had always been Dumbledore's special, favored child.

Potter's face twisted in a snarl. "If we've been talking or not- it's none of your business, Malfoy."

"What did you possibly do to lose Dumbledore's-"

Potter whipped his wand from his pocket and, in a stride, had it in Draco's face. It shook in his anger.

"Steady on there!" Hagrid cried.

Draco was a second behind him, drawing his own wand and taking a step back; from that distance there could be no aiming.

"Hey!" Hagrid boomed. "Harry, Malfoy- put 'em away. Come on now."

"Scared?" Potter wanted to know.

"Hardly. Getting a better angle."

"Oh Harry, don't. He isn't worth it," Granger said at his elbow.

"Hermione, Hagrid won't turn me in and neither will you or Ron. I ought to take this opportunity to curse this rat so badly he won't be able to bring one scrap back to Voldemort."

Draco flinched at the name, knew they'd all seen him cower. Wearily, resigned, he asked, "Potter, what are you on ab-"

"You're here as a spy. Admit it."

"Potter, this is hardly the place for a criminal trial."

"Maybe not, but at least here your father can't jangle his pockets and get you out of it."

Draco had to fight not to flinch again. His father wouldn't be coming for him any longer, not after what he'd just done. He lowered his wand. "Potter-"

"Standing down already? I would have thought Voldemort would train his rat better."

"I'm not a spy!"

"Then," Granger interrupted, "why are you here? Because Harry's reason makes sense."

"I'm here to see Dumbledore, that's all you have to know," Draco glared. Idiots. Prying, nosy-

"No, because once you get to Dumbledore you could curse him," Harry growled. "Maybe."

"I won't."

"Harry, Dumbledore I think wanted ter see him. Why else would he have me lookin' fer him? An' besides, I don' think he can get past Dumbledore if it comes ter a duel. An' I'll be there."

He will? Draco didn't like the idea of an audience.

Potter turned his green eyes on Hagrid, considering.

"Go on," the gamekeeper told him. "I'll look after him. He can't get a curse pas' me. There's advantages ter bein' half-gian'."

"All right," Potter agreed. "But know-" his gaze swung back to singe Draco and he jabbed his wand inches nearer "-you do one thing to hurt anyone here and I swear I'll-"

"Curse me into a slug," Draco filled in, feigning boredom in place of the flicker of fear; the wand tip was so near his heart. "I've got it, Potter."

"Good," he said, withdrawing his wand, but keeping his fist, knuckles white, tight on it. "Hagrid, hurry up and get him to Dumbledore. I'll feel better once he's there. Ron, Hermione, let's go."

"See you, mudhead," Weasley called as they left. "Maybe."

"He's been trying to come up with that this whole time," Draco opined, muttering and shaking his head as he watched Weasley and Granger jog down the marble stairs after a storming Potter.

"Yeh could say thank you," Hagrid said.

"For what?"

"For stoppin'- Never mind. Come on," Hagrid growled, starting up the stairs again. Draco followed him. "Yeh bett'r no' be," the half-giant added after they had gained the second storey.

"Better not be what?" Draco was already beginning to fret over what he would say, what he would do when faced with the headmaster. He was remembering the vision the Dark Lord had shown him, Dumbledore burning with fury and building power, wand tip at Draco's knight-bound throat as-

"Spyin'. If yeh are-"

"I told them, I'm not."

Hagrid grunted and stopped before a tall gargoyle, wings spread, sitting hunched in upon itself, perhaps preparing to spring. It did not look horribly unfriendly; its growl hid a smile. But of course, Draco corrected himself, the Dark Lord had smiled too, even- especially on the hunt.

Hagrid leaned in toward the statue and muttered, obviously trying to keep the password from Draco, "Licorice wand."

At Hagrid's words, the gargoyle leapt to life, sashaying aside as the wall behind it split and slowly the two halves opened outward to accept Hagrid and Draco, watching from behind the gamekeeper. A great spiral staircase ground into life, turning, steps moving upward toward an unseen storey. Hagrid pushed Draco in front of him, making him stumble past the bowing gargoyle, who Draco definitely thought of as sneering now. He got on one of the steps. It was an odd sensation, to be on a moving stair, unable to climb up or down without feeling unbalanced, moving without moving. The thudding shut of the halves of the wall only increased the writhing of Draco's stomach, the sudden pant in his breath. He looked back to see that the wall had sealed itself seamlessly behind Hagrid. Draco was locked inside now, no choice but to go forward. He recalled suddenly the door shut behind his father, the stifling darkness of the Dark Lord's office, the sharp coldness of his fingers dragging at Draco's chin, holding him still, trapped.

He was recalled to the present by a banging series of knocks. Hagrid had wrapped his fingers around the outside and whole of a door knocker. By looking up beneath his thick, hairy arm, Draco could see a darkened bronze griffin looking down at him, a snack.

"Enter."

Hagrid pushed the door open and Draco blinked in the light. The back wall of Dumbledore's office was nearly all windows. The morning sun gleamed on what must have been nearly a hundred interesting objects of silver and gold arranged on the glass-fronted shelves of cabinets that encompassed the room and a number of spindly-legged tables, whirring and tinkling and occasionally letting off a pop, bang, or puff of smoke. The light created glares on the oil paintings that were crowded onto the upper half of the wall.

"Ah."

Dumbledore himself, his silver hair and waist-length beard seeming to glow as well in the light, was seated behind an intricately carved oaken desk, a newspaper splayed out before him. He adjusted his half-moon spectacles and Draco found himself again beneath the penetrating blue stare, as he had been caught that night last June, and he froze beneath it.

"Hagrid," Dumbledore said gently, removing Draco momentarily from his gaze, leaving him trembling. "Thank you for finding him. Will you leave us now?"

"Professor Dumbledore," Hagrid quickly argued, "I really do think-"

"No, Hagrid," Dumbledore smiled, "I'm sure Draco and I shall both be fine."

"But if he's a trait-"

"Hagrid," Dumbledore cut across the word. "Please."

Hagrid hesitated. "Jus' be careful, Professor. Wand out and all that."

Dumbledore smiled at him and said again, "Thank you, Hagrid."

The gamekeeper shut the oaken door behind himself and Draco found himself alone with the Hogwarts headmaster. Dumbledore's blue eyes found his again, but there was a smile on the headmaster's lips. "Sit, Draco," he said, gesturing toward a cushioned chair in front of his desk.

Draco shook his head, mutely, too scared to speak. He knew what he had to do. He had read a book once on dueling. Dumbledore raised one white eyebrow, watching him.

Draco drew his wand and sank down to his knees where he was by the shut door. He bent forward in a bow, extending his arms, one hand closed on his wand's handle and the other around the tip so that it could not be fired without hurting himself. He let it go, then shunted it away, toward Dumbledore, beyond his reach. The book hadn't mentioned how hard it was to watch your wand roll away from you, to let it go. He pushed himself back to a kneeling position then shut his eyes tight, not wanting to see what would happen when he said, "If you strike, strike true."

"Draco-"

His was shivering now and moisture was gathering again beneath his shut lids, being pushed downward and-

"Draco," Dumbledore said again.

Draco waited. He heard the headmaster push back his chair. At least he would take the words seriously, would come closer and shorten the wait between when Dumbledore said the words and-

"Open your eyes, Draco."

He was going to make him watch! Draco obeyed though. What else could he do while on his knees, unarmed?

Dumbledore stood not far from him and he was holding Draco's wand, his own hand around the tip.

"It's all right," Dumbledore said quietly. "I don't intend to hurt you."

"But the Dark Lord said-"

"Voldemort-" Draco flinched "-says many things. But that does not make them true. Take your wand, Draco, and stand up."

Draco did, staring at Dumbledore; the sunlight crafted a halo for him from the loose wisps of his white hair and beard.

A chirrup answered the headmaster, as if to agree, pure as a note plucked from the finest harp. Draco looked around, feeling the note shiver through him, making his own fibers vibrate to its tune. It was warm as the first sip of hot cocoa, spread to his fingers. A red and gold plumed bird sat on a golden perch beside the door, not far behind him. It regarded him with eyes bright as obsidian. Draco felt the corners of his mouth lift as the phoenix sang another note.

"Come sit, Draco." Draco, prying his eyes from the bird, saw that Dumbledore's eyebrows had drawn together, the corners of his mouth had turned down. "Have a cup of tea." The headmaster did not demand, but request and Draco yielded, given the choice. "You look dead on your feet. Or," Dumbledore corrected himself with a quirk, "you do from what little bit of you I can see beneath the mud."

"I forgot you can't Apparate into Hogwarts," Draco admitted, sheepish, as he followed Dumbledore back toward his desk. "I was so concentrated on getting out... Are you sure you want me to sit?" Draco added, gesturing toward the upholstery.

"There are spells to remove stains. Please." Dumbledore picked up a blackened kettle tapped it with his wand so that it issued a spurt of steam.

Draco sat down and watched him as he added several leaves to large mugs he conjured from no where and poured the water atop them. He passed Draco the first cup, and Draco accepted it silently, still watching him.

Dumbledore took the second and returned to his chair across the desk. Settling himself, his eye caught Draco's stare, grinning. "Well, Draco. I did not ask you up here, so why is it that I have the pleasure of welcoming you to my office? Or was that thoughtful but highly unnecessary display of surrender it?"

Draco looked into the mug between his hands, into the dark tea that was brewing there. The brown color swirled and drew pictures of all he had encountered. The tea began to lap at the ceramic wall and Draco found a lump of heavy words congealing, burning in his throat.

His silence left audible the whisper of feathers and then the soft fwump as the phoenix landed on Dumbledore's desk. It inched nearer Draco, extending its swanlike neck till it caught his stinging eye, then it dipped its long beak into his mug.

Draco smiled at it and wondered if he would have done so eight months ago. He stretched out a hand and ran it down the bird's neck; the feathers were smooth as silk and surprisingly warm.

"I think I've come here to confess. And," Draco added, mumbling, his fingers digging somewhat into the bird's plumage, "to beg your forgiveness."

"Both noble pursuits," Dumbledore prompted.

"Yes... Professor, I- Where do I begin?"

"Anywhere you like. One usually starts at the beginning, but perhaps for you it would be easiest to work backward?"

Draco tried to hide the grin that was inexplicably growing. "All right." Draco thought. "I got out. Or, I think I have. I meant to," he told the tea.

"Got out of what?"

"The Death Eaters. Out from under the Dark Lord. But I think I've lost my father's affection in the process, whatever there was of it to lose. I won't be able to go back after this. And I'm out of chances with the Dark Lord as well. He doesn't like traitors." Draco flinched to apply the word to himself.

"So I'm a last resort?" But Dumbledore's blue eyes still twinkled behind his glasses.

Draco admitted, surprised by the fact, "No. You're the choice I ought to have realized was here before now. Or I hope you are."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows in question.

"I've done everything to deserve your refusal-"

"Instead, let us say, you were chasing approval from others."

It was true, so Draco couldn't dispute the phrase. "Yes, well. Now I'll chase yours if that's what you want from me. I've spent time inside the Dark Lord's headquarters and he-" a razor finger running along the side of his face, red eyes searching his, a soft frown, and a voice cooing, "My Draco"- "wasn't distant with me. I know you're connected with the Order of the Phoenix. I think I could be of use. My father was- he told the Dark Lord I had to be- punished- swiftly. He said I was in too deep, that no one knew how much information I had gathered."

"Draco," Dumbledore said gently.

Draco shook his head, took a great gulp from the tea mug. "I think he was right. I have information. I think if you asked me, I could find you answers and you could-"

"I don't need information from you, Draco."

Draco looked up.

"If one day you can give it of your own free will-"

Draco fought the whine in his voice, "I'm offering it to you."

"But as a bargain. What is you want from me, Draco?"

"I have no where else to go," Draco told the headmaster. "And anywhere I go, I think they might hunt me. Potter- well, you try and keep him safe here and it works some of the time- he's still alive, at any rate."

"I do nothing for him I would not do for another student."

"Will you do it for me?"

"You want my protection?"

"No. I need it."

Dumbledore looked at him. His piercing gaze traveled up and down Draco, along his arm to his phoenix, who looked back at the headmaster with a cocked head.

"Then you will have it."

"Just like that?"

"Do you think you have no worth of your own, Draco?"

Draco looked into the tea, caught sight of his reflection, deep depressions, a nasty shade of purple beneath tired eyes half-veiled by lids he couldn't keep up. His hair, grown long, drooped forward. It and the too-pale face were smeared with mud. He knew what answer the headmaster wanted to his question but Draco didn't think a negative really applied, so he kept silent, but so did Dumbledore; he expected some reply. Draco fished for one. "The Dark Lord thought I did," Draco admitted. "Or I thought, sometimes- he made it sound as if-" Draco's stomach twisted, grew heavier within him, realizing that, in the end, not even the Dark Lord had found him anything more than a tool. "What use has anyone for a broken wand?"

"Not Voldemort's answer, Draco; yours."

Draco recovered from his shudder to look up at him through blonde bangs. His heart felt warped in his chest, a twisted thing like one of Longbottom's melted cauldrons. "You don't want my answer, sir."

"On the contrary, Draco." The headmaster laced his fingers and leaned forward to rest his hidden chin on the bridge they made between his propped elbows. "I think you don't want your answer. Whatever it is seems to be eating you alive. We will need to work on that. But, I think, not tonight. Tonight I think you ought to wash up, then go along to Madam Pomfery for a night of dreamless sleep. I shall tell her you are coming. You remember the way?"

Draco nodded, willing now to accept any dictums the headmaster placed on him. But- "Sir? There's something I'd like to do first."

"Oh?"

"Do you know the house-elf Dobby?"

Dumbledore's beard twitched in a grin, eyes twinkling.

A/N: Hmm... this one got rather long. I was so excited to be writing Harry/Draco spats again that it just sort of... kept going. And then I felt as if there's so much Dumbledore could say and so much Draco ought to. I hope it didn't ramble. I would like to say again though, brownie points to anyone who can find the oblique Biblical reference in this chapter... darn, I've just revealed my brownie point culture. Well, feel educated. I regret to inform you, this is the end. But not the true end, for in addition to this story, there are also two sequels to it. :) The first is called Tapestries Tear and relates Draco's trials at Hogwarts. I hope, if you enjoyed this story, you might think to take pleasure there as well. The second is called And Then There Were Nine. I sha'n't tell you the plot line of that one here in case you decide to read Tapestries Tear first; to do so would ruin the ending of that book. So, in sum, cheers! Thank you so much for reading my story!

Yours forever, Tsona