Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and its characters are not mine.

Warning: Dark themes, disturbing imagery, and violence.

Ravens Cry in Dissonance

Part III: Danse Macabre

The stretch of green was of the lush summer hue; the blanket of blue was of the vast, boundless canvas that was at once near and far. Underneath the generous shade of the juniper tree, he was half-leaning, half-reclining against the trunk with a book on his lap. But he was not reading, for the soft summer breeze was enticing him to close his eyes and allow himself be carried away to his slumber.

With a start, he snapped open his eyes, only to find them drooping ever so slowly once more. Vigorously shaking his head, he willed himself to stay awake, and continued reading the printed text on the pages. Nevertheless, words were beginning to fuse together into a gibberish of letters.

Filtered by the curtains of lustrous leaves, the fair sunlight was comfortingly warm. A gentle breeze fluttered onto his cheeks, bringing along the sweet scent of jasmine, a fragrance that was so much like the scent of his mother's fair tresses. The rustling of the leaves whispered half-forgotten lullabies to his ear. Unable to resist the siren's call of sleep anymore, he closed his eyes, and let his mind drift away into the world of dreams.

Half-aware of a soft rustle near where he laid, he cracked open one drowsy grey eye, wondering if his father had come to see the progress of his study. However, the tall shadow-like figure looming over him did not possess the haughty bearing of his father, nor the slender elegance of his mother. It was a stranger enveloped in a stained travelling cloak liken to tattered wings, a hunching figure looming over him like a monstrous vulture, with a face so twisted amidst the violent interplay of loathing and madness that it no longer resembled human to his young eyes.

Overflowing terror filled his untried heart as he stared at the stranger, the very vision of a fell beast taking the form of a human. Driven by pure instinct, he tried to scramble away from this horrid nightmare, but it was too late. Everlasting darkness embraced his small figure, binding him into its impregnable folds.

Memories of childhood bliss became remote dreams that were no longer. Reality transformed into an inescapable delirium of white suffocation and scarlet agony, and claustrophobic darkness became his only companion. The only fragile thread of sanity he could desperately cling onto was the stranger's harsh, accusing voice that pierced ruthlessly into his mind like a knife. "Your father did terrible things to my family; that's why I will return the favour and do the same to his. Let's see who will break first: you or your dear father."

After that, not even the voice of the stranger could pull him out of the grotesque hell that was this cursed world. Looking into the disorienting kaleidoscope of fragmented hallucination, he saw flashes of the ashen grey sky, the tear-stricken face of a beautiful woman who was his mother, and another face, a visage so fascinatingly hideous yet coldly handsome. Stern eyes of the same colour as the overcast sky gazed deeply into his, and then they metamorphosed into a silver dagger glinting with deadly glow.

The voice of his murderer, at once frozen by winter frost and gentle as summer breeze, trickled into his ears in inevitable finality. "I will not ask for forgiveness, Draco." --

The beating of wings and a hoarse calling from above drew him away from the vivid vision in the hidden recess of his mind. When Draco Malfoy opened his eyes to the present time once more, his pupils were clear and profound as the cloudless sky in the winter night; the turmoil swirling inside of him touched not a spark of those liquid silver orbs.

Sitting on the ground with one leg stretched out before him, he swept his gaze across the draughty, secluded Owlery where hundreds of owls began to stir from their peaceful slumber, while beyond the windowless openings, the dimming pallid sky bled a tempestuous red. Against the backdrop of the vermilion sky, a raven perched placidly on the crude stonework protruded from the wall, its head cocked curiously towards the human intruder.

In silent command Draco extended his arm, and the raven compliantly flew across the tower, like a loyal servant throwing himself before his master's feet. Narrowed grey eyes tinted with gold contemplated those gleaming dark eyes for several tense heartbeats, before a smile of satisfaction slowly crept onto Draco's bloodless lips.

"It seems they are well hidden, but not well enough," he whispered to the raven, the morbidly serene smile never once left his face. "Alas, the cursed bloodline will have to wait for the moment. Still, it is only polite to send my greeting, don't you think?" To which the raven spoke no reply.

Unhurriedly Draco got up from the floor, with the raven perching on his shoulder, its form still as a statue. In one smooth movement, he pulled out the dagger concealed in his sleeve, and made a small nick on his fingertip. After the dagger vanished once more out of sight, a deathly white hand lightly stroked the bird's motionless figure, before plucking out a black feather from one of its wings. With ceremony Draco held his bleeding finger over the feather, letting a single drop of blood fall onto the silken feather. Words of incantation flowed easily out of his mouth, ever so intricately binding his spell onto the spoilt feather.

As though their animalistic instinct had detected the working of forbidden curses, the owls in the tower cried and fidgeted in distress, but Draco took them no heed for the moment. Holding the feather before him, he breathed life into it. As if his breath was tinged with acid, the feather disintegrated into nothingness before his eyes.

"There is no reason for alarm," he spoke mildly to the restless owls, his voice as soothing as an affectionate caress over ruffled wings. "It was nothing more than a little mischief. Yes, little more than a simple mischief." His words cast a spell over the Owlery, and the commotion at last died away into whispers and murmurs.

A croak from the raven informed Draco of a presence fast ascending the worn stone staircase beyond the archway. After receiving a nod of approval from Draco, the raven spread its wings of midnight black, and took flight into the swiftly darkening sky. Like a chameleon reluctant to be seen, Draco melted into the shadow, and waited patiently for the arrival of the unwitting invader.

Several beats passed by in languid motion, before a lithe figure nimbly stepped across the threshold and onto the landing; the fluid agility liken to that of a dancing flame could only have belonged to one person. Wary green eyes scanned the surrounding around him, but they could not penetrate through the shadow that shrouded Draco like a cloak. At length the figure prowled over to where a snowy owl sat conspicuously amidst its fellow companions.

"Hi, Hedwig," the figure coaxed the owl while extracting a sealed letter from the pocket of his black robe. "Can you take this to Remus Lupin for me? Be careful not to let anyone else see you, since it's getting dangerous out there." When the owl named Hedwig let out a cooing sound in response, the figure tied the letter onto Hedwig's talons. "Come back quickly, alright?"

Suddenly the figure tensed, as though he had at last detected the foreign presence in the tower. With practiced ease, he whirled around with his wand drawn, only to find the tip of his wand aiming at Draco Malfoy, who had stepped forward into the light. Immediately the wand was lowered.

"Do you enjoy scaring people like this?" Harry Potter let out a nervous breath he had been unconsciously holding, and put away his wand. "What are you doing here?"

"I was about to leave," was all Draco would say to Harry; there was neither any need nor any reason to divulge to Harry about the details of his movement. As expected Harry frowned at the vague reply, but he inquired about it no more.

For some moment Harry studied the boy standing before him. The ghostly translucency of Draco's face brought a peculiar pang in his chest. The unfathomable blackness of the robe accented Draco's pallor horribly as if Death had already laid a claim on his life.

Tentatively Harry asked, unable to keep the note of concern from seeping into his voice, "How are you feeling?"

Preternaturally perceptive as Draco always was, he had no difficulty detecting the words that were left unsaid. "I have been better," Draco spoke quietly, his pale visage betraying none of his innermost thoughts.

Harry could not help but wonder at the truth behind Draco's response. While injury done unto the body could be healed, wounds that were invisible to the naked eye could be all the more deadly. After being informed of Lucius Malfoy's escape, Draco seemed inhumanly aloof save for that one instance Harry had witnessed on the spiral staircase. And yet, Harry had a feeling that the news affected Draco much more than he let on. The conflict between Draco and his father was one topic Harry had been curious about, but he dared not breach it lest he appeared invasive. Still, he could not bring himself to leave Draco be.

Turning his back on Draco under the pretence of checking the knot he had tied around Hedwig's leg, Harry said, "If you didn't know already, the Daily Prophet ran a story about your father this morning. Needless to say, some people aren't very happy about it."

Unbeknownst to him, Draco raised an eyebrow at the unsurprising news, an arrogant gesture befitting of one who was walking upon a road neither light nor dark. "Weasley, for one?" Draco uttered slowly, his voice tinted with the faintest sliver of condescension.

Indignation trickled into Harry's mind like poison; it took some effort on his part to refrain from hailing out a scathing remark at Draco. Taking a deliberate deep breath, Harry began anew in a calm tone, "I admit Ron is hotheaded, but he's still my best friend."

"If you are worried that Weasley and I will end up in a fight, there is no need," Draco replied while peering out the window with an absentminded look on his face.

"Really? You could fool me." A note of sarcasm crept into Harry's voice. Feeling a need to keep his hands occupied, he mechanically ran his hand over Hedwig's feathers, a gesture that helped soothe away his own restlessness. "You aren't helping by provoking him at every turn."

The momentary pause lengthened into prolonged silence, at times punctured by the mumbles of the owls. When one of the owls stretched out its wings and flew into the twilight, Draco finally spoke in a barely audible whisper, "I might have agreed to tell you what you wanted to know, but don't you think you are meddling too much into my affairs? It's a nuisance."

Quick as a leopard, Harry spun around to face Draco; but the velvety silhouette of the enigmatic boy was no longer there. In exchange, a cold draught came rushing into the Owlery, whipping at Harry's face and ebony hair in mock scolding.

Amber candlelight burnt steadily within the enclosed Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, creating a halo of flame around the raised platform at the centre of the room. It illuminated the two duellists battling on the stage but little else. The rest of the students, be they waiting nervously for their turn to be tested or bemoaning their test results, hung back in the shadow. And Snape, sitting on a chair beyond the reach of the circular light, observed everything that was happening on the platform with the keen eye of a hawk.

Leaning against the wall with Hermione and Ron on either side of him, Harry watched the ongoing duel distractedly, before his eyes were led astray to the lone figure standing on the opposite side of the chamber. Even though he could not see the face, he could sense mercurial eyes flickering briefly towards him before turning away. A wave of irrational indignation was risen in Harry's heart at the overt evasion. Despite his sullen temper, however, he noticed his fellow classmates had given Draco a wide berth, while the other Slytherins were huddling a little away from Draco, as if fearful of disturbing his thoughts.

Having discerned to whom his gaze was directed at, Hermione whispered to Harry in a low voice, "I wonder who will Snape pair Malfoy with. Considering how good Malfoy is, most people here wouldn't stand a chance against him."

In truth, Harry had been wondering about that as well. If Draco had managed to survive his encounter with the Dark Lord all by himself, then a test such as this would be like child's play to him. Even with enforced rules, Draco still possessed a natural advantage over everyone else, especially considering who his mentor was.

"Knowing Snape though, he might actually pair Malfoy up with you." Hermione's voice interjected on his musing, prompting Harry to look at her in disquietude.

Harry could barely remember the last time he actually fought with Draco. The past dispute between him and Draco seemed petty now that he was given a glimpse of what lay behind those deceptive masks of Draco's.

"Good, he'll get his just dessert soon," Ron, who had overheard Hermione's remark, said spitefully and stared straight into Harry's eyes. "Don't you dare go easy on him, Harry."

Words of retort were rolling at the tip of Harry's tongue, but he willed himself to bite back those words that would undoubtedly spark another quarrel.

"Enough." Snape's authoritative voice cut through the air like a scythe, and the two students on the platform immediately ceased their duel. Quick as a pair of hunted deer, the two stepped off the stage, obviously relieved that the test was over. "Next, Draco Malfoy and Ronald Weasley."

Murmurs of disbelief and excitement were buzzing in the classroom as if a swarm of flies were feasting upon dead flesh. The wilful decision of the Head of Slytherin House to pit Ron against his sworn enemy, whom he had threatened with grievous injury, puzzled many. Nearly every head was turned to regard Ron, who appeared as surprised and bewildered as his fellow classmates.

Nonetheless, Harry was not looking at his friend; instead, he was staring intently at the figure who was slowly emerging from the shadow. Nearby candles cast a golden glow over Draco's stoic visage that was like a mask in a theatrical play. There was little doubt in Harry's mind that Draco was the mastermind behind this curious arrangement. And yet, his motive eluded Harry like a wisp of illusory smoke refusing to be captured. Was this Draco's response to Harry's well-meaning warning in the Owlery?

After several long seconds, Harry finally heard Ron speaking through gritted teeth, "Perfect, I've been wanting to hex him for a long time." And with that, Ron pushed himself away from the wall, and strolled over to the platform where his opponent quietly awaited.

All eyes were transfixed upon the raised stage; but the two duellists ignored the audience, opting to study the other warily. Those profound silver eyes of Draco's were trained upon Ron in cool appraisal; Ron's deep blue pupils glared at his arch-nemesis with burning detestation. Being one of the spectators in the crowd, Harry could do nothing but watch in silence. Standing beside him, Hermione chewed on her bottom lip in barely suppressed anxiety.

"You know the rule. One Unforgivable and you will be expelled." Snape's dispassionate voice rang through the classroom, silencing every chatter in the chamber. "You may begin."

The duellists faced each other on the candlelit stage, not bothering to exercise the courtesy usually displayed to their opponent before a duel. Without warning, Ron was hit by a flash of red light, and was bodily thrown backwards onto the ground. So sudden and swift was the attack that it elicited a collective gasp from the audience and a strangled cry from Hermione.

No one save Snape and Harry had been able to see Draco drew out his wand and launched his initial assault. Draco's unexpected display of agility left Harry feeling breathless; it was like gazing at a masterpiece that one wanted to at once admire and break. Swallowing hard to moisten his dry throat, Harry found himself unable to tear his eyes off of him.

"A duel is not a gentleman's sport," Draco spoke patronizingly as Ron struggled to pick himself up. "Any scheme or trick is allowed, even encouraged." Such was the only breathing space he would grant Ron before throwing another spell at him.

Remaining in his crouching position, Ron immediately deflected the curse, and then muttered darkly, "Shut up," before firing a curse of his own, buying himself a fleeting moment to gather his wit and stand up.

With practiced ease Draco directed Ron's curse back at its caster, forcing Ron to quickly dodge aside. The curse hit the invisible ward set around the platform instead and sizzled into nothingness. Despite his effort being thwarted, Draco seemed unsettlingly pleased by the development.

"Good, it would have been boring to fight someone who is kneeling on his knees." Draco's provocative remark sparked mirthful chuckles from the Slytherins and angry protests from the Gryffindors.

While a part of Harry felt the same aggravation as his fellow Gryffindors did, his vivid green eyes followed Draco's every movement like a crow being mesmerized by a sparkling coin. With an unnerving start, he realized he was witnessing Grindelwald's teaching coming to fruition in Draco. Had he been in Ron's place, would he be able to overpower the protege of the late Augustus Grindelwald? He knew not what the answer was, for he was under the suspicion that Draco was not even utilizing his full capability.

"Is going on the defensive the best you can do? How disappointing," Draco continued to taunt Ron as curses and hexes flew across the air like iridescent fireworks. It was blatantly obvious to everyone that despite his best effort, Ron was barely able to keep up with Draco's ferocious assault. "Aren't you supposed to be good at chess? Don't you even know that sometimes you have to sacrifice a piece in order to achieve a checkmate?"

Everything flashed by so rapidly in the next moment that no one could tell what had happened until they saw Ron lying on the ground, his wand dropped beside him. At first it appeared as if Draco was the victor of the duel; nonetheless, Draco was holding his wand hand as though wounded. Unsure of what had transpired only seconds ago, none of the students dared to breathe loudly lest they disturbed the stifling, tense silence.

Remaining as singularly unimpressed as he had been during the duel, Snape announced quietly, "That's enough." And most of the students suddenly found themselves able to breathe again. Nevertheless, had they been watching Snape closely, they would have seen the slightest hint of a disapproving frown lurking about his brows.

Unable to withstand her distress anymore, Hermione rushed over to Ron's side, just in time to see Ron sitting up with a wince. "Are you alright, Ron?" Hermione asked while looking critically at Ron. She was relieved to see that Ron did not appear to be harmed.

Rubbing the back of his neck with a baffled look on his face, Ron replied, "I'm fine, I think. Everything is still where they should be." And then he met Draco's pensive gaze, but instead of the usual heated hatred, Ron looked oddly thoughtful as though he was trying to fathom out a perplexing chess move played by his supposed opponent.

When Harry went over to meet his friends, he cast a furtive glance at Draco, who walked past him without a word, but not before Harry caught a glimpse of a crimson streak on Draco's hand. A sudden urge to grab Draco's arm and stop his retreat welled up in Harry like an abrupt tide, but he restrained himself.

"If you are finished with this tearful reunion, then we shall continue," Snape said in a tone bespoke of barely disguised disdain. "Next, Theodore Nott and Harry Potter." And Harry, being brought out of his musing, took a few seconds to compose himself, before taking out his wand.

"Good luck," Hermione offered him an encouraging smile, while Ron, who was grinning at Harry for the first time ever since their quarrel, said, "Go for it."

The strained tension between the two boys had evaporated as if the morning fog was at last lifted. Feeling the convoluted knot in his stomach unwinding itself, Harry shared a grin with his best friend, and replied, "I will." As he stepped onto the platform, he felt a steady silver gaze trailing after him, but he willed himself to focus on the duel instead.

The duel went by swiftly but fiercely; Nott had proven to be quite skilled in wand works. And when Harry managed to disarm Nott, Snape called for an end. Despite his cool indifference towards Nott, Harry handed the wand back to him politely, who took it without a word save for a look of moroseness. For once Snape did not offer any scathing comment, but Harry doubted it was because he was impressed with Harry's performance.

As Harry went back to rejoin his friends, he saw Draco unobtrusively slipping out of the classroom. His first impulse was to go after him; nonetheless, his friends were waiting. Reluctantly tearing his eyes away from the door, he stood beside Ron and stared doggedly at the stage.

Ron and Hermione exchanged a meaningful glance, before Ron sighed in defeat. Nudging Harry with his elbow none too gently, Ron uttered with a note of grudging resignation, "Get going already. Snape probably doesn't give a damn anyway."

Warmed by his friend's consideration, Harry nevertheless stood his ground, though his hand was fiddling with the pendant out of its own accord. "No, it's fine. There's no reason to-"

"Right, but I'm not sure you believe that, Harry," Hermione interrupted him while tilting her head to regard Harry. "Go before Ron gets even more embarrassed and changes his mind."

"Oi, why the hell should I be embarrassed?" Ron exclaimed indignantly, which earned the trio a displeased hiss from Snape. Immediately lowering his voice lest the Head of Slytherin House decided to take off house points, Ron continued, "Go on."

After looking from Hermione to Ron, Harry finally made up his mind. Nodding once to them in unspoken gratitude, he grabbed his school bag, then stealthily departed from the chamber.

The school corridor was completely devoid of life; the only sound to be heard was the hasty sound of Harry's footsteps bouncing off featureless stone walls. It was as if he was strolling down a dimly lit aisle in a lofty, empty cathedral, towards a glorious stained-glass window depicting an ancient legend.

Steadfastly shaking the illusion away from his eyes, he allowed his instinct to guide his course. It was not long before he at last caught sight of a familiar black silhouette striding purposefully onwards amidst the leaden grey of antiquated masonry.

As Harry hurried over to overtake his quarry, he called out, "Wait, Malfoy!" Nonetheless, neither would Draco pause nor would he turn to look. Frustration from past and present mounted upon Harry like layers of bricks cementing the fate of the doomed within the tomb composed of a niche in the cellar and a solid stone wall.

Biting his lip in agitation, Harry sprinted for Draco, and grabbed onto Draco's arm, forcing him to turn around. Head tilted curiously to the side in wait, Draco contemplated him with those haughty, frozen eyes he had inherited from his sires. Refusing to relent, Harry returned the gaze with obstinate defiance.

"Since you ran away last time before I could say anything, I'm going to say it now. I don't know what the hell you are trying to do, and to be honest, I doubt you'll tell me anyway." Vivid green pupils stared uncompromisingly into twin pools of liquid silver. "And I admit I'm being nosy. I don't know why I care or why I even bother. But I can't just watch you keep throwing yourself in harm's way and do nothing."

The slightest flicker of emotion peeked through from Draco's demeanour, but so brief was the moment that Harry could not tell if it was the trick of the light and nothing more. At length Draco opened his mouth, and spoke as if uttering a solemn declaration, "So be it then."

Knowing it was the most he could expect from Draco, Harry threw a glance at Draco's hand, and changed the subject. "How's your hand?"

A spark of what could have been mistaken for bemusement flashed by fleetingly in Draco's eyes. And then dutifully Draco held out his hand for Harry's inspection. There was neither traces of blood nor any scar on his skin; it was evident that Draco had already taken care of the wound.

"Aren't you overdoing it by making Ron duel with you?" Harry questioned, though his voice was devoid of any accusatory note.

"You can think of it as a catharsis. Now that he had actually fought with me as he has been boosting to do for so long, he should cease bothering me for the time being."

Eyes of midnight forest narrowed conspicuously; the words that escaped from Harry's mouth was tainted with sullenness. "So that you'll have more free time to do whatever it is you are doing?"

Draco cocked his head to the side reflectively, and responded in his infuriatingly tranquil tone, "In a manner of speaking, yes. Time isn't something I can afford these days."

A befuddled frown burrowed its way onto Harry's forehead like a stigma; there was something in Draco's voice that troubled him. "You sound as if you are running out of time."

Silence was the only reply Harry received from Draco, who took something out of his school bag, and with a neat spin spelling of frequent practice, offered the handle to Harry. Unconsciously Harry froze, for the object that Draco was extending to him was a dagger concealed in a nondescript leather sheath. When he looked to Draco in confusion, he could detect nothing save for a voiceless signal to take the dagger.

Discontented, Harry tried to decipher the meaning behind the gesture, but like a closed book Draco refused to give him even a single shred of a hint. "What's this for?"

"Just take it." Those impassive grey eyes of Draco's did not once flicker away from Harry's face; it was as though Draco was extracting a silent promise from him. "You might need it someday."

Like a man whose most private secret was brought into the light, Harry's expression darkened at the implication behind Draco's words. Nonetheless, Harry accepted the dagger, and driven by both instinct and curiosity, he pulled out the blade.

The moment the dagger was unsheathed, a blast of iciness pierced Harry's face and made him wince; it was as if the blade had managed to nick his cheek without so much as a physical contact with his skin. Thin to the point of transparent was the blade, with a sinister silver gleam of a most exceptional keenness. It sent a chill into Harry's marrow, for the dagger gave off the impression that it could easily slice through flesh and bones with the least amount of effort exerted. For a delusional moment, he was nearly led to believe that this was the very same blade Draco had wielded in his nightmare.

As he stared at his reflection upon the blade, a small voice in the forgotten corner of his mind began to whisper its seductive melody to him. An inexplicable flame of restlessness was ignited inside of Harry, and rippled steadily outwards like forest fire. A most unthinkable compulsion was formulated in his mind, and it took hold of his entire being; it was a sensation not altogether unpleasant to his delirious psyche.

Inevitably his eyes were drawn to the youth who had turned to face the window overlooking the hazy midday sun, seemingly unaware of the menacing aura surrounding him like barbed wires. With the quickness of a silent predator preparing for the kill, Harry withdrew to stand behind the boy, and gripped the hilt tightly in his hand.

When Draco turned around, Harry dropped his hand, and sheathed the dagger with a casual, eerie calmness as though nothing was amiss. It was not until he met Draco's unfathomable mercurial gaze that he was brought out of the trance like a marionette whose strings were severed, leaving him with a film of cold sweat on his back and a sinking realization of what he had nearly done. Willing his hands not to tremble, Harry shot his hand out and offered the dagger back to Draco, his eyes looking at anywhere except Draco's face.

"I don't need it," Harry proclaimed aloud, his voice breaking slightly from the turmoil raging inside of him. "I'm not going to accept this."

A cold hand tentatively reached out and pressed its palm against Harry's cheek, forcing Harry to meet Draco's penetrating eyes. Remarkably gentle though was Draco's gesture, his voice was unyieldingly harsh. "You won't? Or you can't?"

The lingering dread in Harry was swiftly fading away, but it was replaced by a surge of irrational anger. "What do you want from me? Do you expect me to kill someone with this? Do you expect me to kill y-" Abruptly his voice went dead, for what remained of his reason was holding him back.

Clearly taken aback by Harry's outburst, Draco withdrew his hand. After several beats of reflection, he abruptly loosened the scarlet and gold tie wound around Harry's neck. Dumbstruck by Draco's bold action, Harry was about to voice his protest when Draco hushed him, "Just hold still for awhile." And Harry, despite feeling rebellious about the proceeding, kept his silence.

Cool fingers undid the collar button on his shirt, and then from beneath the fabric pulled out the silver chain, the end of which dangled the jade pendant. Pensive leaden eyes contemplated the bird-shaped amulet for a heartbeat, before Draco bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. And then, as Harry watched with perplexed fascination, Draco brought his blood-tinted lips to the pendant as if swearing his allegiance. Sensing a sudden heat spreading across his chest, Harry felt his own heart skip several beats too fast.

When Draco let go of the amulet, he held Harry's flustered gaze evenly, and said, "The password to the Slytherin dormitory is Memento Mori. Other than that, you should already know how to find me." With that, he steadied Harry's hand, and pushed the dagger back to Harry. "Even if you don't want it, keep it anyway."

For a few heartbeats Harry stared at the dagger in his hand, before closing his fingers tightly around it. Draco obviously had surmised that Harry was hiding something from him; and yet, he did not voice it aloud. Such offhanded consideration was one that Harry would not have imagined possible for Draco Malfoy, and it filled him with unbridled guilt.

Sensing Draco's gaze upon him, Harry recollected his wandering thoughts, and remarked distantly, "I don't understand you at all. What are you really?"

A faint half-smile fluttered onto Draco's lips; it was the same strange bitter smile Harry had beheld in Draco from time to time. "Maybe I am Mephistopheles; maybe I am Faust."

"Then would that make me Faust, or would that make me Margaret?" Harry uttered witheringly in warped humour, to which Draco reacted with an arched eyebrow suggestive of distant amusement. Harry could not help returning a wry smile of his own.

The brief moment of respite was shattered by the sound of a closing door somewhere beyond their view. Knowing what he ought to do, Harry put away the dagger and spoke in genuine gratitude, "Well, thanks anyway, even if I'm not going to use it. I'd better get going now. So I'll see you around."

When he received a small nod from Draco, he let out a pale smile, then strolled past Draco and went on his way. The still figure of the jade eagle bounced lightly against his chest, keeping time to his every footfall like a faithful metronome.

Once more alone in the monochromatic corridor, Draco wiped away the remnant of carmine from his lips with the back of his hand and licked it away. Leaning against the window-sill as if weary, he fixated his gaze upon his hand for a long time, recalling the sensation of warmth that lingered on his palm like a phantom touch. Still as a tombstone he remained, not even the dissonant chorus of ravens could shake him out of his rumination.

The wheels that were the dramatis personae were turning in rapid motion, and they could neither halt nor escape, not until they span out of control and broke apart. And the most crucial wheel of all upon this metaphorical steam engine, represented by the current patriarch of the Malfoy family, would be arriving soon. This lamentable tragicomedy was truly pitiful and ironic to the point of satirical -- Draco could not resist chuckling dryly.

A series of loud footsteps from beyond the corridor brought him out of his sardonic brooding. When a human shadow was cast upon the floor around the corner, Draco spoke out nonchalantly, "What is your business with me?"

Resolutely stepping out of the wall was Ron Weasley, who surveyed him with unfriendly eyes. After ticking his tongue in annoyance, Ron questioned bluntly, "Did you go easy on me back there?"

Haughtily Draco raised an eyebrow as if he was affronted by such an accusation, but the timbre in his colourless voice did not alter. "And why would I want to do that?"

Long and hard Ron squinted at Draco, urging him to surrender his secrets; and yet it was like staring at an obstinate brick wall. Several tense beats passed, and he finally said, "Yeah, why would you? I'm probably just imagining things."

As he turned to leave, however, Draco's quiet voice chased behind his back. "Weasley, I will make you a deal. If anyone ever cause him harm in any way, I will deal with them the same way I dealt with McLaggen, and that includes you."

Halting on his track, Ron flashed a resentful glance over his shoulder at Draco, before he quirked a faintly twisted grin; there was no need to ask whom Draco was referring to. "Fine, I'll do the same. If I find out you did something to Harry, I'll kill you."

Draco responded with a distorted smirk of his own; a wary consensus between the two arch-rivals was established. "Of course you would. And I shall hold you to your words someday."

Meanwhile, Harry followed the familiar trail that would lead him to the headmaster office, his pace hastening into a light jog. By the time he arrived at the entrance where the gargoyle stood guard over the office, he was slightly out of breath. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he was about to utter the password when the gargoyle sprang aside with a bow like a disciplined doorman that it was; it appeared Dumbledore was informed of his visit. Chewing at the inside of his cheek, Harry gathered his resolve, and climbed the revolving staircase.

When he arrived at the door atop the spiral staircase, he knocked thrice until a voice from within called out to him, "Come in," to which Harry politely obliged.

The headmaster's office changed but little since his previous visit, though he caught glimpses of several former headmaster portraits glancing suspiciously at him before returning to their pretence of sleep. Standing by the cherry-wood bookshelf cluttered with ancient tomes was the current headmaster himself, who appeared to be engrossed in his reading only moments ago.

Two briefest of seconds was all it took for Harry to recognize the book Dumbledore was holding in his bony hand; it was a black leather-bound volume that was on the verge of falling apart. The sight of the book resonated with a hidden fragment of his core he knew not existed, drawing his attention away as a colourful, poisonous butterfly would to a predatory insect. A most uncanny sense of nostalgia was aroused in him, like a twisted reminder from a previous lifetime he could barely recall.

A soft thud signalling a book being returned to the wooden bookshelf unceremoniously snapped him out of his reverie. Forcing his gaze away from where the book had taken its place amongst its siblings, Harry turned to Dumbledore and said, "Sorry for barging in like this, sir. There's actually something I wanted to talk to you about. Maybe I should've come to you sooner, but-"

"But still, here you are, Harry." Dumbledore smiled genially at him, though a grim shadow was hanging over his brows. At length he strolled over to the mahogany desk that signified his status as the headmaster of Hogwarts, and gestured for Harry to sit. "Now, what would you like to talk to me about?"

Willing himself not to run away anymore, Harry looked straight into Dumbledore's eyes, and began, "I've been having hallucinations lately. It started late last year, around the time when Malfoy was released from St Mungo's after..." He trailed off, and with a look of understanding Dumbledore nodded once. "Each time the vision is more or less the same. I saw Malfoy trying to kill me. No, perhaps saw isn't the right word, but rather, I felt like Malfoy did kill me."

Placid as the wintry moon Dumbledore seemed, neither sympathetic nor judgemental; the misgiving that had been weighing heavily in Harry began to lessen. Feeling more assertive of himself, Harry continued in a brisk voice, "I'm not sure whether this is related or not, but several days after what happened in the South Wing, I somehow entered Voldemort's mind again. And after that, something has changed."

Nevertheless, a part of him wondered if it was indeed Voldemort who caused the change. Had not his impulse begun to manifest itself even before then? Had he not been contemplating Draco's neck like a wolf staring at the neck of a sheep, pondering how best to rip it open? The facade of composure Harry had been trying to maintain began to falter. All too clearly still he could recall the disturbingly comforting weight of the silver dagger in his hand, as was the small voice lurking within the open coffin of his feverish mind, tempting him with the unspeakable. No longer able to meet those knowing azure eyes of Dumbledore's fully, he diverted his gaze elsewhere.

"I want to kill Draco, and I don't know why. I don't understand why he's the only one to appear in my visions either. It's as if I was paranoid about being killed by him before, and now I'm obsessed with the idea of killing him first before he can kill me."

When Harry finished his narration, Dumbledore placed a query to him, "Are you more afraid of the hallucination itself, or the possibility that one day you can no longer tell what is real and what is not?"

However unassuming Dumbledore's voice was, Harry could feel his skin crawl, as though Dumbledore's words became imaginary insects that were squirming freely beneath his skin. Clutching the pendant in his hand, Harry forced himself to answer, "I'm afraid of myself. I don't want to kill him, but if this goes on any further, I'm afraid I'll be tempted to do it for real."

Standing witness to his student's anguish, Dumbledore could only watch from a distance with a pained look bespoke of empathy towards this tormented pupil of his. At length, he turned away from Harry out of respect for his privacy, and said slowly, "You have mentioned the hallucination started around early December. Since Voldemort did not know of your connection with Draco at the time, nor any reason to suspect it, we can rule out his involvement. While various explanations exist to account for hallucinations about one's murder, one in particular readily comes to my mind.

"A preoccupation with death -- it is said that this is a common trait amongst those who have glimpsed upon what lies beyond the Veil. One such manifestation is hallucination about one's own death; another possible symptom is a growing desire to invoke death upon oneself or others."

The mentioning of the Veil abruptly pulled Harry out of the chaotic tempest swirling in his mind. Like a key being fit perfectly into the lock, it dislodged a certain piece of memory in him. "Malfoy said something like that too, but I didn't understand what he meant."

There was a flicker beneath those half-moon glasses of Dumbledore's, and for a moment, his eyes were concealed beneath the white glare of the lenses. "So it appears my theory is correct. Individuals who have come too close to the land of the dead are inevitably drawn to that world, their minds and perceptions altered by the experience.

"It is like a virus. The longer you are exposed to it, the more likely it is you will get infected. Of course, whether you will be infected eventually and how it will affect you differ for different individuals. That is part of the reason why necromancy is considered a dangerous art, and why practitioners of necromancy would almost unfailingly become unsound in mind and spirit; for they are exposed to the effect of the dead for prolonged periods of time, hence more likely to be infected."

"But I don't see-" was all Harry could say before Dumbledore held out a hand in silent interjection.

"I have been poring over the incident on Hallowe'en in my head for some time, the foremost concern of which was whether the incident would leave a lasting effect on Draco, and on you." Beholding Harry's astonished visage, Dumbledore nodded as if in response to his query. "We know that it is supposedly impossible for Draco to survive the possession, but he did. And we also know that for one reason or another, Augustus had taken a great interest in you."

The reminder of the man who was solely responsible for this cryptic game of hide and seek left Harry with a sense of apprehension. Had Augustus Grindelwald thrown him into the never-ending spiral of murderous illusions out of some ulterior motive no one knew of save the culprit himself?

However, the next remark escaping from the old headmaster's mouth had provided him with a small amount of solace. "If my conjecture is accurate, Augustus used you as an anchor to pull Draco away from the crossing of the dead. Whether it was a spell or simply a sublime suggestion he had placed in you I cannot say. But for you to be able to bring Draco back from the crossing, it means you have come very close to the boundary itself."

"And by extension, the land of the dead." It was not a question, but an affirmation. Fighting the urge to rake his unruly hair, Harry spoke again. "So, Grindelwald used me to save Malfoy, so that Malfoy wouldn't be pulled to the other side when the three spirits left his body. Well, I admit I dreamt of the Veil, but I couldn't remember what I saw behind it."

"Looking behind the Veil is perhaps nothing more than a figurative expression. Whatever you might have seen is not as important as the simple fact that you have reached out to the other world, knowingly or otherwise. The living is not supposed to meddle with the dead, and by breaking the rule, one has subjected oneself to the influence of the dead."

The image of a fair-haired man with an ageless visage and an eerily gentle smile flitted itself before Harry's eyes like a mirage, but before he could grasp for it, it dissolved into ashes and dust. Blinking away the beguiling vision, he was about to ask Dumbledore about Grindelwald when a series of smart raps disrupted the flow of his rumination.

As soon as Dumbledore answered the door with a simple "come in", McGonagall burst into the office in agitated strides. Briefly she cast a curious glance at Harry, before she directed her attention on Dumbledore.

"The Aurors are here to see you," McGonagall said curtly, not bothering to hide her annoyance.

"I shall be there soon, Minerva. Please delay them for the moment." Dumbledore calmly issued his command, to which McGonagall accepted with a nod, and then as abruptly as she arrived, she hastened to the doorway and disappeared into the shadow, the door slid shut at her wake.

Turning to Harry in apology, Dumbledore said immediately, "I'm afraid our discussion will have to wait for now. But before that, I would like to give you an advice." At that, his cerulean eyes rested upon the pendant Harry had been toying with. Caught in the act, Harry hastily withdrew his hand, which brought a smile to Dumbledore's lined face.

"My advice is that you should wear the amulet at all time. I have an inkling as to what kind of spells Draco had woven into it." Harry was unable to disguise his surprise or his amazement. Dumbledore, on the other hand, was smiling still, albeit ruefully. "May it protect you from the most unlikely foe."

After leaving behind those parting words, Dumbledore swiftly departed from the office. And Harry, being left to his own device, got up from the chair, and was about to make his exit when he found his eyes lingering over the spot where the mysterious black book stood. With racing heartbeat he walked over to the bookshelf as if he was pulled by a heart-rending yearning. After a moment of tantalizing stillness, he reached out for the nondescript book, whose cover was devoid of a title or the name of the author.

Like a man possessed, he lightly caressed the leather cover as if he had reunited with an old friend. And then, without ceremony he flipped the book open, his dark green eyes skimming through line after line of elegantly written text, page after page of heretic knowledge on the dead. Without a doubt, this was the very book that was in Lucius Malfoy's possession at one time, the book that had attracted the likes of Voldemort, written by none other than the reputed wizard Augustus Grindelwald.

A thoroughly unwise move though it may be to open his mind to the forbidden knowledge of the dead, and an unsavoury move still to act without the headmaster's consent, Harry realized this book might contain the answers he sought after, answers which could lead him to the land of truth. Carefully and silently closing the book shut, he threw a cautious, furtive glance around the chamber. When he was satisfied that the seemingly dozing portraits could not see him, he stealthily put the book into his school bag, and then strolled out of the office and made his descent into the ever revolving spiral.

Like silver thorns snow fell over Hogwarts and its neighbouring landscape, as if eager to smother everything beneath its weight and bury what ought to be buried from time immemorial, blinding the eyes of the living and shutting the eyes of the dead.

In the deserted Gryffindor common-room late at night, Harry sat before the crackling fireplace, diligently leafing through the black book he had taken from Dumbledore's collection. The window trembled when a gust of particularly brutal wind rattled against the glass, but Harry heard none of it, for he was thoroughly immersed in the flowing words printed across the pages.

Fascinating though the knowledge Grindelwald had poured into the book was, Harry could not silence the warning siren at the back of his mind. He was beginning to understand why necromancy was considered a taboo, for it kindled a glimmer of hope in those who despaired over losing a loved one. Recalling how Draco had found the recipe for the Evocation ritual in the book, Harry found his own pulse quicken. Despite the consequences that ensured should he attempt a summoning, if he were ever given a chance to bring back his parents or his godfather from the dead, Harry knew it in his bones that he would want to pursue it at whatever cost necessary.

Unconsciously he tightened his grip on the book, fighting to keep his mind away from dangerous water. It was only for the purpose of learning more about his hallucinations that he borrowed the book; he would not allow himself to succumb to the same temptation as Draco once had. Unceremoniously slamming the book shut and throwing it onto the sofa, Harry furiously ran his hand over his unkempt hair, before heaving a heavy sigh. The book did little to pacify his mind; instead, it was doing its best to unhinge the precarious balance between his sanity and its opposite.

Ah, I'm really going insane, Harry thought sardonically to himself as he stared into the golden flame. Was that how Grindelwald was driven out of his mind as well? Knowing full well that he would truly be driven mad if he were to continue his reading any further for the night, he stood up and restlessly paced to the window, beyond which was the white blizzard that had dominated the mountainside.

Suddenly he remembered something Dumbledore had once told him. Had the headmaster not remarked how love had utterly destroyed Grindelwald? Distantly Harry wondered if Grindelwald's interest in the study of the dead might not have been merely a scholarly pursuit, but something much more personal. Frowning at his own reflection in the glass, he shook his head dismissively. He ought to be more concerned about his current plight than the past life of the departed.

Inevitably he turned his musing towards Draco, who was suffering through a much worst predicament than he was. As if his heart was pricked by brier thorns, a pang was spreading in his chest, minutely deadening into a tantalizing ache. The dagger Draco had given him was currently resting in the secure cabinet that was his trunk. Harry did not want to speculate Draco's motive for giving him the dagger, even less did he wish to consider the possibility that Draco knew precisely what abominable thought was running through his poison-filled mind.

Eager to chase away his disturbing ponderance, Harry held out the pale green pendant. Like a key to his sanity, the amulet had woken him out of his nightmarish visions time and time again. And now that he thought about it, ever since he wore the amulet, he had not once sensed Voldemort's presence in his mind. It was only during the time when he took it off that Voldemort's thoughts bled into his.

Dammit, I'm in Draco's debt much more than I thought, Harry chid inwardly, gritting his teeth in indignation. Why couldn't he just say everything outright?

Then again, perhaps Harry himself was partially at fault too, for he had not made it easy for Draco to gain his trust. He smiled bitterly at himself; he was equally as prejudiced as those he denounced. Letting out a long breath, he bowed his head to regard the jade bird that was resting quietly in his palm. The remembrance of Draco's lips pressing against its heart made Harry's own heart flutter. If he were to close his eyes, he could almost recall the sensation of Draco's lips against his from once upon a Hallowe'en afternoon. Even if it was not truly Draco back then, it was his lips that had grazed against Harry's. Harry felt his own cheeks inflame and his stomach twist, but he could tell his reaction stemmed from an emotion much deeper and much more intense than sheer embarrassment.

Out of its own accord, his hand brought the pendant to his lips. Amidst the inorganic coldness of the polished stone, he thought he could feel a sliver of warmth against his lips where Draco's lifeblood was sealed within. And for a long time, he remained by the window with his eyes shut, savouring the scentless heat and the soundless pulse beneath his lips.

When another strong gust slammed against the window like a wrathful ghoul, Harry recollected himself with a start, and let go of the amulet. What was he thinking? What was happening to him? Thoroughly confused he tore at his hair, his face twisted into an expression liken to a man who had just woken from his opiate journey, only to find himself losing decades of his life.

"The storm has gotten worse, hasn't it?" A pensive voice suddenly rang out from behind him, making him jump in alarm.

Wheeling around, Harry saw the incorporeal form of Nearly Headless Nick floating not far away from him. Heaving a sigh of relief, he greeted the Gryffindor ghost, "It's you, Nick. I thought it was..." But he could not finish his statement, for even he himself did not know whom he was expecting to see.

"Sorry for startling you." With a lavish gesture, Nick bowed to Harry in apology, before smiling good-naturedly at him. "You are up late, Harry. Unable to sleep?"

"Something like that," Harry replied vaguely while returning a weak smile; he could not very well tell Nick that he had stayed up late to study necromancy in secret.

As though he could detect the unrest residing in Harry, Nick inspected Harry's face closely. "It seems you have a lot on your mind, my boy. Of course, so many things have happened at Hogwarts lately that it's not surprising you feel troubled."

"Yeah." There was a pause as Harry fumbled in the dark for something to say. And then, a flash of inspiration was ignited in him like a torch in an underground crypt. "There's something I wanted to ask you, Nick. When you passed away, did you see the Veil?"

The corner of the ghost's mouth curled upwards into a crooked smile, though Nick did not appear offended by the inquiry. "Ah, you begin with a difficult question. In any case, I can't say that I did. I became a ghost -- a being neither entirely alive nor entirely dead -- because I was too afraid to die; perhaps that fear was the reason why the Veil was not revealed to me."

Having wished a ghost could afford him some answers, Harry found himself sorely disappointed. Nick had clearly noticed the dejection on Harry's face, for he spoke again. "You are not the first person to ask me this question, and I am sorry to say that I cannot offer you any more than I did for that young lad many years ago."

Suspicion dominated Harry's mind like an incurable disease, for he had an inkling as to the identity of the boy who had once asked the same question as he did. "Was that... Augustus Grindelwald?"

"Quite so. Now, I have encountered my fair share of witches and wizards who were interested in the mystery of the dead, but he was the one with the most peculiar perspective. Or should I say he possessed a wildly vivid imagination? That combined with a brilliant mind and unyielding will -- he definitely had what it takes to be a great researcher." Nick mused in fond reminiscence, before letting out a misty sigh. "He was like Dumbledore in that regard. Perhaps it was no wonder that they became friends when they attended school here, all the more ironic that their famous duel took place right here at Hogwarts, the very place they first met."

"You mean he died here at Hogwarts?" Harry immediately asked, unable to believe what he had just heard.

"Ah, of course you wouldn't know, since the details of the duel were never made public. I don't know much about it either, but it seems Dumbledore challenged Grindelwald to a duel, and they decided that the duel should be held in the tower of the Morrigan Hall."

"Morrigan Hall?" Harry's geographical knowledge of Hogwarts was once more challenged. Nevertheless, vague connections between various pieces of information he had gathered were beginning to take a tangible form. "Do you mean the South Wing by any chance?"

"Right again," Nick praised him, and then he spoke in a hushed voice, as though he did not wish to be overheard. "Originally it was part of Hogwarts, but many terrible things had happened in there that it was locked away and forgotten. Even we the ghosts do not like to trespass upon the Hall, especially the tower."

Out of nowhere, a cold breeze blew into the common-room, provoking the flame in the hearth into a wild dance -- the wandering dead had spoken. Recalling the dismembered whispers he had heard in the tower of the Morrigan Hall, Harry involuntarily shivered.

Beckoning Harry to him, Nick lowered his voice even further; Harry had to strain his ears in order to hear what he was saying. "Places with as ancient a history as Hogwarts are bound to be haunted by the past -- dark, violent, brutal past. Hogwarts is no exception, even if it is a school. One could say that the Morrigan Hall is the vault for storing away Hogwarts' most unsavoury legacy."

"But what was the Hall really for?" Harry asked relentlessly. So close to the window of truth he was that he would not back down now.

"A sanctuary, a prison, and later on, a duelling ground." Nick could not hide away the grimace that had wormed its way onto his face. "The headmaster is the one who holds all the keys to the Hall, so in essence, the Hall can be anything the headmaster wishes it to be. During the time of war, the Hall can be turned into a refuge to keep the enemies out-"

"And sometimes a cage to keep the enemies in," Harry finished Nick's sentence for him. The windowless tower in the Hall certainly looked much like an impregnable prison.

Nick nodded once in grim assent, causing his head to wobble dangerously above his barely attached neck. "Now, before duelling was banned at Hogwarts, the Hall once served as the training ground for young witches and wizards to learn how to duel. Inevitably some of the more hotheaded individuals used the tower as their private duelling ground to settle disputes, or worse.

"Back then, there were no set rules in duels, therefore you can surmise at how brutal the duels can get at times. Dark curses were the norm; regulations regarding the usage of the Unforgivables had not even been established yet. It wasn't until several people had died as a consequence that the headmaster at the time decided to seal up the Hall for good.

"Even now, the tower isn't the most cheerful place you would want to be in at Hogwarts. The final moments of those who died in the tower were impressed into the walls. Rumours had it that if you stay in there long enough, you might even be driven insane."

Slowly digesting the information, Harry absently traced the contour of the amulet with his finger, and asked in an oddly blank tone that surprised even himself, "Is there any hidden passage in the Hall?"

Like a thief who was caught telling a lie, Nick stiffened, and mumbled while averting his gaze, "I am not at liberty to say. I've already spoken more than I should." Nonetheless, Harry had gotten his answer.

If Grindelwald had known about the Hall, then it was very likely that Draco had heard of the Hall through him. In turn, Draco made used of that knowledge to accomplish whatever it was he had done. And yet, if Dumbledore was supposed to be the one who held all the keys to the Hall, how did Draco manage to open the seal to the Hall in the first place? Did Grindelwald tell him how to do it, or did Draco steal the keys from Dumbledore when he supposedly attacked him? Whichever the case may be, it only served to reinforce the impression that Grindelwald had left much more than a fragmented imprint of himself in Draco.

Completely forgotten about the ghost, Harry clutched his aching forehead, pondering wildly at the possibility of Draco being slowly taken over by the capricious wizard with golden hazel eyes in body and soul, and of him, Harry, being progressively drawn to this enigma of a boy.

To be continued...

A/N: Happy Beltane again, I suppose? After two years, I feel like I'm being haunted by this fic. Anyway, thank you very much for reading.