Dark Side

Insight

Harry

I found that I wasn't surprised by Draco's answer. I knew that Draco was on our side 100%. Before then, Ron and Hermione weren't sure about Draco, but his answer solidified their trust in him. So there we sat, discussing everything we would need to leave. The only trouble was that we would need lots of equipment, and had no place to put it all.

We all sat there for a few minutes, trying in vain to come up with a solution to our problem, when Draco's quiet voice interrupted our thoughts.

"We could use a tiny bag, like a mini purse, Hermione could carry it, that wouldn't look strange, and nobody would think twice about it, because there would be no way you could fit anything important in there."

"Great," says Ron sarcastically, "a bag you can't fit anything in."

"If it's an ordinary bag, you can't fit anything in it," Draco continues, "but this one will be enchanted, so it's bigger on the inside, like a magical tent."

"That's genius!" Says Hermione, "I think I might have a bag that might work." She rummages around in he rucksack for a moment, before pulling out a small beaded bag and handing it to Draco.

He turns it around in his hands, opening it, turning it inside out, and examining every inch of it, before saying, "Perfect. This would work really well. We just have to plan which enchantments to put on it."

Sensing that we would be no help whatsoever in this department, Ron and I left the geniuses to work their magic, literally, and went to find something to make for dinner.

"So. I can't quite believe I'm saying this, but this new Draco, I don't hate him." Says Ron.

"I know. When we got to the safe house, he seemed different. Lost. But then he told me what I told you, and then it was like he was a different person entirely. I think he really is. We sort of became, friends."

"Friends?"

"Yeah, friends." I say, opening the fridge.

"What do we know about him?" Ron asks.

I straighten up, thinking. It hits me now; we don't really know anything about him. But by what Draco had told me, neither did he.

"I'm not sure." I reply. "He doesn't know much about himself either, his life did just get completely torn down."

Ron nods, lowering his voice, "Does that make him dangerous? He has nothing, who knows what he's capable of?"

I think for a moment before slowly replying, the answer had already formed itself in my mind before I was aware of it. "That's why we need him. He could be capable of anything, and he's on our side. Voldemort ruined his life, he has nothing left. All of his darkness, everything he has, is hatred directed at him. He's our best weapon."

Ron is quiet for a moment, thinking over what I've just said. "You're right."

The mood is no longer bright, the happiness from being reunited with my friends replaced by a stone hard resolve. We're fighting a war, with no idea how to win it. The days of childish ignorance gone. I feel weary from this realization, my scar was hurting last night, I didn't sleep much.

"You look exhausted Harry, go get some sleep, I'll deal with this."

"Thanks." I mumble, heading upstairs.

The minute my head hits the pillow, I fall asleep, and my dreams sweep me away almost instantly.

I'm in an unfamiliar room, lit by only dim candles. I'm sitting in a high backed armchair, waiting in silence for someone, I don't know who. The door creaks open, and two men walk in hesitantly, scared. They take a few steps forward, but I raise my hand, a pale, thin fingered hand, a hand I recognize all too well. They stop immediately, flinching and staring down at the floor, heads bowed.