Disclaimer: JKR’s world of Harry Potter is not mine, nor is the song Red and Black, it’s from Les Miserables, the musical.


A World about to Dawn
Red and Black

An eerie glow came from the fireplace of the Slytherin common room. Surrounding it, in various languid poses sat the upper echelon of Slytherin males. None had had any contact over the summer, due to their fathers’ chosen occupations, and now they were catching up as only Slytherins can do. Their talk was not of Seaside vacations or European tours, that was far too dull and happened every summer anyway. They were sharing stories about muggle-baiting and demonstrating newly learnt curses. They bragged, with relish, of the upcoming war and their Dark Lord’s rise to power.

Malfoy, you’re late, what’s wrong today?

You look as if you’ve touched a ghost.

Draco had entered through the portrait hole in a daze. His carefully honed arrogant demeanor had fallen from his face, revealing a look of confusion and melancholy.

Blaise Zabini strode down the stairs from his dormitory, joining the group. Upon hearing the last of Montague’s comment, he stopped at the bottom of the steps and shouted to Goyle, and then turning to face Malfoy, called out a question.

Some wine, and say what’s going on?

Draco made his way to the noble assemblage and rested his lanky form against the mantle, with his back towards his fellows. He spoke to the granite wall in front of him as he answered quietly.

A ghost you say, a ghost may be.

She was just like a ghost to me.

One minute there and she was gone.

Theodore raised his head from his glass and chuckled.

I am agog, I am aghast. Is Draco here, in love at last?

He rolled his eyes in the direction of the forlorn figure near the fire. His expression mocking the young Malfoy heir.

I’ve never seen him ‘oooohhh and aaaahhhhh’.

Blaise took up the taunt. His eyes gleamed with mischief, and his straight, pearly teeth grinned wickedly in the firelight. Swirling his wine, he spoke.

You talk of battles to be won,

And here he comes like Don Ju-an.

It’s better than the op-er-a.

Draco shrugged off their teasing, taking it in stride, and joined the group and their evil machinations. He accepted a glass and a chair, and did what was expected of him, as the heir to the House of Malfoy and a young servant to the Dark Lord. He listened with ease as his compatriots gleefully told of their summer exploits. Although, Draco remained aloof and silent during the banter, he left for his room only after they had all trickled up to their own. That night his dreams rebelled. They were filled with a crimson- haired sprite that danced and laughed around him as he travelled through his dream world, instead of the plots of terror and revenge that the fellows in the common room had spoken of.


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Severus Snape paced in the antechamber of his dungeon study. He despised what he was about to do. He wished, not for the first time, that he had never made that terrible mistake twenty-one years ago. He was still paying for it, and he would never allow himself his own redemption. The cost of his error had been too great to ever atone for. And now, he was encouraging the young men of his own House to make that same mistake. He was under orders, and therefore he had no choice in the matter. But he hated to see such a group of clever young men destroyed as he had been.

His study clock chimed the hour and he went to meet the new casualties.

They were all waiting for him, looking dignified and far too mature for their age, seated on the leather couches that furnished his study.

He decided that petty conversation was useless. They knew why they were here. He spoke critically to them.

It is time for us all to decide who we are.

He glared at Zabini and his pearly teeth.

Do we fight for the right for a night at the opera now?

He looked back at the whole assembly and asked them cryptically.

Have you asked of yourselves, what’s the price you might pay?

Then, he snarled at Nott, who was fiddling with his signet ring.

Is it simply a game for rich, young boys to play?

Snape’s gaze fell upon Malfoy, who was sitting farthest from him. Malfoy met his mentor’s eyes, speaking quietly in the echoing silence of the room.

The colour of the world is changing day by day.

The boys left soon after their little pep talk. Looking serious, though eager. Snape noticed that the young Malfoy heir let his hard expression slip, momentarily, of course, but it was enough to give Snape hope. Perhaps not all will be forced to suffer as I have. He may be right; the colour of the world will change.

Red, the blood of angry men.

Black, the dark of ages past.

Red, a world about to dawn.

Black, the night that ends at last.


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They all met the evening after everyone got back from Christmas holidays. Their purpose was similar to what it had been right after school started but this time it had an added element to it. Those that went home had gotten to go to their first Death Eater meeting. Draco noticed the lusty gleam in their eyes as they sat around the fire.

Draco had not gone home. Over the past term he had been haunted by his crimson-haired sprite. Her laughter tinkled in his ears, her flickering smiles were there every time he closed his eyes. It was an obsession, a compulsion and a permutation.

He listened as Montague’s voice carried the tale to those that had not been fortunate enough to go home.

Had you been there that night, you might know how it feels.

Draco watched as a look of greed overtook the young wizard’s face.

To be struck to the bone in a moment of endless delight.

Draco knew why Montague was so gleeful, the Death Eaters had let him finish off the muggle they had been torturing. His first victim. An insatiable lust of power had been born into him in that moment. He would never be the same again.

Had you been there that night, you might also have known.

How the world may be changed in just one burst of light.

Draco grew sick of the tale. Something was wrong with him. His world had changed. Why couldn’t he feel more like them anymore? He sighed to himself, gently placing his glass of Ogden’s on a side table and getting up to go.

And what was right seemed wrong

He climbed through the portrait hole and began to pace through the corridors until he found her.

And what was wrong seemed right.



Red, I feel my soul on fire.

Black, my world if she’s not there.

Red, the colour of desire.

Black, the colour of despair.


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It was a warm June night, but he couldn’t tell from where he sat at the scrubbed pine table in the kitchen basement of Number 12, Grimmauld Place. Severus sat across from him, Dumbledore beside him. Only Ginny knew he was here.

Draco, you’re no longer a child.

Snape spoke forcibly to him. Dumbledore tried to ease the situation.

I do not doubt you mean it well, but know there is a higher call.

Draco rolled up his sleeve and glanced at the smooth skin of his forearm. Tracing the veins with his fingertips, he wondered what his crimson-haired sprite would think of all this. It would put her in danger. And he didn’t want that.

Severus broke into his thoughts.

Who cares about your lonely soul,

we strive towards a larger goal.

Draco looked up at him and Snape added softly as he passed Draco a white mask and a Death Eater’s robe.

Our little lives don’t count at all.

Draco took it from him, because he must, and he knew it. It would all be over soon, that’s what she always told him. And he believed her, because he loved her.

Red, the blood of angry men.

Black, the dark of ages past.

And once it was over, he would live happily ever after with his crimson- haired sprite.

Red, a world about to dawn.

They would be accepted once the war was over. Everyone would understand.

Black, the night that ends at last.


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Thanks for Reading, please review, oh and there's more to come! - sweetp

Disclaim: I don't own HP or Les Mis, but I like them... a lot.

A World about to Dawn
Drink With Me

The night after everyone returned from Easter Hols, the mood in the Slytherin common room became strangely jubilant. Initiation ceremonies had taken place over the weekend and now there were three extremely giddy young Slytherins draped on and around the couches and wing chairs of the room. There was also another Slytherin present as well, though decidedly less emotional. He was happy seeing his comrades so blissful, however, despite the reason for it.

Montague, he saw, was celebrating the only way he knew how; with a bottle.

Drink with me, today's gone by.

He got up and staggered over to where Zabini lounged by the fire.

Sing with me, the songs we knew!

Blaise rolled his eyes at his fellow's antics, 'songs my foot!', but he joined in nonetheless, his giddiness over-riding his pride. Raising his glass he sung bawdily.

Here's to pretty girls, who went to our heads!

Draco smirked back at his childhood friends, deciding to play along he replied with his own toast.

Here's to witty girls, who went to our beds!

Nott exploded in laughter at the quip. Draco looked around at his friends, feeling the guilt settle heavily upon his shoulders, it was just like old times, laughing and drinking; when the largest worry was an Arithmancy final or a Quidditch loss.

No one would have guessed that the foursome, who joked so nonchalantly around the hearth, now bore a permanent sign of devotion to a man bent on ruling the world. All bore the mark willingly, though only three took pride in it. The other had done it out of necessity; a traitor in their midst. But he played his role so well that no one saw through his façade. Loyalty was strong within Slytherin House, trust was implicit.

Nott, his laughter now reduced to a soft chuckle, spoke up.

Here's to them!

Draco glanced up over his glass at his friends. Men who were almost like brothers to him. How could they have chosen such a different path? Then again, how could he?

And here's to you...

They genuinely smiled at the blond after he had called out to them. They were embarking on a new era within the wizarding world together. That was the best part; together, they would help in bringing this new world to light.


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The pressure on the young Malfoy heir was getting to him. When it became too much to bear, he looked to Severus for guidance. They met in his study, sitting on the very same leather couches where Snape had recruited the young men for the Dark Lord. Despite Snape's empathy with Draco's situation, the Potions Master often let his own bitterness seep into conversation. His traitorous life had left him alone and despised and he found it hard to encourage Draco along the same path, despite the slight differences in situation. Snape knew that Draco was in possession of someone's unswerving devotion and love, and he was envious of it.

On this night, Draco poured the brandy for both of them.

Drink with me, today's gone by.

Snape accepted the glass from the boy's shaking hand, questioning him.

Can it be, you fear to die?

The young man's fears rarely got the better of him. Unfortunately, to Draco's dismay, they had taken to manifesting themselves physically, which took much of his energy to control. He only let go of his control in front of his sprite and Severus. Both of them had enough tact to not mention it directly, well, most of the time.

Tonight had been difficult for Draco, his friends had toasted to women and glory, and they had seemed so full of purpose. Why should he feel so lost all of a sudden? He sighed into his drink.

Will the world remember you when you fall?

Snape had no answer for Draco. What did this life they were leading have to offer him? Nothing. No hero's funeral, no monument of glory. Snape had nothing to show for two decades of a double life. Children feared him or ridiculed him, adults always kept their distance.

Draco continued his listless questioning.

Could it be your death, means nothing at all?

No, no! Enough of this. This line of questioning never lead to answers that inspired one to keep their sanity. Snape ended his pupil's nattering queries with one of his own. Putting down his glass, he crossed over to the boy and clasped a worn hand on his shoulder.

Is your life, just one more life?

Draco cradled his head in his hands. He couldn't let this get to him anymore. He had been responsible for this fate. He had chosen the right path, not the easy one. Gods, why couldn't his friends have done the same. If only the world were different. If only he hadn't had to choose. His hand trembled as he picked up his glass.

Drink with me, today's gone by.

He slugged the drink back, ignoring the genteel protocol of his youth. He grimaced, as it hit the back of his throat. Holding out his glass for more, he toasted again, calling out sarcastically.

To the life, that used to be!

Snape looked down at the boy and felt his heart twist. Taking his glass away from him, he thought of the mountainous task that the boy, so like a son to him now, had to accomplish. Draco was to infiltrate the younger circle of Death Eaters, much as Snape was doing with the Inner Circle. But Snape was old and experienced while Draco was young and unsure. He would make so many painful mistakes. Severus offered Draco the best advice he could. Smirking evilly, mentor spoke to apprentice.

Let the shrine of friendship never say die.
Let the wine of friendship never run dry...

Snape lifted his drink, toasting them both. Traitors. Let them celebrate each other, as no one else would ever do it. If they did their job well, the side they fought for would despise them, and the side they despised would welcome them with open arms. Terribly ironic. Sniggering at the hopelessness of it all, he cheered.

Here's to you! And here's to me...




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With the end of the school year, Draco found himself and his friends shipped off to the Serpent's Lair, a fraternity of Death Eaters. Once there, he quickly used his cunning and rose to the top of the social hierarchy and earned a cold but lavish room, as befit his station among the organization.

Deep in enemy territory, the pale-haired boy became lonely quickly. All the friends in the world could not equal the pleasure of one minute in the arms of his crimson-haired sprite. Her encouragement and her unselfish love urged him to continue this farce. But it was so hard to keep it up, when she as so far away.

Do I care if I should die, now that she is away from me?

The war couldn't last much longer. He hoped that by the end of summer it would be finished and he could enter his seventh year at Hogwarts just like every other year. The longer this cursed war continued, the harder it was to believe it was all worth it. Maybe the Cause wasn't real, maybe she wasn't even real. Could she have been a ghost like he had first imagined?

Life without Ginny, means nothing at all.

He could picture her face so well though. He could hear her laugh. He closed his eyes, picturing her smile. No, she must have been real once.

Would you weep Ginny, should your Draco fall?

He buried his head in his shaking hands as he sat, curled in the edge of his bed. A traitor in a den of snakes. Silent sobs wracked his frame.

Will you weep, Ginny, for me?

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Author's etc: More to come, I promise. Review please, it makes me smile. -sweetp

Disclaim!Disclaim!: I do not own HP or Les Miserables. Nor do I make any money off them..doh!


A World about to Dawn
Turning, Turning, Turning
Chapter 3

Early on the morning of June 3, 1997 both Molly and Ginny Weasley found themselves in the draughty kitchen at Number 12, Grimmauld Place. They were used to mornings like these. They were always cold, nervous mornings, when they waited for the other members of the Order to come back after a night skirmish with Death Eaters. Usually, when they all trickled in, Ginny and Molly would start making a hearty breakfast for the weary members, before they all shuffled off to rest up before the next fight. This morning was different though, they should have been back by now; they were always back by now. What had happened?

Ginny sat listlessly at the table, her mind constantly worrying about the safety of everyone who had left last night, and one who had left a long time ago. She hadn't heard a word from him in over two months and she was getting desperate. She knew he was deeply buried in enemy lines and it was difficult to get an owl out to her but still, sometimes no news, isn't good news.

Molly scrubbed the counter over and over again, wearing down the finish with the knitted dish towel she had clutched in her hand. It was habit, something to keep her hands busy while she endured this interminable waiting.

Their reverie was broken by a noise on the staircase. They quickly pivoted their heads towards the noise. Were they back? Were they all right?

Hermione entered the room alone. Her robes were ragged, her face covered in soot and streaked with blood. Her hair, which had started off in a sensible knot, had come loose and wild around her face. Her glazed expression though, was the worst part of the picture that the two Weasley women witnessed. One look into them belayed the terror and sadness that overwhelmed the young witch.

Her eyes met with Ginny's and she whispered to her.

Did you see them going off to fight?

Ginny nodded slowly to the warrior.

Molly broke in wistfully with her own opinion.

Children, in this Wizards' War.

Hermione stunned the two women by adding on,

Who didn't last the night.

Thoughts buzzed through Hermione's busy mind. They had thought it would be a brief skirmish like all the others, but it had turned into the major battle of second Wizard's War. Dozens of battle-hardened Death Eaters, along with legions of goblins, zombies, vampires, and dementors had been waiting for them. It had been slaughter, a gory business altogether. She had seen it all pass before her eyes like a muggle motion picture, blurring the lines between reality and nightmare.

Ginny's eyes filled with tears of desperation. Who didn't last the night? Where was everyone else? She grabbed Hermione by the shoulders and shook her, begging information from the dazed girl.

Did you see them lying where they died?

The images of Molly's strong sons flashed before her eyes, what was happening now was far too similar to what the boggart had shown her almost two years ago. It wasn't fair, they were her babies!

Someone used to cradle them and kissed them when they cried.

She said softly as her only daughter continued to shake and scream for answers from the weary young witch.

Did you see them lying side by side?

Hermione blinked, still in her trance and immune to Ginny's shrieks. They had been right there, lying on the green grass of the battlefield. They had looked so peaceful in death. No! They couldn't be, not Dean, or Hannah or ... Charlie.

Sniffling, she turned and looked Molly straight in the eyes, asking her pleadingly,

Who will wake them?

Molly started to sob, holding onto the counter for support.

No one ever will.

No one ever told them that a summer's day can kill.

Hermione shook her head, unconvinced that they were really gone. It was barely a year since they had all left Hogwart's on the Express. They laughed and ate Chocolate Frogs, played Exploding Snap, and talked of how exciting seventh year would be when it started up in September. But they never got to go back to Hogwarts. They went to battle instead.

They were school boys when the war begun,

Fighting for a New World that would rise up like the sun.

Heroic Gryffindors. Hermione smiled grimly at the thought. The Order had such glorious ideals. They fought for such a noble cause, to have a world free from prejudice and hate. They had truly believed that it was a goal worth risking everything over, but it appeared that last night they had risked too much. Hermione had disapparated from the battlefield when the retreat had been called. She couldn't take it anymore anyway, once she had seen Minerva's prone body she had had enough. Harry and Ron were still out there somewhere, their heroics bordering on stupidity.

The chair creaked as Ginny sunk gracelessly onto the hard wooden frame. Her assault on Hermione relented as her strength ran out. Bitterly she cried, burying her face in her hands.

Where's this new world, now the fighting's done?

It was supposed to have been so different. The good guys were supposed to win and the bad guys were supposed to lose, none of this prolonged grief and worry. The war was supposed to make it easier for her and Draco. This New World was going to allow them to be together without fear or shame. What would happen now? Where was he? Was he dead too?

Molly, her sobs subsiding, looked over to her distraught daughter, and her youngest son's love, with dull eyes. She had been here before. Waiting until word of Gideon and Fabian came through. History was doomed to repeat itself. She shook her head, humanity was so terribly hopeless when it came to living. Why had she brought children into this world to suffer as she had done? Crooning to the young women, she whispered sadly.

Nothing changes, nothing ever will

Every year another boy, another mouth to fill.

She crossed to where her daughter sat, tears trickling down her freckled cheeks. She took Ginny's chin in her hand and brought her head up, gently wiping the tears away with her fingertips.

"Mum, mummy, what if...sniff what if he..hic..."

"Shhh, baby girl, hush." She whispered, not knowing who her daughter was referring to but trying to calm her.

Same old story, what's the use of tears?

The sound of steps on the staircase brought everyone's attention back up to the doorway. Was there more news? More tragedy?

A figure in a heavy black cloak entered, his face obscured by his cowl. He lifted his head and the women in the room screamed in terror. The figure was wearing the white mask of death.

Motionless in fear, they panicked until Ginny noticed a strand of pale hair escaping from the inside of the hood. She looked closer, into the eyes of the specter and wailed with delight, throwing herself across the kitchen towards him. He tore off his mask just before their arms encircled each other.

"Oh gods, Draco, I thought you were.. I thought you were de.."

"I'm all right baby, I promise. I'll never leave again, never."

Molly and Hermione stood still, uncomprehending the happy reunion that was taking place in front of them. Draco Malfoy, Death Eater and Ginny Weasley, Freedom Fighter? It didn't make any sense, but then again, did anything anymore? They watched carefully as Draco held Ginny tightly in his arms. Looking over her head, his eyes made contact with Hermione, he tried to speak but stumbled.

"Granger, I tried, I really did. I was so far away, please forgive me for being too slow. He fell. He's hurt. No one knows if.."

Her eyes grew wide and she fell onto her knees. She looked up at him with pleading eyes. Please say it's not Ron. I don't care who or what you are, just tell me he's okay. He's got to be okay.

Draco's grasp tightened on Ginny. His gaze locked with Hermione's, searching their agonizing depths. He wondered if this was what his Sprite felt like every time he went away. He felt the bile rise in his throat. Dirty bastards, how could they cause such innocent people so much pain? He closed his eyes tightly, fighting for control.

"They've done everything they can. It's up to the Gods now, and Ron, he'll fight."

For a man who had never uttered a prayer in his life, the war often drove him to it. It was his only way of keeping his hope alive in the darkest of places.

Molly stepped over to where Hermione knelt and sunk to her knees beside her. Bowing her head, she began to whisper a string of words to whatever deity she believed in, pleading for her son's life.

Hermoine couldn't take it anymore. No! Not him, not my Ron! She stood up abruptly and screamed at those in the dark kitchen, before tearing up the stairs and away from everything. The hurt, the pain, the unknown.

What's the use of praying if there's nobody who hears!

Those in the kitchen never moved out of place. Hours later, when an exhausted Severus Snape dragged himself down the steps, he saw Molly on her knees on the cold stone floor mumbling words of hope, and saw his godson, who had Ginny wrapped up in a never-ending embrace.

It was a heartbreaking scene, watching them will the world to stop. But as all wizards know, time is a tricky thing, and cannot be stopped or meddled with. While peace reigned in this kitchen, a war still raged on outside. Potter had done the impossible, he had beat Voldemort, but the war was far from over. Looking over at the two young soulmates, one in a Death Eater robe and the other in a second-hand Gryffindor one, he shook his head in sadness, the war would never end stop for those two.

Turning, turning, turning through the years.

Minutes into hours, and the hours into years.

Round and round and round and round,

And back where you began.

"Draco," his apprentice's head slowly rose to meet his gaze. "You have to get back. It's Potter, he's been taken by the young Serpents."

He nodded slowly at the Potions Master. He whispered to Ginny,

"I'm so sorry, Ginny, so sorry, I've got to go, I promise I'll be back soon. Soon, love."

Snape pulled him away from the clinging grasp and led him up the stairs. Ginny stared blankly after them. Stop, don't go, I love you so much.

Round and round and round and round.

And back where you began.