Draco's Delicate Condition

Chapter 5 - The Endless Day

By the time the Slytherin Quidditch team, trooped down to the pitch, the Hufflepuff team was already flying laps, the yellow Hufflepuff robes twisting and pitching in the wind.

'Look boys,' Draco jerked his head toward a Hufflepuff player that zipped by overhead, 'We're up against the Pufflehuff drunken bumblebees.'

Draco and the Slytherin team laughed. Certainly in comparison to the brawny Slytherin, the Hufflepuff team did resemble bumblebees. On the Slytherin team, size was generally a prerequisite. The only Slytherin member that didn't look like a side of Scottish Highland Beef was Draco the team's seeker. Draco, like Harry Potter, had the lean build of a sleeker and was skilled at slipping through the air in search of the golden Snitch, the less brawn to get in the way of the air currents, the better.

Earlier in the day a fine mist settled over the Quidditch pitch and the wind whipped down the length of the pitch, blowing leaves about like hundreds of brown and orange Snitches. A good breeze always made for a more exciting game. The Quidditch stadium was filled to capacity, which Draco took as his due for there was no team like Slytherin and certainly no games were more entertaining than those at which Slytherin played against Hufflepuff. The previous year Hufflepuff had the advantage of their captain and seeker, Cedrick Diggory. But as Hermione reminded the uncaring Draco a few weeks back, Cedrick was gone. The handsome and popular Hufflepuff team captain was murdered by an unforgivable curse, carried out by the heartless disinterest of the Lord Voldemort.

Prior to the game, Madame Hooch requested a few minutes alone with both team captains, although she virtually ignored the Hufflepuff Captain Brockland in favour of reading 'the riot act' to Draco. She made sure to emphasize just how many points would be deducted from Slytherin house if Malfoy didn't keep his overly aggressive team under control.

'If any Hufflepuff go to the infirmary today Mr. Malfoy, I'll have your hide tacked to the scoreboard until Christmas.'

Draco stood not even bothering to hide his annoyance as he listened to Hooch have her fit. It irked him that he never got 'the speech' prior to playing against Ravenclaw or Gryffindor. What the hell business was it of Hooch how his team played against the Pufflehuffs? Draco concentrated his cruellest stare at the Hufflepuff captain, while rudely snarled out of the corner of his mouth to Hooch. 'Professor, if the Hufflepuff can't dodge a few Bludgers they really ought to not bother having a team in the first place.'

Captain Brockland stared back at Malfoy with such unveiled malice that Draco nearly broke eye contact with him. Draco had never seen such a look coming from the eyes of any member of Hufflepuff - ever.

'I'm warning you Mr. Malfoy. My eyes are open, barked Hooch, ignoring Draco's unsporting comments about his opponents. 'I'll not have any critical injuries on my pitch this year.'

Draco continued staring at Bertram like a nobleman glaring at a serf. 'Slytherin critically injures one incompetent Hufflepuff in an accident eight years ago and Slytherin has to put up with grief forever?

Maestro,' Draco said with nasty sarcasm to Hooch, 'if you think Slytherin is not playing fair, why can't we spot Hufflepuff 50 points? That wouldn't effect the outcome of the game in the long run and it might give the Hufflepuff some spirit.'

Madame Hooch's hand itched to slap Draco but without another word she pivoted around and marched onto the field.

'PLAYERS, MOUNT YOUR BROOMS!' She bellowed angrily.

Draco was just as angry. He stepped over his broom and zoomed skyward, to just below the thickest level of the mist, only a little higher than the Quidditch goal hoops. There, he hovered, upright on his broomstick, practiced the deep breathing exercises he learned in China. Soon he was calm enough to concentrate on the game. Relaxed, he flexed his hands, took his leather gloves out of his robe pocket and carefully pulled them on. He noted that the Hufflepuff team sat their brooms rather tensely. That caught his attention because he thought that the Hufflepuff team usually sat their brooms like children playing broom-horsie. But under the overcast sky, the faces of the Hufflepuff team, each and every face, reminded Draco of his father's wolfhounds just before the beasts were released for a blood hunt. The Hufflepuff team members all had the same focused look as the prowling. Draco thought the Hufflepuff looked as if they existed only to clear the sky of their prey - Slytherin. Draco shirked off his ridiculous assessment.

The bran muffins from breakfast must be backing up on the Huffinpoofs.

Draco preferred to hover above the pitch so he could enjoy the action in the sky below and keep an eye peeled for the golden Snitch. His lofty height also gave him a view of the line up of the new Slytherin players. Win or lose Draco always gathered ammunition for lambasting his players later on in locker room. He firmly believed in the Malfoy family's sports motto; Spare the Wand, Spoil the Player.

Scanning the view below, Draco watched with the Hufflepuff team with amusement. Little Hannah Abbot was hovering parallel to Draco, about 150 yards away. Draco stared at the tiny girl and wondered what in the hell the Hufflepuff captain was thinking, giving such an important position to a fledgling player? The small girl was fighting to keep control of her broomstick in the brisk wind. Draco analyzed the other opponent players too. Most of the Hufflepuff lineup was unfamiliar to him. He wondered why the Hufflepuff team was composed of so many new players. That was a strange thing to do - ditch one's primary players for what must be the reserves.

Both the Slytherin and Hufflepuff teams hovered above Hooch who stood far below on the pitch. It was only a couple of minutes before the game was to begin that Captain Brockland, sitting bolt upright, threw his right fist into the air. In response to their captain, the Hufflepuff team raised did likewise. Far below the players, in the Hufflepuff stadium area, every Hufflepuff student stood. They made no sound except for the rustling of their robes in the wind. The Hufflepuff students solemnly raised their right arms high into the air - yellow and blue ribbons fluttering in their clenched fists. In unison, the Hufflepuff team and their fellow Hufflepuff students below roared together,

'FOR CEDRICK!'

Many of the Hufflepuff students, female and male alike could barely see for the tears in their eyes. The Hufflepuff house head teacher, Professor Sprout stood with her right fist raised high and her left hand dabbing at the tears streaming down her cheeks.

Around the Stadium, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw students stood in a show of solidarity. Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny quickly scrambled to their feet, stunned at the unexpected gesture and deeply moved by the sincerity of it. All four felt chills up their spines, and it wasn't just from the cold wind and drizzle that had begun to fall. It was becoming rather clear - Hufflepuff meant business.

Hooch tossed the Quaffle high up into the sky - the game was on. The first move in Quidditch games always resembled the lid flying off of a cage of racing pigeons. Players, shot through the air in a chaos of yellow and green streaks. Prior to the game's start, Draco was in his usual self satisfied mood, and had felt quite cocky. But the humour in Draco's mood dissolved during the salute to the memory of Cedrick Diggory. The Slytherin Chaser Celus Bole caught the Quaffle and only seconds later a powerfully hit Bludger slammed into Bole's side - three of his ribs broken. The Bludger was batted into Bole with great speed and accuracy by one of the newer Hufflepuff beaters. Bole few down towards the pitch and a Slytherin reserve beater took to the air.

I'll have Bole's useless head on a platter for that.

Only four minutes into the game, a faint flutter sounded by Draco's ear. The sound was faint because the wind was brisk, but Draco was skilled at isolating important sounds. His grey eyes looked up, and there the nervous little Snitch hovered, beating its pointed wings against the wind. The Snitch was only a few feet over his head. It was going to be a quick game, over almost before it started. There were lots of students and faculty below who were sitting in the cold stadium waiting for a show, and the showman in Draco was damned well going to see that they got a show. Draco glanced furtively towards Hannah, and startled; Hanna was already shooting towards the Snitch like an arrow shot from a bow. Instead of reaching out for the Snitch, Draco waited for Hannah to zip within a dozen feet of the Snitch. He felt like an immense cat toying with a small white mouse. He pitched his broomstick upward and towards the tiny Hufflepuff mite, flinging himself directly into her path. For a few seconds Draco waited for the impact of Abbot's tiny body to careen into his impassive side.

The impact did not come.

Catching a glimpse of a yellow blur that dived beneath him, up and around, and zipping past his head, Draco looked around. Twenty-five feet away, calm on her hovering broom sat Hannah Abbott - her baby face glaring at Draco. The tiny witch held out her hand, towards Draco. In her gloved hand she held tight fisted, the fluttering Snitch by one delicate wing. Like a wounded sparrow, the ball of gold struggled to free itself.

To Draco things seemed to be happening in slow motion. He stared at tiny Hannah, whose pigtails whipped in the heavy breeze. That she held the Snitch by its wing was an act of aggressiveness that Draco's Slytherin mind grasped immediately. The Snitch was a non-sentient being, but it represented a live bird that in historical times was captured during Quidditch matches. To hold the Snitch by one gossamer wing was to show the sort of unveiled brutality and aggression that Draco was used to seeing on the faces of his team members, not on the face of the innocuous Hufflepuff team player: the look of keen blood lust. Draco snapped back to reality as he heard the stadium roar beneath him like a volcano erupting.

The game was over. The stadium erupted into cheers.

Lee Jordon, the game's announcer, leapt up and down. 'Only four minutes into the game and new Hufflepuff seeker Hannah Abbot, that winsome and cute little blonde, CATCHES THE SNITCH! One hundred fifty points for Gryff...Hufflepuff! For once Professor McGonagall didn't scold Lee for his "unnecessary elaboration on the physical qualities of the female team players" for the professor herself was too busy jumping up and down and clapping.

Madame Hooch was in the centre of the pitch, dancing around like an American quarterback that had just won the Super bowl and was headed for Disneyland.

To say that Draco Malfoy, not to mention his team-mates, were stunned would be a gross understatement of the situation. Draco was completely undone, a slave to his total fury. His anger flared like a match touched to petrol. He was so enraged that for a minute or two he looked as if he would topple off of his Starshotz. He fought to contain his cool, finally hovering quietly, chanting a mantra to himself until his heartbeat dropped a bit - but not much. Not only was the game lost to Pooflehoofs, but it was his own arrogance that caused him to not grab the damned Snitch in the first place. The team captain - Draco - had thrown away an easy win for Slytherin.

As Draco still hovered fuming, he noticed that the Hufflepuff team players were mounted on brand new broomsticks - Starshotz 5000s. The Starshotz 5000 was a world class, state of the art Quidditch racing Broomstick. Not for a minute did Draco fool himself into thinking that the new brooms affected the outcome of the game. He knew from painful personal experience that it took more than shiny new broomsticks to win at Quidditch. It was more than just the new brooms that pulled off this win for his opponents; a Slytherin beater eliminated inside of two minutes of game time? At last Draco admitted to himself - there was something significantly different about the Hufflepuff team - and it worried him.

Down below in the stadium, Harry Potter sat staring up at the exultant Hufflepuff team flying a victory lap around the pitch. It was only a few minutes before the game had began that Harry had noted for himself that all the Hufflepuff team was mounted on the best model of professional racing broomstick. Harry could not take his eyes off of Hannah Abbot - when did she become a seeker? In all his years at Hogwarts, he'd never seen her anywhere near a broomstick.

'Harry,' asked Ginny, 'What in Morgana's knickers just happened out there? Did Malfoy just throw the game on purpose?'

'Hardly,' Harry said in a voice that sounded uneasy. 'I think Malfoy thought he could show off - make Hannah look bad. That's just the sort of arrogant thing he'd try.'

Harry said to Hermione, 'No offence, but your boyfriend is a jerk and his life is in danger when his team gets hold of him.'

'Oh, how could I take offence at that?' Hermione mumbled half to herself. She too was stunned.

However, Ron was up, jumping and bouncing on the balls of his feet. He bellowed with glee, 'I can't believe this! When was the last time this must have happened - Hufflepuff beating Slytherin? And inside of five minutes? I wish Charlie and Bill were here to see this. This day is going down in Hogwarts History!'

'I'm just as bad as Draco you know; underestimating the Hufflepuff team.' Harry said with disgust. 'I'm the Gryffindor captain. I should have gone to the Hufflepuff tryouts, or at least a couple of their practices. See what they're up to. That's my job.'

'No good beating yourself up Harry.' said Hermione, patting his shoulder. 'What's done is done and you're luckier than Draco. You are forewarned!'

But Ron countered, 'Harry, why waste your time? What could Hufflepuff be up to? So they've got new brooms. Probably donated by some Alumni touched by the loss of poor Cedric last June. New brooms alone don't make great players. We find that out every time Malfoy's father outfits Slytherin with spanking new brooms. Can't make a silk purse out of a flaming asshole. Is that how that Muggle saying goes Hermione?'

Hermione bristled like an angry cat but remained silent.

Ron continued, 'So what? Hannah Abbot got lucky. They beat Slytherin because Draco's a twat, and that's that. We'll beat the Hufflepuff when we come up against them. Slytherin too. No problem.'

Ron yelled, 'Go on Hufflepuff with your BAD selves!' He chortled, 'Got that one from Fred and George.'

Harry was not as complacent as Ron. 'Ginny,' Harry asked gravely. 'So what do you think?'

'Harry,' Ginny weighted her words. 'No offence Harry, but unlike you or Malfoy, I went to the Hufflepuff tryouts. I've been to a few of their practice sessions. Do you know they practice a minimum of four hours day at least six days a week? Seven days a week leading up to game day?'

'So?' said Harry.

'So? I think you don't know what you're dealing with. Hufflepuff tested almost every single one of their members for the team. Nearly every single one Harry! When I left the pitch at that night 9.00 they were still testing. '

'What? What do you mean Ginny?' Harry sat up, only just beginning to understand the full measure of Ginny's words.

'Don't you see Harry? Captain Brockland didn't only want players that are interested in the game - he wanted Hufflepuff's best talent. See? Abbot is a natural flyer. At the tryouts she put me in rather in the mind of YOU. And mind Harry, Hannah couldn't have cared less about Quidditch when they conscripted her to the team. But I'll say she cares now - with a passion.'

'They drafted Hannah to the team? But that's... outrageous.' Harry was stunned. Suddenly he understood.

Ginny continued. 'Hufflepuff is determined to win the Quidditch cup and the house cup this year. Hufflepuff is holding the number one spot for the house cup right now. This is their year Harry.'

'Nonsense,' interrupted Ron. 'That loonie Malfoy screwed up an easy win for Slytherin. That's the size of it. Malfoy could have nabbed that Snitch if he wasn't too busy showing off to his girl,' Ron shot Hermione a self satisfied and smug grin. He patted Hermione on the back and said in an unkind voice, 'Your Malfoy really does have some moves, doesn't he?'

Hermione angrily shoved Ron's hand away. She looked skyward where Draco hadn't budged two inches since Hannah first nabbed the Snitch.

'Well!' Hermione said at last, and half to herself. 'Draco isn't going to take this very well.' Hermione's comment was a flaming understatement.

~*~*~*~*~*~

That evening, the spirit during in the Great Hall at dinnertime exceeded even the fever pitched high spirits several weeks earlier when Draco lost the 100 points from Slytherin house. Hufflepuff table was elated, although not particularly as rambunctious as one would expect. Hufflepuff students could be said to be somewhat restrained. It was as though they were storing up their excitement for a greater prize than a victory of one Quidditch match.

There was no restraint whatever at the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor tables. Early on, at the Gryffindor table, the celebration was in full swing with tankards, mugs and cups sloshing about, saluting the victorious Hufflepuff team. Joke after joke railed on Draco's failure to catch the Snitch.

Dean Thomas, raising a tankard of non-alcoholic Timothy Teatotler's Tot Hoddy and shouted, 'Here's to Mr. Malfoy, who couldn't catch the Snitch if the bloody thing had sticky handles and a knob!'

Snorts, hoots and backslapping roared on at the Gryffindor table. Each witty remark, slur and wisecrack resulted in a lively volley of backslapping, fist pounding and students reduced to fits of helpless laughter. Pitchers and plates bounced on the sturdy tables under the constant pounding and ruckus.

'Aye,' shouted Seamus Finnegan, standing and joyfully raising his own tankard, 'Malfoy couldn't manage nabbing the Snitch if the bleeding thing were on a leash tied to his freakin' elegant dragon hide boots!'

Tankards spilled, plates and silverware bounced and jiggled under the fresh bout of table pounding and hoarse raucous laughter.

Hermione kept a smile fixed on her face, but it was obvious that she was suffering from a mixed bag of feelings. On the one hand, the traditional enemy had been slain, ousted, dishonoured and brutalized on the symbolic field of battle. On the other hand, that was her boyfriend being ripped to shreds.

Under the circumstances, Harry, Ron and especially Ginny, were considerate of Hermione. The three avoided making nasty comments about Malfoy - at least in her presence. Hermione sat watching Harry and Ron. The two wore faces that looked like tortured masks as they tried to stifle laughs whenever Hermione faced them. Hermione thought it was rather sweet that they took pains to be considerate of her feelings. Ginny totally understood how Hermione felt and occasionally patted Hermione's hand sympathetically.

Hermione wanted to jump up and defend Draco. She held her piece - after all, most Gryffindor students weren't even aware that she was involved with the very last boy, from the very last house they would have expected. Hermione poked at her roast beef and nibbled half-heartedly at her Yorkshire pudding. Perhaps she would have eaten with a bit of gusto if she had a better understanding of Slytherin dynamics.

The Slytherin table was glum - no surprises there. They had lost a match, and that, the first Quidditch match of the season. And far worse, they lost the game against a team that they traditionally treated with loathing and distain. To the members of Slytherin, losing to Hufflepuff was much the same losing to a lot of six-year old wizards on a sandlot game in Hogsmeade. The level of humiliation and feelings of disgrace at the Slytherin table was at an all time.

Draco Malfoy sat relatively unmolested in his usual seat at the Slytherin table. Even the 7^th year students chose not to tangle with Draco when he obviously inclined toward a volatile mood. For once, Draco's short temper was an asset. However, to his great exasperation, Messalina, his "ex" did not avoid him at all. Draco drummed his fingers on the table, glaring at the coquettish witch. He marvelled how the girl could be so beautiful, and such a pain in the arse. Were there any justice in the world at all, the two ought to be mutually exclusive.

Why in the name of Salazar Shorts is Messalina still sitting here next to me anyway? She ought to have had the decency to go sit with the forth years after I dumped her. Where are manners anymore?

'And another thing Draky Ducks, OOPS!' Messalina accidentally spilled pumpkin juice on Draco for the third time that evening. 'Clumsy me. As I was saying Draco...'

Draco was now wearing a significant portion of Messalina's dinner.

Draco was a gentleman, and the Great Hall was no place to discipline a misbehaving female. He could instruct her in proper table etiquette later time, in the commons; a swift kick ought to do it the job properly.

'Drakey, I ought really have told my father, about your destroying my chances to be on the Quidditch team, but as my Sicilian Grandfather says, 'Revenge is a dish that is best served cold.' And anyway, it will be my personal pleasure to see that you get what you have coming to you.'

'I don't understand Messie, why you believe that I have anything to do with your not being on the Slytherin team,' Draco explained patiently. 'After all, as soon as you fluttered out of the sky during the game, landing on that delightful arse of yours, you were disqualified. How was that my fault? I was watching from the stadium stands. Did your little mind not notice that detail? Hum?'

'Don't call me Messie! And if you think that I believe your cock and bull story that you had nothing to do with my rejection from the team...'

Draco sighed. Just how much of Messalina's incessant jabbering could he take in one day?

I'll bet the fatal cry of a mandrake root doesn't hurt the ear as much Messie's voice.

As if he didn't have enough to deal with after the Hufflepuff debacle. The team meeting in the Slytherin locker room after the game had taken it all out of him. The accusations, finger pointing and backhanded insults took up a full two hours after the lost game. It had been unbelievably rough - the assignment of guilt, the ridiculing of a wizard's manhood. It was ugly and it was brutal. But damn it, someone had to do it, and Draco had been up to the task. After all, he was the team captain. Draco sighed again and he tried to tune out Messalina's high-pitched voice. As he munched a bit of roast beef, he let his thoughts drift to the team meeting he'd only left a hour or so earlier - when he did his duty as team captain, grinding the Slytherin Quidditch team into submission.

'...and you shite-for-brains beaters! For fuck's sake, why the hell was Hannah Abbot sitting up on her broomstick on that ickle arse of her's like a feckin' yellow canary bird?' Draco bellowed at his team. He lived up to his name, each accusation roaring out of him like flames from a Muggle blowtorch. Draco switched his use of the English into post-match, graphic male ruthlessness. He didn't want to do it, but it was necessary.

'B...B...B...But Draco...'

'Calling me DRACO? You are calling me Draco?' Draco fumed, his grey eyes looking like they were peering out of the face of a mad dog. 'You call me CAPTAIN!'

'But... but...Captain...'

'That's CAPTAIN FUCKING MALFOY TO YOU!'

'But... But... Captain... f... f... fu...'

'Don't say it,' Draco warned. 'Because I'm warning you... if you do say it... I'll fucking kill you.'

There was no doubt in anyone's mind - Draco would kill.

'But Captain, Malfoy...The game was hardly started, we were just...'

'Shut your ignorant gob,' Draco snarled, 'You gits just sat there on your toley tadgers, arses set on your brooms, thinking about the girlfriends you WISH you had, not paying attention to the game. The GAME! What do I ALWAYS tell you before a game? Come on, ONE of you twats answer me. YOU, new beater on the block, what did I specifically say to all of you before the game began?'

The newest Slytherin beater sat hunched like a whipped dog, and couldn't bring himself to meet the flaming eyes of Madman Malfoy. 'Um...'

'NO! You other twats, did I ever once say 'UM' before today's game? Now tell me,' Draco marched up to the new team beater who still couldn't bring himself to look up into Draco's eyes. 'What did I say before the game?'

'Captain Malfoy SIR, you said that the beaters should remove the seeker and any other players from the game, as quickly as possible.'

'Ah! What a fucking BRILLIANT strategy I gave you!' Draco pointed to the beater as if he'd just uncovered a wizard scholar in their midst. 'That very strategy has worked for Slytherin teams since Salazar himself was in nappies! Did the rest of you shites hear what your brilliant new team member said? From the feckin' mouth of babes.' With great agitation Draco slowly strolled past each of the team members.

Draco noticed that Tiberius Radgerman, a team Chaser, was glaring defiantly at him. Draco stopped in front of Tiberius and stared back at him. Neither boy flinched.

'And you,' Draco's voice was now just above a whisper. The other team members sucked in their breath too terrified to move. 'I noticed that you were downfield when the game started, flipping around the grandstand.' Draco stopped talking for nearly half a minute, purposefully allowing tensions to mound. Tiberius, although seated, was still about a head taller than Draco.

'I was...'

'I didn't ask you what 'you was'. Why weren't you with the rest of the team, diving after the Quaffle or cutting off one of their Chasers? You were skiving off, weren't you?'

Tiberius did not drop his arrogant gaze. Draco was aware that Tiberius's arm was slowly drawing back. When Tiberius's fist flew, Draco's head shot out of its path. Draco put all his muscle into his fist and drove it upward into Tiberius's unfortunate jaw. The tall boy flew backwards off the bench, hitting the locker room floor with a sickening clunk that shook the floorboards.

Draco's fist hurt like the very devil, but he ignored the pain. 'So, are the rest of you paying attention NOW?'

'YES CAPTAIN MALFOY SIR!' the remainder of the team shouted in unison.

Draco nodded. Hitting someone felt good - indescribably good. The release of energy so swiftly and unpredictably really helped to defuse his anger and control the whole demeanour of team.

No wonder father used to beat me so often.

'Good. All right you lot of wankers, let's review what went wrong out there today.' He stopped pacing suddenly, as if a great idea had only just occurred to him.

'But first, has any one of you, anything to say about my performance this afternoon? Anyone? How about you Derrick?'

'Yes, Captain Malfoy Sir. You were terrific out there today SIR!'

'How kind of you to notice.' Draco smiled magnanimously. 'Right team. Let's review.'

Messalina's prattle brought Draco's attention back to the Slytherin table in the Great Hall. As he thought about the post-game 'pep talk', he thought how lucky he was that Tiberius had challenged him. The challenge saved him the trouble of having to purposely provoke one of the team into attacking him.

I almost owe that wanker Radgerman a favour. I'll keep that in mind.

Draco tucked into his dinner, eating with enthusiasm. Bawling out those skivers really took it out of him.

'So, Messalina, my former bit of fluff,' Draco asked with a twee voice. 'Do you want to shift those lovely round things towards me?'

Messalina stared daggers at Draco.

'I mean, the jacket potatoes of course, not your droopy little...'

His lightning reflexes held, and Draco managed to duck the incoming round of jacket potatoes and julienne carrots, all still in dishes.

Actually, all considered, today wasn't half bad. It certainly was uncontaminated by boredom.

~*~*~*~*~*~

That same evening, Draco stood leaning against a wall in the corridor near the Fat Lady's portrait outside of Gryffindor's common room. He stood as lazily as he could without actually falling down. A small group of sixth year Gryffindors, busily trading quips about the Hufflepuff victory, strode right past Draco, not even noticing the out of bounds Slytherin.

Always works. Act like you belong and you might as well be invisible.

Draco thought it must be near 8:00 PM. It was not late exactly, but by his calculations, either he completely missed Hermione and she was already in her commons or she was... dead on! Late getting back from the library, Hermione's head appeared as she climbed the last steps to the 7^th floor. Her head drooped over her books, and she looked totally dejected. Draco walked towards her, nabbed her books and school bag with one graceful motion. He took her elbow and whipped her around to his direction of travel. Then without a word he led her back down the stairs. Hermione was too surprised to say anything, and she instantly felt happier that she would have cared to admit. For Draco's part, he didn't speak, as he was still on the verge of his ears bleeding from Messalina's rant earlier on during dinner. He couldn't tolerate even hearing his own voice just yet.

Squirreled away behind a closed door in an empty classroom, Draco dropped Hermione's books and school bag on an empty chair. He sat leaned against the top of a desk, his hands in his pockets. It dawned on him that he wasn't quite sure why he'd dragged Hermione away, or what it was exactly he expected them to do in the deserted classroom. He didn't even feel up any nasty sort of boy-thoughts just then. He just stared at Hermione with tired, half shut grey eyes. His shoulders sagged - Draco looked whipped. He felt worse than he looked.

'You want a hug, don't you?' Hermione asked softly. She was itching for a hug herself.

'What?' Draco straightened up abruptly as if Hermione had drawn her wand on him. 'You must be joking. Malfoy's don't do that 'I need a hug' tripe.' He looked unmovable on the point.

'What?' Hermione was dumbfounded. 'What is wrong with a hug from someone who cares about you?'

'It just is.' Draco had no idea why he felt so strongly about such a silly point, especially since he was himself itching to get Hermione in his arms. He only knew that he couldn't imagine his father ever 'needing a hug'.

'What was all that action we engaged in down by the lake then?'

'That was snogging.' Draco said definitively. 'Snogging is different.'

'Why are you being so difficult? You're such a pig.'

'Don't you call me a pig you mmu...' Draco curbed his intended response. He was beginning to feel surly, and he hated himself for it. Maybe he'd been better off going straight to his dorm instead of pestering Granger. He certainly didn't want to fight with the one person who might want to understand him. He conceded.

'Ok. I'm a pig. But you knew I was when you got involved with me. I'm not going to change you know. Much. And anyway, I'm NOT fat.'

As an after thought it should be added that Draco had not a clue that the Muggle slur, 'pig' referred to anything other than a tubby farmyard animal.

'You are so delightfully naïve,' said Hermione, enjoying giving Draco back some of his own quotes. 'All right. Let's compromise. Would Mr. Malfoy be willing to accept external arm pressure for an extended quantity of time, from a humble admirer?'

'Yes, that'll do.' said Draco with a look of extreme relief on his face.

Hermione crushed Draco to her like a large doll, whispering into his ear, 'You are a piece of work, aren't you?' Tenderly she held her cheek against Draco's and smoothed his silky hair.

Draco draped his arms lightly around Hermione's waist. His mind quieted and the day's disasters fell from him like a heavy cloak. Hermione asked nothing of him. He didn't have to explain what happened at the game, he didn't have to offer up reasons, whys or wherefores. Hermione only needed to know that he was in need - that was enough. Draco felt peace and bliss. He didn't even feel obligated to snog. He could just stand and know, as is, he was good enough. He didn't have to anything to prove to this one person who cared for him. The Malfoy family didn't hold with unconditional love anymore than they held with 'needing a hug'.

Maybe I did need a hug. And anyway, who knows what the hell Father and Mother do when I'm not around?

Draco's eyes opened abruptly. Perhaps it was thinking about his family's system of belief that released a flood of his own recent thoughts and the entrenched dogma of his own mind. Draco physically cringed against the ugly random thoughts that settled in on him. He felt shame. A sick feeling hit him like a sudden fever and wracked him to his core. He pressed his face tight against Hermione's soft cheek.

In second year I wanted 'the Granger Mudblood' to be murdered by the Heir of Slytherin. I laughed when I thought about her getting killed - being dead. I wanted her dead. It was only a joke to me.

Hermione could feel Draco becoming rigid in her arms. She hugged him closer still and stroked his head. She gently kissed his face, as if planting angel's kisses on the cheek of a baby.

Draco sunk his head further into Hermione's orange blossom scented hair. He slowly shut his grey eyes. They stood like that, Hermione gently swaying. The horrid thoughts of Draco's former self slowly ebbed. The ugly notions were not forgotten, only stuffed back again, into a dank cubby at the rear of his aching mind. Still Hermione kissed his check, stroked his head and swayed as if leading Draco in a gentle dance.

Then Draco did something new for him, something he couldn't have imagined he would do without some serious manipulation in his neither region. With total absolute, 'kill me now cause it can't get any better than this' pleasure - he groaned. The sound was so full of primal contentment that Hermione tried unsuccessfully to choke back giggles.

'Oh, that did it.' Draco said, but not in an unkind way, 'You broke the mood.' He raised his arms and hugged Hermione back for the first time. 'You were right Petals. I needed that hug more than I need breath or light, more than I need a Quidditch win or... well maybe not more than I need a Quidditch win. But I do thank you for it Petals. But, don't you dare tell anyone that I needed a hug. I have a reputation to protect. Now, if I lie on my back will you stroke my tummy?'

'If I stroke your tummy will you scratch your head with your foot?'

Draco said nothing; he only pulled Hermione back, deep into his arms. He attempted to recapture the moment, snuggling in Hermione's hair and nuzzling against her neck.

'Draco Dear, are you alright? I mean, your day must have been... horrid.' Hermione asked sympathetically.

'You mean the game and all? No, I'm fine, just dead tired. Chewed out the team for hours and squelched a half dozen bloody insurrections after that.' Like a small boy, he held up his left hand to Hermione and whinged, 'Look. My knuckles hurt.'

Hermione took the pale hand with its bruised and swollen knuckles and kissed it. 'Better?' On the side of discretion, she did not ask how his knuckles came to look a little like minced meat.

'Yes,' Draco pulled Hermione into a hug so tight that the poor girl thought she'd be smothered. Draco practically dove into Hermione's tresses, making funny noises that sounded like the purring of a large and thoroughly spoiled lap cat. While blissing out, it occurred to Draco that it was as good a time as any to come completely clean. As if he were idly chattering he mumbled, 'Oh by the way. You know, I broke up with my girlfriend.'

'What?' Hermione knew of Messalina, but had avoided giving the Slytherin witch much thought. Her ability to ignore unpleasant thoughts concerning Draco was the sort of thing that sometimes made Hermione doubt her common sense. An ugly thought occurred to Hermione making her shiver involuntarily. Did Draco's break-up with Messalina have any connection to his busted knuckles? The stories she'd heard of Draco's 'relationships' hinted as much. Hermione thought she would be a coward and a besotted twit if she didn't ask. 'Did you... hit Messalina?'

'What?' Draco pulled back from Hermione; shocked that Hermione would even think such a thing. 'I'm a Malfoy!' Draco scolded vehemently. 'Malfoys don't hit women! You think I'm some sort of damnable coward?'

'I just wondered, I heard...'

'I'm not denying that Malfoys nip, nibble, bite, squeeze, and on rare occasion may even go so far as to slap a witch, if she has it coming to her, but hit? Punch? Not a chance of it!'

Draco's easy to flare temper, died as quickly as it had flared. He didn't want to waste his time with Hermione being overly sensitive on minor points like punching witches. He returned to his topic.

'I've dated Messalina Zabini since school year began.'

'Blaise Zabini's little sister?'

'Yes. That's why Blaise lobs stuff at me in lab you know. Blaise is jealous because somehow she got the idea that I'd still be dating her from last year.'

'My,' said Hermione sarcastically. 'however might Blaise have gotten that idea?'

'Oh, I don't know,' Draco drawled. 'I suppose because I didn't break up with her before I started dating her baby sister. Yes. That's probably it. I'm a reasonable man - I offered to date both of them but they didn't go for it. I think Blaise will have her father hire a hit wizard to zap me with two or three unforgivable curses,' Draco squeezed Hermione closer yet, burying his face in her hair again. The boy was in grave danger of developing a genuine fetish. 'You're not angry with me are you?' He asked as if her being angry with him was the silliest thing he could imagine.

'What is with wrong you Draco?' Hermione scolded. 'You can be so sweet, and so despicable.' She wondered what was wrong with her that she was attracted to one so despicable. She wondered why she wanted nothing more than to stay buried in his arms, feeling his long muscular fingers kneading her flesh in tender places. Running his tongue and lips behind her ear, along her neck. 'Draco. I mean, do you think because you're so handsome... no.' She sounded thoughtful. 'You're not handsome.'

Draco jerked as if he'd run across a mouse in Hermione's hair.

'No Draco. You're pretty, that's what you are. You're prettier than anyone else at Hogwarts, including Messalina and Blaise. So help me, it's true.'

'Really?' Draco asked in a doubtful voice.

She noticed!

'So Mr. Malfoy, you think because you are pretty and rich, you can walk all over everyone?'

'Well, yes actually,' Draco replied thoughtfully. 'What else would be the point of being pretty and rich?'

Hermione waited for the punch line, and when it didn't come, she realized that Draco wasn't joking. They seemed to have two different outlooks - as if that was news. 'Draco, I don't understand why I'm so taken with you. Well...' Hermione gave into a few seconds of soul searching. 'Well... I suppose you're... interesting... because you're what Seamus calls a 'bad boy''

'I hate Seamus,' Draco said in a matter of fact voice. 'He's an arse.'

'Seamus is sweet. He's funny and loyal and...' Pulling back to stare into Draco's maddeningly aloof gaze, Hermione realized not much of what she said was making it past the boy's internal screening system. Hermione's praise of Seamus, any Weasley, or Harry, was Malfoy heresy. It dawned on her that she herself was living, breathing Malfoy heresy.

'You know Draco? Maybe this is all a mistake. What am I doing here with you? You hate everything that is me. You hate all my friends.'

'Don't even joke about that. I don't hate you. Your friends, I sort of... well, I don't hate you anyway.' Draco flung himself back into Hermione's hair, moaning happily. He felt like a cat buried in fresh catnip. He felt his internal energy charging up like batteries. He was now officially 'up' for some hard-core groping. He had the distinct impression that the room temperature had risen by ten or fifteen degrees.

'I'm being stupid, just being here with you. I'm warning you 'Mr. Pretty N. Rich', if you EVER try to bully me or pull any of your obnoxious, tedious, spoiled little wizard tricks on me - forget the ladylike slaps. I'll zap you with an Avara Kadavara myself.'

'Yes,' Draco fondly recalled the fateful day, less than a year ago, when Hermione with good reason, pitched a fit and hit his face with a slap so hard he thought he'd go deaf in one ear. In his current state of rising nasty boy-thoughts, in retrospect, Hermione's stupefying slap now seemed to Draco to have been only a lovely bit of 'slap and tickle'. He drawled, 'Yes, I deserved that slap you gave me last term. My cheek was numb for days. I was awful. I deserved every bit of it,' He grinned wickedly, 'Slap me again?'

'Be serious.'

'I AM serious! Please?'

'I mean it Draco. I've never been so serious about anything. If you can't change, or at least make serious efforts to pull in your claws, then we'll save us both a great deal of time and stop seeing each other.'

Even saying the words was more painful than Hermione could have ever thought possible. She began to blink rapidly. An uncomfortable lump burned high up in her throat and she struggled to smother her tears. Tears would utterly destroy her arguments not to mention her resolve.

Draco pulled his face back from Hermione. The bright and happy glint to his pale grey eyes changed to an almost contemptuous glare. He abruptly released Hermione, almost throwing her away from himself. He folded his arms and leaned back against the desk.

He directed his gaze past Hermione as though she were no longer there.

Peering into Draco's face, Hermione felt as though Draco had already left the room.

In his short experience with girls in general, Draco had never 'let' any girlfriend set any rules, at least not any rules that he felt obligated to labour under. He did what he wanted, when he wanted and that was that. Now just when he found the witch he wanted - really wanted - she was busily setting up policy - it was damned unfair. He was a Malfoy and he made the rules. He didn't want to lose Hermione. Truth was he'd already come damned close to losing her on a bi-weekly basis. Did he need the aggravation, and all for a witch that was not even of an old wizarding family? She wasn't even a pureblood witch, and that counted for a great deal in Draco's restricted view of the world.

Who the hell does she think she is anyway?

Draco's mercurial temper flared.

'Ok,' Draco said, 'That's that. Nice while it lasted. I'm the wizard. I set the rules,' Draco looked at Hermione, his face showing his trademark boredom; passive disinterest. 'I don't need this,' he snapped.

'Fine. That's fine. Get out.' Hermione said simply. The area behind her eyes aching with repressed tears.

'I found the room,' Draco pointed toward the door. 'You get out.'

'No Draco. You leave. As long as I'm here, I'm going to study.' Hermione stamped her foot.

'Well then, you're the liar - Granger,' growled Draco feeling a wave of cruelty rising like bile in his gut, threatening to overwhelm him. 'You want to hide out here and cry.'

'OUT Draco, I mean it! Yes. I'm going to sit right here and cry until Professor Tinselmark comes in tomorrow morning and has to use a drying spell so he can walk across the floor without slipping and breaking his neck.' Hermione gamely fought the battle to hold back a flood of tears.

'So that's that, then? We're finished?' Draco sounded eerily cold - unfeeling.

'Yes. Finished,' Hermione matched her voice with the coldness in Draco's voice. 'Get out of here. Leave me alone and stay AWAY from my hair!' Hermione's eyes were glazed over with moisture and tears began to trickle. She still gamely refused to give in to the sobs that were waiting in the queue.

'Ok. Fine. But before I go, I have to ask.'

'What do you want you horrible, callous, Slytherin?' Hermione wailed petulantly. Tears now streamed down her face. Although her lips trembled, she stood defiantly, refusing to even concede there were tears, refusing to wipe her eyes. Damn Draco to Salazar's hell and back.

Draco also had a massive tightness in his throat and an ache behind his eyes. The pain had nothing at all to do his screaming in the locker room earlier in the day. The dragon's flames were doused. There was no defence against the first wetness that had briefly glinted on Hermione's cheeks at the start of the tears. 'Um... well, I was wondering. Before I leave. Can I have a hug?'

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

More than two hours later, Draco and Hermione still occupied the classroom. Looking dishevelled, Draco took up his wand, and holding in his right hand, placed it over his heart.

'By my wand, I promise, I won't lie to you Hermione. I'll always try telling you the truth first. Mostly.'

'No. You'll have to do better than that. Try again.'

'Right then.' Draco said peevishly. Tempers were again on the verge of flaring for the fifth time in the past half hour. 'By my wand, etc., etc., I won't lie to you. Truth, etc. etc. There. I said it.'

'You conveniently forgot the 'half truth' thing and I don't appreciate the etceteras.' said Hermione persistently.

'Remember that pen knife you lobbed at me in Potions?' Draco asked irritably, although he didn't sound half as irritable as Hermione. 'If you've have it handy, why don't you just castrate me now?'

Hermione gave Draco a look that reminded him of the Hufflepuff Captain Brockland just before game time. Glaring at Draco all the while, Hermione took up her books, turned towards the classroom door and walked.

Lurching forward and grabbing Hermione's arm, Draco said, 'All right, all right, all right! Can't you take a joke?'

'This isn't a joking situation. Now... SAY it!'

'By my wand, I promise, I won't lie to you Hermione. I will always tell you the truth. I will not tell you half-truths or lies of omission, and if I don't, may my wand backfire on me and may I loose my Slytherin ranking, so help me Salazar Slyth...'

'No! Don't add the Salazar Slytherin thing, or you might as well cross your fingers behind your back.' Hermione smiled wanly and fumbled for her handkerchief. Her eyes were bloodshot, her nose was still running, her clothing was in more disarray than her bushy chestnut hair. She was convinced now that the stubborn and wily wizard that stood before her loved her back. Nothing else mattered.

'Thank you Draco. I know that took it all out of you.'

Draco stood taller and gave a disarming smile which made Hermione giggle because that particular tilted smile on that face always made her think of a happy, pink cheeked toddler. It was wise that she kept the thought to herself because Draco thought that particular smile made him look wicked sexy.

But Hermione had one more item for discussion.

'One more thing and we'll be on even ground. You owe me a favour because...'

'What?' Draco's face slumped. Was there no end to the penance Hermione demanded of him?

'You admitted yourself that you didn't tell me early on about your already having a girlfriend. Because of you our relationship began as a lie.'

Draco sputtered, 'What? But... but... that was before...'

'I don't care. I want a favour from you, or else I'm going to go tell Harry and Ron that they are right about you. You Mr. Malfoy are a candy floss-headed, stone-eyed, albino bunny headed, Dark Mark kissing, Gryffindor-baiting, Hagrid stabbing, dog punching, duckling killing, Death Eater wannabe...'

What happened next was a defensive kiss that effectively quieted Hermione at least for the time being. Under the influence of excessively deep kisses, Hermione's brain went on temporary hiatus, giving Draco time to decide whether to give up or start round three of the Draco-Hermione wars. Surely this was the final round?

'Fine. I'll do whatever you ask.' He gave a heavy sigh.

'Really?' How about two things?'

Draco rolled his eyes. 'Try me.'

'Put Messalina Zabini on the Slytherin Quidditch team.'

'No. That's not going to happen. Next?'

'You said ANYTHING. '

'Yes... but I'm easing into my promise. Messalina's a bitch, no one wants her on the team.'

'You said you wouldn't lie.'

'That's not a lie exactly,' Draco confessed. 'All right. I mean that Messalina is a bitch to me,'

'Right. I wonder why?'

'I'm sorry Petals. My hands are tied. Mostly. Anyway, it's not going to happen. Ask me something I can do for you.'

'Taking a deep sigh, Hermione asked, ' Explain the busted knuckles?'

'I'm team Captain. I had to discipline a hard-headed team member. What? Potter doesn't do that?'

'Discipline?' Hermione concluded that maybe it was just as well that Messalina wasn't on a team with the Neanderthal Slytherin. She shuttered at the ridiculous notion that Harry would ever hit a Gryffindor team member. She decided go ahead and ask her true request. 'Here's what I most want Draco. And it is for me, whatever you may think. '

~*~*~*~*~*~

It was nearly 11:15 pm that same evening when Draco took the stairs two at a time that lead to the Slytherin dungeon. Most Slytherin would be in their dorm rooms already. He faced the great stonewall that opened into Slytherin Commons.

'Dominate'

Nothing happened. Temper flared in Draco like a hot wind on steeping embers.

'Dominate!'

Then he remembered, the password was changed only that morning. Morning felt as if it was days ago. He hesitated and then quietly murmured, with a feeling of distinct discomfort, 'Untainted blood.'

The wall swung open. Draco stepped through to the Slytherin common room. In spite of the late hour, students filled the room: draped on chairs, leaning against the walls, sitting idle at study tables. What little speech was on, stopped as Draco entered the chambers. Draco quickly analyzed the emotion, the set of the room. He glanced around. There were no games of Wizard's Chess in progress. No homework books open. The bottle green light gave the dour faces around the room a look of stone cold malevolence. Draco thought back to the adversarial look of the Hufflepuff team earlier in the day.

This is not good. This is not good at all.

Draco took a deep breath that he hoped no one noticed. The Common room was dark on even the brightest days. The whole of Slytherin's student body had turned to face Draco. He acted without hesitation. He walked in his normal lazy stride to the centre of the room and halted. His face was relaxed, open and proud - cheeky even. He held his head high.

'Good evening all.' Draco sounded like he'd just returned from the prom.

The room remained quiet, but for a few students shifting in their seats, like nervous thoroughbreds in stalls.

All right then. Throw them for a fucking HUGE loop. Balance is all.

'I'm a little surprised everyone's still up,' Draco spoke in a voice still infused by the heavenly evening he had just spent in the company of Hermione. 'Myself, I just got back from seeing my new girlfriend. I think most of you have at least heard of her: Hermione Granger, that intelligent Gryffindor witch.'

Heads jerked back, and jaws dropped throughout the room. Gasps and hands flying over mouths sounded around the room. The sound of a dropped glass echoed through the room.

Yes, I've lost my mind, or at least my head, and over a mud... Gryffindor half-breed.

Draco stood stationary, gently swaying on his heels. He projecting the imagine of someone who had nothing to fear from anyone or anything on the planet and he was gracing the room with his indulgent attentions. Slowly he made eye contact with his fellow students, fixing his eyes on each and every one, like a prowling lion searching for a suitable zebra to slaughter. As he strolled lazily through the room, a relaxed smile played across his lips. He was graciously dared anyone, anyone at all, even sixth and seventh years, to make a single, solitary negative comment about his astounding announcement.

Precious few of you are thinking about the Hufflepuff Quidditch win now.

There were a few awkward murmurs in corners. A few students, particularly first and second year pupils, stood and fled to their dorm rooms. There were no challenges. Even Tiberius Radgerman kept mute, his eyes looking downward. Draco kept his glaze on Tiberius at least twice as long as he looked at any other student.

That's it Radgerman. Challenge me again, and join the rank of eunuchs. That is a promise you great twat.

Draco's face still pleasant when he looked into Messalina's livid enraged face. She looked as if she might pounce on Draco and pommel him to death, but she stayed put, saying nothing.

The room scourged, Draco strolled over to a table filled with the seventh year students, the acknowledged alpha males and females. Impertinence was seldom tolerated at the seventh year table, but sometimes a gamble is essential.

'Evening.' said Draco pleasantly.

He stared at each face at the table. He noticed various packages of sweets at the elbow of Augustus McIntyre - the Slytherin Alpha male of all Alpha males. Reaching past a frowning seventh year girl, Draco set his hands on a box of Chocolate Frogs. Hand held on the box, Draco looked up into the hard indigo eyes of Augustus.

'Evenin' Malfoy.' There was no smile on the face of Augustus.

Ok, now or never, and if I go down, what the hell - a short life and a merry one.

Draco flipped the box up into his hand and opened it. Quickly he nabbed the chocolate frog and stuffed the struggling confection into his mouth. Out of the corner of his mouth, Draco muttered, 'Thanks loads Auggie. I'm famished. A good snog takes it all out of me. Crikey, but I'm exhausted.'

Draco's cheeks puffed out as the chocolate frog attempted to escape his mouth so he bit down and chewed. The sweetness of the frog made him salivate so heavily that he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He pulled the Wizard Card out of the Chocolate Frog box, and read, 'Herpo the Foul'. He tossed the card in front of "Auggie" as though offering a present. 'That's an old one, isn't it?'

'So the game today Captain Malfoy. What happened?' Augustus asked.

'The team fucked up Auggie. I could have killed the whole lot of them. But don't worry. We'll have another shot at them before the playoffs. I've got the team in the palm of my hand.'

'Like your willie?' Augustus snorted rudely.

'Yes,' Draco snapped back without a pause, 'only a little less control on the team though.'

The whole seventh year table snickered. Augustus smiled and tossed Draco another chocolate frog. 'Here mate. You look done in.'

Draco caught the box and managed to nab the second chocolate frog before it could get away. With a quick gulp, he sent the frog after the first. Draco tossed the new Wizard card towards Augustus. 'Morgan Le Fay, she was a good Sheila, not at all stuck up.'

Augustus took the card and nodded pleasantly to Draco.

'Yes, I am knackered. Well, good night all.' Draco walked over to the descending stair well and skipping rapidly down the steps like a rubber ball.

After Draco disappeared down the stairs, Augustus roaring with laughter. 'Got brass ones as big as coconuts that one has!' The table of seventh years laughed, and the sound of snorts and giggles spread throughout the room. Everyone rose and the whole of Slytherin house headed downstairs to their dorm rooms.

Draco was officially absolved of the day's sins.

When Draco made it to his room, he was again jubilant. He'd made some tough choices throughout the day, and to a one, they all worked. Ok, his choice to block Hannah rather than grab the Snitch wasn't one that worked, but it allowed him the chance to rise from the ashes of a disaster like a bright phoenix, or as Draco preferred to think, like a Chinese Fireball. He thought of himself as a Chinese Fireball Dragon, glittering gold like his hair in the full sun, and full of piss and vinegar.

The walk to Draco's shared dorm room was along a long subterranean corridor. His room was one of only four Slytherin dorms room - two each for wizards and witches that had windows. At the end of the long corridor, a short but steep flight of steps ended in a corridor with a windowed room at either end of the walkway. The dorm windows had a broad view of the dark forest, and offered a look down a sheer drop that ended on jagged rocks below over what in ancient times was a massive and deep moat that surrounded the castle. Draco and his henchmen, Goyle and Crabbe and two others, worked their way 'up' to windowed rooms during their fourth year. Most Slytherin students would never occupy the windowed rooms.

Draco's emerald curtained four-poster was right by one of the two large room windows. Draco removed his clothes, carefully hanging them in his wardrobe. He climbed into his four-poster, pulled the curtains shut and tucked his wand in its usual place under his pillow. He liked having his wand in easy reach. He had only just gotten his covers all snug when he heard his dorm mates entering the room. He pulled his pillow over his head. His mind was racing, and he was just wishing he had a sleeping potion when his curtains were shoved back on their rings and Goyle yelped, 'Draco! You got an owl! Look, you've got an owl post!'

'How many times have I warned you to NEVER TOUCH MY CURTAINS?' Draco screamed, furiously.

'But you have a post...'

'Then fetch it here,' nothing happened, so Draco screamed out again, 'GREGORY! I SAID FETCH THE POST TO ME!'

In a rare act of rebellion, Goyle yelped, 'No!' He skittered to his four-poster and leapt in, drawing the curtains behind him. Seconds later the sound of suspiciously phoney sounding snoring rang through the room.

'Damn it!' snarled Draco, jumping out of bed angrily. He pulled on his robe - it is a common fact that 80% of all Slytherin sleep in the buff - a habit from a Slytherin preference to follow ancient Greco Roman customs when possible. Ok, that and that Slytherin like the feel of satin sheets next to their skin.

Draco fumed. A massive Harpy Eagle stood poised on the windowsill. A parchment was tied by leather jesses to the massive feathered thigh of the bird. The raptor peered at Draco and gave a long deafening screech. It was his father's beloved Harpy Eagle. Draco loathed the majestic bird. He approached the eagle; his arms outstretched hoping to nab the letter while the bird was still relatively calm.

'All right, you STUPID dung-for-brains feathered... easy does it...'

The eagle raised its wings in an attempt to appear larger than it was a method of bluffing its opponent. It was no good. Draco knew the wretched bird was going to put up a fight. The very reason that Eagles were seldom used for owl post is that eagles were notoriously stubborn about giving up what the birds take to be their rightful property - the very post they are supposed to be delivering.

Draco fetched his pillow from his bed. He held the pillow as a shield and in front of the bird's eyes to distract it from its coveted parchment envelope. He muttered under his breath, 'You sodding, thick eagle, give it here do you hear me? Give me that bloody post! Give it or I'll make a half-dozen down pillows with you!'

The massive eagle angrily clicked its rapier beak; the marigold eyes wild with anger.

It took five minutes of parry and thrust for Draco to finally divert the bird's attention with the pillow and snatch the envelope from the bird's leg. Pleased that he only acquired a few nicks and one gash on his cheek from the furious great bird, Draco shooed the massive eagle out of the window. He shut the window and locked the casements. Wiping the blood from his burning cheek, Draco opened the parchment.

Draco, you will wait for me at the Slytherin Commons fireplace at 3 AM.

Your father,

LM

TDLR

Draco hated that his father signed his letters with the TDLR initials - 'The Dark Lord Rewards'. It was just so smarmy, so embarrassing. Parents got so carried away with their stuff.

'Sodding, thick eagle.'

Draco stuffed the parchment under his pillow, and marched off to the common room. He had a rotten day, and now he had to meet his father at 3 AM, undoubtedly for a chewing out. Messalina must have finally owled the senior Malfoy with news of the 100 points deducted from Slytherin house. Draco reckoned that Messalina was probably in her dorm room, scribbling a parchment post by candlelight to tell his father about the loss of the Quidditch game, or maybe about his infatuation with a Muggle-born witch. There seemed no end to the things Messalina could squeal on that could get Draco into serious hot water with his father. Oh well, maybe the candle would keel over and her bed curtains would go up in flames.

Draco sat by the Slytherin fireplace blearily staring into the fire. It was hard to stay awake after several days without much sleep, besieged with worry because maybe his father might have caught wind of his near expulsion. This visit from his father must be Messalina or Blaise's idea of suitable revenge. How would his father react? Maybe the Dark Lord was in need of a blood sacrifice around Halloween. Had his father volunteered him?

Around 3:00 AM, Draco lost the battle to stay awake. He snoozed away until with a loud 'poof', the fire blazed near hot enough to melt the soles off of his slippers. Draco leapt up from the overstuffed chair and there in the midst of the fire, floated the visage of his father. Lucius Malfoy, a very handsome and powerful looking wizard with the same pale white hair and pale grey eyes that that Draco inherited from him. Lucius looked sternly, almost angrily at Draco.

Staring steadfastly into his father's cold eyes, Draco stood as straight and tall as he could manage. He tried not to shake, and restrained himself from speaking until spoken to.

The senior Malfoy said not a word.

Finally, Draco couldn't stand the pressure any longer, he blurted, 'Father! Honest, it wasn't my fault. The exam, it was all a joke really. Snape rather took it all too seriously. You know that sour puss Snape can't take a joke! And the points, I mean, isn't it obvious that...'

'What exam? What points? What in Salazar's sacred shorts are you carrying on about, boy?' thundered the senior Malfoy.

'Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! Nothing father, just a joke father, uh... so, so, how's mother?'

Draco stood plaintively, trying his best too keep his eyes trained to his father's. The urge for him to drop eye contact and bolt always felt nearly overwhelming.

'In part your mother put me up to this. She says that her seer, Madame Livia told her that you are in a spot of trouble. Are you in trouble?'

'Me? Trouble? Honestly father. You know how manipulative Livia is. She's always seeing some disaster for me. She knows mother tips well if she believes I'm being saved from one disaster or another.'

'So, is there anything you want to say before I tell you the why I am here, Goldilocks, my boy?'

Draco quickly blushed, cringed and quickly peered around the room. 'Father, don't call me that here. What if someone heard?'

Lucius ignored Draco's protest. 'As you know Goldie, since your birth, your mother and I have told you about your special purpose, your importance to the greater plan. I am pleased to tell you that the time for your greater purpose is approaching.'

Draco was so dumbfounded that he stumbled backwards and fell back into the comfy chair.

'Father...'

Draco sat trembling as if he had suddenly been overtaken a severe bout of malaria.

'Why now Father? Can there be a mistake? Are you sure? I'm only 14 years old for fuck's sake!'

Draco gasped and clamped his hands over his mouth. He had cursed in front of his father. Had he done so in the physical presence of his father, he would be lying on the floor, fighting for consciousness.

Lucius' eyes brimmed with recrimination, but he continued calmly.

'The Dark Lord has regained most of his power Draco. You are a key for the return of the Dark Lord to his full strength. We have all waited many, many long years for this time to come my son. Your mother and I have waited for this. We know that your ultimate success will make us proud.'

The reproachful look had dissolved from the face of Lucius. For a moment - just a moment - Lucius did look like a pleased and proud father.

Staring at his father's face, Draco was momentarily overwhelmed and pulled into his parent's dreams and expectations for him. He, Draco Malfoy, was soon to fulfil the purpose for which he was bred, as surely as his father bred fine hounds for the hunt. That how Draco had been trained to see himself - a purebred, a champion, fulfilling a compulsory and specific purpose. It was no accident that Draco was born on All Hollow's Eve - the one night when restless spirits converge. The one night when the powers of old and ancient magic were so strong that even Muggles of old detected the infinite dominance of dark forces. Draco dwelt in that minute of self-satisfaction. Then all too quickly the reality of what his father and mother had given him up for, came flooding back to Draco's mind. Waves of nausea flooded through the boy as it always did when he thought about the specifics of his so-called 'duty.'

Draco wanted to be anyone now, anyone else but himself - even being Neville Thongbottom would be preferable to being himself. Why couldn't Gregory Goyle or Vincent Crabbe be the ones whose parents signed them over to the purposes of the Dark Lord? And for Screaming Salazar's Sake, why was this all happening now?

Of all the things flooding Draco's mind, the thought that was foremost in his mind was that Harry Potter had a point - how far more wonderful a year of mind numbing boredom than a year of excitement.