Draco's Delicate Condition

Chapter 11 - The International Standard

"GET UP! DO YOU HEAR ME? GET UP!" screamed Draco, his mouth two inches from Goyle's ear.

Goyle lay face down in the pitch, his knees thumping against the sand, his legs still not having received the message that he had fallen. The large boy turned his head to face Draco. "I fell," Goyle said in a panicked voice.

"NO! You didn't fall you pillock," screamed Draco. "I tripped you with my broomstick! You're purposely lagging behind the team, now get up. If you run with the team, you're going to keep up with them, hear me? Now, get up and MOVE IT! MOVE IT! MOVE IT!"

Draco aimed a kick at Goyle. The kick had so much force behind it that when Goyle managed to scurry out of the way, the pitch of the kick nearly made Draco overturn himself which did nothing to improve Draco's mood. Goyle sprinted away to catch up with the Slytherin team, racing their fourth lap around the pitch.

There was nothing like kicking arse with a purpose to ease a troubled Slytherin soul and for Draco, a troubled soul seemed to be his fate. First the ongoing trauma of the investment spell that made his life near to unbearable, and now his troubles with the newest of his ex-girlfriends - Hermione. Whenever it occurred to Draco that Hermione was now an 'ex' girlfriend he screamed all the louder and kicked harder. The only true satisfaction remaining in his life was anticipating the slaughter of the Hufflepuff in the upcoming Quidditch match.

The breakup was barely one day old and Draco felt he had suffered a lifetime from the trauma of it. He recalled again his Father telling him, 'Draco my boy, some day you'll discover that having a witch in your life is like bargaining in Diagon Alley for a prime postal owl. You have to be willing to walk away from the deal at the drop of a pointed hat.'

I dropped her. So why am I the one left sitting and molting on a damned shelf?

Just as he had predicted the previous day at the scene of Hermione's 'disobedience' Draco had to kick twice as much arse for half the results. The galloping Slytherin team was surlier than usual, nastier of temper and disjointed from a common goal.. Draco fumed as he ran along. The Hufflepuff game was only a week away. There was no time for surliness and insubordination from his team.

The sun was not up yet when Draco rounded the team towards the Slytherin section of the stadium. He looked ahead to the stadium and heard the usual round of cheers, dating offers, and general foolishness from the early rising, Slytherin team fans. The number of students in the stadium was substantial.

"You bone lazy prats!" Draco screamed at his team. "I want five more laps run around the stadium! Those of you who can actually COUNT laps and RUN at the same time, keep track for the rest of you cretins!"

The team raced ahead of Draco, and as they approached the Slytherin section of the stands, they rallied to the shouts from their admirers. With mounting irritation, Draco watched the team slow down, waving to their appreciative throngs of devotees and blowing kisses to those special few or half dozen.

Draco stopped running, swung his Starshotz broomstick from his shoulder and mounted it. Kicking off and speeding towards the stands he flew over his team, slowing down only long enough to lob his clipboard at Goyle who had stopped to pluck a thrown pair of gauzy black knickers out of the air. Goyle went down like a rock, and scrambled back to his feet, racing away with renewed vigor.

I wonder if Goyle will actually feel that blow to his head by game time Friday, next?

The stadium of spectators shrieked in delight as Captain 'Madman' Malfoy himself flew on his broom up over the crowds, to hover over the Slytherin section.

Just as Draco prepared to speak, students leapt up from their seats, triumphantly waving what appeared to Draco to be small green objects. Staring, Draco realized the students waved small bits of shrubbery, and/or pieces of parchment. They were reenacting the fated Potions classroom scene, in which Draco received support of the entire Gryffindor/Slytherin class. Draco nearly fell off his broomstick. After months of aggravation, persecution and toil, a wide segment of students offered Draco their support. He was something of a celebrity. For the first time since he had come to Hogwarts, Draco held a position of popularity that came close to that of Harry Potter, that he used to envy Potter for.

This is the sort of power Father tells of... loyalty of the masses... incredibly thick masses, but loyal masses nonetheless.

It was a touching moment for Draco. Once again, insolence and foul language paid off in spades. He took a deep breath before speaking to address his throngs of admirers.

"RIGHT!" Draco shouted, his voice echoing around the now silent stadium.

The students waited for the honored Slytherin wizard to speak words of courage; words of boldness and decisiveness.

"I want you know I appreciate the sentiment but next Friday's game is tits up if you lot don't get the fuck out of my stadium NOW!"

The students didn't budge.

"ARE YOU ALL DAFT AND DEAF? You are distracting as fuck to my team! Go on! Out, all of you! No time to arse about, GO! And I don't want to see any of you here again until the Hufflepuff slaughter next Friday!"

The students sat frozen, like a vast herd of bambi deer, frozen in the headlights of the oncoming Hogwarts Express.

Draco bellowed at the crowd again.

"I said, get your admiring arses out of my stadium! Don't you speak Merlyn's English? I've got a piece of work to do here and I can't do it with you lot flipping your damned knickers at my team! They can't concentrate as it is and it's 'fuck me' if they have to work with pink lacy pants fogging up their otherwise empty heads! GET OUT!"

That said, Draco and his Starshotz dove down amid the students, kicking pointed hats off the heads of squealing witches and pinching bums he could access on the fly. Screams filled the air. The scene looked like a Gyrfalcon stooping on black puffins stumbling downhill. Students raced for the exit and it could not exactly be said the students were surprised. One expected something of the sort from Draco. He was after all, Draco.

Really, where are my manners? No need to be rude.

Draco shouted out to the retreating students, "AND HAVE A NICE DAY!"

~*~*~*~*~*~

Later the same morning Draco ushered Harry into the greenhouse hideaway with the air of a monarch forced to welcome an infidel onto grounds long held sacred. The atmosphere of the hideaway was earthy and slightly moist, like an early morning walk in the woods. All about the chamber whimsical, soft and inviting throw pillows were strewn, decorated with pictures of artfully executed dragons of all species done in embroidery, beading, cloth painting, quilting and tapestry. A few of the two dimensional dragons moved about their pillow surfaces, breathing flames or devouring embroidered knights and peasantry.

The hideaway was made comfortable and attractive over time, from Draco's efforts to please Hermione. The entrance way was graced on either side by elegantly carved wooden trunks. Underfoot, or rather, under knee was the feel of plush and colorful Persian carpets. The large snack hamper sat elegant, a gold tray spread before it with gold flagons of pumpkin juice, cowslip juice and lollaberry flip. Porcelain plates sat piled high with a mind boggling variety of savory tarts and pasties.

Looking around, Harry was greatly impressed by what Hermione described to him as 'our little hideout'. To Harry's mind, 'little hideaway' denoted a wooden tree house or perhaps a small space in the rear of the caretaker's closet. The hideaway was not tree house or wardrobe; it was more like a small posh palace with a low ceiling. Harry heard stirring music emanated around the space, the source of the music unseen. The lovely music had a driving force to it that made Harry distinctly uncomfortable as though he was, in someone else's highly personal space.

"Hermione," whispered Harry. "What is the music playing?"

Her cheeks a high pink, Hermione said. "Ravel's Bolero," which meant nothing to Harry. Hermione waved her hand and the music ceased.

Sitting in the hideaway reminded Harry of a spy film he watched on Dudley's television once. It was about an evil scientist with a lavishly decorated underground 'hideaway' in an island grotto someplace in the Caribbean. Harry almost expected to see huge sharks and colourful tropical fish swim past the greenhouse glass.

"Potter, would you take some refreshment? Cowslip juice, lollaberry flip, butterbeer, cranberry fizz or...?" asked Draco with precise etiquette.

Harry wondered if he should request some of the exotic cowslip juice shaken, not stirred. "Fancy them all, surprise me," said Harry, foolishly placing his life in Draco's hands.

Draco drawled, "I do have some excellent gryffin's liver juice, however it requires a highly trained palate to appreciate such an expensive gourmet treat. I imagine you'd prefer something for your... less developed tastes? Perhaps a butterbeer or..."

"No," said Harry feeling challenged. "My palate is quite trained, thank you very much, I'll take the liver juice. Thank you."

Hermione reached over and attempted to snatch the liver juice before it got to Harry, but Draco tossed the bottle over her head, and Harry happily caught the bottle, filled with brown liquid.

Harry smiled politely. "Thank you Hermione, Draco, I'm happy with the liver juice." It was about then that Harry noticed the small animalcules swimming thickly through the brown tinted, opaque gryffin's liver juice. The tiny creatures swam doing energetic flips, just as Harry's stomach did.

"Right. Can we get this over with?" fussed Draco. He took no refreshment himself. He had researched memory spells and the damned things terrified him to the bottom of his dragon hide boots. The spell was perfectly safe. He would spend the time under the spell in a state of 'stasis' being neither awake, nor asleep. From the depths of the enchantment he would speak to Hermione, telling her - and Harry - what he could see and hear. His memories would flow over him like water, and he would be able to flow against the current to his far distant past and stop along the way to view memories. However, it was absolutely unpredictable how an individual would respond to a memory spell. Some watched their memories, as Hermione said, as though watching the cinema. Beyond that one might relive the memories as though being in the time and place the memories were made. Some regressed so deeply into their memories that they had difficulty returning to their awake state. As Draco was expected to relate his memories from the day of his birth he was terrified. What if - horrors - Harry observed Draco in a regressed infantile state? It was too humiliating to think about and too late to back out.

Hermione busied herself making up a soft bed on a small futon with sheets and a duvet. She puffed up a pair of pillows.

"As you boys know, my 'plan' is not really much of a plan at all." She sounded apologetic although her research was exhaustive. "This is only a last ditch effort to try to skim Draco's memory and snatch at any clues hidden there. Perhaps he will recall some words or view some images of the Investment Ceremony from the day of his birth that will give us a lead.

"May as well get started," drawled Draco who wore blue pyjamas Hermione had borrowed for him from Harry. It struck Harry as very odd the Slytherin that didn't own pyjamas.

"Potter," Draco growled with a superior air. "I can't believe you Gryffindor sleep in this restrictive bed clothing. Damned things bind, I'll never understand the point of pyjamas." Draco crawled under the covers of the bed Hermione had prepared for him and fumbled with the pillows. Under the duvet, Draco wiggled around and shortly thereafter bunged the balled up pyjamas at Harry.

"Draco! Why did you take those pyjamas off?" Hermione scolded.

"Because you were the one who insisted I be 'quite comfortable' during this memory experiment. Am I not allowed to decide what is comfortable for myself?" Draco sarcastically countered.

"But Draco, said Hermione filled with embarrassment. She glanced over to Harry.

Harry shrugged and muttered, "It's all right Hermione. I'm well aware what an arse-hole Malfoy can be." Harry suspected there was a rift between the two, and although he felt sorry for Hermione, he saw the situation as being the best for Hermione in the long run.

"As I said," said Draco. "Slytherin prefer to sleep in a natural state. We like our skin to breathe at night. Keeps our magical powers, and other... things, potent," he gave Harry a superior look. "There are Slytherin who would kill me telling you that much." Draco flipped onto his back and snuggled his head on a pillow.

Hermione shot Harry an exasperated look. "Slytherin do not do pyjamas Harry. Now you know."

Harry's eyes were open wide, as he was quite shocked. "I could have lived without that bit of information."

"We don't wear pants either," added Draco as an afterthought. "I've always thought that is the first clue the sorting hat uses to identify Slytherin. "We do wear vests though."

Harry was stunned. His Dursley supplied pants consisted of Dudley hand-me-down boxers that fit Harry like parachutes. For years Harry didn't wear pants including the night he was sorted into Gryffindor. Harry's mind began to whirl. His sanity at stake, Harry dismissed all pants centric thoughts.

"So, Draco," began Hermione. "You took the memory potion as I instructed you?"

"And why wouldn't I have taken it?" Draco said unpleasantly. "Vile stuff. Tasted like rancid cat pee with undertones of licorice." Draco glared at Harry, who was about to open his mouth. "And no, I have not tasted rancid cat pee. You make me sick Potter."

"Harry, the potion Draco took over the past couple of days caused his brain to reconnect the nerve connections to every memory he has ever had. Right now the reconnected memories are present in Draco but he unable to access the memories. The wand work spell will enable him to view his past memories."

"That is so cool Hermione," said Harry, impressed.

"And difficult, insisted Hermione. "Based on my research, the difficulty will be for Draco to only watch his memories and resist reliving them."

Draco snuggled down in the duvet, watching Hermione. When Hermione thought Draco was totally relaxed, which she based on the size of his smirk, she took up her wand. Taking a deep breath, she flicked her wand and tapped Draco rhythmically on his forehead. "Recordatioaltus pridemiunctio!"

Almost immediately Draco's eyes fluttered shut and his white eyelashes flickered as he drifted into the enchantment. His pink lips were slightly open, his trademark trickle of saliva already running from the corner of his mouth.

"He's under the spell, Harry."

"Good job Hermione," Harry said encouragingly.

Draco spoke up in an irritated voice. "When are you going to put me under?"

"You are under. Who am I?"

"Petals of course." Draco's eyes flickered beneath his eyelids, as though looking around. "I'm watching us here. In our hideaway. Ha, ha, ha, ha! Watching us the other day Petals. Remember when I bit...?"

"Fine Draco," said Hermione cutting off Draco's comments. "We must stay on topic.

You must not 'live' the memories you see. Stay... objective. Now, what can you see?" Hermione curiously. "Anything at all?"

"I see a room," muttered Draco. "I'm looking at my nursery in Malfoy Mansion of course. One of our winter mansions."

Harry rolled his eyes at the mention of a 'winter mansion'. He was beginning to understand what 'stinking rich' meant.

Excited Hermione grinned at Harry. "Draco, what is your room like? If you tell us it will clarify the memories you see."

"My nursery was in a tower, it was huge, round with six large windows and thick Persian carpets on the white marble floors." Draco's voice was as proud and boastful.

"Draco, do you see things around your room? The more you describe the more you'll be able to see. Tell us about your old nursery. Have you any toys?"

"Uh huh," said Draco. "See... see toys by the window over there," Draco said in an increasingly high pitched voice. He took up his arm and pointed as though indicating something across the way.

"Draco! Stay with me, don't sink into the memory, only look at it." Hermione looked to Harry and frowned.

"Toys. Really great toys," Draco's voice rose even higher in pitch and took up something of a strange accent. "Got woads of toys; my books and my bwocks."

"He's reliving his childhood memory," Hermione said giving Harry a worried look. "Damn it."

"You said a BAD WORD!" squealed Draco in a totally delighted voice. "Ha ha ha ha! I'm telling on you, and you'll be smacked!"

"Who let Dudley in here?" said Harry, reliving a few memories of his own.

"Draco," Hermione tried to keep panic out of her voice. "Please, do not relive that memory. You must stay objective. It is vital you stay with me. Now what else do you see in your nursery?"

"The window.... an, an, ids dark out and I can see the moon. The man in the moon is smiling at me. And... and..." Draco's voice sounded drowsy. "My dawgie, he's sweeping under the window. My dawgie he wuns in his sweep. Haaaa, ha, ha, ha! An, an, id dark but I can see... Under the window I got-ed my June-ya Wizard Wacing Bwoom. It fwys six feet off the gwound, Fawthaw said so," Draco raised his arms up as if flying, and made zooming noises. "And I got loads of Quaffles and my stuffies. And my Wags."

Hermione looked to Harry. "What is he saying? Did he say, doggie? Racing Broom? Flies?"

Harry nodded. "Malfoy obviously had trouble pronouncing his Ls and Rs when he was young. He's so cute I may have to be violently sick. Hum... I'd guess he is viewing a memory from when he was three or four years old.

Nodding, Hermione returned to questioning the now childish Draco. "Wags?" she asked curiously. "Oh, Wags is your doggie then?"

"No si-wee, Wags my dawee."

"No silly, Rags is my dolly" translated Harry sniggering. "In a pinch I can still speak fluent 'tyke'."

"Who waffing at my fwend, Wags?" Draco angrily demanded.

"Who is laughing at my friend, Rags?" Harry exploded into uncontrolled gales of hilarity at the thought that Draco, the ultimate Slytherin had once loved a 'dawee'. Hermione hefted a pillow at Harry.

It would only be fair at this point to mention, as a four year old Harry himself had a long-term love affair with a one armed doll he found in the rubbish bin. Only Harry called the doll an 'action figure' and Dudley eventually destroyed it. Poor Harry carried a torch for the toy for years.

"No one Draco. Go on, tell us everything." Hermione gave Harry a reprimanding look.

Draco's brow was furrowed in agitation but in the easy forgiveness of a child, soon he relaxed and continued. "Wags id my fwend. And, and Wags pways with me an he got wed hay-o."

"Rags has red hair?" Harry was laughing so hard he had to bury himself under a few more pillows.

After reaching over and pinching Harry, Hermione continued, "Oh! Draco, Rags is your doll friend and he has red hair?"

"Yes," Draco said as if Hermione was rather stupid. "You not he-oo good?" Draco began to swing his legs in the air in a playful manner.

"You not hear good?" translated Harry as he covered his eyes in horror, least the duvet fall free and Draco's attributes become obvious.

Hermione lurched to hold the duvet steady before it completely fell off of Draco. She smiled and turned to Harry. "Not what we want exactly, but at least we know the spell is working."

Harry took a chance, uncovered his eyes and looking up again. "Hermione you said yourself this would take practice. I never had any doubts but that your wand work is super. Give Draco a chance, this is working!"

"AND," Draco said loudly, apparently resenting attention that wasn't on him, "I'm unduh my favowite bwankie. Mother said id made owta bayo skins."

"What?" asked Hermione?"

Harry quickly interpreted. "'I'm under my favorite blanket', and 'Mother said it's made out of bearskins'."

Rolling around under the duvet, Draco shouted. "My mother said my bwankie id older than me! My bwankie id older than mother. My bwankie id bwack but ids got-ed a bone head on it."

"Let's see," said Harry curiously. "Ids got-ed a bone head on it? I'd say the 'bone head' is a skull. So he says his bear skin blanket is black, with a skull design on it."

"That's what I said you dummy head!" Draco scolded. "The bone head got-ed a big wong thing sticking out ids mouth where the tongue go." Draco stuck out his tongue and waggled it. "The wong thing wooks funny." He tried to grasp his own slippery tongue.

"Harry," said Hermione, her hand over her mouth. "I believe his bearskin 'blankie' has the Dark Mark on it."

Hermione and Harry exchanged quick glances. They saw the figure, the previous summer at the World Quidditch Cup Match - the Dark Mark. The 'thing' sticking out of the skull's mouth would be a serpent. Draco's childhood 'blankie' held no pictures of teddy bears or choo-choo trains, but instead showed the Dark Mark, the sign of Lord Voldemort, the rallying point of Death Eaters.

Hermione faced Draco. "Go on. Where are you?"

"I said I in my bed!" said Draco in the high pitch of a child's piqued voice. "Where else would I be, in the toilet?"

Harry rolled his eyes and muttered in a whisper, "Snarky git. Hasn't changed a bit since he was 'the littlest snarky' git."

Hermione cooed, "Oh, Draco must have been a little doll."

"If you mean the kind you stick pins in," muttered Harry, leaning out of reach so Hermione couldn't swat at him.

"How old are you?" Hermione asked Draco.

"I'm this much." Draco held up three fingers. "I'll be this much soon, Nanny said so." He unfolded another finger and proudly shook his hands in the air. He then ducked under the duvet and laughed as if he'd just heard the best joke in the world.

"What are you doing dear?"

"I'm, I'm pwaying with stuff unduh my bwankie," shouted Draco, still laughing himself silly. "Ha ha ha ha ha!"

"What are you playing with Draco?" asked Hermione affectionately.

"You pwamiss you not tway on me?" begged Draco's childish voice.

"You promise not to tell on him Hermione?" translated Harry.

"Yes. Of course I promise Draco," said Hermione earnestly.

"I am pwaying with my wee-wee! Ha ha ha ha ha ha!"

"He said he's playing with his..." offered Harry.

"I HEARD him Harry," said Hermione, turning scarlet.

"Well, good for him," said Harry smiling broadly and chuckled. "That's every little boy's birth right; the only plaything I ever had that Dudley didn't take from me and destroy."

Harry hadn't expected the day's events to be half so fun. He crawled over to the snack hamper and helped himself to a bottle of the pumpkin juice. He wasn't quite ready for cold-pressed gryffin's liver juice. Suddenly there was an ear splitting scream sounding so sharply, Harry dropped the pumpkin juice all over the Persian carpet.

Draco's urgently poked his head from under the duvet. "Fawthaw's coming up!" Draco's face screwed up in terror, and his lip trembled. Tears spurted from beneath the closed pale lashes. His mouth opened and he wailed. "No Fawthaw, NO! I po!"

Hermione stiffened so that Harry put his hands on her shoulders and squeezed to let her know she wasn't alone. "Poor? Is he saying 'poor'?" asked Hermione in amazement.

"That's what it sounds like to me," said Harry, as puzzled as Hermione.

Poor was hardly what one expected to hear from a child living in his family's 'winter' mansion. "Go on Draco," said Hermione. "Is your Father in your nursery now?"

"Fawthaw id in my nursery," The tears continued and Draco trembled and sobbed.

"Draco, please! You're only watching a memory," called Hermione urgently. "Separate yourself from the memory! You must!"

It was far too late. Draco began to twist and turn under the blanket. Then abruptly, he stiffened. His face changed. The soft lines of Draco's soft 'baby' face hardened as anger overtook his pale features. Draco's voice became deep, authoritative.

"Draco?"

Both Harry and Hermione jumped at Draco's voice, terrifying, deeply unnerving - the unmistakable, authoritative voice of Lucius Malfoy. Hermione reached back to clutch Harry's hand, squeezing so hard that Harry winced.

Draco ducked under the duvet from which a pitiful child's voice barely above a whisper asked, "Yes Fawthaw?"

Again Draco spoke in the harsh adult's voice. "What are you doing there Draco?" There was a long pause and again the adult voice boomed from under the duvet. "I asked you a question boy. What are you doing?"

The sound of Draco impersonating his Father's voice was uncannily accurate, right down to the rhythm and the arrogance of the voice. There was no uncertainty that Draco's Father, years ago stood over his son, a parent beyond patience, furious with his willful little son.

Draco's voice became smaller again, frightened. "Nothing...nothing Fawthaw. I sweeping." A loud unconvincing sound of snoring came from under the covers and it would have been funny had not the situation sounded so unnervingly frightening.

Hermione's voice was shaky. "Draco, can you see your Father?"

"I UNDUH MY BWANKIE! HOW CAN I SEE FAWTHAW? Draco wailed between sobs. "PAY ATTENTION!"

Harry smiled sadly at the sound of the adamant three year old, a Slytherin in the making.

"Draco," pleaded Hermione urgently, "Listen to me, you have to separate yourself from what you are seeing! I know the boy you see is you, but don't be the child, just watch him! Can you do that?"

The hideaway exploded with the noise of Draco's screams.

"He, he, pulled the covers off me," Draco howled. "The covers are weally, weally heavy. Fawthaw is weally strong. He mad at meeeee!" For a couple of minutes Draco sobbed, the entire time squealing unintelligible protests. He rolled and twisted under the duvet, as though eluding some invisible presence. He periodically screamed in a piercing shriek that obviously reflected strikes from hand or object as wielded by Lucius Malfoy in Draco's distant past.

Beside herself, Hermione was clearly as hysterical as Draco. Harry patted Hermione's arm and called to her above the sound of the screams, "Hermione! Malfoy is only seeing a past memory! No one is beating him! Don't go there with him, you can't help him if you panic along with him!"

Hermione ignored Harry, and grabbed the duvet off of Draco's red, frightened face as he flayed about. His arms accidentally swatted Hermione as he rolled around frantically trying to elude the phantom presence of his Father. Finally, after what were several minutes that felt like several hours, the brutalizing of the 'small boy' ceased. Frantic, Hermione rubbed Draco's back and cooed soothingly at him. The sobs subsided and Draco began to speak again in the angry voice of his father.

"If you were doing nothing boy, then why is the living room filled with smoke? Why Draco? Look at me boy. Do you think that I don't know what you are doing? I always know exactly what you are doing, every minute of every day. LOOK at me."

"No. You go hit me again!"

"LOOK AT ME! Draco."

The Draco of the here and now, slowly pushed the duvet off of his head. His teary eyes stayed shut in the statis enchantment. He lay stiffly now. He ran the back of his hands over his shut eyes, again and again, like a small boy wiping tears away. Draco spoke in a voice, tiny, and breathless. "I didn't do id Fawthaw. I, I a good boy."

Hermione and Harry felt sick to their stomachs.

"What have I told you Draco?"

"What?" Asked the small and perplexed child's voice, "the 'do not lie' one or the 'do not pway with myself' one?"

Draco made a sigh like an exasperated man. The chilling voice spoke. "What have I told you again and again boy?"

"Don't touch myself there." Draco's teeth chattered.

Draco's face seized up into the hard lines again. His voice took on the booming adult voice. The reverberations shook the bottles of juice on the tray by the snack hamper.

"Speak boy. When I ask you a question, you answer quickly and in a respectful tone. I've taken a strap to you, and I'll do it again if you force my hand. I'm not going to tolerate your stubbornness. Now, do you understand?"

"Yes Father. I unner stam. I be po'."

"The word is not 'poor'," Lucius' voice snapped. "Say it properly Draco."

"The wud id not po'. Say id pwa-pa-wee Dwayco!" Immediately, Draco's head violently swung to the left, and his face froze in the unmistakable mask of a struck child. For a while, Draco didn't budge an inch - he was child winding up to pitch a fit.

"Oh the little dear... Harry!" cried Hermione.

Again, Harry whispered into Hermione's ear in a steadying voice. "Hermione, you can't go there with him! You're of no help if you sink into the memory with Malfoy."

The long wailing cry Draco let loose at that moment, ought to have cracked the greenhouse glass.

But abruptly, the cry ended and Draco screamed out in his Father's voice, "You are NOT funny boy! SAY IT RIGHT!"

"Po'," said the child's voice, suddenly too soft to be heard by Hermione and Harry whose ears rang.

Draco gave a long shrill piercing scream, and yelled, "Fawthaw, I say id! I say id!"

"SAY IT CORRECTLY BOY!"

Draco's face relaxed again into the small child's soft face. With defiant stubbornness, he vigorously shook his head 'no'. Then, apparently in reaction to the phantom adult that hovered over him, he shook his head 'yes' in rapid childish nods. The crying stopped Draco's teen face looked amazingly childlike, and miserable. Draco screwed up his face, and a look of deep concentration came over him. For nearly a minute his mouth moved, as he concentrated on placing his tongue, his lips, his teeth, where they would precisely need to be to say his next words perfectly clearly. Then in an explosion of sound, Draco called out, "Pure! I pure Fawthaw!"

Draco's trembling subsided. "Fawthaw is stwoking my hair-o, like I stwoke my dawgie. I don't think he id mad at me now." Draco smiled. "Fawthaw kiss-ed me, and he stwoke my cheek."

The voice of Lucius spoke with an unnerving mixture of love and control. "I'll tell you the story again. The story of the painting over the fireplace, you like that story don't you Goldie?"

"Goldie?" chimed Hermione and Harry at the same time. Lucius Malfoy seemed the least likely person to use pet nicknames they could imagine.

Draco nodded. Again he spoke in the voice of his Father.

"Long ago, far away, Lord Voldemort made plans to claim what is his to claim. He wanted to rid the world of mudbloods and muggles, and make the world a haven for our kind, not the hiding place for cowardly wizards the world is now. Lord Voldemort needed a special child to help him Goldie. A special child for a special job. Your mother and I volunteered you for that special job. That was before you were born."

The child's voice returned. "Yes. An, an, then I come. Wight Fawthaw? An, an, you gaved me to the..." Draco tried to say 'dark lord' but the words came out 'dip wad'.

"'Dark Lord', Draco. Say it. 'Dark Lord'," insisted the voice of Lucius.

Draco cringed, and shook his head; even the name 'Dark Lord' was too much for him.

"The night you were born, there was celebration. It seemed fitting to the Dark Lord, whose very soul is poetic, that as one loyal death eater was born - that was you Goldie - so another little child, the vile spawn of the enemies of the Dark Lord, should... leave. Regrettably the plans for the Potter child did not go as planned, and the lad with his ugly scar survived, but no matter. He shall meet his doom at the hands of the Lord Voldemort in the sweet by and by.

The day you were born, and the need for your continued virginity was placed upon your innocent head, you were given a gift. A painting. Do you know the painting I speak of?"

Draco called out vigorously, and with pride, "The vo-cano Fawthaw!"

"Yes Draco, very good. The painting of the volcano in the great room, above the mantle. And do you know what the volcano does?"

"If I pway with my wee-wee the vo-cano makes smoke! An, an, the woom get all smoke in id and woom gets all bwack and can't see anything but smoke! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!" Draco rolled side to side as he laughed in his early memory.

Quickly, Harry translated. "Apparently the picture of the volcano fills the room with real black smoke whenever Draco... uh... got overly familiar with his... uh..."

Draco ceased laughing abruptly, and his face took on frightened look again.

The voice of the Father boomed so loudly, so angrily that Hermione and Harry jumped.

"Yes, Draco. When you are bad and you touch yourself the volcano will always make smoke, and the smoke floats from the painting, filling the room. And then my beautiful Malfoy Mansion looks as though a very bad boy has set the mansion on fire! And do you know what happens right after that? Well, DO YOU KNOW DRACO?"

Draco's face went red and scrunched up. He said hopefully, "you make Dobbie open the windows?"

Apparently not the correct answer.

"Yes. And then I come up here and I take the strap to you. I warn you little one, if you continue to be a headstrong little boy, and defy my Lord Voldemort, I will take my flaying knives and I will remove the offending bits of you. You have my word on that my son. Do you know my flaying knives? I use them to skin hides of the animals I kill in the surrounding forest, don't I?"

Draco's head nodded energetically.

Hermione and Harry squealed involuntarily. Draco's face was pinched into such a mask of terror and fear. He rose up on the futon as though rising, an invisible hand lifting him by the hair of his head.

"Do NOT touch yourself again my boy. You do not understand what I say, but hear me. If you lose your virginity the volcano will erupt and red-hot lava will flood the livingroom and set the house on fire. That will be the signal to the Dark Lord the Malfoy family has failed him! "

Draco fell back upon his pillow as though dropped from a height. His face went redder still and he began to scream in deafening volume. Tears steamed from beneath Draco's shut eyes.

The sounds Draco made were so piteous, so heart rending, the cries could have wrung sympathy from a stone. Draco wailed and sobbed, all the while screaming hysterical protests in his childish tongue. His words could not be made out, but no doubt he railed against the injustices that came upon him so unfairly and at such a young age. Hermione frantically patted Draco's back and shoulders and spoke in soothing tones but it was though Draco couldn't hear her any longer. Hermione was in a panic. What if Draco remained stuck in his memories past as a small child?

Harry clamped his hands over his ears, and wondered if permanent damage was being done to his eardrums. In all seriousness he yelled to Hermione, "Bet if I went out into the greenhouse I could find some of those earmuffs Professor Sprout has us use to protect our ears from the screams of the Mandrake Root and the like."

Hermione gave Harry a disapproving look, but she saw that Harry was not making a joke. He looked thoroughly rung out. She felt a twinge of guilt as she realized that Harry was still reliving childhood horrors of his own. That Harry and Draco held some experiences in common was a source of pure amazement to her.

"Hermione!" Harry suddenly shouted urgently. "I need a bowl of ice cold water and some face flannels!"

Hermione pointed to a flagon of pumpkin juice and a few used serviettes. Harry reached for the flagon and placed it by Hermione. Harry grabbed the serviettes. Quickly the two raised their wands. Hermione masterfully waved her wand, muttering words that could not be heard over Draco's howls. The flagon transfigured into bowl of ice water. Harry used his wand to convert the dirty serviettes to clean face flannels. The water in the transfigured bowl was so cold Harry broke a crust of ice with his wand to dunk the flannels into the bowl. All the while Draco's tantrum continued at ear splitting levels.

"Hermione," screamed Harry to be heard over shrieking Draco. "Help me to pin him down!" With Hermione's help, Harry subdued Draco by grabbing his arms. Draco struggled, swinging his fists about, narrowly missing Hermione's face. Finally they had Draco subdued, the blonde boy struggling to free his arms, crying out "I GOOD! I GOOD!"

"Poor thing," sniffed Hermione.

Harry pulled an icy flannel over Draco's hot face. The jolt of the icy cloth caused Draco to scream louder momentarily and then the volume of Draco's shrieks began to drop noticeably.

Rapidly Harry switched the flannels, back and forth, trading a hot flannel from Draco's face for an icy one from the bowl.

At long last, Draco quieted, save for loud hiccoughing and the hysterical rapid breathing, of a child coming down from hysterics.

Hermione fell back on the carpet and sighed heavily. She was grateful that she stuck to her wand in insisting Draco allow Harry to assist her in the memory work. She looked thankfully at Harry. "Harry, you are a genius!"

"No, not really. I watched Aunt Petunia do this with Dudley hundreds of times when 'ikle Duddikins' had temper tantrums."

"You're still brilliant Harry."

"Yes, I've been told," Harry said, grateful that Draco's raging fit was at long last, over.

Draco was relaxed but apparently he was still in the grip of his memory. He muttered to himself and gradually his labored breathing slowed down and his face changed expression. His lips twisting into a sardonic little smile. Beneath Draco's eyelids, his eyes rolled from one side to the other. In his memory he was still a small boy, searching his dark bedroom. He patted and felt around the futon. When he touched a pillow he eagerly hugged it to his face.

Thinking the pillow was his doll, Draco happily squealed "WAGS! Fawthaw go-ed away! He go-ed away Wags! Fawthaw leave me 'wone! He go-ed!" Draco rolled from side to side, chanting, laughing. "Ha, ha! Fawthaw go-ed, he go-ed, Fawthaw go-ed!" Draco droned on like the stubborn child he once was, muttering sleepily, over and over like a mantra, "Id my body. Id my body."

"Well, he recovered from that screaming fit quickly, didn't he?" said Harry with surprise. "He's saying his Father went away and he's bragging about it to his doll. He says his body belongs to him. Good for you Draco!"

The ordeal over, Draco's voice grew softer; he hugged the pillow to his face and lay on his side under the duvet. With the middle three fingers of his right hand firmly gripped in his mouth, he ceased his muttering and began to gently snore.

Both Hermione and Harry lay collapsed on cushions. They looked like new parents that had just spent the night walking up and down with a colicky baby.

"Harry," Hermione spoke in a voice unnervingly angry. "I have NEVER in my life hated anyone as I hate Lucius Malfoy that filthy..."

Harry's eyebrows flew up as Hermione loosed a string of vicious swear words, she obviously picked up from Draco, because Harry never heard even the angriest seventh year Gryffindor use such language. The closest he had ever heard to such language was the last time he was at Gringotts where he saw a goblin drop a large sack of

Sickles on its foot.

Snuggling with his pillow 'doll', Draco vigorously continued sucking his middle fingers. Hermione looked over at Draco and her heart melted yet again. In full nurturing mode, Hermione pulled the duvet up over Draco. Strangely enough, Harry viewed Draco at the same moment and felt distinctly nauseous. Draco wouldn't look cute and cuddly to Harry if the Slytherin were draped in three week old kittens and bunnies and had a butterfly balanced on his pale pointed nose.

Hermione sat, knees under her chin, and wiping at tears. "Harry, this isn't right. I mean the way the spell is working."

"But Hermione," said Harry. "This was perfect, well, except for the screaming anyway. It was just as you described." Harry sniggered momentarily. "Draco told us what was happened to him! Hermione you're a flippin' genius!"

"No. It's all wrong. Do you see Harry? What good if Draco 'becomes' a newborn baby, how will he be able to tell us what happened to him?"

"One spit bubble for yes, two spit bubbles for no?" offered Harry helpfully.

Hermione did not look amused. "None of this is funny!"

"I know," said Harry defensively. "If Draco takes on his personality as a newborn baby, who will change his nappies?"

Hermione rolled her eyes at Harry, not appreciating his attempts to cheer her up with 'witty' comments. "Problem is Draco needs practice under the spell."

"How much practice?" Harry looked worried.

"As much as he can take Harry,"

"You mean as much as we can take," Harry muttered grimly.

"Yes. Now, let's begin again."

~*~*~*~*~*~

As Hermione and Harry coaxed Draco through his memories, back at the castle Ron was high up in the Astronomy Tower. Ron cheerfully sat on the floor next to the Victorian fainting couch. It was one of Ron's favorite places to be. He knelt on the floor between the knees of the chestnut haired Messalina, whose legs hung over the side of the fainting couch. The girl was taken with a fit of giggling,

"Stop that Ron," she commanded between bursts of giggles. She didn't actually sound as though she wanted Ron to stop at all.

"Here comes Mr. Tongue, climbing up the steep, slippery, hill," said Ron, playfully running his tongue up Messalina's shin. "'Oh,' says Mr. Tongue! 'Someone used a beauty charm to remove all the ugly stubble from this hill!'" Kissing Messalina's knee, Ron kissed and licked a path along the top of Messalina's bare leg. The girl giggled, snorting with laugher.

"'HELLO, what's this?'" Ron called out brightly. "Suddenly, Mr. Tongue spies a chestnut brown thatched hut up the path. Mr. Tongue says, 'Oh... let's see who is at home today'." Ron grinned wickedly.

"Ron," shouted Messalina. "You silly... now stop that and come back up here next to me," Messalina patted the cushions.

Ron was not in the least distracted from his impromptu tale. "So Mr. Tongue opens the door. 'Look who's at home!' says Mr. T. 'it's little Miss Cli...'"

"Ron, I want to ask you about something, now stop being an adorable git and..."

Ignoring Messalina's protests, Ron continued his little tale. "'Hello, Miss C.' asks Mr. T, 'and how are you today?"

Messalina burst into a cascade of giggles and abruptly sat up. "Stop doing that Ron! I can't think with you doing 'that', now please. Assume that at least for now, Miss C has a headache and Mr. T has a pressing engagement elsewhere. Why don't you come up on the couch with me." Again she patted the cushions, as though tempting a gentle pet to leap onto the couch with her. "Come on Ron, you can visit the twins perhaps?"

"Oh, no!" insisted Ron. "First I have to give dear little Miss. C another little hello kiss. Haven't seen the dear girl since last Saturday..."

Grabbing Ron by a hank of scarlet hair Messalina pulled his head up from between her knees. Something was obviously on the girl's mind besides Ron's gentle play.

"It is all over Hogwarts. Everyone talks about what happened in your Potions class," Messalina's voice, only seconds ago, soft and playful, now was shrill with annoyance. "I was told that you were the first to stand to tell Professor Snape that a shipping list belonged to you." Messalina had the classic mercurial Slytherin temperament. Ron was used to the girl's rapid swings of mood. She might purr like a kitten one minute, soft under his hands, and the next she would rail up like a Yeti with one foot caught in a steel trap.

"You interfered with my plans to take the skin of that loathsome Draco Malfoy."

The girl growled, sounding so utterly vicious that 'Mr. T' dried up in Ron's mouth.

"I did say the slip was mine, least I could do," said Ron. "So, how about a nice sip of water and another visit with dear Miss C?" Even as Ron resumed his playfulness he knew Messalina was not going to drop her chosen topic of discussion, any more than a starved dog will drop a bone.

"You saved Malfoy," Messalina spat out. "And that's all you can say about it?"

"Well, yes. I hate Malfoy's guts as much as you do, more even. But... well," Ron gave consideration to what version of the truth to tell Messalina. "In Gryffindor we heard about Malfoy standing up to 'Horrible Hannah' Abbot. She represents Quidditch played for a blood sport. Perhaps it was a small thing that Malfoy did, but we Gryffindor still like to repay our debts large and small."

Messalina was astonished by Ron's words "In case you have forgotten Ron, the point is, you are a Gryffindor! Why should a Gryffindor care what Malfoy did to Hufflepuff? Malfoy did what he did for Slytherin and for himself, not Gryffindor. You must know that. How could you do a good deed for your enemy? There is no sense in that,"

Ron stood up and sat down beside Messalina. He was so embarrassed that he turned his head upward to see the overcast sky up above through the skylight. "Well, actually Messalina, there's more to it than the Hannah Abbot thing. Let's just say I owe a favor to Malfoy concerning Potion's class and now he and I are even. I did the right thing." Ron shrugged and turned to face the chestnut haired beauty again. "Anyway, really, what's it to you 'Selina?" Ron was too embarrassed to tell of Draco's role in ridding Snape's class of the abhorrent spiders.

Ron could not look at Messalina and not touch her. He pushed her back onto the couch and lay against her. The room as always was chilly, but the girl was, as always, warm and soft. Hoping against hope to distract the volatile girl, Ron kissed along her neck, all the while enjoying the feel of her beneath his hands. He began to suck at the base of the girl's neck, and was rewarded with a terrific smack to the top of his head.

"I've told you before Ron, no hickies!"

"Well you're quick enough to layer hickies onto me," protested Ron. "And the damned things get me all sorts of trouble. All the boys in my dorm tease me. Fred and George have sworn to find out who gives me hickies," Ron grinned. "I slowed down their search proper though. Told them a boy gave me the love bites! Should be fun as they go around asking blokes if they've had it off with me. I bet the twins are killed by Friday, at the latest!"

To distract Messalina, Ron snuggled his face in Messalina's breasts and rolled his tongue around a nipple. The girl became unglued, but not in a constructive way. She shoved Ron's face away from her breasts. "I hate Malfoy! How could you stand up for Malfoy like that! How could you do such a thing to me?"

"To you? My dealings with Malfoy have nothing to do with you 'Selina." Ron lifted his sweaty red fringe out of his eyes. He stared at Messalina and frowned. "How could I? Messalina, how could you think I'm so stupid, so gullible and easily manipulated, you can just plant ideas in my head and I'll carry them out for you? Do you think I'm like Malfoy's mindless friends Crabbe and Goyle?" Ron looked crushed.

Realizing that his time with Messalina must be drawing to a permanent end, Ron tenderly kissed Messalina. He tried to placate her, reaching with a gentle hand to firmly apply pleasantries to the girl's most delicate place, forestalling the end of their 'date'. Ron's ploy very nearly worked.

Infuriated, Messalina viciously turned her head, and nipped at Ron's arm. Ron jerked back with a yelp. The girl screamed, "How dare you, you redheaded insignificant...!

The cruel words tore into Ron. He shrank back from Messalina, knowing he didn't deserve 'Selina any more than he deserved Hermione. He wasn't enough for 'Selina and goodness knows he obviously wasn't enough for Hermione. Harry would have been enough for either girl. Harry had popularity, fame and money. And what did Ron have? Hand-me-down robes and second hand books. Hermione could never make do with a second hand boy, so Ron, made do with a second hand girlfriend. Second hand to Messalina because he did not love her. Second hand for him because she did love him either. And now he wasn't good enough even for a second hand girlfriend. He was only tolerated so long as Messalina found him amusing. Fair enough. Two could play at that.

Messalina interrupted Ron's morose thoughts. "Ron, you are the enemy of my enemy and you betrayed me. I worked hard to get Malfoy back for what he's done to me and you ruined everything!" The girl sat up, and ran one hand along her collarbone as though wiping Ron's touch from herself. "I've enjoyed you Mr. Weasley, as much as I've ever enjoyed any young man as... attractive as you," Messalina abruptly stopped speaking. For a long time she looked down into Ron's eyes with deep regret. "I am done with you."

"Fine then," Ron, rolled, pulling Messalina on top of himself. He shut his eyes momentarily in a conscious effort to remember the joyful feel of a girl's soft skin against his stomach and chest. Who know how long before he could find some other girl willing to tolerate him? He wrapped a leg around Messalina, keeping her still. Whatever did he have to lose?

Messalina hovered angrily over Ron, perspiration dribbled from her angry pink face onto Ron's red one. She pinched his leg until he removed it from around her waist, but she did not leave. She sat straddled on the boy's stomach, which Ron did not seem too unhappy about.

"I've had enough slumming with you, you, scarlet woman!" Ron didn't want to call the girl by such a harsh term but she deserved it.

"Slumming? Slumming! I don't believe my ears! Don't you realize who I am Weasley? A daughter of the Zabini family! My family has ruled more of wizarding towns and factions in Europe than your family has had children in the last hundred years! If I say the word my Father will take you, and your entire ridiculous redheaded family down."

"All right Miss Zabini, that's enough," Ron's was furious. He gripped Messalina's arms in a vice like grip. He had no idea of the origin of his next words because they flew from his mouth without the benefit of thinking. "You take back your those insults to my family or I will see that you pay for it! And you'll pay for it right here and now little witch. Not in a month, not when any bloody 'plans' are realized. We Weasley men don't go crawling to our Fathers for favors like Slytherin brats! We deal with our problems for ourselves!" Ron's words flowed over his tongue like wild sage honey - sweet, thick and capable of covering the entire matter slowly but thoroughly.

Ron had no idea what the hell he meant by his words, and had no idea what he threatened to do to Messalina, but surely the girl would think twice before messing with a Weasley again.

Miss Zabini was stunned. Angrily she ripped her arms out of Ron's grip. She could not believe the audacity of a wizard who paraded around in hand-me-down robes and yet had the audacity to threaten her, a witch in whom it was rumored flowed the blood of Salazar Slytherin and Merlyn himself. Just who did Weasley think he was?

"It is a good thing for you, you are so damned pretty, boy!" snarled Messalina with the air of an empress.

"Don't call me pretty! I keep telling you that 'Selina," said Ron with a hint of a boyish whinge in his voice. "And stop saying what you don't mean."

"What?" asked Messalina snapping out of her foul mood instantaneously. "You mean you don't believe me? You don't know how attractive you are Ron?" Messalina gave Ron the most honest look she had favored Ron with since she first became interested in him. "Ron, are you being modest? That doesn't become you. You ought to brag about yourself the way any handsome Slytherin wizard would. Your pretty hair, like fire. Your pretty skin, and those adorable freckles. You're my strawberry trifle, don't you believe that? I would never lie to you on such a matter as your attractiveness. Why lie to an ugly boy when there are pretty ones to tell the truth to?"

"You mean that?" asked Ron, stunned.

"Oh, come now Ron," she lowered herself on Ron in a way she learned weeks ago was sure to undo Ron's mental facilities. She stuffed her tongue so far down Ron's throat he was thoroughly subdued. "Ronald," she cooed. "Can you tell me that dear Mr. P isn't my pretty, pretty pink boy?"

Ron smiled the kind of silly, totally besotted smile his mother used to get out of him with a scoop of ice cream sprinkled with a handful of Bertie Botts Beans. He moaned and attempted speech. "Uhhh... so we're on again?" Ron could scarcely believe his good fortune. He was back in business. "'Selina, can you move a little faster and do that, that thing again?" Ron's face turned as red as an autumn apple. "Mr. P really likes when you do that."

Ron oh so dearly loved his Saturday afternoons. He didn't get in much studying for his O.W.L.s, but he always learned a great deal.

~*~*~*~*~*~

As Harry feared, training Draco for the trek to his birth memory was grueling work. Wrenching Draco out of his relived memory as a rambunctious three year old was difficult enough. Through persistence Hermione succeeded in coaxing Draco out of his four year old persona.

Draco drifted further and further back through his early memories. Hermione relentlessly insisted Draco resist reliving his memories. There were times when Draco laid frantically gesticulating as he viewed old memories. At other times he laid so still and so quiet that Hermione and Harry became unnerved. Once or twice they held a goblet under Draco's nose and breathed sighs of relief as his breath misted on the surface of the silver goblet. After hours of work speaking to Draco as he waded through memories at long last Hermione and Harry thought Draco in enough control to proceed with the delicate work.

In the afternoon Hermione placed bits of food in Draco's mouth, which he chewed and swallowed. She coaxed him to drink through a straw. "Draco, what are you seeing now? Answer me."

"Father is spoon feeding me. I think I'm sure I am well under a year old... Father is making believe the spoonful of peas is a racing broom. Gauging by the quantity of peas I spat into Father's face, I did NOT like peas."

"Good Draco," praised Hermione. "That is precisely how you are to relate your memories. Stay out of them, just watch."

For Draco, watching his past memories was somewhat relaxing thus far. He laid on his side, head tucked on his arm, and at times a smile flitted across his face. His eyes remained shut but they danced beneath his lids as he reviewed his memories.

"I rather envy Draco being to go back and see his first year of life," said Harry with a distinct note of envy in his voice. He would give anything to be able to see his parents before Voldemort destroyed the Potters.

"I've already told you Harry," said Hermione. "Draco will have no memory of any of what he sees when he is brought out of the memory spell."

Harry knew that but still he envied Draco the chance, however temporary.

It was late afternoon before Draco accessed the sought after memories.

"Draco. What are you seeing now?" queried Hermione.

"I see nothing. It's dark... can't see a bloody thing. There is nothing here."

"Draco, do you hear anything?"

"I hear... I hear sort of a flubby noise, like a poorly made drum. Strange. I can hear something loud and muffled. Like someone screaming with their head buried under a pillow."

"Hermione!" said Harry. He and Hermione got the same idea at the same moment. Draco was remembering his birth.

"Harry," said Hermione, who was now looking greatly excited. "This is working!"

"AAARRRRRRHHHH!" shrieked Draco, "It hurts! It hurts! I'm being squished, make it STOP! MAKE IT STOP, MAKE..."

Jumping up onto her knees, Hermione reached out and smacked Draco as hard as she could. Startled, Harry nearly jumped out of his skin.

"DRACO, NO!" screamed Hermione. "The squeezing is you being pushed down the birth canal. You are doing it again, and that won't help us at all! Now do NOT relive this memory! I COMMAND YOU TO STAY WITH ME!"

There was no reaction from Draco at all. Hermione hovered over Draco, scarcely breathing. Harry considered holding a goblet under Hermione's nose.

"It certainly is bloody dark," said Draco calmly as though the slap and the excitement were trivial, of no account. The image of Hermione's handprint covered Draco's pale cheek like a ruddy starfish.

Drawing a long sharp breath Draco said, "I can see light now... things are quite blurry, but I can see and I can hear. There... just heard a slap and now I can hear a baby crying. That's me, isn't it?" he asked passively.

Draco now began to relate what he saw, incident after incident in a long dialog. To Hermione and Harry's utter relief, Draco obediently resisted reliving the memory, nor did he parrot the voices he heard as he had during his memory as a three year old. Draco took on the role of narrator of his own first day of life.

"I'm crying. Damn me, I sound like a siren. Now there's water, splashing... I think I am getting my first wash. The midwife speaking to my mother.

I hear a man speaking to my mother. The man speaking is Snape. Damn me, it is Professor Snape."

"Professor Snape?" Harry and Hermione parroted together.

Draco continued, "So, 'Lady Malfoy, congratulations. Your baby. Looks healthy enough. I must say, for a newborn the child is... rather pretty, beautiful actually, and he is the loudest baby I've ever heard. Will he be named for his Father?'

My mother sounds exhausted. She says, 'dear me Severus, I believe you saw bits of me that Lucius hasn't discovered yet. I believe after such an evening, you may certainly call me by my first name, Narsissa. So you can blush Severus!'

Mother is laughing. Now she is gasping, she is still in some pain, from my birth.

Snape is speaking. Sounds dreadfully embarrassed. 'Yes, Lady Malfoy... I mean, yes, Narcissa. Couldn't be helped, it was unavoidable. The unguents, they're absorbed through the skin. I assure you I kept my eyes closed!'

Mother answered Snape. 'Your salves worked wonders Severus. I'm sure you made this entire ordeal easier for me. Thank you Severus.'

Snape is giving my mother a potion to drink for strength and to help her expel the afterbirth."

Harry lurched forward, his hand over his mouth, and made a gagging noise and turned his back to Hermione and Draco. Who knew 'The boy who lived' had a low tolerance for tales of childbirth?

There was a pause of several minutes, as Draco watched the scene but had nothing to relate. Then abruptly, Draco continued. "The midwife has taken charge. She's making the house elves change my mother's linens and ready her for the ceremony."

At the word 'ceremony' Hermione gasped. Harry's face still matched his green eyes, but he looked attentive.

"Snape picked me up," Draco sounded amazed. "Damn me - Snape is calling me an 'ikle babikins... can Professor Snape be... is he pissed as a fart?" Draco questioned his own memories. "No, this is Snape all right. Now he's telling me how sorry he is for what is going to happen to me at the ceremony. He has wrapped me in a blanket and he is holding me to his chest, jiggling me about, patting my back.

He is still holding me and I still hear myself crying. Snape is speaking to Mother, 'Narcissa your baby is very beautiful. Wait until Lucius sees his boy. I can't imagine that Lucius won't change his... No. Lucius will do what he must. Here, look at your baby. Just have a look at him.

Mother is angry, she says. 'I don't want to see him! Take that creature away from me.'

Snape is coaxing her to look at me, but Mother will not. Snape says, 'Narsissa, see how healthy he is? Looks like Lucius already, and looks like you around the mouth. I'm not one to judge but how can you allow Lucius to... after all you will raise this boy after the ceremony, and... "

Mother if furious. She is hissing. 'The baby will be in my house, I can't prevent that, but I will not raise him. There will be a nanny. How could I raise a child, waiting for the day... Imagine Severus, how it would be...'

Draco stopped speaking for several minutes. He obviously heard all that took place, but could not voice what he heard. To Hermione's horror, tears again trickled from beneath Draco's shut eyelids as his unconscious mind easily gave way to uncensored emotions.

"I know how hard this is for you Draco," whispered Hermione sympathetically.

"I hear myself crying," Draco said flatly, wiping away tears. "Snape is arguing, fighting to change my mother's mind. 'Madame. Narsissa, you don't have to do this. You don't have to give your baby away. That is too much to ask of a mother, any idiot with half a brain knows that! If it is not in your heart to give your baby away, no one will think the worse. They'll fuss and eventually find some other fool... I mean, some other willing Death Eater to...'

'No Severus,' Mother is telling Snape. "It is already settled. Put the baby down and leave.'

Snape won't stop arguing. 'Narsissa, really, I must speak frankly. I know it's not my place but I must.' Snape is holding me and leaning close to mother's ear. He is whispering. 'Narsissa, I can help you, help your son. I can help you to save this boy. Your ambitions are not those of your husband. Sure you love Lucius, no one denies that, but you have two loves in your life now. And surely the younger of the two needs you more than... no disrespect, the younger needs you far more than Lucius ever could. Lucius needs no one, not even you.'

Now both Mother and myself are crying. Mother says..."

Draco's entire body jerked as though bitten by a scorpion and he cried out as if in pain. At the suddenness of it, Hermione and Harry jumped. Draco's face screwed up in pain and tears again dripped from Draco's shut eyes. "Petals? I can't hear any more. I can't watch."

Harry gripped Hermione's shoulders and demanded, "stay objective Hermione or you can't help Draco."

Gravely, Hermione nodded. "Draco, you must ..."

Wiping his eyes, Draco covered them with his arm. "Please, I don't want to hear any more. I'm going to leave this memory."

"Don't you dare leave this memory Draco!" Hermione gamely demanded. "You stay with that memory, however hard to watch! Do you hear me? Stay there! You must watch the Investment Ceremony." Hermione fought gamely and succeeded in controlling her own tears. Harry gave Hermione's hand a squeeze.

"Don't make me Petals!" pleaded Draco from the depths of his memories.

"You must listen Draco, please! Don't separate yourself from your memories! Please, stay there, you must watch this! I'm here for you, Harry's here for you. You MUST listen! You must tell all you hear."

"She doesn't love me!" Draco sobbed. "I always knew Mother doesn't love me."

"She loves you Draco, really! She does what she can for you, you know that. And anyway, there are others too that love you," Purposely harsh, Hermione demanded. "What do you hear now? Tell me!"

Screwing up his face as though sucking on a sour gherkin, Draco again related what he heard. "Snape still arguing. 'So Narcissa... if you are too weak to do what is right... there is no hope for this boy, is there? Might as well have tossed him out with your stained sheets.'

Mother, sounds weak. 'You fiend, stop torturing me. This is how it must be. I agreed to do what Lucius tells me. Lucius forced me to bear the Dark Lord's chattel, but no one can force me, to love the Dark Lord's slave. Get away from me.'"

Hermione startled as Harry took one of the flannels and wiped Draco's face with the cool cloth. Harry shot Hermione a look that clearly said, 'If you EVER tell anyone about this, I will personally see to it you wake some morning to find a blast-ended screwt in your bed.'

Draco's voice was incredulous. "Snape is still pleading, in a round about way. 'Fine. What can one expect? You were always spoiled Narsissa, and the others always said you had no mind of your own. I shouldn't expect you to suddenly develop a backbone, and all for this 'slave' child. Humph. It would really show them if you told them all to bugger themselves and refused. No matter. Here, while we're waiting for the ceremony to begin, why don't you feed the baby. Humph. I know you must be aching with milk. Here, feed the brat.'

Now mother is really angry with Snape, she's screaming at him. 'SEVERUS! I don't know how you hoodwinked the Dark Lord into accepting you into his inner circle, for you are NO Death Eater! You know I cannot feed the slave. If he is fed the Investment Ceremony will be impossible to perform. The child cannot be fed until after is invested with Lord Voldemort's power. You conniving traitor. You were always divided in your loyalties weren't you?'

Snape said, 'No, no Narsissa, silly me. Just forgot. I ought to stick to my experimentation with potions. I forget details, all the ceremonial mumbo jumbo. And anyway, I felt sorry for the poor brat for a second. He looks hungry is all. Look at him a second though. See how his little blue eyes look right at you? I think he already loves his mother.'

Mother yells at Snape, 'Go away Severus! Get out! Get Out! GET OUT!'"

Draco ceased relating his vision. After a couple of minutes of nervous observation, Hermione shook Draco but received no response. Harry bent down over Draco and shook the boy's shoulders. Hermione and Harry exchanged anxious looks.

Draco spoke again. "Snape is gone I am left alone. I have not ceased cried nonstop since my birth an hour ago. I am not fed, not cared for. I sound weaker now. Maybe I am lying on the side table dying.'" Draco's voice sounded strangely hopeful. "A lot of time seems to have passed. My crying is so angry."

Twenty minutes of silence passed. Draco suddenly started speaking, startling his little audience. "Snape is back! He took me up, and he is whispering to me. His hooked nose is in my face and he... The man is being affectionate! Kissing my face and trying to quiet me, but I still hear myself crying. He's carrying me now, pressed by his face. He took me outside and he's walking with me, very fast. There is darkness above and all round. Owls are calling. I believe he has stolen me from the nursery."

"Why do you say Snape stole you Draco?" asked Hermione curiously. "Couldn't Snape be carrying you to the ceremony?"

"No, no," demanded Draco. "He, Snape is talking to me. He said...'no, they're not doing this to you, little whatever your blasted name is, Lucius Malfoy Junior or whatever the hell they want to name you. I am not going to stand by and allow this to. I don't really care what happens to you... but still.'

You know, I can still hear myself crying, but now it's quiet for a little bit. Snape put his finger in my mouth. He says I'm sucking at his finger like I'm trying bite his finger off. Snape is complaining how annoying loud babies are. I'm crying with Snape's finger in my mouth. Ha! Guess Snape's finger doesn't give milk. He has covered me up with the blanket, I'm sure to muffle my incessant crying. Now nothing is happening, but Snape is moving us through the forest, very quickly. My voice sounds weaker but I don't stop crying."

"Of course you were angry," said Hermione, quivering with anger. "How could a baby's parents be so beastly, not feeding or..."

Harry reached over to shake Hermione's shoulders and the girl silenced herself.

Twenty minutes or so passed before Draco spoke in a loud excited voice, "Snape is swearing and it sounds like he's running now, crashing through the underbrush. There are dogs barking now. Hounds. Probably my Father's hunting hounds. Snape says if he can get me to the caretaker's cottage we can floo from there and I'll be safe.

Draco jerked, startled. He nearly levitating himself off the futon. "My Father is here! I can hear hounds barking all around, and Father is not alone. Others are shouting they've spotted Snape! The hounds sound huge! I can hear them barking very close.

Father is angry and he is yelling at Snape. 'Severus. Severus, where are you going with my son?'

Snape is playing ignorant with Father. 'What? Lucius, I'm only walking with the brat. Damn but he cries! He upset Narsis... his crying upset your wife. I thought some movement might calm him down. I hate babies! The brat is... well he's a little quieter now.'

Draco still looked incredulous. "Snape is lying. I am crying as if I'm being held up by my impressive willie! My Father is growling at Snape. 'Walked nearly a mile to quiet the 'brat'? Give my son to me Severus. I haven't seen him yet and it time for the ceremony.'

Severus is trying to distract Father. Snape says, 'It is a wonderful day Lucius. A wonderful day for all of us.'

My Father says, 'yes, a glorious day Severus. Too bad you won't remember any of it.'

Severus' he, he's shocked. He asks Father, 'why won't I remember any of it?'

My Father laughs at Snape, 'you think I will allow a mere wizard of potions to remember what he has seen of my wife? Ha! Your potions were useful, but you will not be allowed to retain any memories of today's work. For you Severus, this day never happened. Be glad I'm letting you live. Too bad really. Could use a little practice with the Avada Kedavra curse. Lucky for you I haven't the time.' Father is laughing, but I can't tell if he's joking or not.

Snape is shocked! He complains to Father. 'I did what I did for your wife, in a professional capacity. There was no joy or, or pleasure to be had to treating a woman at such a time! I am a professional Lucius, you know that damn it!'

My Father tells Snape. 'Then as a professional you will understand a patient's needs, and as husband of your patient I require you to remember nothing at all from today. I suppose I can overlook your attempts to 'walk the baby'. You must think me a fool. No matter. You won't remember that either!' Father is laughing.

Father calls to someone, probably a guard. 'You will take Severus here and return with him to Malfoy Manor. Turn him over to Nott. He will know precisely what to do.

Snape sounds desperate... He's telling Father, 'Lucius, please. I don't care about me or my memory, but think what you're doing to your child! You can't do this thing Lucius. How can you even consider this? Our Lord Voldemort is too powerful to need any cruel ancient magics. This is your son, how can you allow...'

Snape's voice is growing fainter. I believe he is being dragged away."

Draco stopped speaking. Neither Hermione nor Harry spoke a word. They could only imagine what Draco was thinking in his enchanted state. Several minutes later, Draco again began to speak.

"I can see again now, by torchlight. Father holds me up to his face and he's smiling at me. I'm quiet for a second or two... Now I can hear myself screaming again. Father is looking at me, all over. Commenting on my impressive... tackle. Father is speaking to me. 'Little son, you were long in the making. We planned for you and at last, here you are." Father is clicking his tongue at me. "Hungry? I am sorry, but the first thing that enters you must be a crystal of power. Our Lord Voldemort will pull power from the stars and the heavens. The seed will lodge in your soul and grow. Then, one day, when you are grown, our Lord Voldemort will take back the powers from you and he will be twice as powerful as any wizard of our time, including that fool Dumbledore. Come along little one. After the ceremony, I will feed you myself, I promise.'"

Draco was silent for nearly a half hour. He was obviously watching things, as his eyes slid back and forth beneath the lids, but whatever he viewed or heard, he said nothing. Finally he began to speak again.

"Father has claimed me from the side table again. He is holding me over his heart. My head is turned and I can see my mother, at Father's side and she is dressed now. Father says mother is shaky on her feet so he orders a servant to mother's side to help support her.

We are outside under the moon and a wind is blowing. Father says that I am quaking with the cold but I am still crying. Father says I am obviously a superior 'specimen' from a superior pureblooded wizard bloodline. Father says I will do the Lord Voldemort's magic great justice. Father cautions mother to watch her step because the path through the meadow is muddy. It rained during the night. Father hands me over to mother to carry now. I am looking up at her face. Mother's face is strange. Her eyes are so sad. Her face is proud but somehow she looks tired, beaten.

We're not moving now. I can't see much my eyes are still blurry. But I can hear and I am screaming, weakly now. I can see my fists. I am thrashing about angrily."

Draco sighed and continued. "I can hear a voice. It is a cold, voice, a lifeless voice, but it sounds... it sounds, triumphant? The voice speaks to my parents.

'Lucius Malfoy of your own free will, do you speak for your son. Do you give me your son for my purposes?'

Father answers him, 'Yes, my Lord, I do willing give over my son's life to your greater purposes.'"

Again Draco ceased speaking momentarily, his face frozen with horror, as he watched the images of his Father forsaking him, willingly, eagerly even giving him over to Lord Voldemort. The scene the very one that haunted Draco's every waking day.

"The cold voice speaks again," said Draco, weeping. "'Narsissa Malfoy of your own free will, do you speak for your son. Do you give me your son for my purposes?'

My mother is not speaking. I can see her face, and she says nothing.

My Father's head is just above mine and he is whispering to mother. Father says, 'Now it is your turn Narsissa.'

Mother made a little noise, rather like an animal in pain. Now Mother is saying, 'I give... I give my son to you Lord Voldemort, of my own free will.'

The cold voice, Lord Voldemort is speaking again. 'Give the child to me. The Investment Ceremony begins.'

I am lifted clear of the blanket. I am naked and screaming like a wild thing. I can see my fists beating about my face."

As Draco spoke, his face took on such a look of anger, that at first both Hermione and Harry thought he must be starting to relive the memory. But Draco remained an observer as Hermione demanded of him. Draco continued to recount his tale.

'I am taken up by the Dark Master. He looks to be human more or less, but he is a human who has seen much and done much evil - it reeks from him. He is in my face. His breath is foul, like a pile of long dead mice. As the Dark Lord holds me up, I SCREAM! I do NOT like him! I was only a baby, but knew I was viewing evil, the way a young mouse knows there is danger the first time it ever sees a cat.

That vile creature is peering at my genitals and nodding. The vile master is happy he has a boy... a boy slave. He has turned me from him and holds me up. In the blur, and under the brightness of a full moon I can see the devoted minions of the Dark Lord. I know my Father is one of those devoted thirteen. I can hear my screaming, even louder than before, amazing as that is!

The Lord Voldemort is turning me around and holding me close to his face. He said, 'You are my youngest servant little one. And your life shall be spent in service to me. You will run free as a wild colt until as such day you will return to me, and release that which we are about to store within you.'"

Draco jerked on the futon. Draco's face looked stiff with shock, surprise.

"What is wrong Draco?" called out Hermione in a frightened voice, patting Draco on his shoulder. She held her hands to her mouth in surprise. Draco's lips were spreading into an evil smile, a smile full of cunning. Then Draco began to laugh, a laugh of ultimate triumph.

"There! I've answered him! The fucking, leech, I had my say! HA!"

"You told him what Draco?" asked Hermione. "What could you tell him? You were a newborn, you couldn't say anything..."

"Voldemort held me to his face and opened his mouth to speak to me but I got him good! I pissed in his face! Yes, I pissed up a fountain of urine into that ugly face! Ha! I was only a newborn but I still got the last word! Can you believe it? I stopped crying! At long last, I stopped crying! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!"

Draco laughed like a mad thing.

Harry threw his head back and laughed too. Hermione stared from one boy to the other, as if they'd both lost their minds. She knew how fond boys were of 'toilet' humour, but this hardly seemed the time to enjoy a bit of 'pee humour'.

When Draco finally stopped laughing, he settled down. He calmly, related the details of the Investment Ceremony, which was anything but a cause for laugher. His voice sounded flat and uninvolved as though he watched but refused to acknowledge what moved before his mind's eyes or hear the distressing sounds that filled his ears. When at last Draco announced the ceremony was ended, Hermione mercifully pulled out her wand. But instead of only removing the her memory spell on Draco, she both ended the spell and placed Draco under a wand induced sleep so he could enjoy peace, and a deep dreamless sleep. He would wake rested. Soon Draco lay slumbering under the duvet, contentedly drooling. The vivid memories ceased and his deep past began slowly to fade back to oblivion. Draco looked as contented as the toddler he once was.

Hermione leaned back, a look of profound disappointment on her face. "Harry, I don't believe I heard anything that will be of any assistance in breaking this foul spell on Draco. What will I tell him when he wakes?" Looking over to Harry, Hermione was stunned to see a massive ear-to-ear grin on Harry's face. Harry's grin looked every bit as wicked and triumphant as had Draco's. Happily, Harry gave Hermione a double thumbs up.

"No worries! That's it Hermione. You've done it, we've all won! I think anyway. I have no idea what we do next, but I know you'll figure it out!" Harry wanted to dance, but there wasn't enough room to stand in the hideaway.

"Didn't you hear what I just said Harry?" asked Hermione somewhat indignantly. "What are you talking about? I just told you, unless I miss my guess, I heard nothing that leads me to think the spells on Draco will be easily broken, or broken at all."

"You still don't get it do you?" shouted Harry happily. He looked at Hermione as though the girl had the mental capacity of a brick. "Don't you get it Hermione? Malfoy pee'd. He urinated on Voldemort!" With a large grin, Harry used a finger like a tiny baby's penis and made a spritzing noise as he imitated baby Draco peeing, and then imitated the startled face of Lord Voldemort under the unexpected 'shower'.

"I wish I could have seen that for myself!" sniggered Harry.

"How very funny," Hermione said, angrily.

"No, you don't get it do you?" said Harry smiling. "Here, do you see? Malfoy was only a baby but he clearly expressed his refusal for the ceremony, the whole... the whole cauldron's worth! Like Malfoy kept saying, he was furious, an angry baby. And Malfoy clearly said 'no' to the ceremony!"

"But Harry, as you said, Draco was a newborn infant. An infant can't possibly 'say' no."

"You're wrong," countered Harry. "A baby can express displeasure, can't it? Draco was a hungry, angry infant and he angrily urinated in Voldemort's face. Now, correct me if I'm wrong Hermione, but I would say urinating in someone's face is the international standard for saying 'no'! I have good reason to believe pissing in someone's face is also the international standard for 'fuck you all to pieces!"

Hermione looked doubtfully at Harry, but slowly a smile spread across her weary face.

"Yes, I would suppose that is correct. Draco clearly expressed displeasure." Hermione thought further on the matter. She began to laugh softly. "Voldemort has no luck with babies at all, has he Harry? First Draco pee'd on him, refusing the ceremony. Then about 20 hours later that same cursed Halloween, Voldemort went to..." Hermione stopped speaking. She didn't want to be insensitive about the very same night, when Harry's parents were murdered by Voldemort and that Harry himself was nearly murdered as a baby.

Harry sighed. "Twenty hours later Voldemort was nearly killed by a second baby - me." Harry dropped his head and shook it in disbelief. "Voldemort, terror of the wizarding world, foiled by a pair of innocent babies!"

"Harry... I believe we can reverse the spells now. It doesn't matter how old the spells are, or how long they were in effect, or that Draco's parents tried to give him over to Voldemort. We can cancel the spells because the foundation, the scaffolding of the spells are weak, like wet paper."

Hermione sat back and pondered her line of approach to breaking the spells. "Harry, I am only surprised that Draco himself never accidently abolished the spells."

"Really? The spells can be dissolved that easily?" asked Harry.

"Yes Harry. You saw right through the fallacy of spells. A pledge-based spell that is based on a lie can be torn asunder by a first year student! No matter how long the lie held the spells on Draco, a lie is a lie. We can dissolve the spells tonight and free the power stored within Draco and give him the right to do what he wishes with his own body."

"Hermione," asked Harry in a concerned voice. "Will breaking the spells harm Draco?"

"No Harry, I'm sure Draco will come to no harm from undoing the spells." Hermione smiled, leaned over and kissed Harry on the cheek. "Draco was right. 'Rare occasions call for celebration and encouragement.'"

Harry smiled shyly, pleased to see that Hermione looked hopeful.

"Now Harry dear, prepare yourself," said Hermione with a mock frown. "I'm going to wake Draco now, and I assure you, he is cranky as a werewolf under a full moon when he wakes, however rested he is!"

'Cranky' barely begin to describe Draco's temperament when he woke. However, patiently Hermione and Harry passed food to Draco until the boy was capable of speaking three words in a row without flinging the odd plate or pillow or swearing at Harry.

As Hermione predicted, Draco did not remember a single thing about the memories he watched under Hermione's spell. In fact, when Draco first woke from the spell he nearly asked Hermione why she did not put him under, but did not when he saw the sun was set. To Draco the entire day passed in but the blink of an eye, one minute it was morning and the next it was evening. His only clue that anything had happened at all was, to his disgust, that his face was as fat, puffy and damp as was Hermione's after one of her crying jags. Draco cringed when he thought that the famous Harry Potter undoubtedly observed a Slytherin, crying like a baby. Draco was nearly ill with the thought.

When Draco's temperament was returned to a normal surly level, the three abandoned the hideaway and returned to the castle for the evening meal. The walk back was a wonderful relief after spending the day sitting and lying down. They welcomed the chance to stretch their legs. As they hurried back to the castle, a light snow began to fall and Draco was sorry he'd once again refused to wear Harry's pyjamas.

~*~*~*~*~*~

A white duvet of snow covered the ground at 9.00 pm when Hermione, Harry and Draco met in the front hall of the castle. Hermione was insistent she needed a large open area to perform her wand work to release the spells from Draco. Bundled in cloaks, they walked in tandem, trekked down to the Hogwarts lake. Draco led the taciturn little group. As he trudged along, Draco pondered Hermione and Harry's rational on how and why the spells could be broken. The solution was utterly absurd in its straightforwardness. Draco was not used to simple solutions. Surely the spells that so confounded his life couldn't be solved by such ridiculously simple logic?

Draco was not surprised that he felt no joy or anticipation or anything else at the prospect of releasing the incredible store of power in him and free him to enjoy the loss of his virginity. Any joy for Draco was blocked by an inkling in his mind that when Lord Voldemort came to lay claim on that power, and it was not there, it was going to take a bit more than 'oops' as an excuse. Would the Dark Lord kill him outright, at the first sign the power was gone? Perhaps the Dark Lord foresaw Draco might prematurely release the power? If so was there a spell in place on Draco to kill him as the power was released? There was only one way to find out. Draco found he didn't much care one way or the other if the power release killed him or if he lived.

They hiked to the glade by the lake, and there the three stood facing each other uneasily.

"Draco, this will be a quite simple spell for me to perform, but for the life of me, I have no idea how the power will be released from you. It might..."

"Yes, yes, very interesting," fussed Draco. "Let's get this over with." He stood his eyes shut. "Go on Granger. Hit me with your best shot."

The next thing Draco felt were Hermione's lips pressing heavily against his. Startled he opened his eyes, looking at her in amazement.

"For luck Draco. Only for luck,' said Hermione. She looked at Harry and pointed past him to a grove of trees. "Harry, go back over there, towards the trees."

Harry moved away, worried over the implication that he needed to be so far away from 'ground zero'.

Hermione stood some thirty feet from Draco and raised her wand and with a flick said, "Ligamenfragilis-solvo!"

Unable to resist a peek, Draco opened one eye, looking in time to see a bright green light headed straight for his heart. "ARRGGGHHHH!" He hollored. The blast of light shattered into a rainbow of colors and covered him head to toe in a radiant glow that held steady and then faded away. Snowflakes continued to flutter down on Draco, and he looked up, squinting as snowflakes fell on his eyelashes.

Wincing, Draco waited for something more to happen, but nothing did. Draco stood, looking over at Hermione, who, looked just as surprised as he did.

"So," said Hermione in her most priggish manner. "That is that then." She walked towards Draco. "Draco, I believe the spell is broken. But to prove so would you be so good as to show your markers so we can..."

The explosion was as loud as a cannon going off at point blank range. Draco and Hermione were flung asunder like a pair of rag dolls. They sailed together through the air landing fifty feet away. They lay still as death on the soft snow.

"Hermione! Malfoy!" Screaming at the top of his lungs, Harry sprinted over to them as quickly as he could.

Flinging himself to his knees alongside the two. Draco lay sprawled over Hermione like a sack of potatoes. Harry grabbed Draco's shoulders and hefted him off of Hermione, and then ignoring Draco, Harry patted the Hermione's cheeks and pulled his wand although at first he could think of no magic that would assist the girl. To Harry's relief, the girl's eyelashes fluttered.

Harry? What happened? Where is Draco!" she yelled. Her cloak was torn but otherwise she seemed unharmed by the blast.

"I'm fine," came Draco's befuddled voice. "So. That must have worked then, eh? Still want to see my marks?" Slowly and dizzily, Draco sat up in the snow, shivering.

"Hermione you should have seen it!" yelped Harry. "There was a huge explosion and a massive, a giant fireball rose up and out of Draco!" I thought you were both dead for sure. The fireball was shaped like a, like a serpent. It was bigger than the Basilisk that used to roam Hogwarts! That must have been the released power escaping back to the heavens. Are you sure you are all right?"

"I'm fine Harry," said Hermione. She sat up and looked to Draco.

As if in answer, Draco put his head back and blew from his mouth a stream of bluish fire rose straight up into the air.

"Draco!" shouted Hermione, it worked! Your flames are quiet! The snapping noise is gone! The power is no longer stored within you, it's gone!"

Just as suddenly as Hermione rejoiced in the absence of Draco's power stores, she realized the other truth - only one of the two spells was abolished. The spell that guarded Draco's virginity was very much in intact, as proved by Draco's 'mark', the flames. Draco had to remain a virgin or die.

"So," said Draco with no emotion whatever. "We have won the war and yet we have lost the battle."

"But Draco," Hermione tried to look to the bright side. "That horrid power releasing ceremony will never be performed on you now. And better yet, the Dark Lord will never be able to access such additional raw power ever again! Voldemort will never be able to achieve more power than Albus Dumbledore."

Somehow the victory still felt hollow.

"Draco," said Hermione in a small voice. "I thought the two spells were connected. That if one broke the other would follow. I was wrong, I'm so sorry..."

So. I wonder if Father is already on his way to kill me for breaking the spell and throwing away the Dark Lord's power?

Draco and Hermione slowly rose to their feet. There was an uneasy silence.

"Why are you looking so damned upset Granger?" said Draco. "You were as good as your word. You promised to do your best to release me from the spells and you did your best."

Hermione was miserable. True, she freed Draco from one of the two spells, but with the requirement for virginity still upon Draco, she did not give Draco what he wanted most, the ability to do whatever he wished with his body. A wish he held onto since his earliest childhood. Hermione could not speak.

Then Harry did something unexpected. He stared at the Hermione and Draco, and Harry broke the silence. "Here Malfoy. This is something you might be interested in," Harry pulled his hand out of his pocket and opened it. On his palm, lying on its side was the little blue enameled elephant trinket, the Magical Systems High Memory Pachyderm Charm - the MS High Memory PC. Harry smiled. "The Memory Systems motto - an elephant never forgets!"

Hermione's eyes bugged open and she literally began to swoon, and Draco instantly stepped forward and took her arms, helping her to stabilize herself. "Are you all right?" asked Draco with great concern. Draco's eyes darted suspiciously from Hermione to Harry.

"I'm fine. My legs are only still a bit wonky from the explosion," lied Hermione. She was afraid Harry was going to play the recording of Ron's declaration of love for her.

"Hermione." said Harry carefully, "I emptied the previous recording from this pachyderm charm and used it to record most of what Malfoy said while under your memory spell."

Relieved, Hermione straightened up and shrugged herself from Draco's grasp.

Malfoy," said Harry. "This PC is a recording of you telling us about your birth. I thought you might want to hear what you told us." Boldly, not caring what the Draco thought, Harry took Draco's hand and placed the small, enamel elephant shaped box on the Slytherin's palm.

"There," Harry stepped back a couple of steps and smiled at Draco and Hermione. "Well. That rounds up an interesting little adventure." Harry stood waiting as though expecting Draco to say, 'thanks Potter' or, 'glad things worked out' or even 'kiss my lily-white Slytherin arse'. No comments were forthcoming from Draco. So after several minutes of silence, Harry brightly said, "Laters 'Goldie'," shook his head and marched off towards the castle. So much for Hermione's dreams of an alliance between Harry and Draco.

"Goldie?" Draco snarled. "I'll be hearing about that for the next two years and beyond. With Harry gone, Draco looked at the High Memory PC in his hand.

"Scarhead has one of these?" said Draco with a snort of amazement. "They're rare, and expensive things these High Memory Pachyderm Charms. But then I keep forgetting Scarhead isn't a poor shite like his friend, Rags." Draco looked up a second because Hermione stood, her mittened hand over her mouth, stifling a giggle. He gave Hermione a quizzical look and then set his thumb against the box's clasp preparatory to popping it open. Hermione quickly placed her hand over Draco's and grabbed his thumb.

"Don't listen to that Draco. I didn't know that Harry was using this pachyderm charm."

"Why don't you want me to listen to it? Even Harry thinks it's a good idea.

"It will upset you."

"So? This is none of your business witch. And besides, haven't you any things in your past that upset you?"

"Funny," Hermione's expression took on a curious look as though she spent much time mulling something over, and only just now realized it was not so puzzling after all. "The things I have in my past that... upset me... all involve you Malfoy." Hermione cursed her own propensity for tears. She feared Draco would see her tears as a heinous attempt to manipulate him. "That was unfair, a horrible thing for me say Draco. I'm sorry. My hurt was my own doing. It wasn't your fault at all. I violated your trust."

Draco felt the niggling pains of guilt in his head and the uncomfortable pangs of self-disgust in his gut. He recalled the morning he spent time in the caretaker's closet being a beast with Messalina, knowingly harassing the girl and enjoying doing so. Hermione was caught by surprise over her transgression with 'the Weasel', but Draco knowingly walked into his offenses.

Well that does it. I'll probably never have a 'stiffy' again, which is fine because I don't deserve one. My manhood destroyed by guilt over that boy-killer Messalina. No matter! May as well join that monastery of celibate wizards Father threatened to send me to a few hundred times. I bet Father would be happy to make the arrangements for me. Or maybe I'll luck out and Father will just outright kill me.

Hermione said, "Malfoy, don't listen to that recording, please. I can tell you everything you said while under the spell Malfoy, everything I think will not hurt you."

At the sound of Hermione calling him the formal 'Malfoy', Draco straightened himself, glaring at Hermione through narrowed eyes. "I am a wizard. I do not need a fucking, bushy-headed Mudblood editing my memories for me."

Draco did not blaspheme and call Hermione the vile 'M' word to hurt her. He did not insult her hair to offend her. Draco insulted Hermione to feign anger, to push away the terror in his heart that to Hermione, once again, he was only the annoying Slytherin boy, 'Malfoy'.

The monastery option looked better all the time.

Hermione yelled shrilly. "No perhaps you don't need the help of a MUDBLOOD." She was wounded to the core by Draco's ungrateful cruelty. She stuck to her wand. "But you could use a friend assisting you to recover your better memories, couldn't you?" She stamped her foot angrily on the snow covered ground and demanded. "Well? Couldn't you?"

"What do you care about my 'feelings' Granger," Draco spat out Hermione's name as nastily as he could manage. "Why should you care if my 'feelings' are hurt? I'm Slytherin, we don't do feelings and all that damned touchy feely stuff. Why would you want to do a favor for me?"

Hermione reared up, her hazel eyes glowing with indignation. "Because I can't turn my heart off and on as you do - you mean, evil, evil Slytherin boy! I am not your girlfriend or your lover, but I will be your 'friend' whether you like it or not. You have no choice in the matter."

"You are not my friend Granger. You are a mudblood and your very presence polluted me and drove me from the path my parents chose for me!"

"I am not going to argue with that Draco. Your prejudices are your foul burdens to bear, not mine. For all I care you can burn little effigies of muggles and mudbloods on the lawn in front of Hogwarts, and that is Godric's truth."

The cruelty fest seemed to be over.

Hermione blurted out, "Malfoy, you should know. Professor Snape was present at your birth."

"Professor Snape...?" Draco was absolutely gob smacked. "He was at my birth? But..."

"Listen to me and I'll tell you all Professor Snape tried to do for you at risk to his own life. If Snape is truly no longer a Death Eater, if he left that life behind, it must have started with the influence you had on him when you were a baby. Snape could not abide by the cruelty that was forced on you, a newborn. Snape tried to rescue you but your..."

Hermione stopped. However much she hated Lucius she could not bring her self to knowingly poison Draco against his own father. "Snape tried to rescue you but was stopped by someone who took you to the Investment Ceremony."

The startling information held Draco in its grip. Professor Snape, with whom Draco currently warred, was present at his birth, and Snape attempted to save him? Draco could not speak.

"Snape remembers nothing of the day you were born, his memory was erased of that day. But Malfoy, I know, I absolutely know, even if Snape doesn't remember your birth with his conscious mind, he certainly remembers it in his heart," She looked to Draco for a response but he looked at her as though blinded by a light.

Gently, Hermione continued. "I don't know what happened to Snape after that. I think the only reason he was allowed to survive was his friendship with your parents." Hermione wiped at her eyes with her mittened hand. "May I tell you more of your birth Malfoy?"

Draco's mind was in a whirl as he tried to make sense of so many things at once. He was still under one of the two dreadful spells. Snape had tried to spare him when he was only a newborn. And here, in the flesh was an ever bothersome witch who could take dire insults from him, show anger towards him and yet continue to have his own welfare at heart. There was nothing that made sense anymore. Draco was no slow thinker. He could pass judgments and make decisions in the sweep of a fairy's wings. Yet, he stood quietly staring at Hermione for a long time as though his mind was as slow as that of Crabbe or Goyle's.

Grunting, evidently annoyed, Draco turned and walked toward the lake. Hermione, quite worried, trotted along behind him. "Draco? Why are you going to the lake? Oughtn't you head back to the castle with me? It's nearly curfew."

"Uh... just a minute." Draco held the MS High Memory PC up in the starlight and bounced it on the palm of his hand. "Ok," Draco said, "Let's save a fucking duckling or two." Drawing back his hand, Draco pitched the tiny elephant trinket as hard as he could. The wind was strong enough to make the little elephant box veer off its original course and for a short while it resembled a wayward snitch. Then far from shore a splash sounded as the PC hit the lake surface and sunk.

"I suppose I might have just given the thing back to Potter, but where would be the fun in that?" said Draco turning to face the girl. "All right then. For starters, tell me all about what Snape did. Then tell me all about my birth. Tell me whatever you think I can handle Petals."

At the sound of her nickname on Draco's lips, Hermione finally burst into tears.

But Draco was cool.

He stood, a smirk on his face, arms crossed and watched Hermione blubbering for probably a full thirty seconds before he lunged forward, grabbing Hermione as though she was a life preserver and the Titanic was on the way down. He pulled Hermione so tightly into his arms, pulled her face so tight to his heart the poor girl had trouble drawing her breath between gasping sobs.

Draco's words flew so thick and so fast that his voice sounded a buzz. He sputtered many 'You know I love you'. He slurred several 'how could I have?' He even stammered a fair number of 'what the hell was I thinking?' For good measure he included one angrily sneered 'fuck the wizard monastery!'

Genuinely fighting to keep back an embarrassment of his own tears - the result, no doubt by having spent much of the morning as a guileless toddler. Draco fumbled clumsily for a golden chain that hung around his neck. He found the gold ring hanging upon the necklace and with a sharp tug, broke the ring free. Draco pulled his Petals' hand from his face and slid the ring 'home', onto Hermione's finger.

Draco spoke loudly into Hermione's ear so as to be heard over the girl's sobbing. "Would you do me a big favor Petals?" asked Draco.

"Yes Cocoa, what?" Hermione grinned, blinking rapidly. She was so lightheaded that if Draco released her, she would have fallen to her knees.

"Would you not look at the ring until I have time to fool around with it tomorrow? Damn me. Don't know how it happened, but the ring is broken. The silly Gryffindor Lion seems to be just full of itself. Keeps killing the damned snake."

~*~*~*~*~*~

Draco and Hermione would have preferred to spend the remainder of the evening closeted in 'their' hideaway, but ominous feelings burned in Draco's heart. He suspected there was a fair chance he was living his last night on earth. He presumed his Father was probably on his way to Hogwarts to claim him. Draco escorted Hermione back to the Gryffindor Commons with intent of then beating a hasty retreat to Slytherin Commons. However, saying a 'proper' good night to Hermione after their nearly unbearable breakup of twenty-four hours took up most of the evening in a side corridor near Gryffindor Commons.

And when the two finally tore themselves apart, Draco raced to Slytherin Commons. It was nearly 1.00 am by the time Draco stomped into his dorm room. He was rather noisy since his roommates could not hear him anyway. They routinely placed noise-blocking spells on their four-posters against Draco's nocturnal screaming when he had nightmares. For the second time that evening, Draco slowly peeled off his clothing flinging them onto a bedside chair. He was exhausted physically and mentally. Flinging back the curtains of his four-poster, Draco screamed.

"AAAAGGGGHHHHH!"

Standing on his bed, shooting a stream of white mutes in Draco's general direction and onto the finely brocaded emerald green bedspread was a black eagle. For those unfamiliar with postal eagles, 'mutes' are eagle droppings, as white and liquid as shoe polish.

"You stupid, fucking, overgrown PIGEON!" Draco screamed in a fit of pique. His voice was raspy from all the screaming earlier in the day. One of his Father's postal eagles was the last thing he needed at the end of such an exhausting day.

The black eagle was roughly the size of a bear. The unusual size wasn't the most interesting aspect of the bird - that honor fell to the bird's two heads. Each head sported two glittering onyx eyes and a vicious looking red black-tipped bill, curved and glittered like a highly polished Turkish symitar. The bird lowered both heads challenging Draco to DARE to remove the parchment note strapped by jesses to one of the bird's massive ankles - ankles thicker than Draco's.

Draco stood clenching his fists, curls of blue flames wisping out of his nostrils. He had guessed right. His Father had an inkling that something was amiss and he was coming to check up on his son - his disobedient son who would be lucky to live to see another dawn.

Retrieving the post from the double-headed eagle took the better part of the two hours. A tired, bedraggled Draco threw himself onto a comfy chair in front the Slytherin Commons fireplace. Draco's pale forearms looked like peppermint sticks, white with long red marks where the eagle's six-inch rapier talons scratched and sliced him.

What the FUCK is wrong with a nice postal owl? Why does Father insist on sending post by mutant eagles that would as soon eat my eyeballs for eagle treats as deliver mail?

As Draco sat, sleepy eyed, holding his hand against a still bleeding cut on his wrist, he held his Father's yellow parchment note open on his knee and read the precise, controlled script.

Dear Son,

You will meet with me at 3 AM in your Commons.

Your Father,

LM

The Dark Lord Rewards

With an audible pop a rush of flames balled up out of the fireplace. The head and shoulders of Lucius Malfoy appeared in the flames. Draco leapt up from the comfy chair, his hands behind his back. As drained as Draco was he stood as straight as he could manage.

"Good evening Father. How are you and Mother?" Draco asked.

"So Draco," asked Lucius, ignoring the nicety of greetings. What do you think of my new Bateleur Postal Eagle, 'Rocker'?" Lucius positively gleamed with pride and he announced, "The bird cost a small fortune. Picked her up in a small wizard's shop in Kenya. They drove a hard bargain!"

Draco thought he'd die of happiness if just once his Father would speak his name with half as much pride and joy shining in those sharp grey eyes as he reserved for his precious postal eagles.

"She's magnificent Father," Draco said softly. "Father, what happened to your Harpy Eagle? I was just getting used to her."

"Unfortunate. Rocker killed my Harpy eagle. Rocker is quite fond of me. Didn't like the attention I paid to my Harpy Eagle," Lucius chuckled.

"So Father, why don't you ever send post by Mother's owl, Athena? I miss mother's owl."

Lucius glared at his son. "Why ever would you want to receive posts by a woman's owl?

Perish the fucking thought.

"There are some seventh year boys here with Scops owls like mother's Athena." Draco said defensively.

The senior Malfoy's face grew coldly stern. "Another reason why I should have overruled your mother's ideas for you to attend this institution. In a decent school like Durmstrang no boy with self pride would fly a Scops owl."

That does it. You mean, vindictive... just for spite I'll have a picture taken of me kissing Potter on the lips and send it to all your Death Eater Friends for Christmas!

Dismissing his angry thoughts, Draco snickered. "Ron Weasley flies a Scops Owl. Thing's the size of a walnut."

"Enough chatter." said Lucius abruptly, his face still scowling. "Draco, I have come to see your marks. Show them to me immediately."

"Yes Father," said Draco expertly feigning a puzzled voice. "Why? Is something wrong?"

"Show your marks to me Draco," the face of Lucius was hard and set.

"Of course Father," Draco leaned his head back and blew out a stream of the bluish-green flames of the virginity spell, accompanied by the loud crack of snapped branches and twigs of the intact power mark. The flames rose several feet into the air. Draco rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, his hands behind his back. "There Father. Is everything all right?"

Lucius stared. "Draco. Is there anything that you want to tell me?"

"No Father," said Draco, his face the picture of concern. "What's wrong? What did I do something wrong?"

"I have noticed on Saturday and Sunday afternoons, and many evenings, one can't see the fireplace for all the smoke drifting out of the volcano painting. The house looks as though it's on fire much of the time." Lucius looked quizzically at his son. "I suppose a young wizard needs healthy 'outlets', and I trust you take care. I have a long day tomorrow. Good night son."

"But Father!" Draco stepped closer to the fireplace. "Father?"

"What is it Draco?" asked Lucius curiously? "Is something wrong?"

"The volcano painting... well... actually, I wanted to tell you that I have a girlfriend," Draco smiled. "I'm surprised we haven't smoked you out of the East wing of the mansion altogether!"

"What? Who? The witch you took to the Yule Ball, Pansy Parkinson?"

"My girl is sweet Father. She's smart and very pretty," said Draco, not quite owning up to the identity of his girlfriend. "I love her Father."

"Really? Draco... I must say I'm surprised you're sharing this with me."

Draco shrugged. "I always share things with you Father. Especially something like this. I just wanted you to know you can count on me Father. I have a beautiful girlfriend, and she is wild about me. Sad that we can't... you know. We would... if we could, but... you know." Draco dropped his eyes from his father for a few carefully metered seconds.

"What do you mean 'you know'?" Lucius sounded surprised. "You're only barely fourteen Draco. You are too young to 'you know' for years yet, even if it were not essential for you to preserve your virginity. When I was your age I wouldn't think of..."

"I know Father," Draco sighed and dropped his head but kept his eyes on his Father. "When you were at Hogwarts, hand holding was as far as any well bred young wizard would go with a well bred young witch." Under his voice Draco muttered 'as if'. Shrugging he sighed again. "Father, but that was then. Things are different now. Anyway, sometimes it helps knowing that you care that I can't... 'you know'."

"Draco, I'm not in my dotage yet, and I know what you are on about. Now. What do you want boy?"

"You know Father, this coming Friday is the biggest Quidditch match of the year so far."

"Yes... and?"

"We're up against Hufflepuff. I know what you're thinking Father! The Hufflepuffs have had the most pitiful team since the turn of the century, but they're good now Father. They play for blood as a good team ought. All of Hufflepuff are on Starshotz 5001 racing broomsticks. A premier broomstick, what the professionals use."

"And?"

"Nothing," said Draco. He sighed again.

"Is that all Goldie?" said Lucius.

'Goldie', the nickname Draco was waiting for, and quickly Draco blurted out his request.

"Father, The Diggory family, the ones who lost their son? They purchased Starshotz 5001's in memoriam for Cedric. Brand new 5001s for the entire Hufflepuff team Father, even the reserves! Meanwhile, our Slytherin team ekes by on our shoddy old Starshotz 5000s. The Slytherin and Hufflepuff teams are well matched and I tell you, every possible advantage will swing the odds on this game Father." Draco waited a few seconds before pressing home his point.

"I wonder Father, could you outfit the Slytherin team with the latest Starshotz 6000s? The 6000s only came out a couple of weeks ago. No. Never mind," said Draco dismissively. "Too new. It would be extremely difficult for anyone to commandeer more than one or two Starshotz 6000s. Not in production for more than a month I imagine."

Lucius snorted. He knew a challenge to his abilities when he heard one.

"You have very, large brass ones boy."

"So I've been told Father," Draco smiled. "Slytherin team must practice on the new broomsticks before the game Father. The sooner my team sits the Starshotz 6000s, the better Father."

Lucius said nothing, and stared at his audacious son.

"Father, you are the one who always says I ought to apply all my pent up... energy on something other than... you know. I mean, Father, I'm only heeding your wise suggestion. Quidditch really keeps one's mind off... you know."

Lucius stared at Draco, his face inscrutable. Draco stared back at his Father, boldly, looking as unafraid as he could manage. Draco knew boldness amused his Father. The more outrageous Draco's request, the more his Father was likely to concede to Draco's wishes.

Lucius threw back his head and laughed. "Oh Goldie! You are a splinter off the old wand all right! The team will have the new... Starshotz 6000s. I'll see you have them inside of twenty-four hours." Lucius shook his head. "You can blackmail with the best of them son. Not that I believe you would sacrifice your life for a lot of broomsticks, I'm not that foolish. But your shameless guile shows that head of yours is good for something besides looking attractive and giving your hair a place to root itself." Lucius chuckled. "Good night son."

The visage of Lucius Malfoy within the flames disappeared with a loud pop.

His Father gone, Draco stared quietly into the flames for several minutes before he exploded and swore.

"Damn it father, you and your fucking dark lord owe me! You bloody owe me! IT'S MY BODY! IT'S MY BODY! YOU OWE ME!"

Draco screamed at the top of his lungs, not caring if he woke the entire dorms. His head and his heart pounded painfully. He stood screaming the same words over and over, "IT'S MY BODY! MY BODY YOU ARSE-HOLES!" Petulantly he laid claim to his own being and the right to do with it as he pleased. Finally, Draco stopped screaming. The three year old in Draco's soul had his say.

Still standing, Draco tortured himself. He envisioning his 'Petals' earlier in the evening, their bare chests pressed together, Petals' heart beneath his, beating within her chest, matching the pounding of his own heart. They did wonderful and tender things to each other, stopping only to save their lives. Each time they were together now, it grew more and more difficult to stop. At the rate they were going it was questionable if they could made it to Christmas in one piece.

So passionate was Draco, he could feel his heart hurting in his chest. Finally he sank to his knees, as though his legs could no longer hold his weight. He crouched, hands still firmly held behind his back, His forehead against the commons carpet. He looked as though he waited for an axe to fall. He stayed that way for several minutes, waiting for his anger to subside, and his heart's pulse to slow. Slowly, for the first time since he came down from the dorms, he pulled his hands from behind his back and stared at the branches and twigs he'd carried back to the castle from the lake. So cleverly had he stored the twigs under his cloak that Hermione did not know he'd taken them up.

He stared at the simple twigs, sticks, branches he furtively snapped behind his back as he showed his one remaining 'mark' to his Father. Small branches of holly and willow, that likely as not, saved Draco's life and enabled 'Goldie' to live to see at least one more dawn.