Draco's Delicate Condition

CHAPTER 14 - Where Dreams Begin

Draco thought his anxieties would keep him awake, but the gentle to and fro sway of the Malfoy family coach lulled him to sleep, slumped at his father's side. Hours later an owl in the distance called. Draco opened one eye and was momentarily unsure of his whereabouts. Groggy from potions he realized he was no longer in the hospital wing at Hogswarts. All at once, the shock of missing his date with Hermione flooded over him like a dousing of cold water. Regardless of Draco's protests, his father was taking him home for the holidays. Draco flung an arm over his face, willing the previous evening to become only a harmless dream, for the reality was a nightmare. Slowly he drifted to sleep again but the coach lurched and set a noisy clatter as it broke water crossing an icy stream. Draco opened his eyes, and realized his head was nestled on his father's lap.

Damn me! Drooled all over Father's lap like one of his stupid hunting hounds!

Because he couldn't pull his wand without his father noticing, Draco eased a corner of his cloak under his face, hoping the he could sop up some of damp before his father noticed. He might as well have tried to sop up the stream they crossed.

'Draco,' said Lucius, his deep voice ominously filling the silent coach. 'I see you have retained that repulsive drooling habit.'

Draco shot into an upright position; his cheeks highly coloured. He anxiously wiped spittle from his mouth; the hydrating potions still working. He again hoped his father didn't notice the residual 6-inch eyelashes he had accidentally hexed his father with when he had mistaken his father in the dark Slytherin corridor for a boggart.

'Damn it, Father, it's not my fault! I told you I've been ill... at school they filled me with potions!'

Lucius spoke smoothly, dangerously. 'Language Draco. Remember who you are talking to,' 'We are not in a Knockturn Alley gutter.' Lucius sat rigid, upright, holding his eyes shut; his only concession to the long journey home.

'Sorry Father.' Draco cringed as a blot of his spit hit his frowning father square on the chin causing him to flinch. Draco reached up to wipe his father's chin but thought better of it. 'Father, that Madame Pomfrey would wake me up, late at night to force sleeping potions on me! Where was the sense in that? All I've done for a fortnight is sleep, float and spit. When you found me tonight Father... well it was the first time in a fortnight I was properly dressed!'

To his immense relief, Draco felt his father's arm come to rest on his shoulders. He tried to relax as he felt his father run a kid-gloved hand gently against his cheek, a move of uncommon gentleness for Lucius.

'Relax yourself Draco,' crooned Lucius. 'We are almost home. Tell me, are you too tired to sit for a while in the drawing room with your tired old father? Your mother might be awake, waiting for us.'

If she were, that would be a first.

Pomfrey's draughts were persistent. Draco fought to defy sleep but as his eyelids sagged downwards, he lost the struggle. 'Right Father, relax.' Draco yawned and a loud noise escaped him, like a walrus taking in a salmon.

Lucius smiled at the silly noise and ruffled Draco's hair. 'Perhaps it's the holidays, I find myself thinking of when you were quite small. You were rambunctious and how you hated settling down to sleep. I used to bundle you up in a blanket and take you for long coach rides because the motion soothed you as nothing else would. We circled the manor for hours on end. And do you know? The very instant the coach would stop at the front steps to the manor, you would wake and cry for your... what was that damned doll's name?'

'Doll?' Draco's eyes popped open, he was suddenly wide-awake. His eyes looked upward and he openly glared at his father's face. 'Did you say 'doll' Father? I never had any fuck... I beg your pardon Father, I never had any 'doll'. You are mistaken!'

'You had a doll Draco,' insisted Lucius chuckling at Draco's annoyance. 'I'm surprised you do not remember. Kept that doll by your side until your drool finally rotted out the dolly's stitches and when it fell apart you cried for days and days... and days. Oh, I remember now. The doll had red yarn hair. You called it...?'

'I NEVER had any doll Father,' said Draco angrily. 'You must be thinking of... some other boy, obviously a bed wetting prat!' Rebelliously he muttered under his breath, 'probably you.'

Some issues were worth risking a smack.

'Dra-co...' said Lucius in a near singsong voice, he ran his fingers through Draco's hair and lazily took up a fistful, tightening his grip. Draco winced painfully. 'You are with your Father now, not at school. You will speak to me with respect. Am I understood?'

'I understand, I understand,' said Draco squealed painfully through gritted teeth, his voice still angry.

Father baited me with that doll nonsense and I fell for it.

'Are you using an 'angry voice' - with your father?' Lucius queried, his hand gripping tighter.

'No, no, I'm not angry,' Draco squealed in a near whisper, his hair pulled so tight his eyebrows were an inch higher than where they belonged. 'I understand, I understand!'

'I understand' what?' parroted Lucius melodiously.

'I understand Father,' Draco whimpered, tears of pain pooling in the corners of his eyes.

Lucius released his grip and Draco's tired head again slumped on his father's lap. The kidskin gloved hand again rested heavily on the pale hair.

'You're a fine boy Draco. But I must say, if this sort of - rudeness - is a forerunner of your 'rebellious teenage years' we are in for a rough time, are we not?' Lucius chuckled and jovially ruffled Draco's hair. 'Guard your temper. This week is far too important for you to give in to fits of temperament. Yes. Something important will happen this week. You will be on your best behaviour.'

'Yes Father, my best behaviour. I promise Father.' Draco's stomach ached with dread at the thought of just what 'important event' was finally at hand. He knew it must be the singular event that haunted him the whole of his life and the existence of which made a farce of his life as a privileged young man.

Lucius moved his hand to the window and opened his fist. A clump of slivery blonde hair blew off, away on the breeze and off into the night. Tenderly Lucius massaged the sore spot on Draco's head. 'Oh look, the Malfoy driveway. We're nearly there. Welcome home son!'

~*~*~*~*~*~

Hermione held her wand high up, and looked around nervously. The moon was full, but so was the load she carried aloft by her wand's spell. Several feet ahead of Hermione boughs of holly bejewelled with bright scarlet berries, and soft, green pine branches floated on the air. Smiling, and clutching her cloak tightly, she walked, snow fluttered horizontally on a winter breeze. Arriving at the Professor Sprout's Propagation Greenhouse. Hermione expertly manipulated the greenery to a bench in the rear by a glass greenhouse wall.

An hour later Hermione sat back on soft pillows hugging her knees, giggling and admired her artful handiwork. Bright boughs of holly hung under the low bench and small floating opalescent balls of coloured light, gave romantic light to the space. Hermione placed two bottles of butterbeer she wrangled from the Weasley twins into the snack hamper and shut the wicker lid. Now there was nothing to do now but wait for midnight when Draco would arrive. Then, as Draco liked to put it, he would 'make proper love' to her. Hermione sat sipping a little fizzy drink; hopeful she settled back onto a pillow pile and began an anxious wait.

Hermione waited, and waited. At one o'clock in the morning, when Draco was a full hour late, Hermione worried that Madame Pomfrey had caught Draco and given him a dressing down. When Draco had not arrived at two o'clock in the morning Hermione was certain Professor Snape must have spotted Draco on his way out of the castle. At the dark and silence of three o'clock in the morning when Draco had still not arrived or sent word of his whereabouts, Hermione would believe nothing except that Draco had changed his mind. He had decided a 'Mudblood' was too impure for his precious 'fireball'. The girl cried for hours, on into the early dawn, when it occurred to her Draco might have had a relapse in the infirmary and died alone while she lay about sulking like a silly pillock. She abandoned the greenhouse hideaway, racing back up to the castle and over to the infirmary, bursting through the entryway doors. She sprinted up the marble floored aisle and there her frightened eyes took in, Draco's empty bed, stripped of linens, all of Draco's things gone.

Hermione screamed. Little Hannah Abbott and a few other students who were unfortunate enough to be in the infirmary so close to the holidays woke. They all yelled along with Hermione, creating something of a bedlam. Madame Pomfrey came at a dead run and it took the good woman a long time to calm her charges and to convince them all there was no dark magic afoot and get her patients back to sleep. Pomfrey's words gave Hermione no comfort at all; Lucius Malfoy had simply taken his son home for the holidays.

~*~*~*~*~*~

'Let her go,' mumbled Harry tossing about in his sleep. He was not particularly prone to nightmares but even in his sleep he was prone to heroism. 'Let her go or deal with my wand!'

It was the holidays and all was well. Harry and Ginny had spent a pleasant hour before bedtime snogging and telling each other how wonderful the other was. Harry felt happier than he had been since before his last encounter with Lord Voldemort.

'I saved you Ginny,' muttered Harry, tossing in his bedclothes. 'I saved you...'

'Harry!'

Harry dreamt that a dragon, a Chinese Fireball Dragon, had him by the arm and was shaking him and calling out his name in bursts of fire. 'Hang on Ginny,' said Harry, still asleep. 'I'll save you from....' Thinking his arm was becoming dislodged, Harry's finally opened his eyes, and immediately doubted what he saw; Hermione, in his dorm room, standing by his four-poster, shaking his arm. Gasping, because obviously Hermione would not enter the boy's dorm unless Voldemort had attacked Hogwarts, Harry shot straight out of his covers, standing on top of his duvet. He was still only half awake and he gasped as he felt his legs pulled out from under him - by Hermione. Harry landed flat on his back. Lifting his head, he felt Hermione scramble up onto the bed, to straddle his chest and press both of her hands over his mouth, squealing at him.

'Shusssh! Harry, come with me, downstairs, to the commons. This is an emergency!' Even with his blurred vision, and in the dark, Harry saw that Hermione's face was puffy and looked as though she had been crying for hours. Her hazel eyes looked as wild as Harry had ever seen them. He pushed her hands away from his mouth and whispered frantically.

'Hermione, has Lord Vol...'

'No. Well, maybe, oh, Harry, please, you must help me. Come with me.'

'Come?' the sleepy voice of Seamus Finnegan called out from across the dorm room. 'Who's come? Who has a girl here?'

'Hermione,' said Harry, now fully awake. 'Now you've done it, you woke Seamus! Couldn't this wait until morning? I mean, for Merlyn's sake. Seamus will be wanking off to this now for weeks and weeks... forget I said that! I don't know what I'm saying!'

'Quiet Harry! Come on... I mean, let's go.' Hermione climbed off of Harry and off the four-poster.

Immediately Harry realized he rather enjoyed Hermione kneeling over him, her breath in his face as she hissed at him like a goose. This indicated no infidelity at all, because being a boy, Harry was almost required by biological law to be stimulated by nearly any female who sat on his chest. He would have had nearly the same reaction if he'd woke to find Professor McGonagall seated on him; interesting imagery, isn't that? Harry climbed off of his bed.

Hermione whispered in Harry's ear. 'Get dressed, bring a cloak and I'll meet you in the commons. And please, hurry!' Peered nervously around the boy's dorm room, Hermione wrinkled up her nose. 'Harry,' she squealed. 'It smells like someone is raising billy goats in this room!'

With a 'what did you expect' look at Hermione, Harry padded over to his wardrobe.

From a nearby four-poster Neville made a loud snoring noise and turned in his sleep. There was gentle snoring noise from Ron and Dean's beds, but across the room, the voice of the heavily drowsy Seamus called out again 'Won't you set on my lap me pretty?' Seamus was slowly waking up.

Hermione raced over to Seamus' bed, her eyes squeezed shut, least Seamus be sleeping au Slytherin. She whispered. 'Seamus, go back to sleep. This is your mother, Seamus go back to sleep dear.'

'Mam, kiss me good night?' asked Seamus in a drowsy voice.

'Yes, dear,' said Hermione. She made a kissing noise with her lips. 'Now go back to sleep Seamus me darling.'

Seamus' hand shot out through the curtains and grabbed Hermione's hand. 'Mam, give your Seamus a kiss good night kiss?'

As Hermione stood frozen in indecision, Harry, who had put clothing on over his pyjamas, came over and took her by the arm. 'Come on Hermione, let's go downstairs,' Harry said softly. Then he added, 'and Seamus, first thing after breakfast I'm going to kick your sorry randy arse.' Harry led Hermione away.

'Selfish bastard that Harry is,' fussed Seamus. He rolled over and fulfilled Harry's earlier prediction.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Light streamed through the narrow turret window of the round bedroom. 'Old Gannet' clambered up from his bed of rags on the floor by Draco's bed. Having his young master back in residence at the Malfoy mansion was a mixed blessing for the sparsely haired house elf. He was already ancient when pressed into service to fetch and carry for infant Draco's nurse fourteen years ago. As his little master grew older, Gannet took on additional duties as live play toy, 'whipping elf', and a convenient means for the Malfoy tot to expunge himself of childish frustrations by striking out at the elf; a roll the elf still filled. Gannet, stood looking down into his master's face, wondering why such a privileged young wizard should have cause to toss and turn so in his sleep. A sudden back handed smack knocked the old house elf off the wide round bed.

As Gannet hit the floor with a satisfying thud, Draco stretched his arms and legs like a languid cat and sighed lazily; at least there was one creature about that suffered far more than him. Seeing the bulbous eyes of 'old Gannet' blinking first thing in the morning was always an unpleasant jolt.

'Gannet,' snarled Draco, not sixty seconds into a new day and already in a temper. 'Why must you always stare at me when I'm sleeping? It's damned annoying you raisin-faced git.' Draco yawned, and peered towards the window through which pale dawn light glittered. 'What is the time?' asked Draco, scratching his bare sides under his blanket.

'Welcome home young Master,' said Gannet respectably, climbing back up onto the bed. The house elf was clad only in his nightclothes, a pungent, tattered handkerchief. The rank handkerchief hung in front of the elf's wizened old goolies by means of stray bits of frayed twine. To his rear, the house elf's bare buttocks hung flaccid like a pair of empty wine sacks. Another gust of wind blew through one of the open turret windows and Gannet shivered.

'The hour is early is what old Gannet is thinking young Master.' The house elf's voice was shaky and as ancient as the black bearskin blanket on which he stood. 'I is thinking downstairs the young Master's parents and guests are not yet afoot. I is thinking the young Master's father is pleased to have his guests served breakfast in their rooms.' He resumed staring expectantly into the face of his young master like a faithful hound, only this time out of arm's reach.

'Guests? Damn me,' Draco shut his eyes, thoroughly sorry he was awake at all. 'The holidays. How many guests?' Draco itched to smack the house elf again, for no particular reason, but to do so he would have to sit up.

'Oh, not as many as usual Sir. Master's father says these is 'special times' these is.' The elf leaned back in a futile attempt to stretch out a kink in his crooked back. 'I is missing the big, big crowds as used to visit Malfoy Mansion on holidays,' the old elf had told a flat out and out lie, and would have to allocate his time well today, so as to have time to punish himself later - mashing his tiny crooked fingers under a toilet seat lid.

Holidays were hellish for the Malfoy house elves. In comparison to Christmas duties for Malfoy house elves, sharing an Azkaban cell with a sodomizing giant would seem an afternoon at Honeydukes Sweetshop. Each year at least one devoted Malfoy family house elf 'accidentally' flushed his or her self down a toilet for a drowning death or 'fell' into the cooking fires, rather than enter into the prolonged drudgery of near two months of continuous backbreaking, thankless tasks, with only beatings to look forward to as a break in the monotony.

'Is young Master wanting Gannet to draw a hot bath? Prepare him for the hunt?'

'The hunt!' Draco sat upright. His eyes were now as globular as the house elf's. 'The HUNT? What the HELL do you mean THE HUNT! Wasn't the damned hunt a week ago? Haven't I missed the hunt? The feast?' Draco was pleading, rather than making a statement. Draco despised the Annual Hunt; a full, bollock breaking day spent locating interesting magical and non-magical creatures and slaughtering them.

Old Gannet shivered and backed cautiously. 'The young Master's father is not wanting the hunt until you is returning. The young Master's father is saying things is 'special' this year.' The house elf slowly lowered his arms. 'The young Master's father is saying the hunt is in - one hour.'

'DAMN ME!' This time it was Draco's foot made contact with the poor elf. Gannet hit the far wall and slid to the floor, which the wizened elf lay upon like a wrinkled bit of fruit, fallen from some ancient tree.

'I don't believe it, in one hour,' said Draco climbing out of his bed, onto the cold stone floor. Naked he padded over to the house elf and prodded the creature with a toe - the elf was out cold. 'Shite,' fussed Draco. 'Everything happens to me. And now I have to draw my own bath.'

~*~*~*~*~*~

It was dawn and Harry and Hermione stood in Gryffindor commons.

'Don't tell me,' said Harry yawning. 'This has something to do with your Quidditch cheating, lime-gummy, albino bunny coloured Slytherin?'

'Yes,' said Hermione. 'I mean no. This is serious Harry. Last night Lucius Malfoy came to Hogwarts and took Draco home!'

Harry stared stupidly at Hermione. 'Oh. Well. This is good news then.' Turning, Harry chanced that Hermione would let him go back to bed. But the stubborn girl grabbed Harry by the arm and swung him around and spoke rapidly in an excited whisper.

'Tonight is the December 22nd; Winter solstice! Tonight is the first night since the night Draco was invested with the power from the investment spell that Voldemort is capable of retrieving the power!'

'But so what?' said Harry. 'The power isn't stored in Draco any longer. You are the one who removed the power from Malfoy. You know that. So what difference does tonight make? There is no power for Voldemort to 'charge his batteries' with.'

'Harry,' said Hermione in a voice that made Harry regret his indifference. 'Yes, you are right. Without the power stores, Draco is no longer a threat to the wizarding world, nor to you.' Hermione sniffed heavily, and rubbed her eyes, trying desperately to keep herself on track. 'But just what do you think will happen to Draco when Lord Vol... when he finds out that Draco hasn't got the power stores any longer? He'll kill Draco!'

'All right,' Harry knew there was nothing else for it. Once again, Draco's life was hanging in the balance and he would either have to assist Hermione or watch the girl lose her mind. He gave a heavy sigh and resigned himself to whatever tasks lay ahead. 'So do you have a plan exactly?'

'I was thinking, we ought to go to Malfoy mansion and...'

'What? Are you mental?' Harry was alarmed, but he actually chuckled at the ridiculousness of Hermione's suggestion. 'If either of us were spotted at Malfoy mansion, how many minutes do you think we would last?'

'Well what else are we to do?' Hermione was annoyed that her tears had started up. 'Wait for Dumbledore to make an announcement after the holidays that Draco Malfoy is,' her last word was barely audible, 'dead?'

'Hermione,' said Harry, still hoping he could bring Hermione to her senses. 'We have no clue where Malfoy mansion is. We can't just fly off on broomsticks headed for who knows where. Be reasonable. Malfoy is with his father...' It was no use. The minute Harry mentioned Lucius Malfoy, he knew any arguments he could come up with would fall to pieces beside the danger that Lucius Malfoy presented to anything or anyone that stood between Lucius and his never-ending quest for power.

'Harry, we can find out where Malfoy mansion is,' said Hermione. She took Harry's hand and squeezed. 'I am going to Malfoy mansion. Will you come with me?'

'Right,' Harry gave a sigh of resignation. ' I'll go to Malfoy mansion with you and help you all I can. But I'll do it for you, not for Malfoy.'

~*~*~*~*~*~

A couple of hours or so after Harry presented his lecherous proposition to Hermione, a few hundred miles away, all around the Malfoy courtyard, wizards and many stalwart witches spoke in excited voices. They all discussed their expectations on the day's hunt; one of the many privileges accorded to those in the service of Lord Voldemort. To the last one, the dark magical folk were fresh from simple but wholesome breakfasts in the luxury of extravagant guest rooms, served with slavish attention by the Malfoy house elves. The dark wizards and witches stood about the courtyard enjoying hot drinks; hot chocolates, teas and other brews, most spiked with Ogden's Black Label. The refreshment was supplied to them by scurrying house elves that held serving trays high over their heads.

Wrapping his cloak tighter around his chilly torso, Draco stepped from the mews by the carriage house and tossed his arm skyward. Spreading its wings, Draco's eager Eagle Owl pushed its wings against air and was soon a highflying speck, winging its way to Hogwarts. Draco peered back into the mews, which contained his father's astounding collection of colossal postal Eagles, and a dozen or so owls. The owls were mostly kept for the convenience of guests who did not enjoy the thrill of risking their eyeballs or fingers when sending post by eagle. Busily thinking of excuses to free himself from attending the day's hunt, Draco wondered if anyone would believe that he had 'slipped' in the mews. On reflection, he dismissed the idea mostly because he did not care to spread out on the mews floor, waiting for someone to find him, feigning unconsciousness while lying in two inches of slippery bird shite.

Squinted up at the bright pale morning light Draco could no longer see his Eagle Owl carrying post to Hermione. Draco thought the note he wrote for Hermione a good one; curt, and heady and void of angst over his disappointment at being torn away at the last minute from his auspicious 'date' with his Petals by his father. Still thinking up ways to avoid taking part in the hunt, Draco marched off for the front courtyard. As Draco rounded the corner, family friends, drinking mates and business associates of his father rallied to greet Draco and ask after his health. Politely Draco fielded the polite but nonetheless annoying inquiries, praise, and the annoying comments about his no longer being a tot.

'Little Draco Malfoy, look how he's grown!'

'How is your schooling going Draco? Making your parents proud are you?'

'Why, the last time I saw you, you were no larger than a house elf! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!'

Yes, I'm no longer a baby. I grew up. All of you GET ON WITH YOUR LIVES!

In the minority, but still the most irritating to Draco were the insufferably brash types, attempting to climb the social hierarchy without the brains to back their ambitious bids.

One jovial wizard walked up, grinning at Draco. His broad hand smacked Draco on the back so hard the boy was nearly knocked off his feet.

'Good morning Mr. Lowboat,' said Draco his lips smiling, his eyes livid. Any savvy wizard would easily have interpreted Draco's gaze. 'I'm pleased you were able to make it here for the Annual Hunt. Is there anything I might do for you? Could you use another cloak? Might I fetch one of my family's house elves to hone your hunting knife?

Might one of our house elves shove your wand up your arse where it will do us all some good for a change?

'What a gentleman you are Little Draco! Ha, ha, ha!' Lowboat was not much taller than Draco but was quite bulky with muscle. 'Look there, your father is just come outside. I'll walk over with you.' Again he heartily shook the boy's shoulders as if they were old buddies.

Draco prided himself on not being stupid enough to take the compliments of the day too seriously. Even as a small child, Draco realized the praise he received was but the secondary light that first filtered through his father. Still, praise was praise just as light was light and the tribute was all grist for the mill of Draco's ever expanding ego.

This morning Draco had more patience than energy. He was still healing from the lightening strike and not up to snuff. He spotted his father exiting the mansion and rudely pushed his way through the crowd and up the steps to be near his father. Honestly, anyone would want to be near Draco's father. Lucius made a grand sight, dressed in his smooth black leather ensemble of hunting jerkin, breeches and boots. His handsome navy cloak draped to great effect from his broad shoulders, held about his sturdy neck by carved chalcedony serpents set upon shining platinum clasps. Even on this cold morning there was enough bare chest and bicep exposed to keep any being blessed with hormones ogling Lucius. Butch wizards with notches carved on their bedsteads for every witch they conquered cast surreptitious glances at Lucius.

On Lucius' gauntlet clad arm sat his favourite eagle, 'Roller' the enormous double-headed, double-hooded Bateleur Eagle. Seeming unimpressed by the awe accorded him by all present; Lucius removed the eagle's hoods, rewarding each of the eagle's heads with a morsel of meat. All who watched Lucius marvelled that feeding such a colossus of a bird did not result in the lost fingers. The eagle's piercing cry rung out, shrill enough to hurt the ears of those nearby. There was a sharp 'twap' as the wings of the eagle took it off into the air, a post carefully tied to the eagle's thick thigh. The eagle quickly disappeared as it aerially rolled on into the sky.

'Good morning Father,' said Draco.

At that moment the doors to the mansion swung open, and a vision, Narcissa Malfoy, glided out. She was encased in a rich cloak of eiderdown, which on a normal sized witch would have appeared chubby and unflattering. But upon Narcissa the warm feathers looked slimming, elegant, and inordinately rich. Translucent blue eyes shined like aquamarines from her face as she eyed her husband. Her single thick plait of wheaten hair hung down to her supple rear. Her face might have appeared ordinary on any other woman, but set atop the willow form, her sharp cheek angles and elegant nose looked a portrait of feminine beauty. Many a nearby wizard had to make effort to catch his breath at the sight of her. Many a nearby witch stared with annoyance at the ease and grace that was Narcissa Malfoy.

'Good morning Mother,' said Draco eagerly. A thin trickle of drool appeared at the corner of Draco's lips giving him a slightly hungry look. He always enjoyed a somewhat unhealthy zeal for viewing his beautiful mother in the early hours of the morning, which by the time he was five years of age resulted in his complete ban from his parent's bedchamber. 'I trust you slept... slept well, Mother?'

Narcissa nodded briefly in the general direction of her husband's 'ward', the birth-son of her womb, and then she directed her attentions to Lucius. 'Dear, remember your promise. No theatrics today. There are too many important things to tend to this week. I don't know why you insisted on saving the hunt for today.' Coming from Narcissa's pouting lips even complaint sounded as if she were crooning words of love. She tilted her head imploringly towards her husband.

'Right, yes, of course my dear,' said Lucius, and he planted a hasty kiss on her ivory cheek. 'But you wouldn't have wanted Draco to miss all the fun this year would you? What if it were his last...?' Lucius looked to Draco and smiled.

Understandably apprehensive, Draco beamed at his tall beautiful parents and wondered if height occasionally skipped a generation. Although Madame Pomfrey had taken pains to assure the worried, and at the time, gel-covered boy that he still had years of growth ahead of him, Draco had his doubts. What if Pomfrey was wrong and wizards did not continuing into their late teens and sometimes beyond. How could he someday rule the Malfoy fortune if he was little more than a few heads taller than tiny Professor Flitwick?

Draco forced himself to rally. He threw himself into the spirit of feigned illness. 'Today is going to be splendid! The ground is damp, perfect for tracking. No wind. Bet father and I bag more game than...' A look of surprise came over Draco's face and he spontaneously broke into a vicious bout of coughing.

Narcissa stepped back out of the range of projectile spittle, and Lucius stared at his son as if preparing to throw out his hands to catch Draco's lungs, which seemed about to make a hasty departure from Draco's chest.

Come on Mother, I'm your 'baby' remember, you squeezed me out? I'm dying here! Just one jot of sympathy? Just for today?

'Draco? Are you coming down with warlock's croup?' asked Lucius with a critical eye.

'No Father,' said Draco glanced hopefully at his parents and hacked out another string of vicious coughs - a few sneezes stirred in for good measure.

'You are sure?' asked Lucius dubiously.

Draco cast a desperately pitiful eye towards his mother and complained weakly. 'If I am ill, *COUGH* I must have caught something *COUGH, COUGH* in that pestilence ridden infirmary at school.'

'Now Draco,' said Narcissa clucked her tongue in a soothing manner.

Mother! Yes, that's it, be motherly, Just this once. Come on damn it, send me to my room.

'Your father and I will not have you traipsing about, walking over hill and dale. Your father tells me you have been 'under the weather' lately.'

Yes Mother, 'under the weather', that's the ticket! A blast of lightening fried the skin off of me - nothing to trouble yourself about. Glad you didn't waste any valuable time visiting me on my deathbed. I can just die here and save you a trip!

'Drat my luck, Mother, Father. All year I look forward to the hunt, *COUGH COUGH*, and now here it is, the very day of the *COUGH* hunt and I *COUGH, COUGH, COUGH* come down ill and everything.' Draco completed his speech with another wet round of coughing.

Narcissa made a gesture towards Draco with one graceful hand, but the fur glove clad hand again bypassed Draco and tenderly set itself upon Lucius' shoulder. 'The Poor boy. No, Lucius, we cannot have the boy wearing himself out today of all days...'

Draco wubs his Mummy soooo very much!

You're right my dear,' said Lucius. 'It won't do to have the boy running along with this lot!'

Lucius grinned at the hunters, who all gathered about, considering themselves lucky to observe the tender moment between the Malfoys and their valuable ward. 'Your mother is wise Draco. You'll not walk with the others. No, you will ride with me.'

Draco's eyes popped wide.

I hate ALL of you - damn it why couldn't I have been born a feckin' Weasley, I bet they don't hunt. MERLYN - what am I saying? I really am ill!

'Draco, there will be a surprise. This will be a hunt year for us to remember.' With a quick air kiss to his wife, Lucius carelessly tossed his cloak back over his shoulders, allotting the witches present a view of the magnificent chest. The sound of wistful sighs trailed Lucius as he strode down the steps, and into the crowd that parted allowing him passage. 'Come with me,' he called back to Draco.

'Goodbye Mother,' called Draco. Disappointed beyond words, he hastened after his father. In truth, Draco was not feeling at all well and ought to have remained in his warm bed. He was still under the influence of Snape's healing potion and by right still had a few days healing to look forward to. Inside of a scant twenty-four hours, Draco had progressed from two weeks resting in his 'gelatinous coating' at the Hogwarts infirmary, to preparing to accompany his father on a rigorous full day's hunt. As Draco trotted along to keep up with his father, he felt light headed, his forehead gradually heating up like a griddle in the mansion kitchen.

At the courtyard's centre, the mob of hunters moved aside for Lucius and Draco. Lucius came to a quick halt, but Draco did not. He moved forwards, slammed into what appeared to be thin air, and fell backwards onto his bum. 'AAAAGGGGHHHH,' he yelped. Bewildered, he looked up at his father. 'What the...?'

The surrounding mob of hunters laughed as if enjoying a wonderful joke, which Draco could not understand. Lucius grabbed Draco's arm and pulled him to his feet. Grinning broadly, Lucius turned his back to Draco. Lucius moved his hand, mysteriously in the air in a circular, stroking motion. 'Easy boy.'

'I'm all right father,' said Draco a bit shakily and no less befuddled. He watched his father 'stroking' the empty air and rightfully came to the conclusion he had bumped into some invisible entity. He also realized his father's 'easy boy' was not meant for him.

'Easy boy,' Lucius said again to the void in front of his face. From a black leather satchel that hung from his belt, Lucius pulled a large raw liver. 'Here you are.' Lucius held the meat out on his upraised palm. 'Here my pet.'

Draco's eyes looked as round as a house elf's as he watched the liver lift up from his father's open hand and promptly disappear into the air with a loud gulp. There was the faint smell of decayed meat on the air. 'Father, please... is this, this some... invisible thing?'

I would wager my inheritance, whatever it is father is stroking, it has more than one head.

'This isn't a 'thing' Draco,' said Lucius with the ease of his authority. 'This is my new Thestral. Your mother named him 'Carnage'. Isn't that cute? We're going to be riding him together today. You and I.'

'Father, how can something you cannot see be 'cute' exactly?'

Ignoring Draco's comment, Lucius withdrew a large bloody kidney the pouch. He took Draco's hand and slapped the slimy lump of meat on it. Draco's face cringed at the kidney and winced as a blast of rancid hot breath blew against his face. Draco knew his cringing annoyed his father, but it could not be helped. There was a loud noise and Draco felt hot, moist air blowing on his wrist and fingertips, followed by the unpleasant sensation of slime being pulled over his palm. The kidney quickly disappeared again accompanied with the sound of noisy chomping.

Please, Please, by Merlyn's graces don't let me ever have to feed or touch this creature, whatever the hell it is, ever, ever, ever, EVER again!

Another whiff of fetid offal filled Draco's nostrils. 'Father... that was... uh... really... really lovely. What the... what is this 'thing' exactly?'

Lucius gazed on Draco's pale pinched face and gave a hearty chuckle. 'I told you my boy, he is a Thestral. You're going to love riding him, looking down on the hunt from far overhead! Ah! Here come the hellhounds now.'

'From overhead?' Draco gulped. Hundreds of thoughts flooded his mind, all of them unpleasant and involving injuries sustained from falling on one's head from astoundingly high altitudes. Draco's thoughts were disturbed by a loud, high-pitched scream of pain, followed by terrifying growls and the noisy baying of fractious hounds.

'You there, Nott!' bellowed Lucius. 'Don't you know any better than to get in the way of my hounds? If you put them off their game today I'll bite you myself!' Lucius, and most of the hunt party broke into gales of laugher over Lucius' jest.

The high pitched scream of another unfortunate hunter, a general queasiness from the sea of motion, and the sour smell of carrion caused Draco to clap his hands over his mouth, determined to hold onto his morning meal. Eating breakfast for Draco had been a dicey business. It is always ill advised to switch from a two-week diet of beefy broth and gruel and to then proceed straight on to kippers, marmalade, eggs, bangers, black pudding and a sweet butter on toast. To do so as quickly as Draco did was something akin to a death wish.

Lowboat stood nearby holding a large whip. He smacked the whip on his hand and cheerily called out, 'Splendid animal Lucius! As fine as any Thestral I've ever seen!'

'As fine as? Come along Lowboat! Look at the height of the creature! Taller than a Shire stallion with a glandular condition! It would take a wand and some ropes to mount you on this beast!'

The crowd merrily laughed, and filled the air with praise, which Lucius took with his usual easy arrogance. Reaching into the air, he grasped a fistful what looked like empty air. With a powerful leap, Lucius threw a leg up and landed fully six feet in the air upon what appeared to Draco to be only the cold morning air. The members of the hunting party stepped back and continued to cheerily comment on the exceptional beauty of the newest addition to Lucius' collection of magical creatures. It was time for Lucius' annual pre-hunt speech. He cleared his throat and began.

'I will make this brief, as we are all anxious to begin the hunt! This annual hunt was begun by my Great, Great, Great someone or the other...'

The hunters duteously laughed and chuckled.

'The hunt began as a reward for services rendered and of course most importantly as an excuse to sample the 'special brew' tended by the Malfoy family house elves for more than seventy-five generations,' Lucius raised his eyebrows in a sly manner to the amusement of all. 'That's seventy-five generations of Malfoys, not house elves.' There was more laughter. 'The hunt allows us all an excuse to renew our ties of friendship and learn of 'the stuff' we are all made of! And for those actually managing to survive the hunt...'

The crowd broke into another round of cheery guffaws.

'...We will dine tonight on the quarry we hunted so successfully at last year's hunt. Well, there, I should think that is enough said, after all most of you have heard it many times before! I will only add there are surprises awaiting us today, so let the hunt begin!'

The crowd set up a roar of approval loud enough to be heard over the baying of the Malfoy hellhounds.

Draco did not hear a word his father said. He felt feverish and stood reeling slightly and wished he had skipped breakfast. Lucius grabbed Draco by the neck of his robes like a wayward puppy, and with a sharp upward motion lifted Draco upwards. Draco's breath escaped in a loud 'uff' as he was dropped heavily onto the Thestral's back. He felt rather as if he was seated on an animated sofa. Uneasily he threw his arms tight about his father's waist.

'Father,' whispered Draco, struggling to control the shake in his uneven voice. 'How do we know what end of this creature we're facing?'

'You're all right Draco, you're with me!' Lucius shifted his head to look at and address the surrounding throngs of magical people, and bellowed at the crowd. 'I sometimes forget how innocent Draco is yet. I have forgotten, unlike most of his elders, Draco cannot see this splendid Thestral - yet!'

The horde, laughed hardily at Lucius' fatherly observation. The invisible entity beneath Lucius and Draco shook itself, and Draco felt the sting of the creature's tail, lashing against his trouser legs like a finely tasselled whip.

'Father,' called out Draco, startled by the motion of the invisible beast beneath him.

'Hold tight Draco. No matter what, don't let go.'

If ever there was no need for Lucius to caution his son, this was it. Draco clung on as if glued to his father's back. Draco felt an explosion of upward motion, and pulsating blasts of wind accompanied by a strange swooshing sound. Draco held his eyes shut tight, and felt as if he was falling up instead of down.

Oh no - I don't like this - oh, I really don't like this

'Isn't this wonderful Draco?' Draco heard his father calling out through the rush of wind.

'Yes Father! If you say...' It was all Draco could manage to say before he turned his head, and with his eyes still tightly shut lost his tenuous hold on breakfast.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Harry and Hermione stood behind a pillar in the side hall off the corridor that led to Slytherin commons. They could peek from the pillar to the main walkway and view Slytherin students parading past on their way to and from Breakfast.

'Look Harry,' whispered Hermione eagerly. 'Here they come, Crabbe, Goyle, and Messalina.'

Harry could hardly believe he was hearing someone anxious to speak to any of the three, but still, as Goyle passed, he called out, 'Goyle! Pssst! Goyle, come here, into the side hall.'

Goyle stopped cold and swatted at his ear as though plagued by mosquitoes.

'What is it Greggors?' asked Messalina she was clinging to Goyle's arm but was talking to Crabbe. She hadn't heard Harry.

'I don't know,' said Goyle, and he continuing to swat the air. Crabbe too began to swat the air.

Hermione stepped out from behind the pillar, and waved to the three Slytherin. 'Hello! Over here,' she called softly.

Suspiciously, Messalina, dropped Goyle's arm and pulled her wand. She strolled slowly into the side hall and quickly dropped her wand when Hermione held out her arms to show she was unarmed. Crabbe and Goyle followed Messalina, as protective as they had formerly been with Draco.

Messalina placed one hand on her hip and pursed her ruby lips in an annoyed pout. Ignoring Harry she questioned Hermione. 'What do you want, Gryffindor?'

Unnerved for an instant, Hermione stared at Messalina, which pretty much everyone did, but eventually her woe exploded from her. 'It's Draco, he's in danger. Please, Zabini, you have got to help me locate Draco!'

'I have 'got to do' no such thing. And what danger could Draco possibly be in?' asked Messalina, raising one elegantly curved eyebrow suspiciously. 'Draco is not in any danger that I know of. Unless of course, he crosses me again.'

'But Draco is in danger,' insisted Hermione animatedly. 'Zabini, you must believe me.'

'Aw...' said Crabbe sympathetically. 'Harmarnee looks sad Messalina. What do you want Harmarnee?'

'Can you tell us...me, where Malfoy mansion is?'

'I'm sorry,' said Messalina. 'We can't help you, and you ought to be grateful that we can't. Have you any idea how long you would last at any of the Malfoy Mansions? We couldn't help you even if we were so inclined. It would be murder. At any given time I'd wager even Headmaster Dumbledore couldn't tell you where the Malfoys are.'

'Come on,' said Harry. 'You must be able to do something to help us. Something.'

'Yes, we can,' said Messalina. 'We can recommend you sit tight and wait for New Years. Draco is no fool. He'll get himself out of whatever mess he's got himself into. Mark my words Gryffindor. Draco has more lives than a Jarvey has fleas. There isn't anything you can do for him.' Messalina gave Hermione a long look. She reached out a hand and gently cupped Hermione's chin. 'Believe me Gryffindor,' cooed Messalina. 'On Malfoy property you would not last any longer than it takes one of the Malfoy hellhounds to run the length of this corridor.'

Angrily Harry shoved Messalina's hand from Hermione's chin. 'Well, if you can't help us, then fine!' Harry took Hermione's hand. 'Come on Hermione.' Hermione gave no resistance and allowed Harry to lead her up the steep stone stairwell back up the main floor of the castle.

When the Gryffindors departed, Messalina thrust out her chest and folded her arms. 'Whatever could that darling boy and that foolish witch be thinking?' said Messalina. 'Have you a thought on that Crabbe?'

'Messalina,' Crabbe's eyes rolled upward as he thought out his answer. 'I think you did a good thing.'

'Goyle?' Messalina turned to face Goyle. 'What do you think?'

Goyle, looked at Messalina, his normally dull eyes, held a spark of something, like an ember, buried beneath ashes in the back of a cold stone fireplace. Messalina blew on the ember as often as she found reason to. 'I asked you Goyle. What do you think on this matter? Did I do right?'

'She was really worried about Malfoy,' said Goyle.

' I didn't ask you about Malfoy,' insisted Messalina. 'What do you think about the Gryffindors?'

'Well,' said Goyle carefully. 'You took away their chance to be brave. What is a Gryffindor without bravery?'

Messalina broke into surprisingly gentle smile and took up the arms of the two burly boys. 'My intelligent boys. Come on. Let's go.'

The three Slytherin returned to their commons and once there, dropped themselves onto a thickly overstuffed black leather chair in front of the massive commons fireplace. There was only a handful of students in the commons, chatting and reading. There was a raucous game of Slytherin Wizard's chess commencing in one corner, but the contestants were still fully garbed.

Unbothered by the presence of others, Messalina climbed onto Goyle's lap and the two began to noisily snog. Totally undisturbed by the actions of his mates, Crabbe, sat leaning on Goyle, happily busying himself making cats cradle figures with a loop of colourful string he had pulled from his pocket.

There was the whisk of the commons entryway opening. In walked Professor Snape, looking none too happy over landing his holidays at Hogwarts, having lost at drawing the short wand.

Madame Hooch was off to a tour of a wizard retirement community in the south of Spain. His face in a perpetual frown, Snape made a brief walking sweep of the commons room as if searching for dead bodies that may have accumulated since the holidays began. A couple of cowardly fifth years fled the commons, but most ignored their grumpy head of house. Snape stopped briefly in front of Crabbe, Goyle and Messalina. Goyle and Messalina did not slow down their snog to any degree, if anything, they sped things up due to the novelty of an audience.

Snape stared at the three and snarled, 'Disgusting, filthy, mind-wasting habit. An abhorrent activity, that belongs in the gutter, with the other deviant habits of the loonies that dwell in the filth of Knockturn alley.'

Snape snatched the loop string from Crabbe's fingers and angrily pulled it until the string loop snapped. He flung the offending bit of string into the fireplace. 'Crabbe, I'm disappointed in you. Get yourself a witch to snog, or take up some other activity that will improve your mind or at the very least, your stamina.' That said, Snape stalked out of the Commons.

When Snape was gone, Crabbe sat, a frown on his chubby face; his favorite bit of string ridiculed, broken and flung into the fire.

'Poor Crabbe,' said Goyle, his head tilted upward while Messalina kissed and licked his ear. 'Here, Crabbe, don't take on. Have a go with Messalina.'

Crabbe grinned. Obligingly Messalina climbed over to straddle Crabbe's lap and made a good attempt at sucking out Crabbe's tongue. Goyle, threw his arms around Messalina's slim waist and began to make little love-bites all along her neck.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The long morning's flight was thoroughly unnerving for Draco. He sat clinging like burr to his Father on the back of the Thestral and did not fancy the feel of soaring hundreds of feet higher than he was accustomed to on broomstick while beneath his bum there no visible means of support.

The foremost task of Lucius was directing various groups of hunters to sites scouted out in the days prior to the hunt sites that contained game. For weeks prior to the hunt scouting was the job of field elves; a rare form of elf, which as a group were generally looked down upon by house elves. Periodically Lucius landed his Thestral and dismounting only long enough to scream at and beat his field elves or settle hunter's arguments over whose wand it was that killed this nogtail, that boar or the odd chimera.

It was nearly noon and Draco was thoroughly knackered and still feverish when the Thestral twisted down through the air, through trees, setting down in rough terrain. When the Thestral touched down Lucius leapt gracefully off.

'Just beyond these trees there is a treat for you Draco,' announced Lucius quietly. 'But quiet is what's wanted now, and be sure to keep your wand at the ready.'

'Yes Father.' Draco pulled his wand from a cloak pocket and held it up, ready to aim at a moment's notice.

'And I cannot caution you enough boy, stay on that Thestral. If the worst happens he will see you to safety.' Lucius commanded the Thestral like an overgrown dog. 'Carnage, heel!' Lucius, his wand at the ready, moved forward through the trees.

As the Thestral moved forward obediently alongside his master, Draco tightened his knees on the invisible beast and pondered just what 'the worst' might indicate. Draco felt strange floating in the air on an invisible creature by his Father. He was reminded of how strange it felt to float along helpless and encased in gel-plasters, floating down the aisle in the Hogwarts infirmary. He gripped handfuls of the Thestral's mane, so tightly his knuckles went white. Draco was glad at least for his high viewpoint from the creature's back, well above the height of his father's head.

Between Lucius, the Thestral and Draco there was scarcely a sound as they moved swiftly and silently through the thick trees and undergrowth. A sudden crash interrupted the silence. Up ahead, Monty Lowboat, the wizard who had exasperated Draco earlier in the day, exploded through the trees running towards Lucius, waving his arms.

'Lucius!' called Lowboat excitedly. 'It's just ahead, there in the clearing!'

Lucius strode forward and grabbed Lowboat by the throat. 'Quiet you idiot,' growled Lucius. 'Not another word, now get back there!' He shoved Lowboat ahead of him.

'Sorry,' said Lowboat, not the least ruffled. 'So, quiet is wanted then, eh?' He grinned and trotted back where he came from.

Shaking his head with annoyance, Lucius looked to Draco and said in a low voice, 'Carnage will bring you out when I call him. Sit tight, it won't be long now. Carnage, stay!' With that, Lucius pushed through the shrubbery and trees after Lowboat and disappeared.

Happy to have a few minutes between himself and whatever it was his father wanted to show him, Draco sat back, and exhaled heavily. His ease only lasted as long as it took for it to occur to him that whatever it was his father hunted might be inclined to double back and indulge itself with a small wizard snack before moving on. Now thoroughly rattled, Draco strained to hear his father up ahead but mostly heard the blood rushing through his own ears. The Thestral erupted with a strange sound that Draco thought was like the gentle whickering noise of a horse. There was no other noise except morning birdsong, and as none of the little birds twittered funeral dirges, Draco thought their music seemed highly out of place. It was his last few minutes of quiet.

A roar sounded, so loud, so deep, it made Draco's sternum vibrate. He and Carnage jumped at the same time, Draco clinging to his seat, his fingers still tangled tightly in the mane. Now Draco could hear his father bellowing commands that none but a fool would disobey. There was excited shouting as half dozen frantic hunters scrambled to obey Lucius. Angry sounding roars continued echoing above all the other noises.

From somewhere to Draco's rear, he heard shrubbery breaking and twigs cracking as the pack of hellhounds broke through the woods; their baying was deafening. The enormous three-headed beasts, their eyes wild with excitement, galloped full tilt towards Draco, seeming bent on a collision course with the Thestral. A cold shiver ran up Draco's spine as he wondered if the hellhounds might not mistake him for their quarry. He yelped as some twenty of the hellhounds reached him, but they cut away on either side of the Thestral and on to whatever roared beyond the trees.

Draco strained to hear what his father shouted. Lucius was angry, but sounded well in control. 'The hounds are here, let them do their work,' demanded Lucius. 'Keep your distance from the beast and do not take your eyes or your wand aim from it!'

Draco squinted at the trees ahead but could see only the trees. He could clearly hear hunters swearing, sounding nearly deranged from fear. The commotion ahead grew steadily louder and louder, with a sound like a Muggle horror film featuring some large reptilian creature in the process of pulverizing tall buildings underfoot. His head pounding with the noise, Draco gave up his grip Carnage's mane and clapped his hands over his ears.

'Carnage come!' rang out the voice of Lucius against the hellhounds baying, the roaring, and the shouting of the frightened hunters. Carnage lurched forward at a trot, headed towards the voice of his master. Draco gasped, and flung himself flush with his mount and gripped with his knees for all he was worth. As Carnage carried him past the last clump of saplings, Draco looked up and screamed, not that he could be heard above the turmoil. Something up ahead, something very large reared up. A group of some seven wizards and a few witches stood, while stragglers raced in from the nearby wood. They held wands aimed at a massive, thickly scaled, thirty-three foot tall, fire breathing, furious, full-grown male Chinese Fireball Dragon.

'You there,' boomed Lucius. 'No one must use his or her wand until I give the order! Use your wand and you will answer to me!'

Draco blinked over and over again, as if expecting his vision to clear and the dragon to be gone. He could not quite believe he looked at a Fireball dragon, as red as the tattoo on his stomach. The dragon shook it's head, the fringe of spikes that framed its head cut through the air like golden daggers. The teeth in the creature were each as long as Draco's hand and sharper than his father's flaying knives.

The coterie of magical folk surrounding the beast was but a minor impediment to the huge dragon; like so many gnats on a summer's day. Draco gasped as the dragon spat forward its long python-thick tongue, driving back the line of wizards and hounds. The dragon noisily perused the luncheon menu of succulent hunters and tender hounds darting around before its glittering amber eyes.

Several hellhounds raced baying into the clearing, as several more lost heart and raced back toward Malfoy mansion. Tiny field elves raced from the woods, leaping over stone and hillock following behind the hellhounds, those coming and those going. The Dragon blew out a sphere of flames to greet the angrily baying hellhounds, baying quickly turned to piteous yowling as they faced the flames. One of the hounds burst into flame. The fiery hound raced back into the mob of hysterical hunters. It was pandemonium as the hunters, keeping their eyes on the ferocious and angry dragon, leapt aside to avoid the flaming hound. Mercifully, within seconds, the poor hound dropped dead in its tracks. The stink of singed hair and burning flesh like some barbeque from Hades reached Draco's nostrils. His stomach heaved, but squinting and pressing one hand against his mouth, he held tight to his remaining stomach contents. Unable to take anymore, Draco leapt, or rather fell off of the Thestral and sprinted the distance to his father. He slammed into his father and hugged him tight around the waist, not caring if anyone saw him doing so. As Draco saw the situation it was only a matter of minutes before the Fireball for the starters course would shortly skewer them all on toothpicks. Perhaps then, Draco reasoned, the beast might wander off in search of prey more suitable to its size, perhaps an elephant.

Lucius grinned into his frightened son's blanched face. Lucius looked relaxed, as though he had just hooked a large trout, and was showing it off. 'Surprise Draco! Well then, what do you think? Isn't that a magnificent beast?'

It took nearly a minute for Draco to accumulate enough spittle to reply to his father. 'F-F-F-Fireball...'

'Right you are boy, a genuine Chinese Fireball Dragon. Still your favourite dragon, am I right? When you were little if you had a parchment and quill, you scribbled drawings of Fireball dragons for hours!

The year you were born I had several yearling dragons, different species, planted here for hunting. Broke a dozen laws under the Ministry of Magic's Beast Division, particularly the ridiculous rules of the Dragon Research and Restraint Bureau. Worth all the bother for the years of hunting we've enjoyed. We thought this clever beast didn't make it past the first winter, but here he is. Only realized he was here because he ate every last Nundu we planted near here last summer. I can tell you, we were more than a little impressed this beast managed to eat those hellacious big cats! A magnificent beast the Fireball.'

Lucius flicked an eye to his beleaguered boy who remained frozen, clinging to his father and staring at the dragon.

'What boy?' said Lucius with a slight frown, totally misconstruing Draco's look, 'not impressed?'

'B-B-B-BIG, D-D-Dragon Father....'

The dragon belched forth a ball of flames that flew across the meadow causing several trees to explode into fire, an effort that would have done justice to a Muggle military flamethrower. A wizard leapt into the air as his cloak caught fire. Several other wizards aimed their wands to douse the wizard with a flood of water from their wands. Other wizards turned their attention similarly from the dragon to drenching the burning trees.

'You IDIOTS!' bellowed Lucius. 'Do NOT turn your back on that dragon! We want to hold him here until enough reinforcements arrive to stand a chance of killing him!'

'Father... they're going to kill... are you... we... going to kill the Fireball?'

Lucius quickly broke his own rule, looking at his back to stare at Draco, who still gripped his father around the waist. 'No son,' Lucius said testily. 'We're to tame the creature, fit it with a little saddle and use it to treat everyone to fire breathing pony rides on Christmas day. Of course we're going to kill the dragon! Why do you think I went through the trouble to have it planted here in the first place?'

'B-But Father. Can't we just tease it a bit and then leave it... alone?' Only a little over a year ago, Draco saw a female Fireball at the Hogwarts Triwizard Tournament. Draco and a stadium full of observers, happily watched as Durmstrang's Victor Krum came close enough to being eaten by the angry female Fireball which made for rollicking good entertainment. Killing a Fireball seemed a waste of such lovely destructive energy.

Screams turned Lucius' attention back to the dragon. The Fireball swatted with its tail at the bothersome hunters.

'Don't be foolish Draco.' Lucius yelled over the bedlam. 'Get back up on the Thestral. He'll carry you to safer ground. This will be over soon enough. When we have killed the beast you may have the dragon's heart; the most powerful portion for magic.' He peeled Draco arms from his waist and shoved him away from the dragon and towards the Thestral.

'Is the Kestrel, the, the thing, is it still here Father?' asked Draco. Frantic, he reached out one hand and pawed the air in hope of finding Carnage.

'Yes, he's right there, call out his name and he'll come to you, now stay out of the way!' Lucius turned to face the siege. 'Fools! Stay clear of that beast! You, Tabbot, and the others there, make your way to the rear of the dragon, and stay out of the way of my hellhounds! THEY at least know what to do. The rest of you prepare to stun the dragon when I give the command!'

Unable to move for fear, Draco stood numb, head craned around, watching the battle. The pack of three-headed hellhounds would have long since frightened any ordinary animal to death. It was worrisome to Draco that the dragon seemed completely unaware it was in any danger. The Fireball studied the hounds yapping at its feet, and its enormous head shot forward like a heron darting a fish. The Fireball snapped up a dog, flicked the hound high in the air, neatly catching it in its toothy jaws, gulping it down in one great swallow. Within seconds there were loud noises heard above the ruckus, reminiscent of a balloon being twisted. A smallish green cloud floated up from the dragon's rear - a dragon fart.

Pandemonium broke out. The majority of the hunters lowered or dropped their wands and frantically covered their noses. The wiser of the hounds turned tail and raced away, as did most of the field elves and a few of the hunters. Assorted swear words filled the air as the noxious cloud dispersed. Again Lucius turned to call an unnecessary command to his white-faced son. 'Why are you still here? Do as I say Draco! You are NOT to approach the dragon, do you hear me?'

Draco stared incredulously at his father.

Right then. I'm not to move forward. I do not have leave to be eaten for the dragon's pudding and shat out as dragon dung.

'Yes Father,' said Draco, giving full attention to keeping another round of breakfast at bay. 'If you insist.'

Lucius ignored Draco, and returned to the fight.

'Call his name and he'll come to me,' muttered Draco in annoyance. 'Come here you stupid animal,' hollered Draco; his poor luck with large animals continuing. He waited patiently, and then felt the air around himself. 'You Carrion, come here!' That did not seem to be the creature's name.

'Here Carcass! Cadaver? Destruction? Calamity?' Draco held his hands up in front of himself, hoping to blunder into the Thestral. But the creature had moved, and stood quite still because there was no sign it; jiggling grass or shifting ground.

'Damn you, whatever your name is come here this instant you stupid animal,' 'Where the fuck are you?' His arms flayed wildly and he looked as if he played some bizarre version of blind man's bluff. He tripped along through the meadow in ever widening circles, headed more or less towards the tree line. All the while, he exercised every swear word in his command at the top of his lungs. A hideous, scream ripped through the air, raking Draco's nerves. He leapt around, terrified and gave a hideous scream of his own.

The Fireball sat on its haunches, a large wizard held crosswise in its jaws like a dog gripping a bone. The wizard in the dragon's jaws made a high-pitched noise like the scream of a pierced baby, magnified by some ungodly megaphone. The dragon gave a quick shake and there was a loud noise like a tree limb snapping in the wind. The terrible screaming ceased. A new ghastly sound began as the dragon munched. For a minute there was silence, until Lucius snapped to and raced towards the mob of hunters, screaming orders.

Quickly, the dragon swallowed, and then looking distinctly satisfied, the great beast shot several mushroom shaped balls of flame at its oncoming opponents. Shortly thereafter there was another much louder balloon noise. A blast of green gases shot from the rear of the dragon near its tail; a wizard sized fart floated up and into the air. Now both sufficiently fed, and relieved of methane gases, the dragon renewed its deafening roars. The meal had apparently renewed by its energy.

'Monty Lowboat that idiot,' bellowed Lucius. 'I told Monty to keep his eyes ON THE DRAGON! If the dragon hadn't already eaten Monty I would have killed the fool myself!' 'Blood marvellous,' Lucius cursed, his voice muffled because he held his cloak over his nose and mouth. 'Now the dragon's had a greasy meal, he'll be MORE difficult to fight.' He turned to Draco for a flash of a second and roared himself. 'DRACO GET ON THAT THESTRAL!'

'Yes, Father,' Draco turned so fast on the cold wet grass he slipped and fell to one knee. His head down, he scrambled back up, pushing himself up with one cold hand and regaining his feet. He launched himself forward again and as he lifted up his head, he stopped cold. Only a couple of steps away, for the first time, he could see the beast he sat upon all morning. The Thestral was a smooth, black coated, bat-winged horse-like animal. 'N-N-N-Nice Carnage,' said Draco. He held one shaking hand toward the animal, wondering if Thestrals only ate carrion or if they occasionally fancied fresh meat.

Carnage was exceptionally calm, and had it all over the ordinary garden variety Thestral; standing at ease, its long black bat-like wings drooped slightly as he stood in repose, awaiting the return of his master. It might have been standing in a pasture full of lambs, for all the attention the Thestral paid to the rampaging dragon. Carnage lifted both of his heads, set gracefully on its long necks. The heads lazily stared at Draco blinking two pair of stark white eyes and from one head a thick tongue coated with clotted blood flicked lazily towards Draco.

Draco stared at the slimy tongue and felt woozy. It took him no time at all to puzzle through that it was probably the death of Monty Lowboat that allowed him to view his father's Thestral. The ghastly odour of dragon-fart made its odious way up the meadow, carried on the breeze. Like a green tinged fog the odious smell drifted, like some vile potion from a boiling cauldron. The dragon's foul intestinal gas made the Thestral's offal scented breath seem like morning mist on rose blossoms. Whimpering involuntarily, Draco reeled slightly and he fell backwards landing on his bum.

I knew the stupid thing must have two heads. It's only a wonder our family house elves aren't all two-headed.

Another gust of wintry wind pushed the fart along the snow sprinkled meadow and Draco again inhaled the sickening stench. With a wet thud, Draco fell forward, face down into the sod in a dead faint. He was at last going to get some of the sleep, and some of the rest that he was so sadly in need of.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Christmas was only a few days away and the first snowfall of the year transformed the somewhat barren Hogwarts autumn scenery into a fertile playground for imagination. On holiday, the castle's most stalwart inhabitants chose outdoor activities such as shopping for Christmas presents in Hogsmeade, ice skating on the Hogwarts lakes or building snow-wizards. Snow forts, snowwizards, and piles upon piles of snowballs sprang up like spring mushrooms on the Hogwarts grounds. Students and staff worn and chilled from excursions into the cold wiled away their days with games of wizard's chess or Gobstones. Some entertained themselves reading trashy novellas and cheap pulp magazines. Seamus Finnegan's lovely collection of 'interesting' magazines made the rounds among the wizards of the upper grades, and thereby the young witches of the school had to remain on guard or suffer pinched bottoms. For the harder to entertain there were hours to be spent in delightful, wilful idleness.

Harry bounced down the stairs and into the commons. There he saw , sitting glumly behind a stack of equally gloomy looking texts. Hermione gave Harry a brief glance and returned to her reading just as sharp rapping started up from the stained glass window by the fireplace. A large owl was scratching at the glass pane.

'Harry!' said Hermione, looking fearful. 'That's Draco's Eagle Owl!'

Ginny, who near in a seat near the window, her legs comfortably folder under her, got up and opened the window. As soon as the window was wide enough to admit it, the Eagle Owl slipped through the window and glided over to Hermione. The owl sat on Hermione's open text and with great dignity, held out a clawed talon for the removal of a note. Hands shaking, Hermione untied the note, ripped it open and frantically read it. Harry, moved behind Hermione, and not caring he was being rude, read along with her.

Dearest Petals,

As you probably know by now, my parents decided they could not do without me to help entertain company over the holidays. It was all rather sudden and I had no proper chance to say good-bye or do that little thing we were so set on doing before I left. I will make it up to you when I return. I am fine so please don't waste your time worrying.

This morning Father plans to take me on a little outing in the countryside with some of father's friends and our little pups.

Please try not to go all weepy because I could not stand to think of you wetting down the castle and making it mouldier than it already is. And for Salazar's sake, stay away from that arse-hole Potter and his bitch, the Weasel.

Father said he will buy those butter soft leather trousers and jacket I told you about so there is much to look forward to - wink, wink. Would rather be with you than receive a pile of trousers. The minute I return to Hogwarts we'll take the Fireball for a spin.

Will write every chance I get.

Love, your Cocoa

'Fireball?' said Harry suspiciously. 'So, that's the latest racing broomstick?'

'No Harry.' Hermione blushed slightly. 'Oh, poor Cocoa.' She immediately inked her quill and began writing out her reply.

'See?' said Harry. 'You were upsetting yourself for nothing. Malfoy will be back to inflict insults and mayhem on one and all before you know it.'

Hermione looked up. 'We'll see Harry,' she said in a worried voice. 'We'll see.' Hermione continued writing.

'Don't study all day Hermione. Say, later on Ginny and I will take you out for an airing if it doesn't snow again,' said Harry. He grinned and called to Ginny, 'I'm ready for our walk now.'

After Ginny and Harry left, Hermione tied her heartfelt note to Draco's postal owl. The note was quite innocent, least Lucius Malfoy get hold of it before Draco. It read like a casual note from a casual acquaintance named 'Petals'. Hermione released the Eagle Owl and set herself down at the table again. Crookshanks, who had just wandered down from the girl's dorms, leapt onto Hermione's lap. She muttered to her ginger cat as she flipped through the pages.

'Dear me, this was complex, Crookshanks, but I believe I've mastered it.' Crookshanks gave his mistress a doubtful little meow and began to purr. Hermione put aside the tomb, A Womb of Your Own: a Witches Guide to Contraceptive Spells and Charms by Ura Nott Gravid.

'There Crookshanks,' said Hermione lying the book aside. 'I've learned this one. Let's try this one now.' She pulled another book from the pile on the table and began to read the title. 'When Abstinence Fails.... Oh, Crookshanks, this one sounds about right!' She settled in for a morning of informative reading.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Among the stalwart at Hogwarts who ventured outdoors was Ron who early in the morning briskly crossed the broad white meadow in front of the castle. Having left the castle through a side entrance, he made his way, stepping high, moving steadily through the rose garden when the first of the snowballs hit him. Diving, Ron hit the ground, keeping a tall skeletal rose hedge between him and the source of the snowballs.

'Bloody hell!' Ron complained at being caught so off guard and suffering the cold sting of the snowball. Quickly, he dropped low, behind the rose bush and hurried to scoop up handfuls of snow with his gloved hands. The pile of snowballs grew quickly. Ron was well practiced in the methods of winter warfare, as one would expect from a boy with six rambunctious siblings. Standing with one snowball held high, Ron stood to heave it, a huge snowball pelted into his face.

'DAMN!' Ron swore again, but then cracked a smile. 'Ok, I can play rough,' he chuckled to himself. He pulled out his wand and waving it over the pile of snowballs. He thought for a few seconds and then called out, 'PROSEQUOR-NIVEUS EVOLO!'

One by one, each snowball slowly rose, hovered momentarily, and then shot off through the air like a small cannonball. 'Thank you Fred and George,' Ron muttered, giving credit to the inventors of the self-throwing snowball spell. Squatting low and leaving his self-propelled snowballs hard at work, Ron crept towards the source of the incoming snowballs.

Ron cut a wide path around a hedge from behind which his opponent's snowballs flew. He spied his cloaked challenger who stood, and pitched a snowball towards the tall rose hedge Ron had abandoned. The cloaked figure ducked down, but no more snowballs came from Ron's snowball spell because the supply of snowballs had run out. Ron saw his opponent, crouch and rapidly begin to make snowballs.

Like Mrs. Norris readying to leap on a mouse, Ron pausing momentarily and then shot forward, sprinting towards the cloaked figure. Leaping, he hit his target spot on. There was a loud shriek of surprise. Leveraging his weight to his advantage, Ron quickly forced his prey to the ground. The two rolled back and forth, Ron struggling to gain control by subduing the flaying arms and legs. Ron yelped as a fist full of snow caught him the face. His indignant yelp had sounded rather girly and his ears went scarlet from embarrassment. 'Now stop that!' Ron hollered. 'Say you're sorry you hit me with those snow balls! Say it! Go on,' shouted Ron fiercely. 'Say it or I'll so help me, I'll kiss you!'

'Oh, there's a frightening threat,' laughed Hannah Abbott. She relaxed under Ron's weight and smiled up at him. 'Say if you weren't wanting a snowball in the gob, then why'd you want to meet out here in all this snow anyway? You must have known I couldn't resist a harmless little snowball fight.'

'Not the right response!' said Ron, and he collapsed onto the pink-faced girl, enjoying the feel of her beneath him, heavy clothing and all. Ron nuzzled his face beneath the yellow and black scarf, and kissed the warm pink lips within. He settled onto Hannah and warmed his tongue within her mouth. He wondered what other warm places the girl harboured and felt himself growing as warm as though the two were snuggling by an open fire.

'Ronald, stop!' squealed Hannah and she pushed half-heartedly against Ron as though trying to dislodge him. 'Snogging is one thing,' protested the girl. 'But you always work your way - south - and don't think I haven't noticed.' To prove her point she pulled Ron's de-gloved hand from beneath her cloak, and from bits of the girl she wished to keep to herself, at least for now.

'I'm sorry,' said Ron, as if he had no idea what his hand had been up to. 'I didn't mean for my hand to... go there. Forgive me Hannah?'

'You must think I'm an awful prude,' Hannah protested. 'But Ronald, you are, so much a man. And I'm... I'm nothing like Messalina.' Hannah looked away, her cheeks glowing pink with embarrassment.

Ron was alarmed. 'Sure you're not like Messalina, and that isn't a reason to apologize! Honestly Hannah, yes, you're different from Messalina... you can believe that! I'm the one ought to be embarrassed, well, sort of anyway. And anyway, I'm right chuffed you don't mind being with me. Any wizard would be lucky to be with a witch as... as pretty as you.'

Hannah, turned to face Ron again and a shy smile spread across her face. 'The snow under me is getting quite wet.'

Ron burst out laughing and gripping Hannah, rolled onto his back and pulled her along, so the girl landed on his chest. 'Take it easy on me now Hannah! I'm very nearly an innocent lad.'

Hannah laughed, but then stuck out her lips in a pretty pout. 'Oh,' she said sulkily. 'You're not ashamed to be seen with a witch who defiled snitches?'

'No, course not,' said Ron decidedly. 'I don't hold that against you. Not really.'

'I hope not,' Hannah looked downcast and made a little sniff. 'I've explained to you, tearing the wings off those silly snitches was all part of an act. You know, I have a talent for flying. Who knew? Me, Hannah Abbott, never been higher than the ladder into the attic, a natural born flyer.' Hannah smiled, and she stared so openly and warmly into Ron's blue eyes that Ron blushed and giggled in a silly manner, for which he was immediately sorry. He wanted to be as manly as Hannah thought he was.

'You fly like a bit of dandelion fluff in gale force winds,' said Ron softly.

Unfortunately Hannah was quickly too indignant to take much notice of Ron's uncharacteristic bit of poetry. 'I have more control that that!' She was proud of her broomstick flying expertise.

'I only meant that you fly... you fly so easy, so effortlessly, like a bat out of hell.' Ron pulled Hannah's face closer to his and ran his tongue along her lips, pleased with the taste of his new girl.

Hannah moved her head aside, suddenly shy, ticklish at the touch of Ron's lips. 'I did it all for Cedric. Did you know, Cedric is, was,' she stopped speaking long enough for a lump in her throat to subside. 'Cedric Diggory was my cousin. I mean, on my father's side, twice removed.'

'He was your cousin?' said Ron sympathetically. 'I'm sorry. Didn't know that. Were you and Cedric very close?'

'Only since I came to Hogwarts and was placed in Hufflepuff. I was quite homesick my first year. Cedric went out of his way to see I felt at home,' she sighed. 'Our Cedric was very sweet.' Hannah gave a little cough to cover up a crack in her voice. 'I still can't believe Cedric is gone. I can't believe...' Again the girl's voice broke.

'Poor Hannah,' Ron wrapped his arms about her. 'You did right by Cedric. And by Godric's Garter, you did right by Quidditch too!' Ron frowned. 'Can't be denied though - you were a bit hard on the snitches!'

'That was my idea you know.' said Hannah with a note of pride. 'Ripping the wings off the snitches I mean. Had no idea everyone would take on so about it. You'd think I'd spit in Minister Fudge's eye!'

'Oh, spitting in Fudge's eye would have been all right. But tearing wings off snitches, you naughty girl! You were so bloody good at it too. Gave us all chills to watch you,' Ron sniggered. You and Malfoy - Hogwart's twin blondie demons! When you threw that 'de-winged' snitch at Malfoy, they tell me he pee'd himself.' Ron couldn't stop himself from laughing at the thought.

Hannah stared into Ron's eyes, her blue eyes serious. Ron shrunk back, thinking he had gone a bit too far. But Hannah burst out laughing so uproarious and loud that Ron started up again and they laughed until they grew hoarse.

'Honestly. I thought no boy would ever look at me after my 'demon' performances over the pitch,' Hannah, showing a bit of her Quidditch façade bravado. 'And all because of Quidditch - what a silly game.'

Ron's eyes rather widened at the notion that Quidditch was a 'silly game'. For Hannah it was only a game, a way for her to show love for her lost cousin. The mighty game of Quidditch held no special place in her heart as the game did for Ron and all the other Weasleys. With much fascination Ron realized that Hannah's disinterest in Quidditch did not change his feelings for her at all; it all amounted to something of a bloody great miracle.

Hannah smiled and began to kiss Ron's ear, murmuring sweet little things that made Ron squirm delightedly and look forward to a future time when he could take greater liberalities with his tiny sweetheart.

'Do you know Hannah?' said Ron, sanguinely light-headed.

'No Ronald, what?' said Hannah.

'I was thinking,' Ron hesitated to disclosing such personal thoughts, even to Hannah.

'Go on,' urged Hannah. 'Whatever it is, you may trust me.'

'It's just...I don't think I've ever had anything so new before, something so first rate. Something that isn't a hand-me-down at all. And it's made me come all over like I must be first rate too, having such a thing.'

'First Rate?' Hannah asked in a puzzled voice. 'What do you mean Ronald? What do you have that is all shiny and new?'

'Your heart,' said Ron. Embarrassed, he quickly stood and pulled Hannah onto her feet. They laughed as they wickedly took great pains to dust every speck of snow from each other's robes, particularly around the bum. They shared another warming kiss. 'Come on,' Ron took Hannah's mitten covered hand. 'I've enough sickles to treat you to tea at Madame Puddifoots.' Chatting merrily, the lovers headed off to Hogsmeade.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The Annual Malfoy Hunt lasted into mid afternoon. Following the hunt, which seriously decreased the available number of both magical and non-magical beasts on Malfoy lands. The tired hunters returned to the mansion, to collapse in their rooms. Only a few hours later they all rose like phoenixes on the ashes of the late afternoon to bathe and prepare themselves for the Annual Feast of Magical Game. The effort the hunters put in to being physically up to the challenge of a full day in the field followed by a night of feasting and frivolity was nothing compared to the workout endured by the Malfoy house elves.

The Annual feast alone required nearly three months preparation during which the house elves scrubbed the mansion up one side and down the other until the entire mansion glittered like the interior of a Gringotts vault. And many of the complicated dishes that were served at the feast required weeks of advance preparation.

Without a doubt, the keynote of the feast was that the meat of all the various starters and entrees were entirely composed of the game captured during the previous year's hunt. It took a full year in the Malfoy meat lockers for the magical game to sufficiently age, or rather 'ripen' for dining.

Aging the meat of wild caught cockatrice, augurey and diricawl was a delicate matter, not a thing to be hurried.

The Feast was of course strictly illegal in every civilized corner of the wizarding world, but therein was the fun for the participants. The elite dark wizards and witches attending the feast might begin with a round of chimera liver pate on tips of toast for starters, move on to cream of knarl soup with grated lime zest, enjoy medallion of nogtail served in a lovely reduced Ogden's Fire Whiskey sauce with French black truffles, Swedish Short-snout Meatballs, and finish with honey sweetened poached tongues of tadfoals for pudding. To the say the least, the feast required a highly refined palate.

Since he was first allowed to attend the feast at the age of eleven years, Draco both anticipated and dreaded the event. Although his juvenile tastes exceeded that of most wizards his age, his taste buds had not sufficiently fallen inoperative with age to make most items of the feast appetizing to him. Many dishes the adults deemed delightfully toothsome were beyond dreadful for Draco. Aside from the challenging dishes, there was the ongoing irksome attention of the adults. Draco thought if he had to endure one more round of 'you are the spitting image of your father', he would puke. Fortunately the event was made tolerable for Draco because for the occasion he was allowed a glass of wine. And once his father was well into his cups, the naughtiness of being able to snog another glass, or three of wine kept the feast a highpoint of Draco's year.

The feast was held in the formal dining room, a room the size of the Great Hall at Hogwarts. The hundred and thirty-seven guests dined as paintings of the austere and largely dead members of the Malfoy family stared down their noses disapprovingly. The formal dining room glittered under the light of candle chandeliers, but so too did the participants of the feast gleam. The event called for formal dress robes and this was an event for which the witches and wizards alike broke out their best family jewels for the occasion. Grandmother Malfoy always returned to the mansion just for the occasion and she looked quite well for a woman who died before Draco was born. The grand and grey old lady ghost greeted all the guests and was good enough to give the various company news about their own dearly departed in the after life. She visited with her Grandson Draco and lamented he had not seen fit to come live with her after his unfortunate lightning strike, but she forgave the boy, as he was after all, quite young.

The feast was well into its third hour and Draco was happily sequestered between his mother and father - a mixed blessing at best. Being seated between his parents meant few bothersome questions by family guests. On the other hand, there was always the possibility of his parents putting him to task, answering questions to show off for company. So far, Draco had managed to remain ignored and he was delighted. Draco's house elf Gannet was quite busy, frequently removing Draco's serviette in which Draco had wrapped servings of the many dishes he had only pretended to enjoy.

'Pour me some more wine,' said Draco, holding out his empty glass to Gannet. The elf had only just returned, placing a clean serviette on Draco's lap. His reluctance to decant another glass earned the elf a sharply twisted ear and a blow to his baldpate.

'Master's father says you is having only one glass of spirits and you is had two glasses already...'

Draco back kicked the elf, snarling, 'Do as I tell you.'

Begging forgiveness, the old elf scurried away and returned with a flagon of wine, which he poured for Draco.

'That's better, and the next time I tell you to do something - ' Draco was interrupted by his mother.

'Draco dear,' said Narcissa in an injured voice, between sips of an effervescent blue liquid. 'Your father tells me you have acquired a girlfriend.'

Mother speaks! Merlyn's sake, she knows I exist, bless her.

'Yes, mother,' Draco said enthusiastic and tipsy. He raised his glass to her. 'My girlfriend is hot Mother. And she's more than a bit keen on me,' Draco gave his mother a somewhat incestuous wink. 'When I get back to school after the holidays...' His mother again interrupted him.

'Yes, wonderful. I'm sure now you no longer require your mother's care,' said Narcissa, shifting away from Draco in her seat. I don't wonder you didn't want to return home for the holidays, to visit your mother...who gave you birth.'

A blow right to my heart, a good one mother!

'But I came home mother! Surely you noticed?'

'Who is the girl who alienated your affections from your mother?' asked Narcissa in a hurt voice.

What the hell did I tell father? Oh, right - Bulstrode. What was I thinking?

'Some girl whose family I am sure you are unfamiliar with Mother. Millicent Bulstrode - a dear, sweet slip of a girl. Dainty as a troll.'

Looking away from an important looking guest, Lucius, turned to glare at Draco, a cruel half smile forming on his lips.

Noticing that his father had the same killer look he wore most of the day during the hunt, Draco instinctively sank lower on his chair.

'So young man, you believe your old man has gone senile? You think I do not know what you are up to at that school of yours?' Lucius leaned closer to Draco. 'I know about your girlfriend young man and make no mistake about that. Your little school 'dalliance' does not negate your family responsibilities.'

Draco's blood went cold. He was aware that his face gave him away, as it drained itself of every last corpuscle. But there was no time to fret over colouration - Draco had to place every fibre of his being into keeping immediate control over his wine-full bladder while under his father's heated scrutiny.

Lucius snarled, 'Yes, I am well aware of your girlfriend's soiled bloodlines. '

'Father,' squeaked Draco. 'I, I, I...'

'I, I, I,' mocked Lucius. He drained his goblet and slammed it onto the table. 'Your girl's family line is not as pure as her family would lead one to believe.'

'What?'

'If you have any ideas of eventually marrying the girl and introducing 'tainted' blood into our family then I recommend you have a second think on the matter,' spat Lucius.

Tainted? The bloodline of my Petals isn't tainted. Her bloodlines are flat out filthy. As polluted local groundwater after a hog show. But she can't help that.

'Pardon, Father?'

'Muggle Blood,' Lucius spat. 'The great-great-great grandfather of Millicent Bulstrode was.... a Muggle!'

Draco was stunned, momentarily.

'Tell me Father... for the record, how do you feel about the Parkinsons? Pansy Parkinson.'

Lucius looked thoughtful. 'The Parkinson Family line traces back nearly as far as our line does. In fact, the girl is your cousin three times removed, a Black from your mother's side of the family. And the girl is closely related to me on both sides of the Malfoy line.'

Wonderful father. Imagine, a decent chance of getting those grandchildren you wish for and with the multiple heads you so enjoy. How lovely for you.

'Would Pansy suit you Father?'

'Yes,' said Lucius. 'She would.'

Then YOU marry Pansy. Start a harem. I am sure Mother would appreciate the odd day off.

Pleased, he had shown his son that he meant business; Lucius stood up to deliver another of his speeches. Whether the speech was his sixth or seventh speech of the evening was dependent on whether if you chose to count the dressing down he gave an old friend over the soup course. Lucius loudly tapped his occamy egg spoon on his wine goblet. The chattering slowed down and one hundred and thirty-seven sated and drink pinkened faces turned to face Lucius.

'If I may have everyone's attention! I would like to give a toast to someone whose importance far outstrips his tender years.' Lucius picked up his wine glass and raised it high over Draco's head.

'Here, here!'

'A toast to the Dark Lord's vassal!'

Draco's face had once again taken on the sanguine look of a thoroughly wine filled young man. His stomach was sour from drinking on a stomach largely empty except for toast tips, sans any pate. He sat up straight, and did what Draco did best in such condition; he gave a smarmy smirk.

Ah! Here now, I'm to get some of the recognition I so richly deserve! Do these fools think it is easy being rich, young and sole heir to a fortune by virtue of being born into a wealthy family? No wait, that was easy.

'Well, anyway, heap on the praise Father,' shouted Draco, feeling his oats. 'I'm ready for tit! It.'

Lucius glared warningly at Draco and then signalled an elf for a second goblet. Then, he pulled Draco's wine glass from his hand and replaced it with the sparkling silver goblet.

'For your special toast boy!'

'Thank you father...' Draco was too flustered to think much or clearly. 'But I've eaten quite enough toast already.'

'May you rise to your destiny Draco Malfoy!' Lucius gave Draco a slightly dour look, but he was beaming with pride.

Full of himself, Draco stood, climbed onto his chair, to encouraging cheers. Teetering slightly, Draco hoisted his goblet to his father and cried out, 'Yeah, what Dad said!'

He lowered the goblet to his lips sucked the brew down. To Draco, the drink tasted much like one of the elixirs Pomfrey had forced upon him, and although it was somewhat bitter, it wasn't intolerable. Draco had only half emptied the goblet when he realized he felt distinctly light headed.

Oh Joy! I'm going to be pissed! Wait until I tell Crabbe, Goyle and...

He was vaguely aware the liquid was sloshing out the corners of his mouth. He felt the goblet pulled from his fingers by his father. His hand still poised in the air, he blinked, and muttered, 'Father, I think I'm going to be ill...' He pitched forward. Gannet only just managed to remove a tray of devilled Firecrab on the half shell off the table before Draco crashed full length onto the damask tablecloth.

Lucius smiled and the room full of happy guests cheered and laughed.

A tall wizard stood and raised his goblet toward Lucius and Draco. The entire assembly, including Narcissa, stood and raised their goblets.

'A toast to the bravery of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy!' called out the wizard. 'Who made the supreme sacrifice for the superiority of pureblooded wizards, the removal of undesirables and the subjugation of Muggles!'

'Here!' called out the assemblage.

A second wizard, Mr. Crabbe, called out. 'And Mr. Malfoy, I want to add, if the Crucius Pactum results in the unfortunate event of... killing your handsome young son, may you and Narcissa be blessed with another child.'

Mr. Crabbe sat, and Mr. Goyle stood up.

'And Mr. Malfoy, may that child be of the masculine gender!'

'Here!'

Lucius called out, 'To the Crucius Pactum!'

Everyone echoed Lucius' words, and together they drained their cups. They cheered, patted each other on their backs, and eventually took again to their seats to continue the feast.

Lucius remained standing. 'Now, if you will all excuse me,' he said with a sly wink. 'I'm going to put the Dark Lord's - young man - to bed until he's needed. He scooped up Draco as easily as if the lad was a rag doll, and with much panache, swept out of the grand room, leaving his guests to repeat the toast for the precious ward of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, slave of their Dark Master - Draco Malfoy.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Hours later a chilly wind swept across Draco's face waking him. It seemed rather the norm for him now to wake disoriented. He had vague memory of sipping a nasty tasting brew in front of a noisy but appreciative audience. A shifting under his knees, and warmth by his cheek confirmed to him, he was not in his bed, nor his bedchamber. For that matter, he was no longer indoors. He heard a beating heart, not his own, and he realized he was being held aloft in strong arms.

'Easy,' said Lucius, in the voice he normally reserved for calming distressed birds of prey. 'At last you are awake. I thought it would serve us all best to keep you asleep until shortly before the ceremony begins. Save you the worry of anticipation.'

'Is this it?' Draco opened his eyes and obediently met the gaze of his father. 'Is this the Crucius Pactum Father?'

'Almost boy,' Lucius shifted Draco to the ground and onto his feet. 'Can you stand alright?'

'Yes Father,' said Draco balancing himself awkwardly. Lucius placed a steadying arm on Draco's shoulder. Draco looked around and realized he was in the very setting of his nightmares, on the rise of a hill, overlooking a bowl-like meadow that flattened in the centre.

'Are your new robes to your liking boy?' Lucius asked casually as though they were on a shopping expedition.

'New?' Reeling slightly, and gripping his father's arm for support, Draco looked down and sucked in a breath. His robes were so light in weight that at first Draco thought to see himself clad in gossamer, if not altogether naked. Under the greying effects of the pale moonlight the colour of the new robes was not apparent but the robes were deeply coloured. The gown was thickly embroidered with metallic threads and dark gemstones that reflected moonlight up into Draco's bedazzled face. The embroidery repeated the familiar theme that stalked Draco since his infancy; small rows of skulls, from the jaws of which snakes jutted. Minute shimmering tongues darted from each slender silver snake.

The gown was warm, but when the cold night air swept across Draco's back like a poorly dressed house elf he felt the chilly air on his back. Draco swept an arm to his rear and felt his hand slide through a slit in the rear of the gown. His heart skipped a beat as his hand came to rest against the bare skin of his own buttocks; the gown was slit up the back to his waist. Quickly he reached round to the front of his gown, which bore no slit. Draco felt nauseous - an overly familiar feeling of late - the sinister implication from the design of the robe was, to say the least, upsetting. Draco's heart hammered in his ears.

'Easy Draco. Now, practice the breathing exercise you learned in Chinese camp; breath,' said Lucius. He gripped Draco's shoulder tighter. 'This will be over soon.' Lucius sounded as though Draco was in for something as innocent as a robe fitting at Madame Malkins.

Draco tipped his head around to look at his father. He noticed his father was dressed in similar robes, and would have placed every Galleon under his control that the robes of his father bore no slits, front or back.

'Father, I must tell you - something,' Draco's unhappy face glowed with pale waxiness under the moonlight. 'Father... I don't have the power, it's not my fault, but I do not have the Dark Lord's power stores.'

'Son I know how...' Lucius cleared his throat, '...unnerving this must be for you but you must trust that I am doing what is best for you and -'

'Father! I don't mean to be rude, but you didn't hear me. Please, listen! I don't have the power!' Draco spoke rapidly. 'It was the lightening that struck me during the Quidditch match father. The Dark Lord's power stores abandoned me when the lighting struck. The, the Dark Lord's power store saved me from the lightning. You must believe me father, I lost the power but it wasn't my fault.' Draco trembled as he waited for his father's anger and retaliation. 'I was in the infirmary when I discovered the marks of my... my enslavement... were gone. I ought to have told you right away, by owl post, but I was - afraid.'

Draco had long ago mastered reading his father's face and could usually read his father's moods, and even his father's whims. He looked up into his father's face and could read - nothing. Still a bit light-headed Draco took a faltering step back from his father. Taking a deep breath, Draco blew out. The flames of the virginity guarding spell, the loud crack of the mark that indicated the presence of the Dark Lord's power, were stupefying as always though now only by their absence. 'See? The marks are... are gone.'

Lucius spoke, unmoved by any of Draco's story or even his demonstration of the absence of the telltale marks. 'Listen to me. As I have always told you, symbolism is important, very important. We will walk together to the platform and then I will symbolically lift you up onto the platform and eventually lay you on the altar.' Lucius took Draco's shoulders, the father and son stood face to face. 'And listen to me Draco. You will remain silent.'

'Yes father. But you don't understand, I...'

The backhanded blow knocked Draco backwards, and he stumbled and fell heavily, landing on his side. He could feel his lip bleeding. Although sorely tempted from time to time, Lucius hadn't struck Draco in years.

'That is to encourage... your silence,' said Lucius. 'Don't force me to place a silencing spell on you.'

Draco ignored the blood welling at the corner of his mouth. He pushed himself to a sitting position, his palms bruised. He touched his split lip with a dirty hand, and said nothing.

'Now,' said Lucius. 'No matter what happens, you will not interfere.'

Draco could not look up at his father's face, and did not care if by doing - nothing - he angered his father further. He was stunned by what his father said next.

'I need your complete obedience,' Lucius said firmly. 'I didn't...' Lucius seemed to search for his next words. 'You frightened me. Can you imagine that? How many times have you frightened me over the years? No one else still alive has ever managed to scare me. And yet Draco, you do so almost routinely.'

Rubbish. You're the one with all the power, how could I possibly frighten you?

Lucius continued in the same strained tone. 'I know you can't believe me, but I am your father. I only do what is best for you.'

An unfamiliar feeling overwhelmed Draco as he found himself struggling not to cry out, 'liar!' Only the threat of another blow caused him to hold his tongue. Still lying on the grass, unable and unwilling to look at his father's face he stared at the ground by his father' feet.

Lucius bend over and grabbed Draco about his torso and lifted him bodily onto his feet. He held Draco by one arm and brushed him off like a child, plucked from a sand box. He pulled Draco against his side and tightened his grip on Draco's arm. Lucius spoke quietly. 'There is always a way out of any difficulty Draco. Heed my words, there is always a way out.'

Under the circumstances, Draco had his doubts but he was distracted by the loud crack, sounding from the meadow below. Fear rushed through Draco and he unconsciously pulled away from his father's grasp stepping forward to see better, the source of the noise. At the bottom of the meadow, as in his worst nightmares, lay a colossal stone. The stone's surface was level, like a thick black plate laid upon some a giant's oversized table.

Again, the air was split by a loud crack. As Draco watched, twelve figures apparated, twelve figures clad in black hooded robes. One by one the dark figures appeared on the slate platform and dispersed themselves along the stone perimeter facing centre. Draco quaked and felt his father taking his shoulders and gripping him tightly.

A bolt of lighting illuminated the meadow and instantaneously a clap of thunder tore through the air like a thousand wizards apparating all at once. A light appeared, an unlovely green light; the sickly green of a decayed corpse, slogged out from fetid waters. Next the stone altar slowly appeared, it was massive, black and solid. From the rear of the altar a grossly oversized serpent slid thickly coiling about the altar base, its dark heavy breasts, nipples dragging, leaving a thin film of snake milk on the stone surface. The snake settled, its whip of a tongue flicking and tasting the scent of Death Eaters in the air.

'Our signal Draco.' Lucius took his first step towards the platform and looked at Draco. He commanded, 'follow me. And remember, now one word.'

The fear that flowed through Draco was justified. He was not always a coward, but he was only all too aware of what sort of magic was about to commence; he was an unwilling victim at the core.

Petals was right all along. There must be a spell that keeps me obedient to father's wishes for this ceremony. Why else can't I turn and run like in my nightmares?

Draco had no desire to be an agreeable victim. A thought about Potter flicked through his mind. He resolved that if that git Potter could face up to Voldemort, or so Potter claimed to have, well then, so could he.

'Draco, come!' commanded Lucius, and he marched off down toward the waiting quorum of Death Eaters.

Whether the reason Draco stepped off after his father was an irksome leftover spell, or the years of training ingrained on him by his father, when his father called Draco, he followed obediently. It was a long walk to the meadow's centre where the Death Eaters waited. As he walked, Draco forced his mind elsewhere. He dwelled on the vision of tangled tendrils of brown, bushy hair. Trembling he imagined the feel of burrowing his face into the sweet hair and kissed the source. As he marched along, a strange sort of grin took his blood stained lips. He dared to imagine the other mass of soft curled hair; the tangle damp and tantalizing in its musky odour, even more entrancing even than the scent of sweet citrus. No longer paying attention to his path, he tripped and fell forward into the grass, painfully twisting his ankle. He climbed back onto his feet and limped off after his father. He felt as if he had just apparated back from a paradise to find himself stranded, once again in hell.

Lucius reached the roughly hewn steps, that were much higher than those of Draco's nightmares. Limping to his father's side, Draco looked up at the thick slate stage and fought back a fearful whimper. 'Symbolism Draco.' Lucius swept Draco up in his arms and carried him upwards. Once at the top, Lucius stood, his trembling boy in his arms, and with his fellows of the inner circle of Lord Voldemort's Death Eaters he waited. His lips barely moving, Lucius murmured. 'Remember, not one single word.'

Stubbornly, Draco considered saying something, anything, but he kept his mouth closed - he was not suicidal. Draco did not appreciate the helplessness symbolized by his being carried forth, as if helpless. If there had to be a symbolic gesture, he thought he ought to be allowed to stand as a man on his own two feet. As it was, he felt humiliated.

After several minutes, there was a shattering crack that made Draco jump in his father's arms, and made his ears ring. Lord Voldemort apparated quickly, but graciously - that is if a scaly, robed vaguely human creature can be said to be graceful. Voldemort solidified, draped in black robes. His hideous reptilian eyes looked like slashes in the thick hide of a gruesome animal.

'Behold your master, boy,' whispered Lucius. 'Show proper respect Draco. Look him in the eye.'

Cringing, Draco looked up, into the eyes of the Dark Lord, his master, his owner, and as far as Draco was concerned, the final authority. Lord Voldemort, the man who captained the enforcement of his virginity; the individual who held the faithful allegiance of Lucius, the head of the Malfoy clan.

I have not seen those horrible eyes since I was a new baby, but I remember them from my dreams.

Draco gasped. The thin skeletal forefinger of the Dark Lord pointed at and beckoned. Roughly, Lucius placed Draco on the round and shoved him towards their master. On his first step, Draco's knees buckled and he fell painfully forward onto his knees. Unsure if his father meant for him to be on his knees, he did not rise again. He only winced at the cold stone biting into his kneecaps and looked around, peering into the hoods of the trusted twelve, not sure what he looked for. Perhaps he hoped for a glimpse of sympathy. He knew all the eyes he gazed at, Nott, Abernathy, Lestrange, MacNair and the others. His eyes halted on the seventh figure from the right.

Mother!

Even now his mother's eyes were set on her dark master, She did not spare even a glance for the slave of her Dark Master.

'My Lord Voldemort,' said Lucius. 'This is the day for which we have all worked so diligently.'

'Yes Lucius, especially you,' said Voldemort his voice sibilant. 'You have done well Lucius.' His red eyes were glued on Draco like a hungry man facing a sumptuous meal. 'Let the ceremony begin. Lucius, place the boy upon the altar. Now.' Voldemort rubbed one bony hand on his thigh and Draco shivered convulsively.

'My Lord Voldemort,' said Lucius leaning forward, speaking softly, almost conspiratorially. 'May I be allowed a word?'

Candles held aloft flickered as the trusted twelve explosively gasped. Murmurs of disappointment and indignation ran down the entire company of Death Eaters. From the Death Eater closest to Lord Voldemort, came a high-pitched voice that nervously squeaked, 'How dare you Lucius! My Master has waited long for this - '

'You will address me properly,' Lucius growled, unwilling to allow a toady like Peter Pettigrew to address him without a significant amount of deference and kowtowing.

Pettigrew cowered. 'Surely I meant no harm Mr. Malfoy. But I am speaking for my master when I say -'

'Are you speaking for me, Wormtail?' asked the Dark Lord in a voice just as testy as that of Lucius.

'Oh, no my Lord,' squealed Pettigrew indignant at being unfairly chastised by the one he was trying to defend. 'I only meant to tell Lucius, I mean, Mr. Malfoy that - '

'Silence!' called out both Voldemort and Lucius in a well-matched brace of anger.

'My Lord,' continued Lucius. 'If you will allow me to speak?' There was no objection and Lucius continued. 'My Lord, tonight we hail the long awaited winter solstice, the night of the most powerful of dark magic. It is on this occasion...'

As his father pontificated, Draco bit his lip nervously and shifted on his bruised and aching knees. He determined he was not going to humiliate himself by whimpering. He had no idea what his father was doing, but assumed whatever it was, in the long run his father would be the one who benefited. Again, he tried again to summon thoughts of Hermione but now he was just too frightened to recall a single image.

'...and we, your most devoted Death Eaters, wish to assure you my Lord, we have the utmost faith in your abilities and powers. It came to the attention of a few of us, my wife, McNair, and Nott, that this ceremony, while highly rewarding, holds some potential for danger, to you my Lord,' The face of Lucius was now a tragic mask of worry. His voice dripped with concern as thick as treacle. 'I know I have no right to request this of you my Lord, but would you consider, on the behalf of your devoted followers, that you do not proceed with the Crucius Pactum?'

There is little that ever made Lord Voldemort gasp, but Lucius' little speech did just that. The entire assemblage of Death Eaters called out in confused objection. Not one of them, including Narcissa Malfoy, had been party to a single word from Lucius on the matter of Lord Voldemort's 'vulnerability' due to the Pactum Crumens ceremony. There was no doubt but that Lucius Malfoy had more nerve than any of them had reckoned.

'Not proceed?' said Lord Voldemort slowly. 'Lucius, do my ears hear correctly? You ask me to... to not complete the Crucius Pactum, to not take what is rightfully mine? To not avail myself to something of great value and which I have long looked forward to?'

Lord Voldemort's red eyes were focused on Draco, who knelt frozen, like a rabbit staring hypnotized into the eyes of the ultimate snake. Unwaveringly Draco still peered into the blood red fissures, his teeth chattering.

Calmly, and in a voice that reeked of concern and caring, Lucius continued. 'My Lord, I am a selfish, selfish man. A cad. I am so selfishly concerned only for myself by begging you to spare me my worry over your ultimate safety. I beg you to spare yourself. As this boy loses his virginity, the released power might cause you insurmountable harm my Lord. The power can backfire. You already embody the power necessary to overcome your enemies. Anyone who has one jot of concern for your safety my Lord, realizes you must be persuaded to abort this dangerous and unnecessary ceremony.'

'Abort the ceremony?' snarled Lord Voldemort and he quick steps toward Draco. Losing the battle to remain silent, Draco whimpered and leaned as far from Voldemort as he could but Voldemort was so close that his black robes brushed against the Draco's constricted face. In his efforts to remain upright Draco grasped the Dark Lord's robes.

'This,' Voldemort poked Draco's cheek with a bony finger. 'The virginity of my slave will enable me to access more power than any wizard has commanded since the days of Salazar Slytherin. You require that I turn my back on it? Lucius, might you wish to harvest the powers of this...' Voldemort gave Draco a kick, as though the boy was an annoying dog, underfoot. '...my slave for your own enrichment? Have I lost one of my inner circle to greed?'

'Merlyn no, my Lord Voldemort!' Lucius smiled as if Lord Voldemort's words were ludicrous beyond belief. His eyes radiated warmth and concern for his master's well being. 'No, no, our reasoning is that you, my Lord, already possess enough power to fulfil our every wish. As you stand before us now you will fulfil your destiny as ruler of the wizarding world, protector of purebloods and subjugator of the Muggles. There is no need for you to take even the smallest of risk with your new body. Your new... dare I say, 'somewhat fragile' persona only so recently come to you?'

At the word fragile, several Death Eaters stepped backwards, their candle flames, held in shaky hands, flickered wildly.

'You want the boy for yourself.' His eyes glued to Lucius to see his reaction, Lord Voldemort thrust his knee forward, striking Draco's jaw. Draco's cut lip dripped fresh blood. 'Yes, you wish to relieve me of the boy, to satisfy your own overactive loins.'

The look on the face of Lucius was now clearly one of deep distress and confusion from misinterpretation of his sincere motives.

'My lord, please. You are mistaken. I have no concerns for the boy at all.'

Lucius strode the two steps over to Draco.

'The sole purpose of this boy's existence has always been for one cause and one cause only - that of serving you my Lord. This boy, this child has upheld his end of the bargain, and is chaste, and full to the brim with powers you my Lord are in no further need of. We can openly remove the powers from this child making his powers useless. Or if you wish to waste, to squander the life of this future Death Eater, so none can access the power he now carries, well then. I can oblige you easily enough.'

Smiling pleasantly at Lord Voldemort, Lucius reached down, grasped a fist full of Draco's hair and forcefully yanked the boy off his knees and into the air.

The Death Eaters, all of whom were used to the cries of victims subjected to the Cruciatus Curse and other tortures, winced as Draco screamed in pain. He threw his hands up and gripped his father's fist in a futile effort to ease his weight pulling the hair from his scalp. He could not move his head, but he could move his mouth. He saw his father's hand swing backwards, and then hurtle towards his nose.

'FATHER, NO!'

The fist swung at Draco's face, and as it struck him, the air around him filled with brilliant sparkling stars and everything went black.

~*~*~*~*~*~

It was perhaps two hours past midnight, Christmas morning. On his way down the stairwell from the boys dorm, Harry tripped on the last step. He was so excited he hadn't taken the time to straighten the arm of his dressing gown and he tried futilely to force his arm into his inside-out and twisted sleeve. The rest of the dressing gown dragged behind him on the steps. He wore only one carpet slipper and as he fussed with his sleeve he held a small wrapped package in his teeth. He finally gave up on the dressing gown and pulled it over his shoulders like a shawl, and trotted across to the fireplace.

'Harry,' whispered a small voice from the large chair by the fireplace. 'That you?'

'Finny,' said Harry and even though his voice was muffled, it was clear he was over the moon. He quickened his pace and scolded gently. 'Mwhat if I wuzz Fwon?'

'Ron is asleep, said Ginny, her hand over her mouth, trying to stifle her laugh when she heard Harry. 'Here, sit.' Though the chair was large, Ginny was dead centre in it and she budged up to allow room for Harry who landed heavily next to her. The only light on the two was the yellow flickering from the great fireplace that threw tall shadows of the chair across the room to illuminate the tapestries. The light was not enough to read by, but quite enough for two lovers to read the joy in each other's eyes.

'Hwappy Fwishmiss...' muttered Harry. He only just realizing he still held Ginny's Christmas present clutched in his teeth. He pulled the package out of his mouth and handed it, wet ties and all, to Ginny.

'Good boy,' teased Ginny and she patted Harry on the head as though he were a friendly dog. 'You've put tooth marks in my present!'

'Woof,' said Harry, his face flushed, he leaned his forehead against Ginny's. 'I'd rather put little tooth marks all over you.'

The two spent a long minute staring into each other's eyes. Then Harry, took the initiative, for once, and pressed his mouth firmly against Ginny's lips, sucking her lower lip, savouring it like a Christmas peppermint. When the kiss ended, Harry stuttered slightly. 'Open y-your p-p-present Ginny.' He stared at the package, hoping the present within would live up to his expectations.

Ginny pulled the string and carefully peeled the sellotape from the silvery paper to reveal a small red velvet box within.

His forehead still rested on Ginny's, Harry said 'careful.' He placed a finger on the lid, to keep her from lifting the lid. 'Just a peek.' He slipped a hand on Ginny's waist beneath her dressing gown and flexed his fingers there as though rubbing a kitten.

Smiling at Harry, Ginny lifted the box to her freckled nose and peered carefully under the lid. The glint from within the little box caused her to give a little gasp of delight.

'Oh Harry,' she said breathlessly. 'It's, it's perfect! Oh, I never though!'

Just as Harry had imagined for more than a week, now that Ginny saw the present, she lunged, throwing her arms around his neck and proceeded to layer Harry's hot face with kisses. Harry was in heaven, a heaven where a boy was allowed to heat up in his pyjama trousers with lovely nasty boy thoughts about his own wonderful girl.

'Ginny, I just, you know, thought, maybe you would like... and wow, I guessed right! I did guess right, didn't I? I mean, if you would rather,' Harry might have continued for several more minutes but Ginny carefully placed the package by her side on the chair and began her own assault on Harry. Shutting his eyes, Harry savoured the moist imprint of Ginny's lips against his, and the feel of her body the delighted girl pressed herself against Harry. After several minutes of amorous snogging passed, Ginny quite abruptly pulled away from Harry.

'I'm sorry Ginny!' Harry blurted. He was not at all sure what he was apologizing for exactly, but since what they were doing was that much fun, and felt so good, he reckoned it had to be against school rules, if not the laws of nature.

'What?' Ginny murmured. 'Harry, I just wanted to wish you a happy Christmas.' She shyly rubbed her face with the back of her hand, feeling the various spots where Harry's spit clung to her soft skin and to her lips. 'Here. I have something for you too.' Ginny reached down behind the chair on the floor. She pulled up a large, lumpy sort of package, wrapped in rainbow coloured tissue paper. 'Happy Christmas Harry.'

Lifting his glasses from their precarious position hanging off of one ear, Harry reset the spectacles firmly back on the crown of his nose. Harry took the package, with a stunned look, as if he couldn't imagine anything more ridiculous than anyone bothering to give him a present. He pulled the ribbon off and ripped open the tissue paper.

'Ginny! This is...' Harry pulled out a long knit item that defied identification. '... a lovely knit thing, a tiny jumper... no, a scarf! Yes, a scarf, isn't it? And are these Gryffindor colours?' The brilliance of Ginny to have had the forethought to use Gryffindor colours left Harry absolutely gob smacked.

Dropping her face, Ginny fingered the end of the scarf and murmured, 'made this myself. Last summer Mum taught me her best knitting spell. I hope I didn't muddle the spell too much. Looks a bit lumpy but perhaps when you've worn the scarf, the lumps will smooth out.'

'Ginny,' said Harry, deeply touched. 'You made this yourself?' He grabbed Ginny's hands and kissed each tender fingertip. 'You made this lovely scarf, all by yourself with these talented little fingers?' As Harry kissed Ginny's hand it he marvelled at the wondrous other things he'd so recently discovered Ginny's hands were capable of. There was no part of the girl he did not marvel over, and he was amazed that there was a time he paid her no attention at all. Finished with Ginny's fingers, Harry progressed to nuzzling her face as he crooned, 'You are so sweet Ginny. Your hair is brilliant, so shiny; it glitters like tinsel in the firelight. Honestly, I don't know that I deserve you.'

'Oh Harry, you like my widdle pwesent then? I wub yours.'

'My Ginny Pinny, this is the best present any wizard anywhere ever, ever...'

Well, Harry was romantic, no doubt about that, but please, let us pause here for a minute. Aside from being romantic, it must be here revealed that Harry and Ginny were, without a doubt, the most nauseatingly sticky sweet couple ever to grace the commons of Gryffindor, or for that matter, the halls of good old hoggy Hogwarts. The two were sweeter and stickier than the back booths at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour after a toffee pulling birthday party for a passel of sugar charged three year-olds. Add to that, it was Christmas morning and therefore a time prone to excessive sweetness and if the dialog was included here intact most of you would be thoroughly nauseated. Let us skip ahead to other issues or we shall soon all have our fingers poked down our throats in hope of relief.

Harry pushed himself heavily against Ginny, manoeuvring the girl's small body and orchestrating himself into a non-gentlemanly and seductive position. His body pushed heavily against the contours of what he carefully avoided thinking of as his best mate's little sister. Harry ran his hands under Ginny's nightgown, and stroked and kneaded the girl's bare bum with one hand, and with the other, deftly fingered the various interesting buttons, bows and laces of Ginny's old but delightfully frilly nightdress. Harry moaned and muttered sweet nothings as he untied her bodice and fondled the girl's pert and promising little breasts. There was no doubt but that Harry had found something else that he could do without any training whatsoever, just as naturally as he could fly on a broomstick.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Again, Draco opened his eyes and saw Gannet staring down at him. Draco made a pained noise and sat up, weakly shoving the house elf away. He touched his face, and although he could feel no swelling, he could feel a great deal of pain around the orbit of his right eye. It wasn't a dream. His father had cold cocked him on that horrible cold stone platform, and yet, here he was alive.

Draco leapt from bed and shivering padded over to the window for a guess at the time. The sky was black and starless. Draco was not sure if it was the same night as the ceremony, the next or perhaps even the one after that. Worse, he could not quite tell if the ceremony still took place, because he was certain that a corpse-like victim would not have put off Voldemort. But as Draco didn't feel sore... in pertinent places, he concluded the ceremony had not happened. It occurred to Draco that strangely and perversely enough, he felt as close to normal as he had since before the lightening strike.

'The day Gannet, what day is it?'

'Is Christmas day young master, early Christmas Day. The dawn is hours off,' said the house elf. 'Happy Christmas Sir. You is putting on your dressing gown and going early to open your presents Sir?'

'Shut the feck up you dim little rag sock,' said Draco, for once understandably irritable. He was naked and cold. 'I've been here since the night of the twenty-second so I've been here... for three days. From one punch?' Lucius issued the punch, so the idea wasn't entirely outrageous.

'Young Master, is dosed with sleeping potion for days sir.' Gannet rose and scampered to the bedside table. He pointed to a crockery pot sealed with a cork. 'Potion Sir. Your mother is making potion for her son. Your mother is saying you is still healing and wanted sleep.'

The news was a shocking revelation to Draco. Narcissa Malfoy never tended to Draco a day in his life. Her only concession that she even had a son was to send off weekly hampers filled with treats to Draco. She did so for the same reason as the Dursleys did things for Harry, to make things appear as though their 'ward' was properly cared for. Draco knew full well it was the house elves who prepared each hamper. All Draco's mother did was sign the brief notes that accompanied the hampers. And now his mother was nursing him, preparing potions for him?

At first undecided what move to make, Draco heeded words long ago planted in his mind by his father. 'When in peril Draco it is always best to just face the dragon and get it over with. It shows your bravery and with a little luck, it will make your enemy shite their armour. And if not, at least you won't be the only one stinking on the field of honour.' Not the most inspired of his father's homilies, but it made sense. Racing for his wardrobe, Draco dressed. Once and for all, it was time to face the dragon.

From the large doorway, Draco looked into his father's favourite sitting room. He was in an ugly state for such a pristine, holiday sight. The room appeared empty of people. In one corner stood a Christmas tree that was near the height of a small California Redwood. The ceiling was always magiced around the holidays so the tallest of trees could sit snug by the fireplace. The tree was alight with bright ornaments and live twinkling fairies that squabbled over nectar filled flowers and hummingbird feeders full of honey set on the branches to sustain the tiny mites.

Draco did not bother to glance under the spectacular tree, which by previous year's standards was only so-so. He looked over to the sofa, and could just make out his father's hand, resting on the sofa arm. Taking a deep breath, he stepping into the room. Once there, he froze. He looked up the large oil painting over the mantelpiece. The painting contained the familiar volcano. Draco recalled how as a very small boy he would - pleasure - himself then race to this very room to see how much smoke he had caused to billow into the room from the enchanted painting. To a child of four or five, it was always worth a smack for the pleasure of seeing billowing smoke that made the adults to cough and yell. Well, at least it was funny for a Draco. When he looked at the volcano now, he wondered if the destruction of the virginity spell had rendered the volcano dormant or not. If he lived he would try it out later.

Father and I, we've done this before... The nightmare, back in the infirmary... The nightmare where Father poisons me, murders me. Finishes the job.

Draco marvelled how in spite of the carpet, so thick it almost required snow shoes, his father who sat in a large cushy chair by the fireplace, seemed to have heard or sensed his son entering the cavernous room.

The yellow flames tinted Lucius' hand a jaundiced yellow. He called out, 'Draco. You're awake at last.'

Draco walked around the chair to face his father. Draco's fists were clenched tightly. He did not bother to bring his wand, knowing he would never be able to draw faster than his talented father. But recklessly Draco reckoned he might get in one punch before his father could kill him. Draco had already faced his worse nightmare on the stone dais. He was no longer afraid of his father; Draco wished there was a boggart handy to prove the truth of it.

Lucius appraised Draco. 'You know, your mother can make a decent medi-witch in a pinch. I think she picked up the skill patching up her beaus. There were always wizards squabbling over her. Yes, she did a nice job. Your face looks marvellous considering that I broke your nose, and your eye.' Lucius made a sympathetic noise. ' Handsome face you have there. Like mine, in miniature.'

Lucius leaned forward to touch Draco's face in his hand, but Draco swung his head back to avoid his father's touch. Without seeming disappointed or even annoyed, Lucius turned his face and looked out of the immense side window. 'Are you upset?'

Draco exploded, quietly, as he watched his father do so many times. 'You were going to kill me. You were happy to try and kill me.'

'You are speaking to your father. My last warning. Do not try my patience,' said Lucius. 'Here. Sit by me.'

Draco stared defiantly at his father. 'Fuck you!'

'Fuck you "who"?' asked Lucius.

Draco sputtered, 'Fuck you, Sir?' and then temporarily stunned speechless, he sunk into the chair next by his father.

'That's.... better,' said Lucius. 'Now. It is Christmas day; happy Christmas son. Here, why don't the two of us toast to the day?'

Draco thought of the Fireball dragon. Once the Malfoy juggernaut made up its mind, the beast was doomed. Draco shrugged and stared blankly, uncaring, into the fireplace. 'Father. I want a mug of hot white chocolate, all stirred up.'

'All stirred up? You are a funny boy Draco. Here.'

Lucius took up Draco's hands and poised his wand over them. The wand tapped Draco's open palms and a large metallic mug appeared, filled to the brim with steaming, frothy white liquid that smelled delicious. Draco closed his hands on the mug. Draco was decided. He tipped back the mug, drank it down and sucked the sweet dredges at the mug's bottom. Shortly thereafter Draco's eyes watered as he was gripped by a tremendous yawn. He wiped his eyes sleepily with one hand and yawned again. Tempting the fates he ran his tongue inside the cup.

'You did well Draco,' said Lucius. His face was grim. 'You upheld your end of the bargain for the family. The loss of the power was not your fault in any way. It was an unfortunate accident. But still, the power you held for Lord Voldemort by 'virtue' of your virginity is gone for good.'

My life to appease Voldemort's anger. I'm dying, and damn it all, I'm dying a virgin. There is no justice in the universe whatsoever.

'Yes Father,' said Draco in a voice devoid of emotion. 'And we have to give Lord Voldemort his 'pound of flesh', don't we?'

Lucius chuckled. 'That is a quaint old expression, 'pound of flesh'. Wherever did you hear that boy?'

Draco dropped his head against his father's shoulder. 'I am sleepy father.'

'I know. Go to sleep my boy. Have a nice rest; a long and peaceful rest.'

Frightened but resigned to his fate, Draco shut his eyes. He had already forgiven his father who was what he was, a power hungry brutal bastard. But he was still 'Father'. Draco felt his father's finger trace a path around the orbit of his eye, which was still tender and sore. He felt his father lay an arm on his shoulder and pull him close.

Father you are a sodding bastard.

Coloured lights from the sleepy fairies on the Christmas tree played on Draco's pale hair. He coughed violently, and went still. A thread of drool escaped his lips and ran down his chin. The pewter mug fell from his hand and clattered to the floor. The white chocolate formed a dark stain on the thick carpet.

'Your father's hands were tied to a plan early on Goldie,' said Lucius. 'My hands were tied and what I have done, I have done.' Lucius dropped his head against Draco's and closed his eyes.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The situation in the Gryffindor commons progressed merrily as Harry availed himself of his newfound talents. His snogging skills entered into the realm of art and Harry could have taught Messalina a skill or two. Harry had taken Ginny to points of delight the girl had previously only guessed existed. Harry's blue pinstriped pyjamas were askew, and he was currently nibbling up towards the flesh around Ginny's navel, leaving a trail below as though the girl had been attacked by randy flesh kissing slugs. Ginny's girl bits were still vibrating like harp strings. Harry was free enough with Ginny, but was shy himself. It took Ginny a while but she finally broke through Harry's defences, and made him surrender the drawstrings to his pyjama bottoms. Ginny, wicked girl that she was, whispered, 'I'll be easy on you Harry.' The girl was no slouch. She gave as good as she got.

Harry could not string two notes of a song together. He always mutely mouthed the Hogwarts anthem. But on this Christmas morning he discovered that he could sing like a lark when having his only recently discovered needs met. 'Oh G-Ginny, oh yeah... d-d-d-do that... Ah... Ah...' Harry shifted onto his side, his back to the fireplace, to allow Ginny greater access. Harry at long last understood the motivations that ruled the world of Seamus. 'Oy, Ginny, ooooo that feels so goo...goo... good... AH! Ah! Ahhhhhhhhh!'

'AH HA!' shouted a voice from behind the chair.

Harry screamed and promptly fell backwards with a loud thump onto the carpet. Even before he landed he fumbled with the ties of his pyjama bottoms and was grateful he was facing away from the fireplace light. He scrambled to his feet and found himself facing the angry, fearless guardian of innocence, Ron.

'Harry,' spat Ron, 'I knew you were up to no good. Do you know your bed is empty?'

'Yes, Ron,' Harry blurted. 'I know that Ron, and it's not what you thinking. Mostly.' Harry was too startled to do much more on the spur than apologize and hope Ron had not noticed Harry's manly accomplishment, which gave Harry a bit of a struggle as he fought to tuck it into the security of his pyjama trousers. Harry threw his hands in front of himself and struck as innocent a pose as he could manage.

'I can NOT believe my eyes Harry,' said Ron, his fists tightening.

Harry's eyes were wider than the first time he watched Hagrid use a pink umbrella to light a fire.

'Just look at her,' Ron's hand shook as he pointed to his dishevelled 'baby' sister who was still on her back, rather calmly buttoning her bodice. 'No,' shouted Ron on second thought. 'Don't you DARE look at, at Ginevra!'

'Ron, you don't understand. Ginny and I are, you know,' Harry's fogged and thoroughly wet glasses slipped off his nose, and landed on the carpet. 'NO! I don't mean that we, Ginny and I... you know. I wouldn't dream of 'you know', well, no that's a lie. I mean... I mean, I mean, Ginny, she's a delicate little flower and we just wanted, privacy, I mean, to exchange - '

'Right,' said Ron dangerously. 'I know exactly what you two were 'exchanging'. And I'm warning you Harry...' A voice exploded by Ron's side.

'Back off right now!' Ginny, now up from the chair, her nightdress ribbons askew, pushed Harry out of the way and moved forward to stand forehead to chest with her brother.

Ron recognized 'the look' his sister focused on him. He quickly realized he had seriously underestimated Ginny's response to his intrusion. With wide eyes Ron stared at the 'delicate little flower', personified by the furious, beet red-faced, ginger-haired little hellion, who did not look as though she ever had, or ever would answer to a name as formal as 'Ginevera'.

Under any circumstances Ginny was never more than a foot or two from her wand and she looked as though she was itching to point it in Ron's face 'You heard what Harry said. We are only exchanging Christmas presents.' Pulling her hair from her face, she stepped to the chair, and picked up her present, still in its red velvet box.

'WHAT!' yelped Ron as he stared helplessly at the small velvet box in Ginny's hand. 'No way, not happening, no way!' Angrily he snatched Ginny's present and wagged the box in her face. 'You are not engaged to Harry, you are too young...' Ron popped the lid back. The gleam of gold showered across Ron's frowning face.

'Ron,' yelped Harry, waving his hands about, 'quick, close the lid!'

Ginny made a dash to pop the lid shut, but it was too late. The beautiful, glittering, fluttering snitch shot straight up out of the box. Ron stared at the snitch, his eyes crossed, as the glittering ball hovered at the tip of his freckled nose. He sputtered, 'what the...'

'Ron! You let it out!' Ginny became unglued. 'If you lose my present... Oooo! You're going to catch that snitch, and if you damage it, I'll...!'

Ron fumbled the box, which fell to the floor, and when he tried to grab the snitch, it zoomed around his head, like Pigwidgeon on hallucinogens, and bulleted out of sight. Across the room by the large window, the snitch caught the fire's glow momentarily and then it was gone.

'Happy Christmas Sis,' said Ron in a would-be-cheery voice. A wise lad, he knew he was only seconds away from the horror of a quick, right hooked, one-two, Bat-Bogey Hex. It was imperative he nudge Ginny toward a better mood as rapidly as possible; there were dragons setting eggs that were less belligerent then Ginny in a temper.

Ginny trained her furious brown eyes on her brother.

'Ginny Winny,' cooed Harry soothingly. 'Ron's only concerned for you. That's natural. After all, he's your brother, and...'

'I can handle my brothers,' said Ginny in a finite voice. She grabbed her brother by one arm and spoke sweetly to Harry. 'Please excuse us Harrykins... won't be a minute.'

Nonplussed, Harry sat back down on the chair, pulled out his new scarf and gazed lovingly at it. He thought the scarf was the nicest present he'd ever received for Christmas, which might even have included his Firebolt.

Meanwhile Ginny stood tiptoe so she could glare directly into the spooked eyes of her brother. She hissed into Ron's face. 'So help me BIG brother, you scared Dean Thomas away from me. And I'm warning you, if you scare off Harry, or if you 'set' the twins after Harry, I will owl Mum!'

'You don't scare me Ginny,' said Ron, his voice a perilous falsetto as he tried to regain control over the situation. 'You... you see here lit-tle girl, I...'

Ginny continued ignoring Ron's weak rant 'I will owl mother about your little 'adventures' with Messalina Zabini.'

Ron gasped and the reflex caused him to gulp saliva, which sent him into a spasmodic coughing fit. The coughing fit did not stop Ginny from continuing her unveiled threat in a slightly louder voice to be heard over Ron's coughing fit.

'And Mr. Ronald 'I-know-what's-best-for-baby-sister' Weasley, no details that came to me through the Hogwarts corridors about your little 'affair' with Miss Messalina 'I-shag-all-comers' Zabini, will be left to Mum's already rich imagination. Before you can say 'where has my virginity got to?' Mum will have you locked away in 'St. Thomas Aquina's Monastery for Young Wizards of the Wayward Wand' until you are thirty-five and your virginity has grown back!'

Ron's coughing continued unabated, so Ginny pounded his back, harder than actually necessary. When Ron finally ceased choking, Ginny again stood on tiptoe and kissed Ron on the cheek. She was not being sisterly, or wishing Ron a happy Christmas. She was delivering a Costa Nostra Weasley sort of kiss - an open ended threat that every one of her six brothers understood all too well. The girl took after her mother and withstood no foolishness from the men in her life.

Ron rallied. 'I don't have to tell the twins anything you know. Fred and George will see what you're up to for themselves and...'

'Ron, dear Ron,' said Ginny shaking her head. 'Do you think I don't know about our brother, Mr. 'F', by which I refer not to his name as much as his vocation? Mr. 'F' Weasley and Miss Angelina Johnson were given a week's worth of detention a few days ago for being found - pardon the expression - 'holed up' in the back of the Gryffindor locker room.'

'Ginny,' squeaked Ron in horror that his 'baby' sister's ears had ever been privy to such unspeakable depravities as the sex lives of either of their twin brothers.

'Ron, go to bed,' said Ginny sensibly. 'You look knackered.'

With visions of flaming howlers and thoughts of potential sequestering in a distant monastery dancing in his head, Ron began a slow walk to the boys stairwell and a slower accent up the stairs to his dorm room. Ron thought the present he would most appreciate receiving for Christmas would be an effective amulet against Ginny's Bat-Bogey Hexes.

With her self-appointed guardian gone, and with a relaxed smile now prominent on her face, Ginny returned to red-faced Harry, seated on the chair like an eager puppy, just where Ginny left him. It took the two only a few minutes for Harry to again find himself once again happily ensconced in a delightfully nasty yuletide snog with his 'widdle Ginny Winny pudding-pie'.

GAK!

~*~*~*~*~*~

It was still early on Christmas morning. Several hours had passed, and the sun glinted through the side window and across the face of Lucius Malfoy. He opened his eyes and looked up. Even in the dead of winter, he heard morning birdsong filling the air. A flurry of snow drifted against the tall window. A sparrow hopped outside on the broad windowsill. Lucius touched his fingers to the cold cheek of his son.

Several minutes later, when a house elf entered the room to renew the fire spell in the fireplace, Lucius was still stroking Draco's soft hair. Lucius looked at the gold wizard's clock on a nearby wall and swore softly under his breath.

'I still must Floo to Paris. If those berk jewellers haven't got that necklace ready there will be some murders in reported in the Daily Profit. Draco? Wake up you bone idle boy! Go to up to your bed or go freshen up, but move. I have urgent business or I'll have to put up with your mother's cold shoulder until after the New Year!'

Draco was snuggled down against his Father, and his pale lashes fluttered sleepily.

'Grandfather Malfoy, is that you? F-Father?'

The Draco wiggled on the chair by his father and muttered unintelligibly. Draco's cheek and a spot on his father's robes were drool soaked.

'Grandfather Malfoy? Salazar's Silvery Specter,' sputtered Lucius. 'Damn it boy, wake up! I am your father, not your...' Lucius touched Draco. 'Damn, you are as cold as ice boy. Your arms, legs and brain must be asleep, you hardly moved at all. Now get up. Go to your room. Your mother expects you to dine with her for Christmas breakfast and our house guests are...'

Being too wonderful to be true, the reality of being alive was still difficult to accept. Draco moved his arm, which as his father predicted felt like pins and needles. He rubbed his sleep-ridden eyes in amazement, stared at his father and finally asked in a stunned voice. 'What, I'm really alive?'

'Alive? What, were you visited by three Christmas spirits in your sleep like some damned Muggle novel? Of course you're alive you ridiculous boy. You had a bad dream. Now upstairs with you. Go on.' Lucius gave Draco a shove, but the boy refused to budge.

'But Father, you put 'something' in my hot white chocolate didn't you?'

'What do you mean?' Lucius raised his eyebrows looking amused, 'marshmallows?'

All the emotion of the past weeks cracked at the surface of Draco's mind like black ice at Spring thaw. 'At the ceremony. You told the Dark Lord you would kill me. You never lov... cared for me. Mother's never cared for me.'

Lucius groaned. 'Every damned Christmas. Why does Christmas bring out the melancholy in the whole of the Malfoy family? And your mother's side of the family, the Blacks are worse; with that lot it is 'boo hoo hoo' straight through to New Years. I want to explain something to you.'

Lucius never explained much of anything to his son. Draco was dead quiet.

'Your mother Draco. The truth of it is, one could say, in a way, I stole you from her. She could not care for a child she knew was destined for an 'unsavoury future'.' Lucius shook his head in annoyance. 'Witches! I could never even convince your mother you would live through the ceremony.' Lucius looked curious. He shifted himself a bit to face Draco better. 'Boy, would you want to know what the Crucius Pactum ceremony would have consisted of if...?'

'No!' Draco shouted emphatically.

'Wise lad. Good decision,' said Lucius, looking greatly relieved. 'Do you know these last three days it was your mother who cared for you? And it was her idea. I wonder if she might develop feelings for you because she knows you are here to stay. Or perhaps not.' Lucius shrugged. 'Doesn't care for you yet. But I know she is willing to invest her heart in a live son, not a dead one.'

Draco did not know how to respond to such flat statement of his mother's lack of love for him, or his father's confession of guilt, so he returned to what he could fathom. 'You were going to kill me,' he said blankly. Draco was unsure of what it was he ought to ask, now his father was revealing 'things'. Draco hadn't the nerve to ask what he really wanted to know so he had stated a fact, and hoped his father would fill in the blanks.

As it turned out, Lucius was telling all. 'I was quite young when I volunteered my first-born child to the Dark Lord; quite young, quite ambitious. Your mother was against the entire plan, but went along with my wishes. You were my means to an end. But there were things I hadn't counted on. After you were born, I hadn't expected...' Lucius went silent for several minutes.

Draco was too anxious to remain silent. 'What hadn't you expected Father? What?'

'Well, damn me, but I hadn't expected you exactly. I stayed away from your birth. But I remember the first time I held you. Rescued you from someone who tried to run off with you. I took you back and with your mother, we participated in the investment ceremony. I forced your mother to give you up, as did I, to Lord Voldemort. Then Draco, I tell you. Something happened.' Lucius ceased talking and his eyes went blank as he recalled the scene that changed his life, and his son's life, so long ago.

'It was right after your mother and I gave you over to Lord Voldemort. Lord Voldemort took 'his slave' you, a tiny baby. He held you up to show you off to my fellow Death Eaters. He turned you so all might admire his helpless, tiny slave. And what happened next is burned into my mind. Draco, your tiny baby's pizzle raised up and you pissed into the face of Voldemort.'

Lucius shut his eyes shook his head. 'Do you know boy, I have not mentioned the 'incident' from that day to this. No one would dare to mention that anyone, much less a helpless mite, would dare to piss on the world's darkest, and most powerful wizard. In his face Draco. It was too unbelievable!'

The room was silent and Draco stared at his father. His father sounded so dazed by the incident that Draco wondered if he might not still have a long delayed smacking coming to him for his infantile naughtiness so many years ago. And then Lucius burst out into long loud hoots of laugher. Draco sat staring at his father, moved to do lots of things, none of which included a display of mirth. It took Lucius several minutes to regain control and cease laughing so he could speak.

'Draco,' confessed Lucius. 'By the time your stream of urine into Lord Voldemort's face dropped from its high arc and dribbled down my Lord's robes, I loved you, you little...! I knew then you were not going to be easily controlled by anyone, including me.' Lucius wiped tears of laugher from his eyes and looked at Draco. 'As your tiny tadger pee'd into the face of my Lord, I regretted to my core the decision to give you away. But it was too late to back out. My status soared. I obtained power.' Lucius narrowed his eyes. 'Fuck me. Yes, you had it right my boy. Fuck me. Because that day I was not half the man my newborn son was.

I hadn't expected to love you so much. Hadn't expected to love you at all. You blew my plans to bits. Damn you boy,' said Lucius he sank back on the chair and continued speaking, unloading the thoughts he'd kept to himself for fourteen years.

'Babies are supposed to be red with misshapen waxy looking heads. You looked waxy - like a perfect wax doll with my damned mouth, my eyes. And you were such a demanding little pain in the arse. Had to have your bottle just so. You couldn't sleep without that damned doll. You forced me to...' Lucius held back. He could still not admit that a mere baby had asked for, no demanded, respect.

Draco opened his mouth, then thought better of it and held his silence. His father's words stunned him more than any lightening bolt.

'You wouldn't eat if I didn't sing to you. I don't know how anyone could properly eat with me singing,' He looked into Draco's face. 'You would look up at me your huge eyes and your head covered in white fluff like a Peruvian guinea pig. I could never feed you without laughing out loud. You took your bottle like you were sucking away on a Cuban cigar.'

'Liar!' Draco hissed. He had suddenly had enough. 'I don't want to listen to this... crap. You tried to give me away just three days ago. You knocked me out.'

'I brought you home safe in one piece boy. As I used to do years ago when I drove you around the mansion for hours on end, then carried you up the tower stairs and placed you in your cot.'

Draco lashed out. 'Save that crap for someone who believes your tripe or needs a favour, or wants some of that power that means so much to you! I mean nothing to you, I am just the 'pound of flesh', aren't I?'

Lucius held his hand up, and slowly, very slowly moved it towards Draco's face. This was how he handled his eagles. His eyes focused on their eyes, diverting attention, as he tied the jesses. His hand caressed Draco's cheek.

'Yes, boy. I hit you. I made that little speech about the concern of the Death Eaters for my Lord's safety,' Lucius moved his hand closer to Draco. 'The lines I spoke three days ago. I have rehearsed them since I bottle fed you here on this very chair. I could not tell anyone of my plans, not your mother and not you. I raised you to believe the ceremony would happen because had I not, you might have given my plans away. A wrong word from you could have endangered our entire family as traitors. You had to live the life of a slave. The most well cared for slave in history, but nonetheless a slave.' Lucius' voice exploded. 'Yes I hit you the other day as hard as I could and damn me - for one horrible moment I thought I'd killed you. Knocking you out was the only way to completely diffuse the anger of Lord Voldemort. Draco, if I did not show such brutal disregard for your well being that night, the only thing that would have soothed my Lord's anger would have been your lifeless head upon a tray.'

The only sound now in the room was the high-pitched noise of the fairies that were waking up to squabble over the sugar water feeders on the Christmas tree.

'Now, why don't you run along Draco. I need to leave soon so I can be back in time for lunch. I want a word with Monty Lowboat's widow.'

'Father,' said Draco with a slight tremor. 'Is Volde... is the Dark Lord satisfied? Are we truly safe now?'

Lucius shocked his son by smiling. 'Draco, what are you on about? For Merlyn's sake boy,' He grinned and took Draco's cheek in his hand and ran his thumb over Draco's mouth. 'You don't think we have to bear the odd bit of 'debt' and worry over obligations as if we were poor shites like the Pennywhistles or the Weasleys, do you son? For Merlyn's sake son, we're rich!

Pay attention and learn something of business. Haven't I always told you there is a way out of every sort of difficulty? On the night of the cancelled ceremony I cheerfully turned one of our grandest mansions over to Lord Voldemort, lock, stock and house elf as my consolation to him for his generosity in giving up the ceremony for the sole benefit his loyal Death Eaters. Well, I keep my ear to the chimney floo. I learned my Lord expected that mansion for Christmas in any case. So. Lord Voldemort was pleased. I am pleased. My fellow Death Eaters think I am Salazar's gift to the cause of pureblood wizards and Pettigrew probably wandered off and shat himself.'

'You gave away one of our family mansions?' asked Draco appalled. 'Gave away?'

'Draco. That mansion has so many ghosts, curses and hexes operating on it will take a wizard as powerful as my Lord to live there in the first place. That is between you and me boy.'

Lucius stood and pulled Draco up with him. 'Now I'll have to find something else to gift Lord Voldemort with for Christmas... and his blasted toady, Wormtail. 'I'm thinking a few naturally shed scales of the Fireball dragon. Powerful medicine that.' Lucius walked to a window and he suddenly stiffened. 'Here, come here Draco.' He gestured, 'Quickly boy! NOW!'

Hesitant, Draco slowly moved to his father's side and looking through the bevelled windowpanes.

By the side of the great mansion, far at the edge of the courtyard, the doors to the carriage house were open. Draco could scarcely believe his eyes. The red Chinese Fireball Dragon, looking none the worse for the activities only a few days earlier, stood yawning like a sleepy dog in the carriage house doorway. Tiny house elves ran hither and yon, encouraging the dragon to walk on and be gone before guests of the household would wake and know the dragon had in fact, not been killed, but only injured. At next year's Annual Feast the guests would be served a spicy Beastloaf Wellington instead twice-cooked Fireball with glass noodles in a black bean sauce with golden mushrooms.

'Draco,' Lucius explained. 'This is our little secret, just between you and I. Our fellow hunters have already celebrated their killing of the Fireball dead from the wand stunning. Immediately after the hunt, I imported a great practitioner of dragon husbandry - a rare magical profession - straight out of China to tend to the injured beast. She made a good job of it. That dragon is ready to resume wandering our Malfoy lands, eating the odd nogtail, stag or Monty Lowboat.'

'Father, the Fireball, the dragon. He survived.'

'Dragons are like you boy; they piss at adversity. And anyway, I suppose I owed the damned beast a favour for being good enough to eat Monty, that scheming traitorous git. Hunting accidents are so much cheaper and easier to account for than hired assassins. But of course, you didn't hear me say that boy. So there you are! I hope you know that monster's life is your Christmas present. Well, one of them anyway. Oh, look. Do I see a lovely great box under that tree, from Father Christmas to D. Malfoy?' Lucius ruffled Draco's hair.

Draco grinned up at his father. Although the package under the tree was tempting, the action outside in the courtyard was far more riveting. Out in the courtyard the dragon walked lazily from the carriage house. All around the great beast, tiny house elves scrambled. There was a quick flick of the Fireball's long leathery neck, and it plucked a house elf up from the cobbles and gulped the morsel down.

'Drat. I'll wager the dragon gets heartburn from that gristly elf. I'm sorry Goldie,' said Lucius in an apologetic manner. 'That damned dragon has eaten... why, I believe he's eaten your Gannet. The old fool has been with you since you were an infant.'

'I know father,' said Draco. 'But for a house elf, I suppose Old Gannet could have had a worse end.' Draco watched as a tiny green puff of gas rose from the dragon's rear.

'Yes,' said Lucius. 'Could have been worse. Old Gannet could have received a nice pair of socks for Christmas.' Lucius winked at Draco, and the two laughed at the little joke. Lucius shoved Draco towards the door. 'Get out of here. I have tedious errands to run and guests to tend to.'

As has been said many times before, symbolism is never lost on a true Slytherin, and the thing was now truer than words could properly express. Draco came over feeling rather strange. He felt the urge to run to his father and hug him and plant grateful kisses upon his father's cheek.

But when he tried to move, he could not. Draco fought the urge. Instead he spoke.

'Father, you saved the Fireball. That was damned near the nicest thing you ever did for me. I mean. Besides putting out my lights.'

'I suppose so boy.' Lucius put on a bit of a cross face, which one would like to think was his attempt to cover up emotion towards the child he had given up so many dark years ago to the greater cause of his personal god - power; but with Lucius one could never be quite certain. He spoke in a tight voice. 'Happy Christmas son.'

Draco felt foolish. There he stood, a nearly grown up young man, ready to hug his father like some berk. He recalled the time at the Hogsmeade train station when that idiot Potter in front of the entire school had shamelessly embraced the oaf Hagrid. Draco had ached with embarrassment for pitiful Potter. Draco prided himself on having the class to think about doing a thing but to restraining himself from doing it like a wizard with a sense of self worth. For Salazar's sake, he was a Slytherin and a Malfoy.

'You are coming along to be quite as formidable a young man as you were a baby,' said Lucius. 'And you have served your family well. And I was pleased with your general deportment at the ceremony.'

'But Father,' Draco whispered in embarrassment. 'I nearly wet myself. I was awful. I was scared. I was very nearly a... a coward -'

'Coward? Nonsense Goldie,' said Lucius seriously. 'You were frightened because you possess a fair compliment of operating brain cells. What do you think was about to happen on the altar the other night? A tea party?' Lucius laughed. 'Good heavens boy, it's only a wonder I didn't shite myself.'

At that ludicrous thought and wildly unlikely turn of events, father and son shared yet another hardy laugh until they were both quite out of breath. Still chuckling, Draco looked his father in the eye, his face went suddenly sober. 'Father, you do love...?'

'Damn the holidays, damn Malfoy sentimentalities and damn you boy. Now get out!' shouted Lucius. 'And before you go, let Gimlet in. There's a house elf that with any measure of luck will someday make excellent dragon shite. That tiny-arsed dust mote has cleaned my desk again. I'll break his neck! Not a blasted report, post or bill where I left it.' Lucius took on a pensive look. 'Goldie. Why don't you come with me to Paris this morning? We can use the Floo network to get there. Would you enjoy that?'

Draco grinned.

'Good lad. Change into some decent travelling clothes and meet me back here in a half hour. Perhaps we can purchase that girlfriend of yours a bit of jewellery?'

'I bought her a ring already father,' Draco bragged.

'A ring? You devious little rascal. Not an engagement ring I trust?'

'Friendship ring,' said Draco.

'Good lad,' Not too friendly I hope?' Lucius winked.

'Not yet, Dad,' and Draco flicked his eyebrows. 'Not just yet.' Draco left the room.

Might be a tolerable Christmas after all. Bet the new butter soft leather trousers I asked for are in that flat box under the tree. Can't wait for what I really want for Christmas. She's waiting for me at Hogwarts!

~*~*~*~*~*~

It was quite late, and Hermione sat in her four-poster, her knees tucked under her chin. She peered down into a large volume; her hazel eyes periodically opened wide with surprise and almost puzzled looks passed over her face. Other pages of the same book, particularly those topics with illustrations, caused her to giggle with one hand clasped over her mouth. She snuggled back on her pillow reading slowly, and she even mouthed some of the book's words, practicing the interesting incantations. There was a noise at the bed curtains and she jumped a bit but relaxed. The large orange head of Crookshanks appeared and the cat promptly plopped himself down on top of the book. He began to purr, and healthy quantities of drool dripped from the corners of his furry mouth.

'Silly cat,' Hermione crooned to her pet. 'Do you think you are invisible and I can read through you or do you think you are more important than any book?' She pushed Crookshanks and the cat gave an indignant meow and leapt back onto the floor. Hermione looked up. She gave a small snort of annoyance. The enchanted flames, magically treated to provide light, but not enough heat to burn the bed curtains, kept floating off.

'Blast,' muttered Hermione. 'Crookshanks drooling, stupid light floating off, everything reminds me of ...'

From somewhere in the dorm room, Crookshanks gave another indignant little mew and the bed curtains rattled. 'Crookshanks dear, what is on with you tonight...?'

A hand shot through the curtains, clamping on Hermione's mouth. She tried to scream at first from fright, and then from joy as she saw the face of her "attacker". Draco leapt lightly up onto the bed, straddling Hermione who was tucked under her covers. He sat back, panting from excitement and grinning maniacally. 'The other beds are empty, will they be back?'

Hermione shook her head. 'All home for Christmas Draco.'

Flinging his wand and his cloak to the foot of the bed, Draco fought to think of a single word to say to express all of his joy, delight and randiness at being reunited, in a preliminary way, with Hermione. It was impossible to do so.

'I only just got back. I fetched my Starshotz and flew over straight away Petals.'

'Cocoa,' Hermione murmured.

It might be interesting to tell how Draco told Hermione of his adventure of discovery, his reconnection to his parents over the past days. That would be interesting but it would not be truthfully what happened there in Hermione's dorm room.

It would be nicer still to record that the two moved on to a night full of slow and sensual love making, that unfolded like the petals of a red rose or ripe cabbage or some such romantic figure of speech; to tell how the two lovers gently explored their new ability for pleasuring each other to a natural end free of worry about death by magical hexes, charms or curses.

That would be lovely. And it would amount to a colossal sham and travesty to the truth of the matter.

As it was, since the previous September when Draco and Hermione declared their mutual proclamations of love, the fallout of their love gathered around them in the way shed leaves and branches fall beneath a tree, thick on the forest floor, ready for the touch of flames. On this particular December night when Draco landed on his lover's bed, with all restraints removed, there was no chance of slow lovemaking. There was less chance for slow lovemaking than for a lit match landing on dry leaves on a hot summer day and then turning the forest tinder into ice sickles. Draco was a flame and Hermione his fuel; a magic that went both ways. Draco feasted his eyes on Hermione. There were going to be flames; high flames that consumed completely. Draco made a loud noise, very like the 'woof' sound when a mass of fuel sucks in oxygen in one cataclysmic burst of energy. Draco woofed and his Petals, who was his fuel, exploded into the physical expression of their love. Honestly, it was a wonder the whole of the castle didn't sit up and wonder at the noise of love ignited.

Understandably excited, Draco jumped onto his feet, on Hermione's duvet, doffed his new butter soft, tight leather trousers and shirt. When Hermione flung back her bedcovers to admit Draco it brought to mind what Albus Dumbledore so often said prior to excellent feasts in the Great Hall. 'I have only two words for you all - tuck in'. And by Merlyn, "tucking in" was Draco's prime objective.

Like many novice lovers, Draco quickly became frantic, too inflamed to carefully and sensitively explore the lovely nooks and crannies of his lover, too wildly enraptured to search for that perfect dark and curly haired opening. The inflamed Fireball lashed wildly, and for a frightful bit it seemed the promise of the fireball would be spilled upon the linens. As luck, or perhaps as desire would have it, Hermione, quite inflamed herself, grasped the object of mutual desire and guided Draco and his fireball to the target.

As Draco found himself "tucked in" as it were, there followed a good two or perhaps three minutes of ferocious motion and activity. Draco's frantic vertical 'to and fro' motion caused the wild boy to resemble the albino 'bunny-rabbit' he had so often been likened to. He frenetically pumped away his muscular rear reflecting a pale stripe of moonlight through the slightly parted bed curtains. Draco moaned. He groaned the sort of language he had hoped to peel from Hermione. Sweat dripped hot from his sweat-darkened hair, and dripped like cold rains upon the equally frantic girl. Draco and his ladylove soaked in the juices of their primeval, magical effluvia. There was a loud and mutual cry of passion and Bob's your uncle, their "first time" was all over. The entire event took place inside of five minutes; oh, all right, three minutes if anyone had actually sat there with a timepiece. There. That was the truth of it all, the entire 'dirty deed' in its entirety.

Now, let us go through the above action again, only this time using the magic of omnioculars; I must ask you all to please, slide the action lever to "slow", and depress "replay". A glass of nice mulled butterbeer is strongly recommended.

Oh, and music; your choice, but the house recommendation is Ravel's Bolero.

***************

Draco threw his cloak to the foot of Hermione's bed, and quickly untied the stays of his trousers. His leather trousers were soft, thin and as malleable as a second skin. The leather folds clung gently to each curve of Draco's warm crotch and Hermione gasped as she watched Draco tuck his thumbs into the waistband. With his natural sense of showmanship, Draco slowly pushed the leather to his knees, in a quick but sensual dance, showing inch by inch of his ready flesh. His controlled writhing allotted Hermione the time to gasp in appreciation of the Fireball, wagging its tail in all of its glory. The removal of the shirt, jacket and the kicking off of the trousers was short work. Freed of his clothing, Draco dropped to one knee.

Kneeling beside Hermione and with a loud moan of joy Draco leaned forward, burying his burning face in the brown locks, drowning himself willingly in the 'bushy' hair he once ridiculed and that he missed. Now the fragrant brown tangle upon the pillow and its sweet scent fed Draco's immediate need. Hermione reached up, and grasped her "evil boy" with her hands, pulling him toppling onto her. The feel of flannel nightdress beneath Draco was maddening to him. Pushing himself to his knees again, Draco frantically pulled the folds of Hermione's nightdress toward her head and gave a happy gasp as Hermione cooperated, lifting her bum off the sheets, allowing Draco to hoist the soft flannels up. Hermione lifted herself to a half sitting position and raised her arms joyfully. With one clean movement, Draco freed his love of all entangling clothing and any remaining earthly restraints.

Draco straddled Hermione and he took a moment to admire the soft damp flesh of his love. He sucked his teeth as he briefly marvelled at the long shallow line that started so entrancingly just below her soft breasts to form a soft furrow. The furrow seemed ploughed by some gentle angel, all the way south to the divot of the teasing navel that Draco so loved to explore with his tongue. Below, farther south was the second tangle of brown locks, moist and fragrant as rich soil, also deeply ploughed by ancient gods, for the benefit of the luckiest of young men. Draco wanted to explore further but the Fireball fought to dominate Draco's mind.

For the first time in Draco's life, he could rejoice in the pulsing of his fireball, of his "precious". This was the first time he would not have to hold himself back from his physical sensations, flinging himself away from the touch of his beloved moments before his ardour sparked, to wait alone, and miserable while the heavenly sensations faltered and died. The very thought of his new freedom to touch, to embed, to wriggle into his lover without fear almost undid him, almost causing the as yet, innocent lad to spill his ardour upon the linens. So for several strained seconds, Draco held still, again allowing the sensations to subside, but this time he enjoyed those precious seconds of inactivity. This time he knew he would soon "tuck in". As he waited the precious seconds, Draco murmured, 'Petals' over and over, because the very name was like honey on his tongue.

Seeking Hermione's lips, Draco sucked at them, biting as gently as he could manage. The Fireball had taken control. There were of course, not one Fireball, but two; Hermione had lost control of her own tiny Fireball, smaller and no less raging than Draco's own. Hermione pressed upward, her small "bit" working upwards, seeking its mate. Draco responded vigorously, feverishly ramming the "dragon's tail", desperately seeking the fragrant brown tangle, the pink rooted and damp little heaven that sustained Draco's thoughts through the worst trial of his life. The fireball's fiery red tail gently stroked the curly nest in a teasing manner. Hermione could stand it no longer, and crying out Draco's name she grasped the Fireball guiding it into its moist nest. It is hard describing Draco's feelings on finding himself accomplishing the miraculous trick of "descending" into the heavens. There was no longer a fear of explosions, implosions or a ghastly death by evil charms meant to punish him for his essential nature. The only charms in the bed were those of Hermione, and her charms were a heady mix for Draco. Hermione's hips lunged upward, grinding her most gentle and pink girl bits against Draco; she engulfed the Fireball.

Draco muttered as he took in mentally what was happening. Something was happening that he longed for and thought would never be his to experience. Quickly he lost the ability to control himself enough to continue kissing Hermione's tender face and neck. He could only cling desperately to Hermione, so overheated with desire that he gave momentary consideration to racing over to the dorm window to fling it open. He was exuding more moisture than he ever thought possible, and wondered if his Petals minded the soup of richly scented sweat that he rained upon her. He clutched her torso, in something of a mating frenzy and Hermione held onto Draco white buttocks gripping as though she was afraid he would bounce off of her bed while the battle below their waists raged. The breath of the pair grew more and more ragged, more laboured, warmer than the heat that wafted from the fireplace across the room, warmer than summer, hotter than the sun.

The noisy panting was not the only noise, for the two each showered their lover with tender, incoherent words of great praise, very possibly in Mermish, Atlantian or some other ancient tongues. Then there was a rough swear word by Draco. From Hermione there was a little gasp of shock followed by a loud cry. There was one last frantic and mutual thrust that set puffy boy and girl bits pulsating in mutual release that at once felt like stress and release, heat and ice, tremors and peace, in short - heaven.

The Fireball's tail had accomplished the task. Deed done, the Fireball withdrew, coiled up like an African lion after the hunt, and settled into well-earned repose. Hermione set about worrying Draco's little boyish nipple bits; by morning there would be a need for plasters all round.

***************

Was that good for you too? Well happily, the scenario is not quite over. For, knowing what we have all learned about this pair of lovers, and their peculiarities, it should go without saying, what came next were tears.

The tears released a flood of emotion, which once begun could not be staunched. There were tears for the ultimate joy of physical love, the "proper lovemaking" at last come to fruition. There were tears because the promise made by Salazar's heart in the night time shadows beneath the Quidditch stadium had come to pass. There were tears for the months of frustration finally come to an end. And there were tears for the simple joy of laying aside one's love, having freely, openly and joyfully released one's passions with no fear of harm. The tears flowed unrestricted for some twenty minutes, before the flow began to subside.

There was much embarrassment.

'Draco,' said Hermione. 'You promised me this would happen one day, and I did not believe... I'm so sorry I didn't believe you. It was as wonderful as you always promised me it would be.'

'Yes, it... no, no it was a bad job, I botched it, I was too hurried! I wanted to take my time but I had at you like an albino bunny rabbit under a fecundity charm!'

'No, no Cocoa, it was not like that at all, it was wonderful. It was everything I ever dreamed of. You did what you set out to do. Made proper love to me; by Salazar's Heart, we exercised the Fireball and "lived to tell the tail". Please Cocoa dear, won't you stop crying?'

Draco sat up a bit, and faced Hermione, wiping his eyes and puffy face. He wagged a finger angrily in Hermione's face. 'So help me Petals, if you ever, ever, ever, even consider telling anyone that I cried when I lost my virginity, I swear by all that is turgid, I will track you down and...'

'Cocoa, stop it,' said Hermione. Nonplussed she resumed worrying Draco's pink boy bits with her teeth and running her fingers along Draco's bum, across the soft indents and the delightful pair of dimples. 'Cocoa, why would I tell anyone that you, or I for that matter, had sex? It isn't anyone's business but ours.'

'Well,' said Draco in a rare fit of complete honesty, 'because there is nothing that will faster and more completely move a Slytherin up in rank than a prime bit of nookie. And mind, that includes besting Auggie MacIntyre in a wizard's duel.'

'Rank?' asked Hermione as she traced the red coils of the Fireball with a pretty fingernail.

'Yes,' said Draco, leaving off worrying Hermione's nipples for a moment. 'Rank. You Petals, surely you must have rank in Gryffindor? I imagine to rise in rank in Gryffindor one would have to kiss your Potter's arse or some such... figuratively speaking - I hope. In Ravenclaw it might be a matter of whose marks are closest to a certain swot witch in Gryffindor who gets marks of 300% on most of her exams - I wonder who the witch might be, hum? And well... to rise in rank in Hufflepuff, well, I imagine one of them would have to manage to walk and chew gum at the same time.

'Where do you get such rude and silly ideas Cocoa?' Hermione giggled.

'The only silly idea I've had in ages is that I imagined I would be able to take my ease and make proper love to you the first time, s l o w l y. And damn me, I had at you like a Fang humping the leg of that girlie half-giant Maxime.'

'Draco, don't be rude,' Hermione scolded.

'Petals,' said Draco sincerely. There is one more thing.' He sat up, cross legged, scratching his crotch and hoping Hermione could gawk and concentrate at the same time. 'This was the happiest day of my life. But I feel I ought to apologize. We both know the Fireball is magnificent, and I am sorry that when I "de-petaled" you, I hurt your gentle little girlie cavern gate there, when I wished to be quite gentle. Why, I imagine you are so sore you won't be able to enjoy any more of my magnificence for at last a week.'

'What? Cocoa,' said Hermione carefully, 'I don't know quite how to put this, but I not only enjoyed myself thoroughly, but I would love to have another go right now.'

'What?' said Draco with a smirk. 'Is sugar and spice and everything girlie plugging up those lovely shell pink ears of yours? You need not put on a brave face and lie about how painful it was losing your virginity after being hammered at by a bullish sort of wizard like me. I know full well that when a witch loses her virgin...' Draco's mouth hung open as the snakes, snails and puppy dog tails that cluttered up his own boy brain absorbed the possible implications of Hermione's announcement.

'You're not expecting any details, are you?' said Hermione firmly, 'because you are not to have any.'

Draco's smirk quickly melted into a sort of sickly shocked look. This contingency had never once occurred to him. He quickly made a mental list of potential "guilty parties" who may have first got to HIS girl; heads were going to roll.

Hermione gave Draco a surprisingly calm look. 'Cocoa, I am older than you are,' she said and changed her argument. 'Were you expecting me to wait for you when I did not even know we would some day become lovers?'

'No, but....'

'Oh. Perhaps are you disappointed you were not the wizard who caused me a great deal of physical discomfort and outright pain?'

'Yes,' Draco sputtered, 'I mean no, I mean...'

'Draco,' Hermione stroked Draco's thigh gently in a teasing manner he always enjoyed. 'I only told you at all because you were sweet enough to be concerned for my comfort. And before you get too far into plotting your revenge, "he" isn't here at Hogwarts.'

Single-handedly, Hermione had possibly averted a small war.

Disturbed but unable to think on what to do, Draco laid down, and without realizing it, curled up into a foetal position.

'Oh, Cocoa,' said Hermione. She curled up alongside Draco, running her lips and tongue over his mouth until he relaxed. 'I only told you so we can "proceed" with the next round, free of anxiety.'

'Oh, right,' said Draco fussed. 'Well now we can "proceed" as it were, entirely free of a stiffy.'

The last thing Draco wanted to hear at that point, was Hermione giggling, but she did.

'Not a problem dear,' and the clever girl disappeared beneath the duvet. Draco lay on his back settling onto the pillow and soon he was emitting heartfelt, helpless, deeply intense moans. Hermione crawled back up Draco's stomach and perched herself on him. Draco's volume of moaning grew exponentially as did the Fireball.

~~~~~

Hermione woke only shortly before dawn and lay comfortable, her eyes shut, thinking about how in so many ways she had never felt so warm or knew her body to feel so right. She was warm in new places and although Draco was out cold and snoring, his hands tucked as usual "in his special place" beneath the covers, Hermione could still feel his phantom hands caressing her. It was a strange sensation and she enjoyed it thoroughly.

Hermione snuggled closer to the source of the loud snuffling snores and laid a hand by Draco's face. She opened her eyes. 'Draco,' said Hermione hesitantly, 'the pillow.'

'Wha...?' asked Draco, waking groggily, not bothering to open his eyes either. 'It's not time to leave yet, is it?' he muttered.

'The pillow Draco.' Hermione slid her hand beneath Draco's face, under his cheek. 'Here, feel it.'

'Oh, you know I can't help it,' Draco whinged. He pulled his hand out from under the covers to slide it just below Hermione's where her hand lay under his cheek. The pillow was warm and dry as a sun bleached bone.

'T-T-The pillow...' Draco stuttered momentarily but caught himself. He snorted. 'So what about the pillow Petals? It's nice, warm and dry. So what?' He turned his hand over and grasped Hermione's hand giving it a firm squeeze. Hermione squeezed back and both began to softly chuckle. It was quite dark, but they found each other's mouth easily, by following the trail of their warm breath, sweet by lover's standards. Draco rolled onto his side and grasped Hermione firmly by her rear. He pulled her tightly onto himself and rolled onto his back, pulling her along with him so she laid atop him. They breathed into each other's noses. Together they gasped and then crooned to each other, as the simple magic of two hearts worked as one.

Draco's nightmares were over and new dreams had begun.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The first post Christmas holiday Quidditch practice took place as early as it ever had. Dawn's light was only just begun to show through the trees of the Forbidden Forest. The usual Dawn Brawn admirers were present and eagerly awaiting the light of day glinting on the Slytherin muscle and brawn circling the pitch. The Slytherin fans by now had learned Draco tolerated no yelling or throwing of undergarments or even kisses that floated down through the air upon their racing heart throbs. The entire group of formerly rowdy admirers sat quietly but happily, waiting for Draco to allow his team to take a few minutes of admiration at the end of their run - if and only if the team performed well.

On this morning of the first day of post holiday practice, the Slytherin team had performed admirably.

'You lot did not stink this morning!' Draco marched down the line of his team, nodding his head slowly. 'Obviously you are all energized from overdoses of holiday sweets, but damn me, you ran well. Go on then. Take your due!'

'THANK YOU CAPTAIN DRACO MALFOY SIR!'

The team ran off, waving to their admirers in the stands, blowing kisses and catching the odd black thong or frilly brassier; they had earned their reward.

Magnanimous, Draco walked hands behind his back, waiting for his team to soak up their share of admiration. He spotted and recognized a shady figure by the Slytherin walkway to the locker room. Wondering what was wrong now, Draco headed over. He was in high spirits and as he moved over the walkway, he put his Starshotz 6000 broomstick to work as 'air guitar' and improvised, belting out a new celebratory song, strutting, sashaying and duck walking over to the Slytherin walkway.

'PETALS WORKED HER DRA-GON MAN UP AND DOWN

SHE PLEASED HER DRA-GON MAN ALL AROUND

DRACO CONSTELLATION IN THE SKY GOT NOTHING ON THIS MALE

'CAUSE MY GRYFFINDOR BABY GOT HER DRA-GON BY THE TAIL!

THE JOB FOR ME, WAS PLUCK THE CHERRY FROM THE BUSH

AND NO OTHER DAMNED JOB SO CUSH, PUSH, PUSH

SO PETALS GOT SQUEEZED BY A SLYTHERIN MOVE

HER DRACO DOWN TO BUSINESS IN THE GRYFFINDOR GROOVE!'

'Good Morning Professor Snape,' Draco called out cheerily. 'Why are you up so early? Would you enjoy a go screaming at my team? They're bound to muck up eventually. Radgerman's out there, only a matter of time.'

Snape stood shrouded in a long black wool cloak, buttoned to his neck. His funereal face stared glumly from a frame of greasy black hair that was too heavy to move in the breeze that travelled down the walkway corridor. 'Mr Malfoy. When I entered my office this morning, I found a package on my desk.'

'Lovely,' said Draco cheerily. 'See? Father Christmas knew you were a good professor this year. So what'd you get Sir? Latest edition of Scathing Quips for All Occasions. New balls? Oh, I mean rubber balls for playing jacks of course'

'Are you quite finished Mr Malfoy?' asked Snape.

'No, not even up to the top level bits yet sir. Did Father Christmas bring you a...'

'Mr Malfoy,' said Snape coldly. 'The package contained a naturally shed dragon scale. Quite fresh. Fireball. No proper registration marking the scale as being legally obtained. Might you be able to shed some light on the object?'

'Not without a torch.' Draco sounded scandalized. 'No, Professor. I know nothing about any dragon scale you may have received, and I would hide the bloody thing if I were you; quite illegal, could net you a few months in Azkaban. Know anyone in Azkaban who really, really misses you? Might fancy a cell mate?'

Snape's face had the sort of look he habitually developed just prior to issuing detentions.

'Might your father be harbouring an illegal...?'

'Oh, no Professor,' said Draco seriously. 'Powerfully expensive dragon scales are. One can pull off some wicked magic with a Fireball scale; must be worth more than its weight in Galleons. Well, I'd love to pass the time of day Professor, but while we chat, my team's brains are turning into porridge and their muscles to gelatine... leg muscles. I do not refer to the muscles between their legs, those are turning into steel, the lusty lot. Say, why don't you grind the scale, make a jot of love potion? Give it a go with Madame Hooch.' Draco said in a stage whisper. 'I would say it is a fair bet there are legs under Hooch's robes, and it is a fair bet what might be found there.'

Professor Snape made an audible growl.

'Well Professor, I have a team to train. Ta ra!'

As Draco trotted off, as quickly as he could without running - he was well aware he had gone more than a bit too far in his comments and was likely too pay for his bout of cheekiness sooner or later. To his rear he heard Snape loudly muttering, 'You miserable, over bred, conceited little...'

'Dear Snape, really loves me. Sweet really,' Draco snickered to himself.

Back on the pitch Draco stood waiting, his arms folded, watching his team exchange flirtatious greetings with their stadium admirers. Among the Slytherin fans was a new contingent, composed of a wizards and a small number of witches, who came to admire the newest member of the Slytherin team, Messalina Zabini.

Down on the field, the first to complete the morning run, Messalina stood stretching out her long legs like a prize filly. As she stretched she languidly waved at the group admiring her - many of whom she was intimately familiar with. The thoroughly Messalina-smitten Crabbe ran with the Slytherin team for his exercise and smiled shyly as some of the Dawn Brawn supporters called out his name. Also by Messalina's side, docile as Fang, was Goyle. Following weeks of daily running, Goyle looked wondrously fit, and surprisingly calm about the cadre of folk admiring his girl. Goyle's calm was due to the fact he knew no one in their proper mind would challenge him, or Crabbe to their rights to their girl.

Resigned to counting herself among the Dawn Brawn now, Hermione left the stands and walked up to her Slytherin beau for the morning pleasure of planting a kiss on his sweaty cheek.

'How lucky you are to have a girl who is willing to wake so early and sit in this wretched cold for the pleasure of watching you run,' Hermione cooed into Draco's ear. 'Was that Professor Snape you were speaking to? Why is he out here so early?'

'It's sad Petals. Severus loves me, can't stay away from me. Did you know greasy hair makes me hot? You have competition my little swot.' Draco laughed at the mock-shocked look on Hermione's face. Draco was full of himself; more so than he had been for ages. 'I will have the team up in the air performing our broom exercises shortly, but before that, there is a great surprise in store.' Draco lowered his voice. 'You know that Madame Hooch placed Messalina Zabini on the team but the girl is not really officially on the team without "Captain's approval".'

Hermione grinned and playfully clapped her mitten clad hands together. 'That is marvellous Draco! Zabini will be so thrilled. It is about time. You know as well as I do, she deserves her spot on the team. Look how effortlessly she ran rings around the rest of Slytherin team just now!'

'Hardly a surprise Hermione,' said Draco winking amiable and nicking a quick feel. 'No girl at Hogwarts gets as much aerobic exercise on so regular a basis as Miss Zabini. Oh, except perhaps for you.' Draco bestowed a lovely short snog on Hermione that caused the girl to drop her school bag to the ground, hyperventilate and blush to boot. His job well done, Draco laughed, handed Hermione back her bag, and giving her a playful pat on her bum, he sent her to the sidelines to await his announcement along with the rest of the audience.

'May I have your attention please!' called out Draco, his arms held out to the Dawn brawn supporters in the seating area. 'I have an important announcement!' When Draco was certain all eyes were on him, he continued.

'Messalina, you served the team well,' Draco began. 'You are the first witch team member since - was it the 1300s? Details! What matters is while I was temporarily out of commission you played your best. You flew as seeker and won an important match for Slytherin house. As Madame Hooch explained, now that I am again back on duty as seeker, and team captain, it only remains for me to confirm your membership on the Slytherin team. So, it is with some joy, and no small amount of pride that I declare, Miss Messalina Zabini, thank you for all your hard work for our team. You are hereby... dismissed.'

The entirety of the stadium gasped in amazement. Had they heard correctly?

'What?' asked Messalina shaking her thick mane of hair. 'Dismissed? Pardon me Malfoy, but you did say, 'dismissed?''

'Yes,' said Draco. 'You are no longer needed. We are full up with big strong men on the team. You may go now. Thank you very, very, very much.' Draco waved his hand on the air - a king dismissing a serf.

'What? Do you mean I am not on the team?' asked Messalina in an incredulous voice. Being the very spirit of confidence, never in all her years, had Messalina sounded so befuddled at a public forum.

'Yes, that is right,' Draco explained with patience, 'you are a witch - an attractive one - and you are not on the team. This should be no surprise whatsoever as I have been quite clear all along that Slytherin team is for wizards, not for little bloody-knickered, mincing girlies who pitch a fit because their manicures suffer damage during a scrimmage. Now go on my former sweet. Take that adorable little arse of yours away from pitch. I recommend you have a go practicing losing at Slytherin Wizard's Chess.' Draco winked at Messalina. 'We wizards always appreciate and look forward to witches with the good grace to lose their knickers at Wizard's Chess on a regular basis.'

I would like to say that the Slytherin team was by this time pitching a major hissy fit over the obviously wildly unfair ejection of Messalina from the team, but I would be lying to you. The unfortunate truth was the Slytherin team was in full celebration at the dismissal of their unwanted witch team member. The masculine brutes leapt about, screamed 'HURRAH, NO WITCH ON THE TEAM!' They made rude and downright ugly comments on the insanity of having females on their team and danced about, their shirts pulled up over their grinning faces. Crabbe and Goyle had the good sense to stand still and keep their mouths closed, although it was too bad neither had the brains to appear horrified at Draco's decision. It is a wise saying, attributed to Salazar Slytherin, 'it is difficult for a dog to obey to two masters'.

'Malfoy, you, you,' Messalina, for possibly the first time in her life, was at a loss for proper words to express her indignation at the astoundingly unfair decision.

'Oh, have you something to say Messalina?' Draco enjoyed his bit of cruelty at which he was only just getting started. From the sidelines, a textbook sailed towards Draco's head, but now back in his prime, he ducked with ease and the text sailed over his head, hitting Radgerman squarely on the forehead. Poor Radgerman weaved giddily on his feet for several seconds before collapsing in a heap among his team mates.

Draco twisted his head around to smile lovingly towards Hermione who stood ten feet away shaking with rage and preparing to hurl the remainder of her school texts after the first. Draco mouthed 'good shot!' at Hermione and turned back to face his raging ex-team mate.

'Messalina,' Draco reasoned. 'You won a Quidditch match against the Huffle "cream" puffs. You caught the snitch out from under the nose of that bollock-challenged Ginny 'Ginger-twat' Weasley whom I hear is keeping company with that arse-hole Potter. I can only hope that idiot Potty is getting shagged by the girl or by seventh year he will leave Hogwarts the only virgin other than Bulstrode and that little third year lad who picks his nose in the Great Hall like a monkey reaching into a hole for nuts. Where was I? Yes, tell you what Messie. I want you to keep the Starshotz 6000 broomstick as a little going away present. Now, that is fair enough? You can float the Starshotz in the air and hang your tights on it to dry.' Draco grinned condescendingly, showing off his shining white teeth to great advantage.

By this time anyone who has read the previous chapters, not to mention all those present in the stadium were aware that Messalina was dangerously close to the explosion point. The Slytherin team began to pull their jerseys and jumpers off their faces to keep an eye on Messalina and to ease back from Draco and Messalina. Not one team member doubted the girl would soon go for her wand and make short work of Draco and no one wanted to be hit by stray wand fire. Crabbe simply shut his eyes and hoped for the best. He assumed "the best" would involve large pus oozing boils on someone's unfortunate arse. Goyle was on his way back to the locker room at a brisk pace; his intelligence had taken a marked turn for the better.

'What Miss Zabini? A lovely professional quality 1995 Starshotz 6000 premium quality racing broomstick not good enough for you?' Taking great risk, Draco followed his inflammatory statement by flicked his eyebrows up and down mischievously at Messalina. The girl's temples pulsated.

Draco sighed as if defeated. 'Fine. Fair is fair Messalina. I will ask my girlfriend if she minds if I 'thank you' for your Hufflepuff win, in proper Slytherin style.' Draco winked and whispered. 'But I don't hold out much hope really, I know my girl will have none of it. Awfully jealous and possessive of me she is.'

The stadium was dead quiet. Slowly, menacingly, Messalina picked up her Starshotz 6000 broomstick. With deliberateness, she raised it brought it down with tremendous force over her knee; an impressive feat. Then in an act long to be remembered as a part of Hogwarts lore, she broke the two remaining pieces, together mind you, over her delicate knee breaking the broomstick into four pieces. The resulting crack was distressingly loud, and it was not until Messalina flung the broken broomstick bits to the pitch did the shocked audience marvel that it was in fact the broomsticks that were shattered, and not the young woman's kneecap.

The Slytherin could not believe their eyes. No one in his or her right mind would destroy a valuable Starshotz 6000. The witch was insane... just as Draco had always told them. How lucky they were to have such a clever team captain. A second crack ripped the air as a cloud of blue smoke rose from the broken bits of the destroyed Starshotz broomstick.

Draco stood, hands on his hips and watched the blue smoke, trailing away on the early morning breeze.

Damn me, but a new year begins. The era of my Death Eater nightmares is finally ended. The era of Messalina based nightmares begins. Zabini - and her sister - are going to see that I pay for my opinions. And worse. Petals will slice off my bollocks, arrange them on a silver tray with parsley and award them to Messalina as the final consolation prize.

Breaking into a sheepish grin, Draco ruffled his blonde hair, and waved to the still somewhat stunned crowd in the stands. He yelled, 'Oy! Slytherin team! On your broomsticks! What are you waiting for - my footprint on your FAT arses? Why did you stupid lot put on more fat over the holidays? Your arses are so fat you lot make prat Hagrid's suet laden rump look dainty! You are all going to run 10 more laps after practice! I want that holiday fat on those lumpy arses gone by month's end, DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?'

'YES, CAPTAIN DRACO MALFOY SIR!' chimed the Slytherin team. They mounted their broomsticks and kicked off into the crisp morning air putting distance between themselves and Draco as rapidly as possible.

Draco's thoughts were somewhat melancholy, but such was life lived at the boiling cauldron's edge. At the very least Draco had not been bored since September that first night of term. And he was secure in the knowledge he would be anything but bored for the remainder of term. Climbing onto his Starshotz, he kicked off, and climbed steeply, spinning his broomstick around to see his beloved Hermione stomping off angrily, already half way back to the castle - the girl was in a right snit and likely to remain that way for days on end.

Hope I didn't overplay my hand? Wonder how long to get Petals back on her good side? I wonder how she would respond to flowers or a pretty necklace? Bribery always works for Father when Mother is out of sorts. No, how stupid of me. Bet she would fancy that rare text she mentioned the other day. All wrapped up nice with tissue, ribbon, bows and the rest of the sort of crap girls are so fond of. Damn me, but it's going to be marvellous fun making up with her.

Addressing his team, which hovered nearby awaiting instructions, Draco bellowed at them

'You will all practice the Slytherin snake roll until I return! You, Pucey! You do two extra runs around the pitch at end of practice, because I don't like your face!'

Leaving behind his grumbling team, Draco on his Starshotz shot toward the castle with intent to defuse Hermione's anger a bit, and perhaps speed up the approach of some make-up shagging. Of course, Hermione was no push over and the Fireball would be aching for action by the time Hermione would allow herself to be cajoled into almost-not-quite-forgiving Draco his evil ways. But then, perhaps that was what Draco wanted, a little drama of the non-dangerous sort. Then again, perhaps he thought he could use an extra day or two for his aching and plastered nipp... his boy bits... to heal up a bit. Yes, at the very least, the remainder of the school year was sure to be interesting.

F i n i s