Spark

Chapter 1 - The Missing Halo

'Oi, Ron! Hermione!'

Harry called as he climbed through the portrait hole and into the Gryffindor common room. His best mates were in the same spot where he left them in three hours earlier: locking horns over a game of Wizard's Chess. He tossed his jumper onto a chair, eager to watch Ron and Hermione - engaged in a struggle over the black and white checkered board.

'Where you been, Harry?' asked Ron, ignoring the scathing looks from Hermione. Half of Hermione's chess pieces lay piled in a heap by Ron's elbow.

'Walking, I stopped by Hagrid's.' Harry broke into a huge grin. 'We took Fang by the lake; loads of fun. Fang fell in and Hagrid went in after him. You wouldn't believe how hairy his legs are!'

'Fang or Hagrid's?' asked Ron.

'Rats!' said Hermione frowning at Ron's latest move.

'Leave Scabbers out of this,' said Ron, and he stroked his pet rat Scabbers that was curled up sleeping on his lap. Scabbers was old, and true, the rat's legs were a bit bald in spots, but Ron wasn't sure if Scabbers was sensitive on the matter.

Harry happily leaned on the table. There was a great deal of fun to be had, watching of Ron and Hermione shout directions at their chess pieces - especially the latter. The clever girl was always frustrated because all the reading in the world could not give her an edge on controlling chess pieces that belonged to and took their orders from Ron.

'Just move over to the right like I told you!' Hermione fussed at a stubborn white castle.
'You stupid... I said RIGHT, not LEFT!' The contrary castle ignored her, skittering left where it fell over by one of Ron's pawns. The castle and the pawn squeaked like mice as they came to blows.

'Oh, do you know,' said Harry, enjoying himself. 'Hagrid and I heard singing by the lake.'

'Singing?' shouted Ron as he cheerfully watched his pawn beating the crap out of the Hermione's castle; which gave him great satisfaction. 'What do you mean?'

Harry shrugged, not wanting to seem too interested in singing. 'Someone was singing coming from over the lake; very pretty but in some foreign language. Hagrid and I listened to it for a long time.' Harry choked back a laugh. 'The songs made Hagrid cry buckets; I could have used an umbrella. Said he'd heard the same song coming from across the lake loads of times - thinks the singer is some sort of siren.'

'What? An alarm?' said Ron, puzzled.

Hermione stopped screaming at her castle and used a "know-it-all" voice that caused Ron and Harry to roll their eyes. 'No, I think Hagrid meant a siren - a magical being with a beautiful voice which is used to lure sailors. You see, the sailors cannot resist the siren's voice so they go to it,' Hermione said pleasantly. 'Then the siren cuts off their heads and eats them alive.' She reached over to give her castle a thump on the head, knocking it over. 'Serves you right you stupid little...'

'But if they're heads are chopped off first, how can they be eaten alive?' Harry sensibly asked.

Ron's eyes bugged out; to him there was little comfort in knowing if one would be alive or dead before being eaten. Sounding as nonchalant as he could manage he asked, 'So...do sirens eat other things besides sailors? Oh, I mean - do they kill and eat boys?'

Hermione shook back her bushy hair and rolled her own eyes. 'Not to worry, Ron,' she said in a snotty voice. 'Sirens only live in oceans, not in lakes - you stupid bishop! I didn't tell you to go over there!' The white bishop on the chessboard waved both arms at Hermione as if to say, 'fie on you!' or perhaps something far more rude.

Harry laughed at Hermione's annoyance and continued.

'After a while Hagrid and I went to look for the singer, you know. Went to the far side of the lake but whatever was singing, siren or not, it was gone.'

'Harry, did one of the songs go something like this?' Hermione hummed a few lines from a Welsh lullaby.

Harry nodded thoughtfully. 'Yes, that was one of the songs. That one made Hagrid bawl like a baby. Hang on - then you've heard it too then? The singing I mean, not Hagrid crying.'

'Before we three became friends,' Hermione looked at Harry and Ron seriously. 'I heard the singing - saw the singer too - off on the far side of the lake. I tried to catch up to him but he got away. Whoever he is, I could see he is a first year too, like us.'

'He?' Harry laughed. 'That wasn't a boy, the singing - it was sweeter than treacle.'

'Boys can have wonderfully sweet voices. Surely you've heard choir boys sing?'

'No,' said Harry sheepishly - he'd been kept so sheltered by his guardians - the Dursleys - that in some ways the "Muggle" world was still nearly as big an unknown to him as the Wizarding world.

Hermione felt a little sorry for him. 'My mother says boy choirs are popular because boys can have voices much more powerful than girls - strong, forceful voices. That is why I think, "our" Hogwarts singer must be a boy - no girl I've ever heard can sing a song so loud as to be heard clear across a lake. The singer is a boy.'

'A boy, eh?' Ron snorted, giving Harry a wicked glance. 'Explains why Hermione's so anxious to find him.'

'You are very silly, Ron,' said Hermione, focusing on the squabbling chess pieces again.

'You know, I'd like to find 'him', the singer - for a chat - find out about his songs - where he learned them. Find out how and why he learned to sing.' Hermione gave the boys a look, warning them not to joke about what she was about to say next. 'My mother says when a person has a special talent for something - maybe singing, drawing - that person has a 'spark'; the spark of genius in their soul.'

'You mean like Harry being brilliant on a broomstick?' Ron asked seriously.

'Or Hermione getting brilliant marks in all her exams,' Harry quickly retorted, because however much he deserved praise, it always embarrassed him when it was given.

'Yes,' said Hermione, her own cheeks going a bit pink. 'Or you Ronald.'

Ron looked startled. He didn't reckon there was anything about himself that even hinted of having a 'spark' worth mentioning. He thought he was being teased.

'You Ron - you have a spark for playing Wizard's chess.'

Ron broke into a grin and absolutely glowed. 'Oh? Do you really think so?' He motioned his black knight to leap two squares up, and one to the right, bashing Hermione's Queen with a tiny lance. 'CHECKMATE!'

Hermione fumed. 'This is a beastly game, Ronald, and I don't know why I let you talk me into playing!' She petulantly knocked his knight over, and immediately felt guilty about it. She picked it up, gave it a kiss, and then tossed it down, her face screwed up in horror. 'Ewww! That knight tastes like earwax!'

Ron began to laugh and snort, rolling off his chair onto the carpet. Harry laughed too, pounding his fist on the table. They both knew Ron was in the habit of sticking the chess pieces into his ear between moves because he claimed it helped him to concentrate.

'HA,' shouted Ron happily as he climbed off the floor. 'I win!' suddenly his face went all funny. 'Hang on - that was my chess piece that got smashed.'

'Serves you right for gloating.' Hermione looked pleased. 'Will you two help me find the singer? I think we must look for a boy - a boy with a 'spark' for singing - that much is evident.' She looked upward and her face took on a dreamy appearance. 'A boy like that would be probably be kind - sensitive - sweet and gentle - a wonderful boy.'

'Right then,' snorted Ron, smirking. 'Then we'll look for some prancing little "girl's blouse". There's a few of them around.' He and Harry playfully punched each other in the arm and sniggering.

Hermione did not laugh, nor did she look amused. 'Whoever he is, I'm sure he is no nancy boy, or a "girl's blouse."' She determined that the next time she went to the library she would look up what on earth a girl's blouse could be, other than something to wear. 'Whoever the singer is, he is sure to be a wonderful, kind, sweet and gentle boy and I'm certain we will be great friends.'

'Don't worry Hermione - your singer will be easier for us to find than Nicolas Flamel,' said Harry, 'sure to be - we only have to look for a boy with a halo!'

~*~*~*~*~*~

That very same afternoon, the wind blew up from the Hogwarts Lake, brisk and nippy, and like a disobedient child, it was very noisy, making an enormous racket as it whipped through shrubs and bushes and broke branches from trees. In a copse of trees down by the lake a third year Ravenclaw boy peered around a tree. He gazed around as carefully as if he was being tracked by a tiger or some other dangerous animal. At last he seemed satisfied he was safe. He stepped out from behind the tree, looking up the path back toward the castle. As bad luck would have it, the very thing he had lost track of was at that very moment, sneaking up behind him.

The Ravenclaw boy fell forward with a loud grunt and hit the ground with a force that knocked the wind from him. Landing on his face he struggled as another boy leapt onto his back, pummeled him with flaying fists. Yelping in terror, the Ravenclaw struggled to his feet and took off, racing back towards the castle, his robes flying loose behind him, his nose bleeding and not caring that he didn't get a look at his attacker.

The attacker, a much smaller boy, stood watching the fleeing boy. He shouted, 'Follow me again, they'll find your in your fat arse in the Forest with werewolves gnawing the gristle!' He pushed his blonde fringe back from his forehead.

By now you must have guessed who this younger, irascible boy was. Therefore it can be assumed you also have guessed there was no halo of any sort floating anywhere near him: because the blonde boy was no angel. Neither could the boy be described as a prancing nancy boy or a girl's blouse either. He was Draco Malfoy, a first year who had long ago been told by his father, "the element of surprise could go a long way towards compensating for a lack of force". He was equally pleased he hadn't even needed to draw his wand. That was also thanks to his father, who had taught Draco more hexes and jinxes than many seventh year students knew.

Normally, Draco had no need to fight any of his own battles because he commonly kept himself surrounded by his closest school mates - two very burly boys who fought his battles for him. Still, he found it nice to on occasion "keep a hand in" as it were, fighting his own battles - even if he made them up on the spot. He had no idea whether the Ravenclaw boy had been following him or happened to only be off on the Hogwarts grounds, enjoying his day and skiving a lesson, as was Draco.

Taking off at a brisk pace, like many a small boy, Draco picked up a stick and dragged it along the ground. He was certain no one in their right mind, even a teacher, could expect him to sit through something so boring a class as "History of Magic" for five days out of a week. So as he'd already attended the dreadful class three days already for that week, on this day he was instead headed for his favorite spot, an overhang with a great view of the lake. He was headed there so he could sit and sing his somewhat evil little heart out.

Hermione had been correct - Draco absolutely had a special talent, that 'spark' which was his singing. He loved to sing and he adored using his song to his own advantage.

Often was the time Draco heard adults say he had a 'freak' voice. By "freak" they did not mean Draco was ugly or ungainly; he was in fact an attractive enough child whose pointed face had almost girlish cheekbones, fair skin, and large dove-grey eyes, above which his hair grew silky, and as pale as a Norse angel on a Christmas tree. Nor was Draco's voice freakish, because it was harsh or in any way unpleasant. His voice was freakish because it was a quirk of nature. He was gifted with a voice beautiful and mature in its vocal range and timbre, as powerful as that of a grown man and utterly wonderful to listen to. Anyone hearing Draco's voice - even atheists and nay-sayers like me, could not hear him sing and not think, 'I am listening to the voice of an angel!' A fallen angel anyway; because those who knew the boy personally realized that descriptions of Draco as "demonically possessed", "evil" and "seriously twisted" were closer to the mark.

Draco walked along, kicking over toadstools and smacking acorns from trees with his stick. He suddenly halted; ahead on the trail he spotted movement. Light-footed, he ducked behind a shrub and peered through the leafless branches. Coming out from he silently crept forward - he pounced, pinning Mrs Norris, the caretaker Argus Filch's awful, brown tabby cat beneath his trainers. Mrs Norris screamed and hissed, but she was firmly held, and it isn't easy holding down a cat that doesn't wish to be. But Draco had the knack for doing so, being used to tormenting his mother's cat - that is, when his mother wasn't around to see him do so.

'Stupid cat, what do you have here? Did you kill something?' He pulled out his wand and tapped Mrs Norris with it, placing on her a body bind curse to immobilize her. He pushed her aside with his toe. What he saw beneath the cat's claws made him feel queasy and vaguely ill.

'You filthy cat,' he swore at her angrily. He enjoyed killing small animals on occasion himself, but he hadn't given the cat permission to do so. Beneath Mrs Norris was an entire nest of small pink animals, so young as to be unidentifiable as mouse or mole or anything else. Some were mangled and all of the little creatures appeared to be quite dead. Squatting over the mossy ground, looking at the small twisted little bodies, Draco was glad his father wasn't there to see him being 'emotional' over 'vermin'. Feeling ashamed by his own thought he used his wand again to release Mrs Norris from the jinx. The cat stopped to hiss and spit at Draco and then ran off to hide in some shrubs.

'Stupid, rotten cat!' Draco shouted after the feline, and turned back to stare again at Mrs Norris's hairless little victims.

A half hour later, Draco patted dirt over four little bodies. He told himself he was burying them to deprive Mrs Norris of a treat if she should return, but in truth he couldn't bring himself to leave the animals as he had found them. With disgust, Draco realized the little burial had cost him the time he had wanted to use for hiking to his favorite spot and having a few songs. Now he would need to go straight back to the castle for his next lesson. Slapping his dirty hands under his robes and onto his trousers he hummed to himself as he headed back to the castle.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Gaius Flint couldn't sleep. He pulled his wand from under his pillow and lit not only the sconce by his four-poster, but all the lights in the seventh year Slytherin boy's dorm room. If Gaius couldn't sleep, then damn it, nobody was going to get any sleep. Groans, moans, and curses rose up from the other four-posters.

'Gaius, what now you miserable...' said one burly boy by the name of Elliot. He allowed his statement about Gaius to die out mid sentence because he didn't want to deal with the wrath of Gaius. 'Have you a problem, Gaius?'

'The usual,' Gaius bellowed. For all his hulking girth, he was as sensitive as a spring lamb and problems always sat heavy on his mind. By 'the usual' Gaius meant he was bothered by his responsibilities as Prefect, Slytherin Quidditch team captain, not to mention revising for sitting his N.E.W.T.s in the new year. Gaius could not fall asleep. But he had a solution. He sat up in bed and didn't even have to budge. Trained through 'persuasive methods', Elliot slowly got out of his own bed, pulling on his dressing gown, yawning and scratching his sides. 'Aye, Flint,' asked Elliot sleepily. 'Let's have it then - what do you have for him?'

'Shut it. Hold out your hand,' commanded Gaius irritably. He pulled his wand from his bedside table and said, 'CALIX CONFORTO GUTTER!'

From out of thin air a dark green cup and saucer with silver gilt edges had materialized in Elliot's hand. Hot blue steam bubbled thinly from the cup, rising upward.

'There we go,' said Gaius putting his wand away. 'The little pirate's throat works better when he's had a hot cuppa.'

For the record; Gaius did not say 'pirate'. He used a rude word that called one's parentage into question. I am making all grave efforts to keep this chapter at least at a General Audience rating. But for reasons beyond my control, after chapter two on, you are all on your own and are likely to learn a word or two that will make your mothers fret for your well being in polite company.

'Like a cup of tea by itself will shift that little imp,' said Elliot in disgust.

I interrupt here to say that instead of "imp" Elliot used a highly offensive word that meant "manure". Now that you understand the true nature of the conversation between Gaius and Elliot, I will mostly cease these little interruptions - though I know I'll feel inclined to fill you if any spicier ones crop up.

'Look,' Elliot continued, 'I've had enough of this coddling the little pirate. Let's just give him a drubbing - get his pasty little bum out of bed and wipe the hall with him.'

'I said "shut it" Elliot,' snarled Gaius. 'Right, so this time I reckon I could break out the White-chocolate Frogs. Picked them up special - thought the brat might be tempted by them, white chocolate being a novelty to the first year brats.'

'Well, maybe,' said Elliot dubiously. He thought "the brat" was getting fussier and more difficult to please all the time. 'Chocolate? You really think that's going to work on "Long John Malfoy"?'

The other seventh years in the room roared with laughter at Elliot's comment. They knew what a complete brat the first year was. Truth was, if not for Draco's powerful father, Lucius Malfoy, any one of the seventh years would have loved to hex the annoying brat until the pale hair curled up and fell from his head. But they had to admit, even without his powerful father to back up his threats; the brat had something he held over all of their heads to get his own way in things. The brat could sing, and even for his own house he refused to sing without some form of payment.

Unfortunately for Gaius, the toughest bloke in Slytherin house, Draco's sweet song was just what was wanted to lull him to sleep. In truth, Gaius found the entire situation embarrassing really - but what's the Alpha wolf to do when the tiniest flea won't hold still for scratching? At the start of term, Draco had sung for free. Then realizing others valued his unique talent he would sing for up to an hour, for nothing more than a handful of Berty Bott's Beans or a single Chocolate Frog. But quickly those innocent days were gone. If a bloke wanted to hear "the dragon's song" he had to pay and soon it took more than a Galleon's worth of treats to prompt Draco into a concert.

Gaius grumbled, 'The tea, posh White-Chocolate Frogs - that should do the trick Elliot. Push come to shove, if Draco refuses to budge, you can offer him one night's use of the Prefects bathroom, but I'm warning you Elliot - do not let that pup talk you into even one extra soak in the Prefect's bath or we'll lose our bargaining edge! If you let that infant serpent get the better of you I'll kick your rear from here to Hogsmeade - and back again!'

Elliot had his doubts that special teas, White-Chocolate Frogs and the Prefect bathroom privileges altogether would shift Draco Malfoy to their purposes, but he wasn't about to argue with Gaius. 'Right then,' he said, and balancing the tea, he headed for the short climb down the stairs and up the long corridor to the first year's dorm rooms.

When the knock was heard on the their dorm door, it was Goyle who lost the first round of "it's your turn to get the door!", because he could never remember if he had been the last one to open the door - and he was the only one who ever opened the door. When the door was pulled open, Elliot marched straight to Draco's four-poster and ripped back the bed curtains.

Draco sputtered with indignation over the invasion of his privacy.

'How DARE you touch my curtains!' he angrily scolded the much older, much larger boy. 'First you're supposed to ask if I'm available to receive company, then, if I decide to see you, I open the bed curtains but only IF I feel up to having a visitor!'

While Draco rounded on Elliot, his other first year mates lay quaking in their four-posters. They could not believe Draco's audacity in speaking that way to an older student - particularly Gaius's lot - doing so was not quite as safe as shooting rubber bands at werewolves during a full moon.

'Now calm down, brat,' Elliot settling himself on the edge of Draco's bed, and yawned. 'Hold your noise and drink this up while it's still hot.'

Still fuming, Draco angrily snatched the cuppa and eagerly sipped it down. As he finished off the last dredges threw the cup to the floor and folding his arms and looked daggers at Elliot.

All his life Draco had taken his singing voice for granted. When he came to he was startled, and annoyed to discover the other boys would stand around him when he was showering, just to listen to him singing as he washed himself. Of course he found their attentions enormously embarrassing and he felt obligated to demand that Crabbe and Goyle stand guard for him when he entered his favorite shower stall so they could beat the snot out of his unwanted fans.

True, his parents and family friends made a fuss over Draco's voice, but he thought they were just fawning over him as they fawned about everything else about him, such as his hair, eyes and other annoying stuff that adults seemed to thing was brilliant about him. But it took the favorable reception his voice got at Hogwarts for Draco to realize he possessed a real talent, which he immediately used it to bolster his status and position in Slytherin house. He quickly became the highest ranking first year in Slytherin - and now after only three months, there were not even second years that would stand up to him and he was making a bit of a headway in conquering the third years as well. His majesty Draco did not sing for gratis - not even in the shower, where he sufficed to hum to himself as quietly as he could manage.

'You pain in the arse ef'ing bandit,' Elliot growled with exhaustion. 'Gaius can't sleep. Now, don't waste my time. What will it take to get you to sing tonight, eh? How about some lovely sweets ... could you fancy - white-Chocolate Frogs?'

'Take the chocolate!' called out Goyle from his four-poster. 'Draco take the chocolate!'

'Shut up Goyle,' yelled Crabbe. 'Hold out for loads of those pink and red jelly slugs!'

The other boys just lay in their beds and trembled - the anticipation was hard on the nerves.

Unfortunately for Elliot, Draco was not budging for chocolate, whether it was brown or white.

'No, I don't think so,' Draco sneered, rudely disrespecting Elliot and breaking Slytherin protocol by not looking him in the eyes. 'I want something - special. Fetch Flint for me. I'll only talk to Flint. Am I understood?'

'Am I understood'? gasped Elliot, completely shocked by the Draco's cheek. He wanted to break Draco's neck and it was with difficulty he restrained himself. 'Why you spoiled, unpleasant, miserable little hooligan....! I'll tell Flint all right. He'll be down here straight away, to kick your pale pasty bum!'

Honestly, if I fully transcribed that last paragraph as it was actually said, you would clutch your heart, fall backwards and your mother, being a lady, would weep.

Five minutes later, Draco nearly fell off of his bed when Gaius Flint himself arrived at his four-poster, looking thoroughly un-amused. He stood over Draco, his face a mask of anger.

'All right, Malfoy,' he growled. 'What do you want for your singing tonight, you avaricious little monster?' He looked about ready to drag Draco out of his four-poster by his blond hair and throttle him good as he was did on occasion with other cheeky underlings.

His grey eyes wide, Draco realized that this time he may have pushed the older boys a little too far. Draco had many tricks up his sleeves, and this called for a trick that dangerously teetered on Slytherin blasphemy. He slowly raised his eyes to the larger boy - giving him a look so innocent, so guileless, so cute, so disarmingly charming that the older boy gasped, gave a heartfelt 'awwwww!' then realized he had been 'had' and the seventh year blushed with embarrassment. He quickly looked out the window by Draco's four-poster and pretended to examine the moon. If anyone, anyone at all heard that he had simpered over a first year brat, his standing as head Slytherin would be in the toilet quicker than you could say, "Please kick my bum".

Draco lowered his voice, being careful not to snicker or take any further risks. 'If I asked you to, would you keep a secret, Flint?' he asked, managing a slight affecting lisp to his voice.

This was a piece of cake. Draco had no shame using tools at his disposal to manipulate others and have his way - Draco's placement in Slytherin house had been the Sorting Hat's easiest declaration ever. Draco's guileless manipulation was the equivalent of a wolf cub, rolling onto its back and peeing to display helplessness to a dangerous adult wolf - it was not dignified but it got results. And anyway, Draco knew he wasn't getting any younger. He had grown a nearly an inch over the summer and he knew that he was losing the adorable baby fat in his cheeks that his father loved to pat. And what the hell - at least he didn't have to pee into the air.

No surprises - Gaius knew he was being had. 'Keep a secret you vexing little... well, maybe. All depends. What is your "secret"? What do you want?'

Draco lowered his voice to a whisper. He knew he'd already won Gaius over but telling him what he wanted was going to be dodgy bit of work.

'I want a very tiny...' he hesitated ...' a very small... uh... rubber - thing. Like a tube, sort of like a tube... and I want something soft - something soft - soft and warm like...'

'What?' sputtered Gaius, totally stunned. 'You're a child! What the devil do you want such things for boy?' His hand shot out, and he grabbed Draco by his pale blonde hair. 'Enough, laddie. What do you want? Spill it.'

There was nothing for it - Draco would have to come clean and ask precisely what he wanted or he would have to learn a spell to re-grow the hair Gaius was going to pull out by the roots.

'I want a doll's baby bottle - a baby bottle that works!' Draco whispered, now unable to bring himself to look Gaius in the eye like a man, but not out of cheek, but out of fear. 'And I want something soft that will stay warm - not hot - just warm - stay warm all day long. But it's a secret - why I need what I need,' Draco winced in anticipation of loosing all his hair.

Gaius pulled up a little on Draco's hair to let to warn Draco that his patience was at an end.

'Why do you need such things boy?'

'I'll show you,' Draco whispered, gesturing for Gaius to close the bed curtains. Gaius released Draco's hair and when the two were in the dark Gaius lit his wand casting light on Draco.

'Hurry up, boy,' Gaius growled.

Draco tossed his pillow to the foot of his bed. Behind his pillow sat a large box sat that had recently held new pair of dragon-hide boots. Draco opened it, revealing a pile of old socks.

Gaius looked into the box and growled, 'I've had about enough, boy...!'

Quickly, Draco pulled a sock out of the box. There, beneath the sock, curled up in to a ball was a small animal, barely the size of a hamster with a stub of a tail tightly held against its pink body. What tufts of sparse fluff covered the animal were red as a fox.

'What have you got there, Malfoy?' asked Gaius curiously leaning over the box.

'I don't know. Mrs Norris killed four others but I saved this one. That's what I need a doll's bottle for - to feed it. And something soft and warm for it to lie on... can you get those things for me?'

'So, let me see that thing,' said Gaius somewhat roughly, least Draco think he'd gone soft. 'Hum. You've got yourself a Jarvey here Malfoy. You know what a Jarvey is?'

Draco was reluctant to show ignorance, but finally he shook his head.

'Dead clever magical creatures. They look like large ferrets, you know what ferrets are; weasels, stoats. If this Jarvey was not dying here, it would grow up to be able to talk.'

Draco's heart skipped a beat. 'It is NOT dying! I'm taking care for it - not that it matters to me if it dies or anything - but it pleases me to keep this thing as my pet!'

'No - you don't want this. Jarveys are dead nasty. They talk but they're rude - swear like drunk sailors in a pub. My brother Marcus had one once. Nasty, vulgar little bugger it was too. If you had any sense at all you'll let me take it off your hands. I can drown it for you.'

Draco frowned. If the animals swore, he and the little ferret were practically kindred spirits. He liked the idea of keeping the animal for a pet better by the moment.

'Give it here, boy,' said Gaius holding out a hand for it.

Draco shouted in a fierce whisper, 'No! It's mine!'

'Shut up, brat,' Gaius said dismissively. 'I'll not hurt it. Hand it over.' He looked ready to throttle Draco.

Reluctantly, Draco handed over the animal that had now woken and was whining in a piteously tiny, squeaky voice. Draco was not sure at all that Gaius might not smash the tiny creature, just to show who was boss. He choked back his fears, determined not to let on how upset he felt.

But Gaius was remarkably gentle as he examined the little animal, carefully examining it limb by limb, his face looking as if he was examining a train wreck for survivors.

'Draco, this Jarvey is in a bad way. Look here - bite marks.' Gaius pointed out puncture marks on the animal's tiny flank. 'Sometimes the shock from a cat attack alone is enough to kill an animal this small, magical or not. Cat's spit is dead nasty stuff you know and when something is this small - especially a bite from that poisonous...Mrs Norris, you know.'

'It's only a small bite,' said Draco in a dead nasty voice. He found it was easier not to cry if he kept his voice angry. 'It's healing, I can tell.'

'You can tell nothing, brat. This is a very sick and injured baby. You had best take it back to the woods tomorrow. Leave it where you found it. I'm telling you - sooner or later it is going to die.'

Now Draco's pale eyes clouded over with genuine anger. He snarled at Gaius, his lower lip trembling - just a bit.

'This is my pet and it's going to live. I mean... not that I really care at all, but... I want it. Father said I can have a pet, and my Eagle-Owl doesn't count. I want this... this... this stupid animal.'

'Doesn't matter what your father says,' said Gaius harshly. It annoyed Gaius that Draco believed all of his little problems ended by invoking his father's name. 'It's like your voice, Malfoy; some things can't be had just for the wanting. If this mite is going to die, it's going to die and that is that.'

'But I want this Jarvey,' Draco stubbornly insisted. 'Can you get me the doll's... the things I asked for?' His eyes were glazed with moisture and his pink lips continued to tremble.

It would have taken a stronger constitution and a heart far more calloused than Gaius' to refuse Draco.

'Fine,' Gaius sighed in resignation. The boy was going to have to learn a lesson the hard way. 'You'll have the things you need. You're a lucky brat Malfoy. My Ma was the witch that everyone brought injured animals to. I actually know what to do for your 'pet'. But first things first - here's a "Care of Magical Creatures" lesson for you.'

For nearly an hour Gaius explained the many thing Draco would need to do to attempt saving the Jarvey's life. One of Gaius' specialties at Hogwarts was Wizarding Sports Medicine. With his wand, Gaius did an expert job of closing and sterilizing the bite on the injured animal. Draco listened carefully to Gaius' every word, sniveling and hiccoughing as quietly as he could manage.

'And another thing Malfoy,' said Gaius after a long string of instructions. 'The Jarvey is too small for a bottle just yet. What you want is an eyedropper. I still doubt this animal is going to live very long, but I'm just warning you. Now, you have a handkerchief or a bit of cloth, boy?'

Draco angrily reddened. 'I am not going to cry!' Draco was ready to launch himself at Gaius and have a go at him.

'Ease up you little... I'll show you what the cloth is for. After you feed your baby you'll have to help it with its toilet. Understand? If you don't do it, the animal will die that much faster!'

Angrily, Draco handed Gaius an old sock.

Gaius demonstrated how to massage the tiny animal's belly and laughed at the horribly disgusted face Draco made when he saw the animal's droppings ooze out of the tiny vent and stain the cloth.

'That is totally gross!'

'Lad, you're going to have to be dead tough if you're going to be a mother.' Gaius laughed.

'I can do it,' Draco insisted, 'no worries.' Draco said. 'And I am not a mother!'

'Oh, you're a mother all right,' muttered Gaius under his breath. He thought Draco was some day either going to grow up to be very powerful or he was going to be murdered in his sleep.

'I'm warning you again, Malfoy - this Jarvis is still in a bad way and likely to die no matter what you do. That Mrs Norris did a number on it all right.'

'One day I'm going to kill Mrs Norris.'

Gaius chuckled. 'Queue up for that one, Mr. Malfoy. Now, back to business; if your 'lordship' is quite ready, the lads and I have a few songs we'd like to hear.'

'First the things first,' said Draco, snapping right back into his superior airs. 'First you will fetch the things I need for my ba - for my pet.' Draco winced because he'd almost said, "for my baby". 'And I want more tea, my throat wants warming up again. I want one White-Chocolate Frog...' He looked at Gaius and as the older boy was not fuming, Draco bravely continued, spitting out as rapidly as he could the last of his request. 'And I want one week's use of the Prefect's bathroom!'

'What?' Gaius growled, lifting Draco off his feet by the collar of his dressing gown. 'Now see here you little pirate, I tell you what. You come upstairs in a half hour and my mates and I will have the things you want for your animal, and your blasted tea.' He gave Draco a shake that made the boy tremble anew. 'But because I've had enough of your cheek, No Prefect's bathroom! You can take a shower in the dorm bathrooms with the rest of the rug rats. And I'm warning you, Malfoy, tonight you'd better sing your pasty little arse off or I'll come down here and give you a thrashing that will have you too sore to sit for the rest of the week.'

Truth be told; as Gaius growled and snarled at Draco, he had a difficult time keeping a straight face. To his chagrin he was fond of the brash boy who reminded him of his youngest brother -- who was too young for Hogwarts, and who was also an obnoxious little kick-in-the-trousers.

Gaius dropped Draco back onto his bed. 'Now! Anything else?'

At this point Draco was feeling lucky he'd gotten away with only a mild dressing down. He decided to stop pushing his luck - more or less.

'No,' Draco waved his hand dismissively at Gaius and turning away from him. 'That will do. Go now.'

After considering the value of a good back handed smack when called for, Gaius stood and with a look around the room to make the other boys tremble in their four posters so they would not think they could get away with the kind of cheek Draco had become known for in his short time at Hogwarts, Gaius left.

Later that evening Draco received all that he asked for; the tiny eyedropper for feeding milk to the Jarvey, a small sock charmed to stay warm so the Jarvey could be comfortable. And now the Jarvey was no longer a secret. Before he would sing, he needed to feed his starving baby and as he wasn't up to the task of beating up all four of his dorm mates so he could do so in private he carefully squeezed droplets of milk into the Jarvey's teeny mouth as they all gathered round to watch.

'Look at ikle Malfoy, feeding his baby!' laughed one boy derisively.

'SHUT UP!' Draco snarled. 'I'm just experimenting here. Tomorrow I might pickle the animal and give it to Professor Snape for a potion ingredient.'

'It wouldn't make much potion,' said another boy. 'Look how tiny it is. At home I have a big dog, not some drop of pink! Look at the Malfoy the "Mama", feeding his ikle baby.'

'Get away from me,' Draco sneered, 'or I'll stuff this animal up your bum!'

He sounded as if he meant business so with much grumbling, the boys finally shut up, and by the time Draco got to the disagreeable 'toilet' portion of animal care, they had all fled.

When the Jarvey was snug back in its boot box, Draco drank his tea. Then climbing out of his four-poster he slid into his sheared puff skein fleece slippers and tightened the belt of his favorite deep green dressing gown, woven from the silken webs of hand-reared juvenile acromantulas. Draco knew he made quite an elegant picture. He marched into the hall outside of his dorm room and stood impatiently as dorm rooms opened wide and the tenants spilled into the long corridor.

The word was out - Draco was going to sing.

Padding into the hall in their slippers, wrapped warmly in their dressing gowns and pajamas, even the toughest of the Slytherin boys was eager for the treat. They all flopped down on the stairs, each having distinct preferences on where they sat. There was a good deal of shoving and pushing as the boys sorted themselves out - the tough boys getting the spots they had discovered had the best acoustics for hearing Draco's voice. At last, when the last of the sleepy boys were seated, yawning, their chins on knees, it was time for the Slytherin concert to begin.

When the long hall and stairwell were dead quiet, and Draco was certain he had all attention focused on him and him alone, he began to sing.

It was always a great shock to the senses to hear how his powerful voice could make the still cold air of the corridor suddenly vibrate, setting the chandelier at the far end of the hall to tinkling. The boys along the corridor and sitting on the curving stone stairwell could feel their sternums vibrate almost uncomfortably with the power of Draco's notes. But shortly thereafter the smooth high notes settled over them and worked its magic.

Many of the younger Slytherins sat with their faces buried in their arms on their laps, overcome with homesickness, yet comforted by the familiar song. They'd have each and every one pitched a fit if anyone had dared to point out to them how cute they all looked, like a litter of rough puppies, their satisfied little faces alight with enjoyment of song. Some boys listened through their open dorm doors, contentedly dozing off to sleep in their snug four-posters as Draco's notes pushed them happily along to their dreams.

Sometimes Draco sang only two or three songs, because he had come to realize there was purpose to leaving his audience somewhat unsatisfied - which always resulted in more payment next time around. But this little concert was special - he felt he was singing not for the mob of classmates, but instead he sang for his ailing pet.

It seemed fitting to Draco that he end his longer than usual performance with Sou Gan, a Welch Lullaby, a suitable song for a new... pet owner... to sing for his new... pet. Draco sang not in Welch as he usual sang Sou Gan, but in English. He cheated a bit, changed the lyrics for the occasion. Draco figured if anyone noticed and made mention of his editing, he would just have to have Crabbe or Goyle beat the bogeys out of them. Or perhaps he would beat them up himself, just to keep a hand in.

To my Lullaby surrender,
Warm and tender is my chest;
Father's arms with love caressing
Lay their blessing on your nest;
No cats shall tonight alarm you,
None shall harm you, have no fear;
Lie contented, calmly slumber
Safe now upon my lap, no fears.

As the soothing notes drifted up the corridor and up the stairs to the 'elite' rooms of the sixth and seventh years, Gaius Flint lay with his eyes shut, his worries of the coming day vanquished as he listened to the unruly, bratty dragon's song. As he drifted off to sleep Gaius' last thoughts were about the Malfoy lad.

Annoying, spoiled, bratty little pirate that Malfoy is - a kick-in-the-trousers all right. Too bad the lad's Jarvey likely as not will die.