Merlin's Legacy - Dragons of Bad Faith

CHAPTER ONE

Tired of being what you want me to be ...

Feeling so faithless, lost under the surface,

Don't know what you're expecting of me,

But under the pressure of walking in your shoes ...

Can't you see that you're smothering me?

Holding too tightly, afraid to lose control,

But everything that you thought I would be,

Has fallen apart, right in front of you ...

Draco stared moodily into the huge, carved stone fireplace, the eerie, familiar sensation of being watched nearly overpowering him as it grew darker and darker outside. He wrapped his arms around his knees and drew them up to his chin, concentrating on looking away from the musty, unavoidable portraits that ringed the room. There were portraits in almost every room of Malfoy Manor ... it was inevitable, he knew, if you came from a pureblood wizarding family stretching back through generations, but it grew very creepy, sometimes ... the little bits of movement catching in the corner of your eye, the swirling of painted black robes, the identical opaque pale grey eyes ... watching you. And the whispering ... and the portraits seemed to be whispering more than ever ... although, given recent events...

He shivered, and glanced balefully at the portrait of his great-great-great-grandfather Aurelius Malfoy, which hung over the fireplace. As he had expected, it was staring at him ... as he raised his eyes to it, it smirked at him, the traditional Malfoy smirk that Draco had used himself, countless times. It was definitely one of those things that is more blessed to give than to receive, and Draco narrowed his eyes at it, dropping his gaze.

"Incendio!" he muttered, flicking his wand at the fireplace. The charred logs burst into flame, momentarily blinding him and casting the rest of the room into deep shadow. Well, at least he couldn't make out the portraits anymore, even if he could still hear them. He gazed into the fire, concentrating on thinking of nothing, the bright orange flames throwing dancing black spots across his vision. He wished he could go to his room, but it would be the first place his father would look for him ... the shabby (by Malfoy standards) second drawing-room, where he was now, was one of the few places he could be alone, away from the rest of them.

The firelight flickered, casting huge, dancing shadows on the wall behind him that were nearly as distracting as the darkness before them had been. He prodded it with the poker, making the sparks fly, and shivered as he heard the quick, approaching footsteps. He pulled his cloak more tightly around him and waited, trying to keep his face as expressionless as possible.

"Happy birthday, Draco." Lucius' voice was brisk and sharp as usual, tinged with the slight drawl that characterised the Malfoy family.

Draco turned around slowly. "Thank you, Father," he said dully, without looking up. Lucius frowned, the flickering light throwing his angular features into sharp relief.

"Great things are afoot, Draco. You shouldn't be moping around like this. The Dark Lord has plans ... by the end of the year, he will have raised an army so vast that...."

"You told me, Father," Draco mumbled, turning away. Lucius frowned again. The boy's singular lack of enthusiasm irked him, but he attributed it to the fact that so far, he had been rather left out of everything that was happening ... besides, it's never pleasant to discover that your father is in wizard prison, and your family no longer one of the most respected in the country. And Draco must have had rather an unpleasant time of it at school, especially during the last couple of weeks....

However, that was no reason for him to....

"Draco," Lucius said, more sharply. "Turn around and face me." Draco turned reluctantly, and Lucius sat down opposite him, his dead-black robes swirling around the carved ivory stool. "Soon" he whispered, leaning forward, "you will have your chance to serve the Dark Lord. He has need of you."

He sat back and smiled blandly, waiting for his son's response. The only outward display of emotion he showed was, as usual, in his eyes, gleaming with excitement that bordered on the fanatic ... the only real expression Draco had seen in them over the past year, when he showed any expression at all.

Draco just stared at him, his own eyes blank and uncomprehending. If he hadn't already been so pale, Lucius would have seen that all the blood had drained out of his face.

"Me?" he said finally, his voice low and rather strained. " What use would I be to the Dark Lord?"

Lucius leaned forward again and whispered, "He has new plans. He has need of an agent inside Hogwarts. After the death and discovery of Bartemius Crouch Jr., Dumbledore has been on his guard. The spy will have to be a student ... one from a loyal family."

Draco swallowed. "Why me? Why not Zabini, or Crabbe, or...."

"The Dark Lord said that he would pick the son of one of his most trusted Death Eaters," Lucius said smugly. "He chose you. This is a great honour, Draco ... but if you fail him ... given his present mood...."

"I know, I know, those who fail the Dark Lord die," Draco said tonelessly. "Why did he choose me? He's only ever seen me when I was a baby, hasn't he?"

"I told him you would be only too pleased to enter his service, Draco!" Lucius snapped, losing patience. "This is a great honour! He has even made an exception for your age! Of course, when he heard that you volunteered...."

"I what? ..."

"I volunteered you," Lucius said impatiently. "I assumed that you would be only too pleased at the chance to enter into his service."

"And if I fail? ..."

"That is between you and the Dark Lord," Lucius said coldly, standing up.

"What if I refuse?"

"You will not refuse." Lucius looked colder than Draco had ever seen him before. "I gave him my word. Our family name would be dishonoured, our lives ruined...."

"Well, that's already happened," Draco pointed out, but his father was already sweeping out of the room.

"Bastard," Draco muttered with feeling, turning back to the fire. He sat back and sighed. Ever since the holidays had started, life had something close to a nightmare ... a nightmare of screams and blood and fear. The Aurors had raided the home of the Lestranges, and about five other Death Eater families, and everyone was housed at Malfoy Manor .. the Dark Lord held meetings there often, and he had spent the first couple of weeks punishing those who had failed him. Draco had never been allowed to enter any of the meetings, but that didn't stop him from being able to hear what was happening....

And his father. Draco had always trusted Lucius ... the only person he had ever really trusted, aside from his mother. He had believed everything Lucius had told him about the Dark Regime, about Harry Potter, about their family ... Lucius had always spent time with him, explained things to him. That had always been enough for Draco, but lately ... lately his father swept around the house, as pale as chalk, that strange, reddish gleam in his eyes; he completely ignored Draco and his mother, unless it was to give them news of the Uprising, news they didn't really want to hear. Draco had grown to dread the evenings, when his father would seek him out, his eyes sparking in his otherwise nearly expressionless face, and talk to him about the Dark Lord, the new Kingdom he was establishing, his latest 'achievements'....

Lucius had said that all this was to prepare Draco for the time when he himself would be expected to enter into the Dark Lord's service. Draco had looked forward to that time ever since he was ten, had listened, fascinated, to Lucius' predictions that the Dark Lord would rise again ... and now that that time had come, all he felt was a constant, dull sensation of dread.

He had spied on one or two Death Eater meetings, creeping through the ventilation shaft that ended near the high ceiling of the drawing-room, where they were always held. After the punishment of Bellatrix Lestrange, and the execution of Nott, he had never tried to go back ... he shivered, and poked the fire again, remembering Nott's dying screams. Voldemort hadn't used Avada Kedavra on him ... he had simply put him under the Cruciatus Curse, until he died. It had taken half an hour. Draco had no idea why he had been executed, but his father ... he had watched his father just stand there, completely expressionless, watching someone he had grown up with, been friends with for years, twitching and screaming on the floor ... of course, he probably didn't have much choice, but he looked like he simply didn't care.

Draco had always envied his father's ability to almost completely hide his thoughts and feelings, his complete emotional control. He had practised it himself. Now, he realised that Lucius just didn't care. He didn't show anything, because he didn't feel anything....

His thoughts were broken by the sound of the door opening again, light footsteps approaching. He didn't turn, until he heard his mother's soft voice behind him.

"Draco. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Mother," he turned around, and tried a bright smile. His mother was smiling at him faintly, her eyes anxious, hands twisting together in front of her. She sat down on the ivory stool Lucius had vacated.

"Draco. You've not been yourself ever since you came back from school."

He shrugged, avoiding her eyes. She sighed. "Your Father just spoke to you." It was a statement, not a question. Draco shrugged again.

"What are you going to do, Draco?" She spoke gently, sympathetically. Draco raised sullen grey eyes to her anxious blue ones.

"Father doesn't really care about me at all, does he," he mumbled, hating the way he sounded. His mother looked resigned.

"The Dark Lord is extremely displeased. He planned the recovery of that prophecy for months...he says his followers have failed him." She shrugged. "I think your father is trying to raise himself in the eyes of the Dark Lord, by volunteering you as part of his new plan."

Draco snorted. "Father told me that I was chosen as the son of one of the most trusted Death Eaters."

"Oh." Narcissa put her hand over her mouth.

"Mother." Draco looked up at her, keeping his voice steady. "What will I have to do? What if I fail?"

Narcissa sighed, lifting her head. In the light of the fire, Draco could see how tired she looked, the faint lines of worry around her eyes and mouth - the first signs of age she was showing.

"I'm not a Death Eater, Draco. And even among them, very few know of the Dark Lord's plans. I would imagine it's something fairly direct...he knows you won't be able to find out what was in the prophecy, only Dumbledore knows of that...and Potter now, I imagine. You'll probably have to try and spy on Dumbledore, try and find out his plans against the Dark Lord. Or lead Potter into a trap. The Dark Lord will torture the information out of him, and then kill him."

Draco sighed. "Spying on Dumbledore is nearly impossible. It can't be that. And Potter wouldn't follow me into any trap, he's far too suspicious of me... we hate each other. Which brings me back to my second question... what if I fail?"

Narcissa sighed, and looked down at the floor, twisting her hands again. "Those who fail the Dark Lord, die. And he's in a worse temper these days, there's no telling what he might do." She looked up at Draco and smiled, very sadly. "What are you going to do, son?"

"Well. I definitely can't do it... I hate Potter, but I don't want him dead. I don't want to risk failure. And I can't refuse. So, I don't know." He shrugged bitterly, and looked down at the floor, resentment and fear coursing through his veins. He had always like to consider, calculate, everything he did ... he hated the feeling of being controlled, of having no choice.

"I have some good news for you," his mother said abruptly. "Your cousin's here. From India. She owled saying she's coming to see you sometime today." He nodded, without looking up. His mother stood up and sighed, then bent and put her arms around him in a brief hug.

"Happy birthday, Draco," she said, and went out.

Happy birthday,

Draco thought irritably, standing up and walking to the window. He leaned against the window frame, staring moodily across the grounds. The sky was iron-grey, flecked and speckled with shreds of lighter cloud. The huge expanse of grass, silver-grey in the dim light, rippled in the strong breeze, interspersed here and there with black statues and rows of bushes, casting long, dim black shadows. It was starting to drizzle.

How incredibly depressing

, Draco thought drearily, leaning his head against the frame. He had always loved the family's huge grounds (covered with guard spells as they were) and the regal, black stone Manor ... but now he just felt trapped. He hadn't been allowed to leave the house ever since he had gotten back from school, and Lucius had hidden it so thoroughly from the rest of the wizarding world that no one could find it anymore, or get in without the Dark Mark. Even if anyone made it as far as the gates, there were curses all across the grounds .. visitors were out of the question.

Happy birthday, Draco

, he thought sarcastically. You're trapped in a house with about twenty unstable minions of evil, a twisted Dark Lord is liable to show up at any moment, and your father is a bastard who's willing to sacrifice your life to get in good with his boss. Happy birthday.

He had spent the last six years hoping for the Dark Lord's return...and now that it had come ...

He wondered what his next year at Hogwarts would be like. Probably like the end of last year, he reflected dully. People staring at him in the corridors, backing away from him, whispering ... the only people who treated him normally were his fellow Slytherins, but then, most of them were going through the same thing too, weren't they? Well, he thought, lifting his chin slightly, I have the people who really count. And I don't need anyone. Draco Malfoy walks alone.

He sighed, and slid down, until he was sitting on the windowsill, leaning against the cold iron bars. What am I going to do? He leaned back and closed his eyes, and the images rushed in and filled his mind ...

His father, returned from Azkaban ... Bellatrix Lestrange, screaming and writhing in agony ... Nott, twitching and twitching until at last he lay still, his eyes open, his features twisted until they were barely recognizable ... the strange, detached thought that had flashed into his mind, Now I'll be able to see the Thestrals, before the horror of it all hit him ... his father's cold, expressionless grey eyes, watching Bellatrix scream, watching Nott die, with none of the fear or horror seen in some of the other Death Eater's faces ... those same eyes as he told him, That is between you and the Dark Lord....

His first glimpse of the Dark Lord...

Draco's eyes flew open.

"Not something I need to be thinking about," he muttered, standing up. He snapped his fingers three times, and a little house-elf appeared, bowing.

"Is Master Draco wanting anything, sir?"

"Yes, that would be why I called you," Draco snapped. "What time is Miss Malfoy arriving?"

"She will be here in one hour, sir."

"Ah. Any idea how long she's staying for?"

"Mrs. Narcissa is telling me she is not staying long, sir, she is leaving tomorrow morning..."

"What?" Draco snapped. "Where to?"

"I am deeply regretful, sir, but I am not knowing..."

"Right. Go away."

"Thank you, sir." The house-elf bowed low, and vanished with a crack like a whip. Draco strode out of the room, scowling. There could only be one cousin his mother had been talking about ... he had only one cousin close enough to his own age to matter; in fact, they shared the same birthday. He walked down the deserted corridor, boots echoing on the stone floor. The torches in their brackets cast a flickering light, sending shadows jumping across his path, illuminating the row of portraits. A distant scream from the direction of the main drawing-room made him jump; another Death Eater meeting. He shook his head and hurried on, down the maze of passages that lead to the huge carved doors of the library - his mother's favourite room, primarily, he suspected, because it was one of the few that didn't have any portraits in it. It was a large, round, well-lit room, comfortable compared to the rest, the walls between the high, dusty bookshelves lined with silver-framed mirrors. A large, woven tapestry hung at one end, bearing the Malfoy family crest; a silver and black dragon coiled around the letter M, on a background of green.

"Mother..." he complained, marching in, and stopping abruptly. His mother was sitting at the low table by the fire, her head in her hands, shoulders shaking. He sank into the carved chair opposite her, sighing. "What did he do now?" She shook her head, not taking her hands away from her face. "Mother," he said, more urgently. "Was he here? What happened?"

She raised her head, wiping her eyes on the hem of her embroidered robe. "Nothing," she whispered. "We just had a... conversation."

"Oh," said Draco, dismally. "And what did he say?"

She shook her head again, leaning forward. "He was telling me about the mission the Dark Lord has for you." Her face crumpled. "Draco... I wish there was some way I could get you out of here, hide you..."

"Running away from the Dark Lord isn't much use, as a rule," Draco said drily. "No, I'll have to face the music." He tried to sound brave, for Narcissa's sake. "After all, I'm sixteen... I mean, what could he possibly want me to do..." his voice died away at the expression on her face. "You know, don't you."

She nodded, her hands over her mouth.

"Can you tell me?"

She shook her head.

"Come on, Mother," he said more urgently, leaning forward. "He'll tell me tonight anyway. If you tell me about it now, I can maybe think of something..."

She shook her head again and leaned her head wearily on her hand. "You can't do anything about it...it's really pretty straightforward." She sighed, and straightened up again. "You have get Harry Potter to tell you what was in that prophecy..."

Draco snorted loudly. "That's his wonderful new plan?"

"...or find out what was in it, he has some plans about that... and then you have to kill him."

Draco paled. "Kill him?"

She nodded, a hand over her mouth again. "There are a lot more details, but that's the basic plan."

Draco shook his head decidedly. "I'm not killing anyone. Not even Potter. I couldn't. I can annoy him and make his life miserable, but I am not killing anyone."

His mother nodded again.

"And if this is the best plan the Dark Lord can come up with..." Draco went on, "it's no wonder even Potter's been able to get the best of him so far. I wondered, you know."

Narcissa gave a small smile. "He's out of patience, Draco. He took months preparing to seize the prophecy, and when his plan failed... he just wants Potter out of his way, and now that he's taken what he wanted from him, he doesn't really care about killing him himself anymore. But first, he wants that prophecy, and Potter is going to be on his guard now... not to mention Dumbledore... it's impossible to get anyone into the school by stealth."

Draco sighed. "This is the stupidest plan I've ever heard. Besides, it sounds barely possible."

She nodded.

"No way I can pull it off. Especially the last part."

She nodded again, tears filling her eyes.

"Now that the Dark Lord has got this into his head, he isn't going to give it up. And if and when I fail, I'm probably going to be tortured and executed, and Father isn't going to try and do a thing to stop it."

Narcissa sniffed, wiping her eyes.

"You know, if this prophecy thing is so important," Draco went on, resolved to keep talking and distract himself, "I'm surprised that he doesn't want to do anything about it himself. I mean..."

"He's decided he can do without it, Draco, but he would still like to have it. He's busy raising an army, drawing followers to himself, evading the Ministry...he cannot spare the time, or the effort... besides, he is impatient. He failed once, and he doesn't intend to fail again. Better to send someone else, and if they fail... and you're 'expendable.'"

Draco snorted. "Wants to keep face, does he?"

Narcissa shrugged. "Either way..."

"Either way, I'm screwed."

They sat in silence for a while. Draco stared into the fire, his mind working furiously, trying to think of a way out ... any way out. His mother looked at him, sitting with his chin in his hands, elbows on his knees, his pale forehead wrinkled in a slight frown, and realised with a pang how much he had grown since he had started school, especially in the last year ... her mind went back to her little Baby Draco, his silver hair sticking up in all directions, his big grey eyes alight with laughter, his frilly pink baby shorts ....

She had a strong urge to both giggle and cry, and instead made a sort of choking noise. Draco looked up, startled. "You all right, Mother?"

She nodded, tears starting to roll down her cheeks. "I was just remembering your frilly pink baby shorts," she sniffed, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. Draco raised a surprised eyebrow.

"It's all right, Mother, it was very wrong of you to dress me in those, but it was a long time ago, I can forgive you ... especially if you agree to burn the pictures."

"No, no, I was just thinking how cute you used to look..."

"They were not cute," Draco said, scandalised. "They were hideous. I mean, no offense, Mother, but pink? And frills? I was a boy! ...I still am a boy," he finished hastily. His mother gave him a watery smile.

"You were such a handsome young man..."

"I am still a handsome young man!!"

"I'm talking about when you were a baby. Your big grey eyes... those pink shorts..."

"Stop thinking about those pink shorts! They were neither handsome nor manly."

Someone snickered behind him. Draco whirled around so fast he nearly fell off his chair.

"You wore pink baby shorts?" his cousin smirked. "Awww."

Draco looked accusing at Narcissa. "You knew she was there, didn't you, Mother." She shrugged, with a small smile, and stood up to hug the girl.

"Hello, Bianca."

Bianca Malfoy stood back, and eyed her aunt critically. "You've been crying, Auntie. I'm guessing it wasn't all about remembering Draco in frilly pink shorts...though I'm sure it must have been a horrible sight..." she sent a smirk in his direction.

"I was cute!" Draco interrupted indignantly.

"You still are," she grinned, ruffling his hair.

"I am not cute," he sniffed. "I am a handsome young man. And don't touch the hair."

"Whatever. So what's wrong, Aunt Narcissa?"

Narcissa sighed, and dropped back into her chair, the worry flooding back into her face. Bianca sat down, and looked at both of them, her eyebrows raised.

It was Draco who answered. "The Dark Lord wants me to carry out a ridiculous, impossible plan and if I fail I'm dead, and if you mention this to anyone so are you."

"Yeah, right. So seriously, what's wrong?"

"I was being completely serious."

"You mean like that time you had that magic broomstick that flew you to the moon, where the little green pixies taught you to read minds?"

Narcissa snorted, while Draco muttered, "I was ten."

"So...?"

Narcissa sighed, and leaned back. "Draco wasn't joking, honey."

Bianca's eyes widened in amazement. "I'm guessing you're not talking about those pixies?" She turned to Draco. "Why would the Dark Lord send you on any kind of mission? You're sixteen!"

"Because my father is a bastard," Draco muttered.

"Well, that's not your fault..."

"Here, let me explain, dear," Narcissa interrupted.

When she had finished, Bianca looked at her indignantly. "Draco can't just go off and get killed for nothing right now! He's not expendable..."

"I completely agree," Draco interrupted. "But I..."

"...I need him," Bianca continued, ignoring him and speaking to Narcissa. Draco raised an eyebrow.

"That's touching, but..."

"What for?" Narcissa asked curiously. Bianca looked mysterious. "I don't know yet, but it's important."

Draco and Narcissa stared at her.

"Either way," she said impatiently, "we have to get him out of here." Narcissa nodded tiredly.

"How?"

"I had better take him with me when I leave," she said decidedly.

"How, dear?"

"By broomstick."

"It'll have to be before midnight."

"As long as I get dinner first."

"Where are you going?"

Bianca looked mysterious again. "London. To a place where Uncle Lucius definitely won't be able to find us."

"And where would that be?" Draco asked curiously.

She shook her head. "I think it's safer if Auntie doesn't know."

"But...!"

"I completely agree," Narcissa interrupted. Draco subsided, looking puzzled.

"Speaking of all this," Bianca said, looking around curiously, "where is Uncle Lucius?" She stared at the door suspiciously, seeming to expect Lucius Malfoy to suddenly materialise through the keyhole.

Narcissa sighed. "In the drawing-room."

"Death Eater conference," Draco elaborated. Bianca looked shocked.

"Here?!"

"Yeah. Here."

"Eep."

"He doesn't know that you're coming, so I think he'd better not see you here," Narcissa told her. "By the time he finds out, you'll be far away."

Bianca tilted her head, looking at her aunt. "It strikes me that you're not going to have a very pleasant time of it once Draco is found missing, Aunty."

Narcissa shrugged. "I'm not a Death Eater, I don't consider myself obliged to the rest of them," she said simply. "Voldemort can easily find someone else for his plans. Lucius might not be too happy about it, though."

Bianca rolled her eyes. "He definitely won't be."

"Mother," Draco said hesitantly. "Are you sure...?"

"I'm sure, Narcissa said firmly. She looked at her watch. "Three hours. What would you like to do?"

Bianca tilted her head. "Eat. Oh, and look at Draco's baby pictures."

~'*'*'*'~

"You have a Firebolt?" Draco said disbelievingly. "No way."

"It isn't mine, I borrowed it," his cousin said absently, swinging a black bag over her shoulder.

"What for?"

"I needed a fast broom..."

They were in the library again, preparing to leave. Narcissa pulled Bianca to one side, looking worried. "Are you sure you'll be alright? It's nearly impossible to get out without turning off the safety systems, even by air."

"We'll be fine, Auntie." Bianca kissed her aunt on the cheek. "And don't worry about Draco, I really do need him."

Narcissa nodded, then spun around as she heard a quick step in the corridor. All the colour drained out of her face as she gestured to them to somehow, anyhow, get out of there. Draco glanced around, grabbed Bianca and the broomstick and ducked into the fireplace, climbing onto a ledge just out of sight, just as the door opened.

"Where's the boy, Narcissa?" It was Lucius Malfoy's sharp voice. Bianca's eyes widened, her fingers scraping soot of the chimney walls as she braced herself to turn around.

She pointed the broomstick straight upwards. "Hang on to me," she whispered in Draco's ear, barely audible. "As tight as you can."

"You're insane!" he whispered back, nearly overbalancing as he wrapped his arms around her waist. He thought wistfully of his (extremely large) carrybag, still lying under the library table. Damn his father, why did he have to...?

Whoooooosh.

She took off without any warning, straight up the chimney. Draco shut his eyes against the stinging backrush, doing his best to hold on as they went faster and faster; they burst out of the chimney, and then....

And then they were upright again, looking down at the castle from ... how far up were they? He blinked, approximating the distance between them and the tallest tower....

"Merlin's beard," he gasped, amazed, trying to get back his breath.

"Firebolt," said Bianca, and he could tell that she was grinning. "0-180 mph in 5 seconds, remember?"

"Of course I remember," he snapped. "Potter has a Firebolt he's used to beat me every Quidditch match. How could I forget?"

She chose to ignore that. "This is terrible weather for flying," she complained, half-turning around and squinting at him. "I can barely see a thing ... and we'll have to travel above the clouds. I wish they'd picked the morning to drag you off to your doom or whatever."

Draco didn't say anything.

"Sorry. Well, hold on tight." She took off again, going faster and faster, accelerating nearly to maximum speed. The wind howled around them ripping the moisture from their eyes, noses and mouths, until they finally burst through the clouds and slowed down, gasping for breath.

"Tissue?" Draco choked, trying to hold on to the slippery broom and wipe his face on his sleeve at the same time. Through his slightly blurred vision, he could see a sheet of grey below them, and a spattering of stars in the indigo sky above. There was a sliver of moon, washing everything in a faint, ghostly light and creating the illusion that they were floating just above a shimmering grey lake, with patches of silver steam rising around their feet.

"Check my pocket, and if there're any hand me one." She shivered slightly, squinting around them. Draco fished rather awkwardly in her pockets, holding on with one hand, trying not to drop various items like keys and parchment and, for some reason, bits of glass, until he found what felt like a wad of handkerchiefs.

"We should be clear of Father's guarding spells by now," he said, once they had wiped their faces and gotten their breath back. "But we'll have to get past the Permanent Shield Charm. You'd better go slower."

She nodded, and they drifted along slowly, wisps of cloud floating eerily around them, until the broomstick gave a sudden jerk.

"I knew you should have let me drive," Draco gasped, clutching at her to stop himself falling. "What the hell-?"

"It's the Shield," she said, a trifle coldly, trying to detach his fingers from her collar. "How far up does it end?"

"No idea."

She snorted. "That's helpful."

"I don't..." Draco began, indignantly, but they were off upwards again and he had to grab wildly at her to keep up. "Are you planning to get me wherever you're taking me in one piece?" he gasped, annoyed, once the broomstick had righted again. "Because it might be a good idea to notify me before you go shooting off like a drunken hippogriff."

"The Charm is weaker here, I think we can pass through," she said, ignoring him. The broomstick edged forward. Draco felt as though he was being dragged through molasses. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't speak ... he opened his mouth, and seemed to feel molasses on the tip of his tongue, slowly pouring into his mouth, choking him....

...And then they were out, the cold breeze suddenly whipping at their robes, making them shiver. Bianca pulled her wand out of her robes. "Point me!" she whispered softly.

"Brilliant, you've just notified the Ministry of where we are," Draco said sarcastically. "Don't you know that underage wizards aren't supposed to do magic outside school..."

"I'm from India, you prat," she snapped back. "The Ministry won't know if I do magic, our underage limit is a lot lower... now, hold on."

They shot off, going a lot faster than Draco liked when he wasn't the one controlling the flying ...

"Wheeee!"

his cousin yelled, suddenly turning the broomstick upside down.

"What are you doing, you crazy witch?"

Draco yelled, struggling to hold on, his legs twined desperately around the broom. He felt vaguely sick as his head swept through misty cloud, the stars racing past, brief silvery smudges beneath his feet. His hair was hanging downwards (or sticking upwards), gravity winning out over expensive mousse ... he moaned as all the blood rushed to his head, making him suddenly dizzy, not that he hadn't been dizzy enough already....

"Lighten up, Drake!"

she yelled back, righting the broomstick so fast he almost fell off.

"Don't call me Drake!"

"Lighten up!"

The broomstick went faster and faster, and this time they didn't stop .. just as Draco was feeling that he really couldn't go on another second without throwing up, they stopped so abruptly that he was nearly thrown over her head.

"What are you doing?" he croaked, clutching at her robes, nearly choking her.

"We have to go down now," she said impatiently. "And fast. We don't want to be seen by Muggles... of course, it's so late..."

"You're not going straight down, are you?"

Too late. Down and down they hurtled, the broomstick dropping like a stone, Draco nearly bursting from the combined effort of holding on, breathing and not throwing up, until they stopped ... and he flew over his cousin's head, performed a graceful arc through the cold night air, and landed, spluttering, in the middle of a dark field.

"I nearly broke my neck, you crazy..."

"You fell four feet," she said impatiently. "Don't whine."

"Whine...! I..."

"We have to walk for a while," she interrupted, gesturing to the few lights that still gleamed through the darkness. "Unless... can you Apparate?"

"Of course not."

She shrugged in a resigned manner, and started walking, carrying her broom.

"Don't tell me you can," he said, hurrying after her, dusting grass off his robes.

"Of course I can. I got my license last year."

"What...?"

"Underage limit, honey... fifteen."

"Fifteen...?"

"Uh huh." They walked in silence for a while.

"I'm cold," Draco complained, shivering. "Why did you have to shoot through those bloody great rain clouds?"

"I'm sure you'd rather I'd flown below them and gotten us shot down by... flaming arrows or whatever?" she said sarcastically.

"Oh... yeah, that." Damn, he wished he'd brought his cloak, he supposed he'd left that in the library as well.

"And I'm much colder than you are anyway... the climate in India's a lot warmer, you know..."

"Okay, okay... where are we?"

She glanced around. "London suburbs."

He jumped. "Muggle London?"

"Of course," she said impatiently. "Where did you think we were?"

"I've never been in Muggle London before..."

"Well, you are now." She dragged him through an archway and down a set of steps into a brightly lit underground tunnel.

"Where are we?" he asked weakly, looking around.

"Station," she said briskly. "The Muggle Underground. Transport system. Train should be along any minute. Ah, there's one." She dragged him aboard, where there was no one else but a snoring Muggle in some kind of uniform. She tucked two slips of paper between his fingers ("tickets") and sat down on one of the seats. Draco remained standing, staring around with a sort of horrified fascination, until the train lurched off and he nearly fell over. He gingerly sat down on the seat opposite her, trying very hard not to touch anything.

"What's wrong? ...Oh, for heaven's sake," she rolled her eyes. "Muggles aren't poisonous, you know. The way they get along without magic is brilliant... in fact, some of their systems are positively ingenious... don't you take Muggle Studies?"

He shook his head weakly.

"Oh, should have guessed. The pureblood thing. 'Muggles are scum' and all? Don't follow it, myself," she said cheerfully. "Probably in the only Malfoy family who doesn't. I think Muggles are really interesting, I..."

Draco lifted a hand. "Spare me."

She frowned. "Well, really, I..."

"You should meet up with the Weasleys," Draco muttered. "And Potter."

Her eyes widened. "Harry Potter?"

"Yes, Harry bloody Potter," he snapped irritably. "What other Potter would I be talking about?"

She looked at him curiously, her head on one side. "Why do you hate him so much?"

"I have my reasons," he explained loftily, wincing slightly as the smelly air in the tunnel whipped in, hitting him full in the face.

"I bet you never even tried to make friends with him."

His eyes narrowed. "I tried to make friends with him on the train first year, but he didn't want to... probably because he was with one of those Weasleys, who, by the way, laughed at my name..." he edged away from the window, trying to lift his robes away from the floor at the same time.

She was giggling. "I bet you'd acted all high and mighty."

"I did not! And when Slytherin won the House Cup, Dumbledore gave Potter and his friends just enough points for Gryffindor to beat us," Draco said resentfully. "All the teachers except Snape favour Gryffindor over Slytherin. Potter gets away with anything, just because he's Harry Potter... and he's the only Seeker who can beat me, which is just..." he gestured expansively. Bianca clicked her tongue sympathetically.

"...And his Mudblood friend, Granger the bucktoothed wonder, had the nerve to say I bought my way onto the Slytherin team!" he snorted irritably and glared out of the window. The train was pulling in at another Muggle station. She laid a hand on his arm.

"Calm down, will you?" she hissed, pulling him up. The conductor was awake, staring at them sleepily. "We're here."

She led him up into another Muggle street, round a corner and into a short white building set back from the road, where she took a small silver key from a sleepy Muggle behind a desk, and led him up a flight of stairs.

"Where are we?" he asked, stifling a yawn and staring down a long corridor lined with identical gold-numbered doors.

"Hotel."

His eyes flew open. "A Muggle hotel?"

"Yes, yes, a Muggle hotel," she said impatiently, unlocking the first door with the little silver key. "It's a perfectly decent Muggle hotel." She ushered him into a small, clean room with two neat white beds in it. Flowered curtains were drawn over the windows. "Go to sleep." She gestured at one of the beds. "You'd better be up by ten tomorrow, I have to meet someone at eleven."

"Ten?" He said, his eyes widening and then narrowing as he yawned again. "It's one in the morning!"

"That gives you nine hours." She narrowed her eyes. "That's more than enough."

He sighed, flopping down. "Who're you meeting?"

"You'll see." She disappeared into the bathroom, coming out in a long black dressing gown, her thick black hair neatly plaited. "Go to sleep." She snuggled up into one of the beds, closing her eyes. Draco sighed and went into the bathroom. He glanced into the mirror and barely stopped himself from yelling out loud.

His normally impeccably set blond hair was standing straight up, his eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot, and the ends of his ears and nose were tinged with a delicate blue. He couldn't remember the last time he had looked this ... 'hungover' was the word that came to mind, he thought, grimacing.

"Ugh." He groaned, trying to avoid looking at his reflection as he bent over the sink. At least the Muggles had plenty of hot water running, although Muggle bathroom fittings were rather ... different.

"Hey," he said plaintively, a few minutes later, sticking his head out of the bathroom.

"Guh," Bianca muttered, rolling over.

"Hey! Wake up." He sidled up to the bed and gave her an experimental poke.

"What?" she demanded crossly, sitting up, eyes half closed.

"I'm still all wet." His robes were still damp from flying through clouds, and were clinging to him very uncomfortably.

"Come here then," she snorted, picking up her wand from the bedside table. He edged away suspiciously. She didn't seem to be in a very good mood, and with a wand....

"What are you going to do?"

"Drying charm, what else?"

"Oh."

~'*'*'*'~

"Harry," Hermione whispered, rushing towards him, followed closely by Ron. "Are you alright?"

Harry nodded tiredly, following Remus Lupin down the gloomy hall of No. 12, Grimmauld Place.

"I'm fine. The Dursleys didn't dare treat me anything but well... after their... conversation with Professor Moody..." he managed a small smile. Hermione and Ron returned it a little nervously.

"You look like you could use some food, mate," Ron whispered, as they tiptoed down the hall after Lupin, trying not to disturb the portraits. "Mum should have dinner ready by now..."

"I'm not really very hungry," Harry admitted. "I'd really rather not..."

"You've got to eat something, Harry!" Hermione said sternly. "What have you been doing... starving yourself?"

Harry looked down at himself and sighed. It had been a long time since he had felt really hungry... ever since Sirius' death....

Hermione and Ron dragged him down to the underground kitchen, where Mrs. Weasley was bustling around getting dinner ready, Ginny helping her. She swooped down on Harry at once, insisting that he eat before anything else, ignoring his feeble protests.

"Here you are, dear." She placed a heaped plate before him. "Those Muggles... I see they've been starving you again... oh, if I ever get my hands on them..."

"Thanks, Mrs. Weasley." Harry sighed, and picked up his spoon. He waited until Mrs. Weasley went back to the other side of the room, and then leaned forward to Lupin.

"Professor... what's been happening?" he whispered. "There's been the usual stuff in the Daily Prophet... the Defense lessons and all, but there isn't much news on Voldemort himself..."

"There wouldn't be, he's been keeping himself hidden," Lupin whispered back. "Dumbledore says he's raising an army... and if he succeeds... his followers are spread all around the world, you know, and he has hundreds of powerful wizards and magical creatures on his side."

"The Death Eaters have made themselves scarce, though," Hermione put in. "After the raid on the Lestranges... they've all gone into hiding somewhere."

"Probably in Malfoy Manor, which Dad says seems to have disappeared off the face of the Earth," Ron added. "It probably hasn't, worse luck. Dear little Draco must be in seventh heaven, stuffed in with all his father's Death Eater pals..."

"The Ministry's working on Tracking Charms and such, but they haven't had any luck so far... the Death Eaters are protected by some sort of... shield, you could say, when they come out - not a very strong one, but still..."

"Well, really!" came Mrs. Weasley's angry voice. "Harry's just got, here, he's tired, he needs rest..."

"Really, Mrs. Weasley, I..." Harry began, but Mrs. Weasley was already shooing the others out of the room. He ate the rest of his meal as fast as he could with her clucking solicitously around him, and then stood up.

"I'd better go and find Ron and Hermione, I..."

"No," Mrs. Weasley said firmly. "Bed."

"Mrs. Weasley!" Harry began, irritated. "I..."

"Tomorrow, dear," she said, hustling him up the stairs. "You'll have plenty of time before Dumbledore arrives."

"Dumbledore's coming? ..."

"Yes, at noon. He has some kind of... news, he said, it's very important, he hasn't told anyone what it is, though." She led him into the room he and Ron had shared last year. Ron was already there, waiting for him.

"Bed!" Mrs. Weasley snapped firmly, as he opened his mouth. "You can talk tomorrow." And she bustled out.

"So, what has been up?" Harry asked immediately. "There's almost no one here, and you were saying that..."

"Yes, they're all hardly ever here, anymore, except to eat and sleep... sometimes." Ron sounded rather gloomy. "Now that the Ministry's wise to You-Know-Who, they've got their missions there, too... not to mention tracking duty and raids... and Dumbledore hasn't been here once yet, he's trying to figure out what exactly You-Know-Who's up to..."

"Lupin said he was raising an army."

"That's obviously what he's trying to do, but after the Dementors and Giants... none of the other Dark Creatures seem to have started moving, although they wouldn't exactly be obvious about it, I guess. Lupin's been giving us the news, he keeps popping in to see that everything's alright... he is holding this place in trust for you, after all."

"I guess I just sit around and wait for Voldemort to come and get me," Harry said gloomily, climbing into bed.

"About the prophecy..." Ron said worriedly. "I bet he still wants it... what did Dumbledore say, Harry?"

"I told you," Harry said shortly, rolling over. "Either Voldemort or me dies."

"Voldemort can't be after you just for that, Harry..."

Harry didn't answer. He heard Ron sigh behind him, and get into bed. He felt rather guilty for not telling Ron and Hermione, but he really didn't want to talk about the prophecy right then ... it was too closely linked in his memories to Sirius' death, which right now he felt he would never recover from.

Sirius had been his godfather, the closest thing Harry had had to a parent, and ever since third year, he had cherished the hope that somehow, someday, Sirius' name would be cleared, and he would have a real home ... Sirius had been a friend to him, a guide ... he had understood him ... Harry remembered this time last year, when he had been desperate for news, and Sirius' consoling letters ....

Sirius, who always knew the right thing to say to him ... whose black eyes lit up with laughter, making his Azkaban-scarred face look young and handsome again ... who treated Harry like a friend, a brother ... who had been his father's best friend, and best man at his parent's wedding....

Who had been murdered in the Death Chamber, by Bellatrix Lestrange....

Harry shut his eyes tight against the burning sensation behind his eyeballs, remembering how Sirius had fallen, in slow motion, backwards through the veil ... the expression of complete shock on his face ... Bellatrix's triumphant laugh, as she had watched him fall....

Harry's fists clenched against the mattress beneath him. Bellatrix Lestrange, she was Sirius' cousin, who had spent years in Azkaban out of loyalty to the Dark Lord, who had been one of those who tortured Neville Longbottom's parents into insanity, who was one of the most feared Death Eaters, who was ... Malfoy's aunt.

Harry's lips formed a grim smile at the memory of Malfoy as he had last seen him, three weeks ago, on the train. He had looked more like a large, slimy slug than anything else ... more so than usual, Harry thought, rolling over again, once the DA members had finished with him. Pity they hadn't had time to do more ... Malfoy certainly deserved it, after all he had done last year, especially once Umbridge had made him part of the Hogwarts Inquisition. Harry raised his hand in front of his face in the dark, his right hand, which still had the words scarred onto the back in thin white lines ... I must not tell lies.

Strange, he thought in a detached manner, as he drifted off into sleep, how even his hatred of Malfoy and Umbridge was so insignificant, compared to how he felt about Bellatrix Lestrange ... of course, it all went back to Voldemort, to whom he had lost his parents....

I'm never going to be able to get to sleep,

Harry thought, just as darkness enveloped him.

~'*'*'*'~

"Where's the boy, Narcissa?" Lucius said, almost amiably, walking into the room. Narcissa knew that Draco and Bianca must be out of sight, but it was still an effort to keep herself from glancing at the fireplace behind her. She discreetly edged the bag Draco had brought down further under the table with her foot. Lucius was staring around the room as if he expected Draco to perhaps be wedged in among the books somewhere.

"I don't know, Lucius," she said firmly, keeping her eyes fixed on his face, relief flooding her as she heard the faint Whooosh! that meant her son was speeding towards safety. She didn't know what Bianca wanted him for, but as long as he was out of the castle....

"You do know," Lucius said, his eyes narrowing. "Uncle Artemius says he came in here nearly an hour ago, and he didn't see anyone go out again."

Narcissa's eyes widened in horror. Those damned, damned portraits!

"I don't know where he is, Lucius."

Lucius walked slowly across the carpet to where his wife stood, making her think, in a detached manner, of a tiger bearing down on it's prey. She stood her ground, gazing at him defiantly.

"You do know," Lucius said silkily. "And you had better tell me, Narcissa. Now."

She kept her gaze steady, not saying anything. Lucius' eyes narrowed still further.

"This is my chance to redeem myself in the eyes of the Dark Lord, Narcissa," he said, his voice tight with barely controlled anger. "He is extremely displeased with us all... and he was already beginning to have his doubts about our family, when you refused to become one of us... however, he decided to pardon me, when it became clear that you would not thwart us in any way, and when I told him my son would be available to him at any time ...."

"He doesn't want to be part of this any more, Lucius," Narcissa said, her voice shaking. "And I will not let you throw his life away on a pointless, badly-planned mission..."

Lucius exploded. "Pointless? Badly-planned? I did not tell you one half of what the Dark Lord had planned, Narcissa! (Narcissa thanked God that, in that case, she had made sure Draco had gone) I gave the Dark Lord my word, and now..."

"The Dark Lord can just as easily use another, Lucius," Narcissa said quietly.

"Don't you understand, woman, this was my chance to redeem myself! When I promised him the loyal service of my only son, knowing fully well the consequences of his failure..."

"That was no great wrench to you, Lucius," Narcissa whispered, her voice trembling with quiet hatred. "You never did really care anything for the boy."

"I brought him up anticipating the Dark Lord's return!" Lucius said, nearly spitting with rage. "And he was in favour of it, and the Dark Lord has requested him personally... now... now... Narcissa, where is he?"

"Gone," Narcissa said, the quiet satisfaction in her voice enraging Lucius still further.

"What do you mean, gone?"

he hissed, making her back away, although she never looked away from his face. She didn't reply, knowing it was a rhetorical question.

"He seemed to agree that it was a pointless, badly planned mission," she said, her voice rising. "And I will not throw my son's life away in that manner, Lucius, even if you are willing. He seemed to already have his doubts about the Dark Lord..."

"You told him!" Lucius hissed, his words barely intelligible. "You told him what I had told you before the meeting... you thought the Dark Lord was a fool... (Narcissa would dearly have loved to say something, but didn't dare) You have lost me my last chance to redeem myself, you traitor, and now... now he's gone... how did he leave this castle?" He stepped forward again, making Narcissa back away until her back was pressed against one of the large mirrors that filled the library. "How did he leave?"

She saw no point in lying, seeing as he would find out from the house elves sooner or later. "With his cousin, Bianca."

His eyes widened. "The India Malfoys?" She nodded, almost smiling. "Blood traitors!" he exploded, advancing again. "I am tired of this, Narcissa... tired of dealing with disgrace and your insubordinance..."

She pressed herself against the mirror, as he inched forward, his eyes blazing with the mania of fanaticism, his face twisted out of recognition with fury. "Now..." he whispered coldly, his eyes narrowing again until they appeared almost closed, "Crucio!"

Narcissa's scream as she ducked was lost in the sound of shattering glass, as the red beam of light ricocheted off the mirror and struck Lucius Malfoy in the chest, knocking him to the floor, gasping and clutching at his heart.

Narcissa edged sideways, hoping he had been knocked unconscious, but...

"Traitor," Lucius croaked again, stopping her short in front of the huge windows, her heart pounding. She wished she dared reach for her wand....

"I will at least tell the Dark Lord that this was without my knowledge, and that the traitorious section of my family has been... disposed of," he panted, sitting up, nearly delirious with uncontrolled fury. "Avada Kedavra!"

There was a burst of green light, a rushing sound, and the window behind Narcissa Malfoy shattered.

~'*'*'*'~

At precisely ten am, Bianca Malfoy sat up straight in bed, clutching her wand. To her somewhat overwhelming astonishment, Draco was already awake, staring out of the window at the Muggle street below.

He turned to look at her, mildly startled.

"Mosquitos?" he enquired solicitously, getting off the windowsill and sitting down at the foot of her bed. She could tell by his expression (or lack of it) that he was mentally running through a list of smart remarks suitable to the occasion.

"Waking Charm." She grinned sleepily, leaning back onto her pillows. "You up already? I thought you needed at least twelve hours of sleep before you could function... semi-normally."

"Now what kind of person do you think I am?" he looked slightly injured. "I've been up since seven, for your information."

"Seven?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Couldn't sleep," he muttered, turning away. She decided not to pursue the topic.

"What've you been doing all this time?"

He gestured towards the window. "Watching the Muggles." He frowned at her look of amazement. "What? I can stand looking at them. Besides, I didn't know what else to do. I couldn't get your bag open." He shrugged at her look of annoyance. "Hey, you knew I'd try."

She rolled her eyes, sitting up again. "Draco. Talk to me."

"I am, seeing as you're almost human this morning."

"You know what I mean. When you were sitting there..." she waved a hand towards the window. "I've never seen you look so lost."

"What did you expect? I'm sitting here, in the Muggle world, for the first time in my life, after the first broomstick ride that's ever made me feel like spewing myself, with the only witch in the world who dares to shove me around and make fun of me... What?" he glared at her, as she started giggling. "It isn't funny."

"Maybe," she said, sobering down. "So you're upset about your father, aren't you?"

He stared at her. "The word 'tact' just isn't in your dictionary, is it."

She shrugged, wriggling forward to sit beside him. "I'm a Malfoy."

"Good point." He stared out of the window for a few moments, then turned to her with his usual blank expression. "You know, my father was the only person I ever really trusted. Ever. He was my role model. And the things I've seen him do lately..." he shrugged, and looked away. "I can't imagine ever being like him anymore. I hate being wrong about people."

"And he was willing to risk your life to raise himself in the eyes of Lord Voldemort. He probably knew that you'd muff his stupid mission."

Draco shrugged, his gaze still fixed on the flowered curtains over the window. "That too, I guess. And my mother. She's the only person I really love, really care about. ("Thanks a lot," interjected Bianca indignantly, making him give a small smile.) And I feel like I shouldn't have left... Father will know she had something to do with it, he could be doing anything to her..." he shuddered. "You've never seen him really angry, have you?"

"I can imagine." He glanced at her, and frowned.

"Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you're feeling sorry for me."

"Well, I am too feeling sorry for you."

"Don't, then."

She put her arms around him. "I have to. You're my favourite cousin, you know."

"And later, I'm going to wonder why I ever told you all this."

"Weak moment?"

"If you ever mention this to anyone, you know I'll feed you to a live manticore."

She let go of him, smiling mischievously, and got up. "You might get your chance soon enough."

"What?" he stared at her in alarm, as she picked her bag up and walked towards the bathroom. "Don't tell me you're dragging me along to meet a bloody manticore. I'd believe anything of you."

"Not at present." She started to swing the door shut. "I'm dragging you along to meet Albus Dumbledore."

Draco stared blankly at the closed bathroom door, noting rather absently that the paint was peeling and the bloody Muggles really should do something about it.

"Dumbledore?" he mumbled, as the door swung open again. "I'd almost rather have the manticore."

"Don't be silly," she said impatiently, picking up an oblong black object that was resting on the bedside table. "He's a sweet old man."

"Sweet old man my foot," Draco muttered. "Father always said..." he stopped abruptly and narrowed his eyes. "Never mind. He probably is a sweet old man."

"That's the spirit." She pressed a button, and the black square box in the corner suddenly seemed to burst into colour, making him jump. He stared blankly at the images moving across the screen, missing the black oblong as she chucked it at him. It sailed past and knocked over a glass, which smashed rather loudly.

"Oops," she muttered. "Reparo... Accio." She walked over to him and put it down in his lap rather deliberately, after doing something that made the little images on the screen start to speak. "Here... watch Friends."

"What do you mean, watch friends?" he picked up the little oblong and looked at it with interest.

"Friends. It's a Muggle show. Watch it, it's cute." She disappeared back into the bathroom. Draco sat back in a resigned manner, and started watching.

Just as he (and the invisible audience in the box, apparently) was bursting into laughter for the third time, there was a knock on the door. Draco looked at it rather blankly. The knock was repeated, a little louder.

"Er... come in," he said, trying to sound imperious and wondering what the hell he was supposed to do as a Muggle man walked in, wearing a kind of uniform ... some sort of butler, he supposed.

"Is everything all right, sir. I heard a smash a few minutes ago as I was passing, and I thought Miss Malfoy might be in need of assistance."

Draco blinked. "Er, no, she doesn't. I mean, she isn't."

The man looked around, eyebrows raised. "Are you sure, sir, because I am certain that I heard a smash..." he looked at Draco suspiciously. "Might I ask where Miss Malfoy is?"

"In the bathroom, where else would she be?" Draco answered impatiently, and suddenly realised that he was being cross-examined by a butler, and a Muggle one at that. He looked down his nose at the man. "Go away," he said imperiously. The Muggle's eyebrows shot up into his hair.

"Go away, sir?"

"Yes, go away!"

"Very well, sir." The man started to leave, and then stopped. "Would you like to order some breakfast?"

Draco considered, and decided that he would. The Muggle produced what looked like a menu with an almost magical speed, and started across the room to hand it to him.

"No, no, stop," Draco said hastily, holding out his hands. "Just throw it to me, or something."

The Muggle stared. "Throw it?"

"Yes, throw it!" he reached up and caught the menu, and glanced through it. "Alright, I'd like, er, steak and kidney pie. What kind of kidneys are we talking here?" he glanced up, and found the Muggle staring at him. "I'm sorry, sir, you can order only from the breakfast menu."

"I can order from any menu I choose," Draco sniffed. "And," he went on, realising something, "why did you give me this menu, then, if it isn't the breakfast one?"

"Sir..."

"I want steak and kidney pie," Draco announced in demanding tones. "And it had better get here in five minutes."

"Sir...!" the man began, just as the bathroom door opened. Bianca stepped out, looking surprised.

"What are you doing, Draco?"

"Trying to order breakfast," Draco said in long-suffering tones. "This imbecile," he pointed at the Muggle, who looked shocked, "is refusing to..."

"Er, we don't need anything," Bianca said hastily, interrupting Draco and addressing the Muggle. "Thanks."

"Miss," the Muggle said, sounding aggrieved. "I heard a smash, Miss, and I came to investigate. And this young man," he indicated Draco, "has treated me extremely rudely... and he ordered steak and kidney pie for breakfast, Miss." He moved closer, and said in a very audible whisper, "I hope I may be excused when I say that you can do much better, Miss. I think he is not completely right in his head." He winked knowingly, and went out, as Bianca burst into laughter, drowning out Draco's indignant splutters.

"Ow," she gasped, clutching her stomach weakly. "What did you say to him?"

"I must say I don't think much of Muggle butlers," Draco said disdainfully. "Rude fellow, asking a whole lot of questions..."

"That wasn't a bloody butler, that was Room Service! I suppose it's no use hoping," she said sternly, picking up her bag again, "that you weren't too rude to him?"

"My manners are impeccable," Draco said indignantly as she picked up her keys and started out of the room. "Hey! I'm not ready yet."

"Tough," she said cheerfully, grabbing his hand and starting to drag him out. "We have ten minutes to get there, come on..."

"But my hair," he whined, as they whipped down the stairs. "Look at my hair..."

"Oh all right," she sighed, stopping at the desk downstairs and dropping her keys on it. "Come here." She pulled him towards her and, to his complete embarrassment, started smoothing down his hair. In a room full of Muggles, all of who seemed to be staring at them. The Room Service Muggle, who happened to be passing through, shook his head sorrowfully and turned away.

She tilted her head to one side. "There, that's much better," she said fondly, pulling him to the door. "And why are you all pink? ...Although you look much better when you have some colour in your face."

She led him down into the brightly-lit tunnel they had emerged from the night before, and which was now packed with Muggles, staring curiously at their wizarding robes.

"Stand here," she ordered, and went off to stand in a long line that seemed to be waiting to reach a little hole where another Muggle was handing out slips of paper. Draco sighed and backed into a corner, trying to make himself as small as possible and not touch anyone. He had never seen so many Muggles at once (in fact, he wasn't sure when the last time he had seen a real Muggle was, or if he ever had really met one) and he watched them curiously, as they hurried forward, dressed in Muggle clothes, some clutching little Muggle children eating Muggle candy, some kissing each other good-bye ....

"Here. Tickets." She waved two slips of paper under his nose. "Come on." She dragged him aboard the Muggle train, and tried to find a place to sit. "Come on." She looked at him impatiently, as he stood behind two old men, seemingly reluctant to pass between them. "There's room... they won't hurt you... honestly," she sighed, as he slipped through and sat down, the old men giving them strange looks. "I should bring you to stay in Muggle London more often. I'm joking," she said, as his eyes narrowed. "Honestly, you're such a snob..." she stopped as a pretty young woman with a baby sat down next to Draco, who found he didn't have room to edge away.

"Awww..." she cooed, leaning forward. "What's his name?" ...And she spent the rest of the ten-minute journey playing with the little Muggle baby (which was really rather cute, not much different from a wizard baby) while Draco watched in a resigned manner.

"Wasn't he just adorable?" she sighed, as they got off the train.

"No," Draco answered shortly. "I don't like babies."

"Neither do I, much," she said cheerfully, leading him up the steps. "But that one really was cute... what?"

"Nothing," Draco sighed, as they emerged into the street. "Where are we going now?"

"Sweet shop."

"That's your idea of breakfast?"

"No, you dingbat," she said impatiently. "To meet Dumbledore." She hurried him down a couple of streets, smiling at the staring Muggles (Draco wondered how she managed it) and stopped in front of a tiny, rather beat-up looking sweetshop.

Sure enough, there was Albus Dumbledore, but he wasn't looking for them at the moment.

"Six ounces, sherbet lemons," he was telling the shopkeeper in placid tones, when Bianca went up and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Hi, Professor Dumbledore," she said cheerfully, making Draco feel both astonished at her cheek and unaccountably like poking her in the eye. Professor Dumbledore turned, smiling.

"Ah, Miss Malfoy. Mr. Malfoy," he added, inclining his head in Draco's direction, not seeming surprised to see him at all. "I was hoping you would be a little late. I was a little delayed," he said, taking the sherbet lemons and paying the shopkeeper, "myself."

He started up the street with them in tow, looking very out-of-place in his wizard's robes, and lead them down into yet another brightly-lit tunnel.

"Oh, no." Draco couldn't suppress a groan as Dumbledore took a seat on the train, and beckoned them in. "Not this again." He sat down with a resigned sigh. Dumbledore didn't say much, and didn't seem to expect much conversation from them (even Bianca was unusually silent) as more and more Muggles left the train, until finally they were almost the only people in the carriage. They got down at a dingy, dirty little station, and Dumbledore led them through the streets to a decrepit little square, surrounded by broken-down Muggle houses.

"Professor, where-?" Draco began, as Dumbledore handed either of them a little slip of parchment. He read his, frowning. "What's number 12-?" he looked up in astonishment, as a large, grimy, but evidently wizarding house materialised before them, evidently the properly of some wealthy pureblood family. The walls were made of dark grey stone, what he recognised as very fine quality, and the rounded, shaded tops of the barred windows closely resembled those of Malfoy Manor. The silver snake forming the doorknocker vaguely reminded him of something, that he couldn't quite call up at present....

Dumbledore reached up and tapped the door with his wand, then stepped back and waited as the magical locks inside clicked open. Bianca and Draco hurried up the steps to stand beside him, as the peeling black door swung open.

Standing on the other side, wearing identical expressions of shock, were Ginny Weasley and Hermione Granger.

~'*'*'*'~

"Harry! Wake up." Harry rolled over sleepily, half-opening his eyes. It was Hermione, Ron standing behind her, grinning.

"Whassatime?" he mumbled sleepily.

"Ten-thirty." Ron pulled his sheets off and tried to drag him up. "Figured you could use some sleep."

Harry yawned hugely. "You're right. Thanks." He sat up as they both flopped down onto the end of his bed. "Dumbledore should be here in an hour and a half, shouldn't he?"

Hermione nodded, looking slightly worried. "Mrs. Weasley says he has some extremely important news."

"They let us in on almost everything now," Ron added. "After last year..." Harry nodded hastily, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He glanced around curiously, noticing something that had slipped him in the darkness the night before. The room looked the same, and yet somehow ... different. He stared around at the dull walls, the high ceiling, the closed windows, and then it hit him ... no cobwebs.

"Everything's clean," he said, surprised, turning to Ron and Hermione.

"Mum," said Ron, rolling his eyes. "She insisted the house be all nice for you, now that you've inherited it," he looked around, missing Harry's slight wince. Hermione frowned at him. "She borrowed a team of the Hogwarts house-elves after term ended, they've been cleaning ever since... they still haven't finished." He grinned at Harry. "Dobby's here, he's been dying to see you, Mum wouldn't let you be disturbed, so he's waiting down in the kitchen. And Hermione's been trying her luck with Spew, and none of the house-elves will go near her now."

Harry snorted with laughter, as Hermione sniffed and said "It's S-P-E-W, Ron."

"Whatever." Ron rolled his eyes. "Come down to breakfast, Harry, Tonks and Moody are here..." Hermione looked towards the wall as Harry got dressed, and then they all made their way down to the kitchen, tiptoeing through the hall as usual. Tonks and Moody were there all right, sitting with Lupin and Arthur Weasley. They all greeted him cheerfully, carefully not mentioning Sirius or anything that had happened in the last term. Tonks' hair was banana-yellow today, and done up in a funny sweep, ("Like Ace Ventura," Hermione whispered to Harry, who grinned and nodded while Ron looked at them, mystified.)

Harry sat down, as Mrs. Weasley and Ginny hurried over with steaming bowls of porridge, and plates laden with bacon and eggs.

"We waited for you," Tonks informed him cheerfully. "We just got here ten minutes ago."

"And for the first time, Tonks didn't set all the portraits off," Moody growled, waving his fork and accidentally sending some egg yolk onto Mr. Weasley's shirt. "Sorry, Arthur." He removed it with a wave of his wand, as Tonks gave him a friendly glare.

Harry concentrated on his plate, barely listening to the conversation going on around him. For some reason, he felt unaccountably anxious ... he had an odd feeling about Dumbledore's visit, although he was looking forward to it with a great deal of impatience. He remembered his last conversation with Dumbledore, in the Headmaster's room at Hogwarts, and the feeling of anxiety increased. That had been to receive some very important news as well, things he had wanted to know ever since he had arrived at Hogwarts ... he remembered, with a detached sensation of embarrassment, how he had shouted at Dumbledore and smashed half his office....

"Harry." Ginny was waving her hand in front of his face. "You're trying to eat from an empty bowl."

Harry flushed, looking up. Ginny was staring at him in concern, but no one else seemed to have noticed. "Are you all right, Harry?" she said quietly. "Do you want some more..."

"I'm fine," he said quickly, standing up. "Thanks, Gin." He pushed his chair back. "I, er... just need to go upstairs for a moment." Everyone nodded very understandingly, and went back to whatever they were doing.

"We'll come with you." Ron and Hermione followed him out, Ginny behind them. They walked silently up the gloomy staircase, back to the room Harry and Ron shared. Harry flopped down onto the bed and sighed.

"I wish he would just get here," he said moodily, pushing his hair out of his eyes. The other three stared at him anxiously, making him feel extremely irritable.

"Oh, stop it, would you?"

They stared.

"Everyone, being all fake-happy and 'let's make Harry feel better by not talking about anything' downstairs, and you people gazing at me anxiously when I'm not looking. I'm fine, alright? I'm not any worse than I was the last time you saw me."

Hermione sighed and sat down. "We know, Harry, but Mrs. Weasley told us..."

Harry snorted extremely loudly and stared down at the floor, even more irritated with Mrs. Weasley. He wished to goodness that she would stop fussing over him. He looked up, and caught Ginny's sympathetic, slightly amused gaze.

"Mum's being annoying, isn't she." She sat down on the other side of him. "I told her you wouldn't want it, but Oh, poor Harry! If any of you so much as mention Sirius or the war until Dumbledore gets here..." she didn't do a bad Mrs. Weasley impression, and Ron and Hermione giggled. "She scared everyone in the kitchen so much before you came down, that I suppose they didn't dare act any other way." She giggled herself. "Sorry."

Harry snorted, slightly less bitterly. "Either way, I wish Dumbledore would get here."

"Just forty-five minutes more," Ron said bracingly, checking his watch. "Come on, Harry... let's do something else, how about a game of Exploding Snap?"

"Or we could get Dobby, he wasn't in the kitchen..." Hermione snapped her fingers a couple of times. Nothing happened.

"They don't like you, Hermione, remember?" Ron grinned, and snapped his fingers. Hermione snorted with exasperation as about a dozen house-elves materialised with loud, cracking noises, and backed away to stand behind Ron, eyeing her warily.

There was a squeal, and one of them flung himself out from among them into Harry's lap.

"Harry Potter! Dobby is waiting and waiting to see you sir," he squeaked happily, as Harry gasped for breath, concentrating on trying to keep his ribs from cracking, "but Mistress Weasley, she say 'Go upstairs and clean with the other elves, Dobby, don't bother Harry Potter' ...is Harry Potter bothered by Dobby?" he let go and gazed at Harry anxiously, as Ron tried, rather unsuccessfully, to suppress a snigger. Ginny dismissed the other house-elves, who were all looking rather disapproving.

"No, Dobby," Harry gingerly massaged his rib-cage. "It's fine, don't worry..."

Dobby beamed happily. "Dobby has a present for Harry Potter, sir!" he announced.

"Oh...er, thanks Dobby," Harry said. "It's not another picture, is it?" he added hopefully.

"No, no..." Dobby vanished and reappeared almost immediately. "Socks!" he beamed, holding them out to Harry. One was black with rather lurid blue flowers on it, the other was red with lion's heads embroidered on them in yellow. Hermione frowned and poked Ron, who was gasping weakly on the bed, clutching at his sides.

"Er, they're great, Dobby, thanks."

Dobby looked ready to cry with happiness. "Dobby must get back to work, sir!" he squeaked, and vanished.

Ron rolled about, roaring with laughter, while Harry grinned, examining his socks. One was quite a bit larger than the other.

"Stop laughing, Ron, it was very sweet of Dobby," Hermione said disapprovingly, as Ginny helped Ron up and Harry stuffed the socks into his trunk. "Come on, half an hour left, let's play Chess or something..."

Ginny produced a chessboard, and Harry spent the next twenty minutes losing spectacularly to Ron, partly because Ron was a much better player and partly because he was spending most of the time checking the clock above the door. Twelve o' clock came, and there was still no sign of Dumbledore....

"Cheer up, Harry, we'll go down and check for him," Ginny said sympathetically, at twelve-ten. "Come on, Hermione..."

"How exactly are you planning to check for Dumbledore?" Hermione whispered, as they tiptoed down the hall."

"No idea, I just thought it might make Harry feel better," Ginny whispered, back, skirting carefully around the troll's leg umbrella stand and stopping in front of the door."Um..."

"Shh." Hermione grabbed her hand. The locks and chain were clicking open, one by one. They stood back as the door swung open, and stared, frozen with shock. Albus Dumbledore stood before them, looking mildly apologetic. On one side of him was a pretty brown-skinned witch with thick, curly black hair and wearing sleek black robes, who was looking at them curiously, her head tilted to one side.

And on the other side of him was Draco Malfoy.

Hermione barely registered the expression of complete surprise that passed over Malfoy's face, before it was replaced by the slightly smug, blank look that always made her want to hit him. Beside her, Ginny made a small choking noise.

"Well, well," Malfoy drawled, looking past them into the dark hall behind. "Spending the holidays in a decent wizarding mansion, are we, Granger?" his eyes flicked to Ginny, who was eyeing him with an expression of complete loathing. "Hello, Weasley." He put on an injured expression. "You don't look happy to see me."

The dark-haired girl gave a small start of surprise.

"Granger and Weasley are both girls?" she stepped forward, holding out a hand. Hermione numbly held out her hand to be shaken. "I'm Bianca, hello," the other girl was saying cheerfully. She moved on to Ginny, who mumbled, "I'm Ginny, and this is Hermione," rather unintelligibly, and dazedly let her hand be shaken. Both of them were still staring at Malfoy, who appeared to be examining the silver knocker with elaborate unconcern.

"Interesting," he was muttering. His eyes flicked to the side of the door, suddenly noticing the matching silver bell-pull. He reached out for it....

"No!" Hermione, Ginny and Dumbledore all shouted at the same time, but it was too late ... Malfoy had pulled the bell....

A loud, clanging noise rang through the house.

It was followed by a burst of sound that nearly blew the three newcomers off the doorstep.

Dumbledore dodged past Hermione and Ginny, just as Lupin, Moody and Tonks dashed up from the kitchen. Malfoy and the girl called Bianca were both staring at the mad, screaming old woman in the portrait with identical expressions of surprise. They pushed through the door and into the hallway....

And, miraculously, the portrait stopped screaming, and stared at them both, looking equally surprised...if that was the expression twisting it's ugly face.

Then it started, worse than before...

"Traitors! Filth! Decievers! ... Poor Narcissa ... living among blood traitors...."

Lupin and Dumbledore were trying to force the curtains that had covered the portrait shut, but weren't having much success.

"...Never would have believed that the Malfoysss...."

the old woman was howling, as Tonks sprang forward to help and the curtains finally flew shut.

The ringing silence that followed was broken by a horrified voice from the stairs.

"Is that... no, it can't be... Harry, it's Malfoy!"

**

Harry stared, in complete shock, at the tableau that met his eyes in the hallway.

Tonks, Lupin and Dumbledore stood by the portrait of Sirius' mother, all looking very uncomfortable. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had come up from the kitchen and were standing at the head of stairs that led down, looking thunderstruck. Hermione and Ginny were standing next to the still-open front door, their hands over their mouths.

And in the middle of the hall, still staring at the place where the portrait's face had been, were a girl he didn't know and ... Draco Malfoy.

The extremely awkward silence was broken by Dumbledore.

"I think we should all, er, leave the younger ones to... get acquainted."

Lupin, Tonks, and the Weasley parents all made a mad rush for the kitchen. Harry could faintly hear the clamour of voices raised in questioning as Dumbledore descended the steps, until the door shut with a sharp slam that brought him to his senses. He descended the last few steps slowly, followed by Ron, who was making small spluttering noises. Ginny busied herself with shutting and locking the front door, Hermione standing beside her, hands still over her mouth.

Malfoy was examining his nails, apparently completely oblivious to them all. The girl he was with was looking slightly puzzled.

"Er, hi," she said to Harry, stepping forward slowly. "I'm guessing you're Harry Potter. My name's Bianca...Bianca Malfoy."

"M-malfoy?" Ron echoed weakly. The girl raised her eyebrows.

"You heard me. I'm Draco's cousin."

"C-cousin?"

"Yes, cousin!" she snapped, starting to look impatient. "I'm from India...."

"In-india?"

"Is there an echo in here?" she demanded, now looking thoroughly irritated. She turned back to Harry. "Harry, it would be nice if you'd say something, 'cause frankly, I'm about two seconds away from completely freaking out." She jerked her head towards the covered portrait. "I was certainly not expecting her... and Draco," she looked at him with increasing irritation, "is not being much of a help."

Hermione and Ginny had come up, after having taken as long as they could with the door, and were goggling at Malfoy again. Draco, who had been delicately scraping at his thumb, looked up at his cousin with a mildly injured expression. "What do you want me to say?"

"Well, hello for starters!" she snapped, narrowing her eyes. Draco heaved a huge sigh and turned to face Harry.

"Hello, Potter. Weasley," his eyes flicked to Ron. "I'm guessing this isn't your house."

Harry stared at Malfoy, his green eyes completely blank, remembering the last times he had seen him ... Malfoy in the Great Hall, pale eyes narrowed maliciously, saying "I'm going to make you pay for what you've done to my father" ... Malfoy, dripping ooze from a rack in the train, after the DA members had finished with him ....

He couldn't think of a single instance that could explain Malfoy's presence here, in Sirius' house ... in his house, unless it was maybe to carry out the promise of making him pay ... and in that case, he would hardly have come with Dumbledore....

As if from very far away, he could sense Ron bristling angrily beside him, and the girl called Bianca saying irritably, "Oh, for heaven's sake - he wasn't trying to be insulting, unless you would be expected to have a portrait of our crazy great-aunt in your house."

Malfoy was still staring at him, a slightly mocking expression in his grey eyes. "Surprised to see me, Potter?"

Harry blinked, and snapped back to himself. He narrowed his eyes. "What the hell are you doing here, Malfoy?"

"Damned if I know." Malfoy was looking around with interest. "Pretty impressive, Potter... is this where your parents lived?"

Harry winced ... the mentioning of his parents was still painful to him, especially so casually, coming from someone like Malfoy....

"No," he said coldly, hearing his own voice as if from far away. "This is where my godfather lived. My godfather, whom your bloody aunt murdered, Malfoy."

Now why the hell did I say that?

Ron, Hermione and Ginny were looking at him, surprised. He kept his gaze on Malfoy, who looked equally surprised for a moment, before Harry heard him mutter, "So that's who she killed."

He watched himself, with a certain amount of detached surprise, as he launched himself at Malfoy, slamming him back into the wall.

"Come to gloat, have you?" he hissed, while knowing, all the while, that this was completely irrational, it couldn't be Malfoy's fault, couldn't possibly be why Malfoy was here ... but he needed it, he needed to take out his anger, his grief, on someone ... and Bellatrix was this boy's aunt ... how could he just walk in here, how could he just ...."

"Harry!" he heard Hermione moan from behind him.

"What the hell are you talking about, Potter?" Malfoy was hissing back. "Let go of me."

What the hell am I doing?

Harry let go quickly and stepped back from Malfoy, very white. He felt Ron's hand on his shoulder. Malfoy straightened up, eyes narrowed, dusting his robes and straightening his collar. To Harry's surprise, it was Ginny who spoke next.

"Malfoy, it might be a good idea if you told us what you're doing here."

Something in Malfoy's face seemed to snap, and he suddenly looked completely irritated.

"Like I said, damned if I know," he snapped peevishly. "My cousin," he glared at Bianca, who glared back, "dragged me to Dumbledore, who dragged us aboard a Muggle train" - Hermione looked as if she was trying to imagine Malfoy on the London Underground and failing utterly - " ... and the next thing I know, here I am, with Granger and Weasley about to die of shock and my bloody great-aunt calling me a blood-traitor ...."

"Your great-aunt?" Ron interrupted curiously. He stared at the curtains. "I thought I saw some family resemblance."

"Shut up, Weasley. I'd like to know what I'm doing here as much as you people would." He rounded on his cousin, who shrugged defensively. "So what am I bloody doing here?"

"Standing and yelling at me like an idiot, by the looks of it," she sniffed, looking down her nose at him and turning to Hermione as the sanest one of the group (probably seeing as she hadn't said anything yet.) "Have you figured out any way to keep these two" she gestured at Harry and Draco "from flying at each other's throats?"

"You're asking the wrong person," Ron said smugly. "Seeing as how she slapped Malfoy across the face in third year...." Malfoy shot him a glare.

Bianca looked delighted. "You slapped Draco around the face?" she asked gleefully, turning back to Hermione. "No wonder he doesn't like you."

"Thanks, Weasley," Draco was saying sourly to Ron, who was continuing to look smug.

Hermione smiled. "Yes." She found herself warming to the other girl, who was regarding her admiringly, her head tilted. There seemed to be something funny about her eyes, but in the dim light she couldn't really see what it was. "Um... how exactly are you related to Malfoy? No offense but you, er, don't look anything alike."

Bianca grinned. "We share the same retarded great-great-great-grandfather. His son married an Indian witch." She shrugged. "I'm the daughter of his son's son. I guess that makes me Draco's cousin, in some weird way. Relative, at least."

Ron and Harry looked blank. Malfoy was lounging back against the wall beneath his great-aunt's portrait, scowling impatiently. Ginny was standing next to Hermione, looking interested.

"You said you were Indian, didn't you? 'Bianca' doesn't sound Indian... it's an Italian name, isn't it?"

"Hermione doesn't sound British... it's a Greek name, isn't it?" Bianca countered, raising an eyebrow. Hermione grinned.

"True enough."

"If you've all quite finished," Malfoy interrupted impatiently. "I'd still like to know what's going on." He glared at his cousin, who gave him an identical glare back. Come to think of it, it wasn't all that unbelievable that they were related. "And so would Weasley, given his unaccountable silence... and as Potter looks like he'd like to give me another shove into that wall, I'd be obliged if you'd either hurry up or keep him under restraint." Harry blinked, looked surprised, and then narrowed his eyes. "And as it looks like I'm not going to get any explanations from my dear cousin..." Bianca snorted with exasperation "...I'd better get them from Dumbledore." He started towards the staircase. Bianca followed him, rolling her eyes, Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny going after her with some hesitation, speeding up as the curtain covering the portrait twitched ominously.

Draco marched down the stairs he had seen Dumbledore and the adults descend, hearing the others' footsteps behind him. He slammed open the thick wooden door at the bottom and marched into the room beyond.

"Professor..." he began loudly, and then stopped.

He seemed to be in a large basement that at some time had been turned into a kitchen. Facing him from one end of a large wooden table was Dumbledore, looking mildly inquiring. Sitting along one side of the table were Mr. Weasley, a witch with very strange-looking yellow hair, a man whom Draco had recognised upstairs as being the werewolf who had taught Defense Against the Dark Arts in third year, Professor Lupin, and... Mad-Eye Moody, who growled belligerently, "So there you are."

Draco paled and took a step back. The time when Bartemius Crouch Jr., disguised as Professor Moody, had turned him into a white ferret and bounced him around the Entrance Hall of Hogwarts was not something he would forget in a hurry, and he assumed Crouch had been playing Moody as closely as possible....

From somewhere behind him, he heard Weasley give a small snicker, and knew that he was remembering the same thing.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy?" Dumbledore was enquiring. Everyone else was staring at him curiously. Draco swallowed, and took another step forward. A large, striped yellow cat he recognised as Granger's came up and rubbed against his legs, making him jump.

"Er." He gave a guilty start as he noticed Mrs. Weasley, stirring the contents of a large black cauldron over the fire. Not surprising, as most of the taunts he had directed at Ron over the years about his family had centred rather largely around his 'fat mother.' He noticed in a detached manner that Mrs. Weasley seemed to have lost rather a large amount of weight, and wondered if Ron had repeated anything he had said at home. If he was going to be stuck in this place for any length of time, he hoped not.

"Er," he said again. Bianca stepped impatiently forward.

"Professor, I think we should get down to what you wanted to talk about."

Draco felt, rather than saw, everyone sag with relief behind him. Dumbledore beckoned them all forward. Draco sat down at the table in between Bianca, who was at the end nearest to Dumbledore, and ... Potter. Oh, lovely.

Draco could feel everyone's eyes on him. He gazed coldly down the table, and then pretended to be very interested in a small burn mark on the table in front of them. The tabby-cat had jumped onto Bianca's knee and curled up, purring richly. He glanced at it, meeting curious green eyes set in a rather squashed face. He idly wondered if this was the cat Goyle had been punished for kicking in fourth year....

"Ahem," Dumbledore began. "I suppose you all know Mr. Malfoy here." Everyone murmured in assent.

"Lucius Malfoy's son," growled Professor Moody, looking at Draco with dislike. Draco returned the look with interest, and then went back to the burn mark. It was quite an interesting burn mark, he thought, shaped rather like a....

"Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore said gently. "If you would like to tell us how you come to be here?"

Draco looked at Dumbledore in surprise. "I came here with you," he pointed out. "Professor," he added, as an afterthought. Dumbledore looked at him patiently. Everyone else seemed to be craning their necks, staring at him expectantly.

"I am referring to the events which led you from Malfoy Manor, location currently unknown, to accompanying your cousin to a Muggle sweet shop."

Everyone nodded vigourously. Draco felt trapped. He carefully looked at his fingernails. "Er..."

"Professor, let me," Bianca interrupted eagerly. Draco felt vaguely grateful. She wasn't a bad sort, his cousin....

"I would like Mr. Malfoy to tell us the story," Dumbledore said gently, dissipating Draco's relief. Draco reluctantly looked up, glancing around him. Everyone was still leaning forward to look at him, their faces expectant.

"Oh, just hurry it up, Malfoy," Ron burst out impatiently. Dumbledore shot him a quelling look.

Draco's face darkened. "Fine," he hissed at Ron, then turned to Dumbledore, clearing his throat. Bianca put a comforting hand on his knee.

"Yesterday," he began, "was my birthday." Everyone seemed to be wondering whether they were expected to say 'Happy birthday' or not. Oh, no. "Yesterday evening," Draco hurried on, my father came to speak to me. He said something about the Dark Lord having plans for me. He needed a student from a loyal family to do something for him in Hogwarts." Hermione and Ginny drew in hushed breaths. "I wasn't very pleased, as you can imagine." Everyone looked extremely disbelieving. Ron gave a tiny snort. "Okay, maybe you can't imagine," Draco went on impatiently, vaguely offended, "but I wasn't. The Dark Lord's been in a foul mood, lately. It's been awful, the house is full of Death Eaters and they have these meetings and..." he stopped himself, realising that he was complaining. Everyone was looking vaguely uncomprehending. "Father and the Dark Lord have hidden our Manor, and all the Death Eaters who are in hiding are living there." He made a face. "They've had dozens of meetings. The Dark Lord was furious about that prophecy or whatever it was, and he spent the first week punishing them... I could hear it." He shivered involuntarily, and went on hurriedly, hoping no one had noticed. "I spied on a couple of the meetings..."

"You didn't get caught?" Moody growled, looking impressed.

"I hid in the ventilation shaft, it's really high up." Moody nodded, and he continued. "I saw the Dark Lord punish Bellatrix Lestrange," Potter tensed beside him "and execute Nott, I don't know what for." Dumbledore gave a tiny nod of understanding. "I really think I have about as good a chance of surviving working against him as for him." He shrugged. "Yesterday night, I went to speak to my mother. I found her... rather upset. Father had told her something of what the Dark Lord had planned. No, my mother is not a Death Eater," he snapped irritably, in response to Ron's inquiring look. "She told me that the Dark Lord wanted me to find out what was in that prophecy, and then... dispose of Potter." He started a close examination of his nails, as they all drew in a collective, sharp breath. "Somehow, the idea didn't appeal to me. No, it didn't, Weasley," he snapped at Ron. "It was a stupid plan, I was bound to fail. And those who fail the Dark Lord, die." Ron looked as if he should have known that was the reason. "And I didn't want to murder Potter, either," Draco added, hurriedly and peevishly. "I've never killed anyone before. No, I haven't, Weasley. And mother said she'd rather have me out of there, and right then she landed up..." he gestured at Bianca who put in "No, I didn't. I arrived when she was saying something about your pink baby shorts."

Everyone looked extremely blank. Draco hurried on. "We flew up the chimney just as Father was arriving to take me to the Dark Lord. On a broom," he added, thinking irritably that these idiots were never going to manage to defeat the Dark Lord, if they couldn't figure out a simple thing like that. "We flew over all the guarding spells and all and managed to get through the Permanent Shield Charm. Then we flew up to the outskirts of Muggle London. Most horrible broomstick ride of my life," he added, earning himself a dirty look from his cousin. Dumbledore gave a small smile. "She took me to some sort of Muggle hotel, and then took me to see Professor Dumbledore this morning. He brought us here. I hope that answers your questions," he added, giving Ron and Harry dirty looks.

Dumbledore nodded. "Does anybody have any questions for Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco listened to the sudden clamouring in dismay. "Er..." he looked pleadingly at Professor Dumbledore. Dumbledore raised his hand for silence. It was broken by Mrs. Weasley.

"Lunch," she announced, bustling up with the cauldron. Draco looked at her gratefully. Maybe she was a wonderful person after all. Pity she had had that obnoxious brood of redheaded children. The silence continued as Mrs. Weasley served the meal, and then sat down herself.

"Now," Dumbledore said. "One by one."

"You really turned down the chance to murder Harry?" Ron began, looking extremely disbelieving. Bianca glared at him.

"You heard me, Weasley," Draco snapped, as Dumbledore motioned to Ron to keep quiet. Ron subsided. Hermione raised her hand like she was in class.

"Yes, Miss Granger."

"Last time we spoke to Malfoy," Hermione began, "he said he'd make Harry pay for what he'd done to his father. What made him change his mind?"

There was a dead silence, during which Hermione looked as if she wished she hadn't said anything. Draco wished she hadn't, as well. He kept his eyes fixed on his hands, feeling everyone's eyes on him. It was Bianca who finally spoke up.

"Maybe," she said, and she sounded furious, "that's something Draco would like to keep to himself." Moody opened his mouth to protest. "And maybe," she continued, now glaring at him, "it has nothing to do with you people or your stupid war." Moody subsided, looking taken-aback.

There was another long silence. Then Moody, following Hermione's example, raised his hand rather awkwardly. This time he addressed Bianca.

"How did you get into the castle?"

"I wrote to Aunt Narcissa in the morning and told her I'd like to stop by and see Draco. She sent a house-elf for me," Bianca answered rather flatly. After another long silence, she looked at Dumbledore, who appeared to be lost in thought, and said rather plaintively, "Would it be alright if we started eating, Professor? Only we didn't have any breakfast..."

"Oh? Yes," Dumbledore said, seeming to come back to himself with a start. "By all means, everyone... and maybe we should postpone our questions for Mr. Malfoy to some... other time..." Draco, for the first time in his life, felt a spark of gratitude towards the Headmaster of Hogwarts.

Lunch was a very silent meal. Lupin, Moody and Tonks seemed to be muttering together about something, and Bianca and Professor Dumbledore both seemed lost in thought. Neither Potter nor the yellow cat seemed conversationally inclined, and Draco concentrated on his plate of stew, noting vaguely that Mrs. Weasley was an excellent cook. At least when it came to mutton stew.

After everyone appeared to have finished, Dumbledore looked around the table and cleared his throat. "If you younger people could wait outside for a few minutes... perhaps show Mr. and Miss Malfoy their rooms... and please, do try to get along." He beckoned Granger over, and said something very softly into her ear. Draco saw her look very surprised for a moment and then nod, before following them out of the room.

They made their way outside, up into the hall, and then up the stairs to the corridor above. There they all stood for a few moments in a rather awkward silence (Draco was getting used to those) until Ron spoke up.

"So," he said, looking at Draco critically. "Pink baby shorts, huh?"

Draco sent his cousin a deeply reproachful look. She smirked back at him, and he glared at her. She returned the glare with interest, and then turned to Ron, who was snickering. "I was kidding," she said, sounding deeply sorrowful.

"Yeah, right," sniggered Ron, unconvinced. Draco wondered what Dumbledore's ideas of 'getting along' were, and whether he would be violating them by punching Weasley in the mouth. Probably, he decided.

"I was," Bianca said shortly. She turned to Hermione. "Um... where will I be staying?" she lifted up her bag, which she was still carrying. "This is getting awfully heavy."

"Oh, uh..." Hermione looked at Ginny. "There's a couch in our room, you can stay with us if you like." Ginny nodded rather doubtfully. "And I think there's one in Harry and Ron's room too..."

Harry, Ron and Draco all looked completely horrified.

"No way..." they all began together, and then broke off, confused. Bianca was already following Hermione and Ginny into their room.

She sighed, dropping the bag onto the couch in their room, and looked around approvingly. It was a long, high ceilinged room, like all the others in the house, and would have been rather nice if the heavy shutters had been pulled up....

She walked over to them. "Alohomora!"...The shutters sprang open, letting the afternoon sunlight stream in. "There, that's much better, isn't it?" She turned, noticing Ginny looking somewhat apprehensive. "No, I'm not underage, your Ministry isn't going to arrest me," she said, rather irritably, walking back and sinking down beside her bag. "Does this place by any chance belong to some people called Black?" she went on, as the boys walked in (apparently, standing in the corridor and making conversation hadn't appealed to them much.) There was a rather awkward silence.

"It belonged to Sirius Black," Harry finally said. "He... was my godfather. He left it to me." She nodded. "That explains why Great-aunt Black was down there." She made a face. "There was a portrait of her in our house for some reason, but we had to throw it out. Dad got tired of being called a blood-traitor every time he turned on the TV." Everyone laughed. "I have no idea what her real name is."

"Tabatha," Draco said. "She was mother's aunt."

"Whatever it was, I think you people would be better off getting her portrait out of there."

"There's a Permanent Sticking Charm on the back," Harry said gloomily. "Don't think we haven't tried." He sank down onto Hermione's bed.

Bianca nodded absently, opening her bag. "Uh... does anyone here mind cats?"

Everyone looked blank. "Er, no, not really," Harry said finally. "Hermione has one..."

"Oh, good," Bianca said happily, reaching in and pulling out a fat, purring grey tabbycat, which she dropped on the couch beside her. The cat was nearly the size of the bag, and looked around with sleepy orange eyes before saying 'Mrrow' and curling up on the covers. "Does anybody mind snakes?" Bianca went on cheerfully, reaching into the bag again. Hermione started, and Ginny backed away in horror. Draco, Harry and Ron looked mildly surprised.

"Oh, come on, he's completely harmless," she said, disappointed. "I promise I'll put him back in if he scares you..." she then proceeded to extract a long, colourful and decidedly asleep python, whose red-and-black head she scratched fondly before dropping him onto the bedspread next to the cat, who gave it a disinterested look. "This is Eviel George."

"You named your snake George?" Draco raised an eyebrow.

"You fit a snake and a cat into that bag?" Ron said, astonished.

Ginny emitted a faint gurgling noise. Harry helped her into a chair.

"Uh huh." Bianca handed the bag who Hermione, who was looking at it with great interest. "Black dragon-hide, waterproof, magically enhanced," she went on. "Grandpa gave it to me." She took the bag back, looking at her watch, and rummaged inside it again, this time with both hands. She carefully lifted out what looked like a small, crumbling chest, and set it down beside the snake. Beneath the crumbling wood, they could all clearly see the iron lining. All that was holding the rotting wood on were three iron bands that encircled the chest, each with a worn engraving at the top - a seal, barely distinguishable, in the shape of a dragon. Hermione ran her hands over the seals.

"I've seen that before," she murmured, frowning slightly. "Somewhere..."

"I have it on a pendant, isn't it neat?" Bianca pulled a heavy silver chain out of her robes. Sure enough, the pendant was almost the same shape as the seal, made of heavy silver that looked very old, but still glinted with a dull shine as she turned it over. The once sharply-wrought outlines were rounded and worn, but still retained some trace of the beautiful workmanship.

"It's beautiful," Ginny said, reaching forward to examine it, casting a nervous glance at Eviel George, who still appeared asleep.

"Mother has one like that," Draco murmured. "She found it in an old chest in the attic one day... where did you get it?"

"Grandfather," she said, standing up and very carefully lifting the little chest. "I think it's time we went back down to Professor Dumbledore, don't you?" She walked out of the room. Draco sighed and got up to follow her, the others behind him.

"That's one strange girl," he heard Ron mutter to Harry behind him, as they descended the stairs to the kitchen. "Funny, ain't it, the way she bosses Malfoy..." he gave a small snicker. Draco turned, narrowing his eyes.

"Excuse me, Weasley?"

"Yes, Malfoy?"

"Nothing." Draco turned away. "But I'm telling you, Weasley... you don't want to see her angry."

He turned away from Ron's puzzled look, and pushed the kitchen door open.

Bianca was placing the little chest on the table before Dumbledore. She remained standing next to him, as he gestured to the rest of them to take their seats. More people seemed to have arrived in the last ten minutes ... Snape and the half-giant Hagrid were seated next to Mr. Weasley.

As they filed in and took their seats, Dumbledore stood, looking very grave. Draco leaned back to look up at him, noticing at the same time how very old the Headmaster was suddenly looking. He gazed around at all of them, his eyes sombre.

"Voldemort is raising his army." They all nodded, a bit puzzled ... this was hardly anything new.

"These two," he gestured towards a smug Bianca and, to Draco's complete and total amazement, himself, "might be able to help us defeat it."

Everyone stared in disbelief. It was, once again, Bianca who broke the silence.

"We're the descendants of Merlin," she said cheerfully.

~'*'*'*'~

Hermione stared at the new girl as she looked around, completely unfazed at their reactions to her somewhat startling statement. She glanced at Malfoy, who was looking completely thunderstruck, his mouth hanging open. Ginny, sitting next to her, was looking puzzled. She nudged Hermione.

"So?" she whispered. "What does that have to do with anything?" Hermione shrugged, still staring at Bianca Malfoy. The firelight flickered across her face, and once again Hermione could have sworn there was something funny about her eyes....

"Malfoy has to help us?" she heard Ron hissing at Harry. "Dumbledore's off his rocker, Harry..." Harry nudged him as Dumbledore's eyes flicked towards them, and he fell silent. Hermione realised Ginny was tugging urgently at her sleeve.

"Hermione," she hissed. "What's going on?"

Hermione shrugged again, more impatiently, scanning the other side of the table. Moody's magical eye was spinning round and round (she wondered that it didn't make him dizzy) and Lupin and Mr. Weasley were looking interested. Tonks and Mrs. Weasley were sitting back, mildly puzzled expressions on their faces, and Snape's face was unreadable. She wondered when he had arrived. While they were upstairs, probably. Hagrid was leaning forward, his face obscured by his masses of curly hair, and Dumbledore was staring at the ceiling, looking thoughtful.

Hagrid broke the silence - the longest yet, which was saying something.

"Er, Professor... does that mean something?"

Dumbledore sighed, bringing his gaze back to the rest of them. "It means plenty, Hagrid." He looked around. "You all, of course, know the story of Merlin."

Lupin, Moody and Mr. Weasley were nodding, but everyone else looked rather blank. Hermione cast her mind back to the books she had read, some of them had mentioned Merlin ... she was sure there had been something in A History of Magic....

Dumbledore sighed, looking around at the expectant faces. "Merlin was a great sorcerer, perhaps the greatest of all time. You all, of course, know how a sorcerer differs from an ordinary wizard. Yes, Miss Granger?"

Hermione's hand had shot up like it did in class, almost involuntarily when she knew an answer. She put it down, rather taken-aback.

"Sorcerers create magic the way poets create poems, with an inborn talent perfected through practise," she recited. "Wizards are born with magical abilities, but depend more on study, making magic a deliberate art." She could see Ron out of the corner of her eye, staring at her in disbelief. "She actually remembers this stuff?" she heard him whisper to Harry, and felt rather pleased despite herself.

"Precisely, Miss Granger." Dumbledore looked around, and resumed speaking. "Real sorcerers in our times have become very rare, and when they occur they appear only in families with... mixed blood, that is to say, those that have blood other than wizarding in their ancestry."

Draco raised his hand. Dumbledore turned.

"You mean like half-breeds, Professor?" he drawled. Hermione shot him a glare, but Dumbledore was saying,

"That is precisely what I mean, Mr. Malfoy..." Draco looked slightly taken aback "...although they need not be half-blooded wizards, the closer they are born to the source of foreign blood, the greater their power."

Lupin was nodding seriously. Bianca was gazing at Dumbledore with rapt attention, though she gave the impression that she had heard all this before.

"Merlin was born of a young maiden and an Incubus, an air-demon," Dumbledore continued. "Making him a sorcerer of immense power. He lived for many hundreds of years, and during that time he accomplished many things... even the Muggles know of him, although their tales are different accounts in what they call mythology. During the time of Merlin, wizards were fewer and more powerful than they are now, and they were no secret to the Muggles, who both feared and revered them."

Moody was leaning forward. "Excuse me, Professor, but wasn't Merlin a Dark sorcerer? He excelled at the Dark Arts, and it's said that he made a practice of befriending dragons..."

"Merlin had extensive knowledge of Dark Magic, it is true, Alastor, but he was merely mischievous." Moody was looking disbelieving. "He is known among wizards as a bit of a trickster, but he didn't use his knowledge for evil purposes. He was best known for his gift of prophecy, and was trained by Apollo himself, the Prophetic Spirit. The prophecies he made extend, over a vast period, including our own, up to a thousand years into the future." Tonks gave a small exclamation of amazement. "Yes, Miss Tonks, an amazing achievement, taking into consideration that nearly every prophecy he has made so far has come true, in some way or the other."

"Like what?" Tonks leaned forward with interest.

"Many important events that have taken place in history..."

"Did he predict Voldemort?" Harry interrupted. Hermione couldn't suppress a slight wince. She felt Ron shudder beside her. Dumbledore turned his gaze to Harry.

"Yes, Mr. Potter, although for the exact prediction you would have to go to the centaurs." He smiled. "Merlin's prophecies caused such mayhem in the wizarding world that they were long ago entrusted to the centaurs, who have used them in their own manner, crossed with their predictions from the stars..."

"Does what you said have anything to do with Merlin's prophecies, sir?" Snape spoke up for the first time.

"Very much so, Professor Snape."

"If the only recorded prophecies are with the centaurs, then how..."

"The only complete set of recorded prophecies do exist, as far as we know, with the centaurs, but they are sometimes mentioned in books of history, and..." here Dumbledore turned to the Malfoys, "There are certain documents, passed down through the descendants of Merlin... of course, they are very extensive, and written in many languages, including the Old English, and would be of too little use, and too much trouble, to translate..."

Here, Bianca interrupted with a grin, "But Dad decided to try and translate them anyway."

Snape ignored her, addressing Dumbledore again. "Professor... there could be hundreds of Merlin's descendants in the wizarding world..."

Dumbledore shook his head. "Merlin's only remaining descendants that we know of are the Malfoys and the Fletchers."

Draco started, and spoke in horrified tones. "You don't mean we're related to the Fletchers?" He gazed up at Dumbledore almost imploringly, his eyes round with horror.

Dumbledore looked almost amused. "Distantly, yes, Mr. Malfoy."

Malfoy sank back into his chair, looking completely stunned. Hermione herself was not unsurprised... Mundungus Fletcher and Draco Malfoy were two completely opposite characters, although she supposed that relatives needn't have all that much in common.

"Mundungus is the last remaining Fletcher," Dumbledore was continuing. "He is too old to feature in the prophecy in question... besides, he probably has no knowledge of his heritage." He smiled at Malfoy. "Even Mr. Malfoy, it seems, is completely stunned..."

Draco made no move to contradict him. "Why should our being related to Merlin be such a big deal?"

"That's what I'm coming to, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore said patiently. He turned back to the rest of the group. "Merlin is best known, both among wizards and to some extent with Muggles, for his gift of prophecy, his amazing powers, and his strange friendship with the Muggle king, Arthur." Hermione nodded to herself - she had always been fascinated with the story of the Knights of the Round Table. "He was the friend of dragons and the enemy of the giants... the giants of his day were immensely powerful and magical beings, but Merlin destroyed their power by stealing the Chorea Gigantum, the Giant's Ring, the source of their magic, and placing it around a Muggle burial place." Dumbledore sighed. "He is less known for his deeds before the time of the Round Table, which took place much more than a thousand years ago... his uses of silver alloys, his association with the Sibylline Books, and his defeat of the only other sorcerer of his time." Dumbledore looked around, the flickering light reflecting off his silvery beard. Hermione noticed in a detached manner that it was almost the same colour as Malfoy's hair. "The Dark Sorcerer calling himself Voldeomortist."

Everybody started, and stared at Dumbledore. There was a sudden muttering, and Harry sat up, blinking in amazement, and said,

"Professor - you're not saying that was Volde..."

"No, Harry, not Voldemort." Dumbledore looked around, and the muttering subsided. Hermione noticed Snape, who was staring, not at Dumbledore, but at Bianca, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. She wondered what that was all about, as Dumbledore continued. "But the only other immensely powerful sorcerer of the time. As you can see, Voldemort has adopted a similar title, changing the meaning slightly - 'Defier of Death,' which of course refers to his attempted immortality, the spells for which he invented himself - basing his work on the incantations and documents of Voldeomortist."

There was another silence, before Lupin spoke up.

"Professor, those kind of documents would be incredibly dangerous, and by all accounts shouldn't exist... the Ministry of Magic..."

Dumbledore sighed. "Yes, all written material relating to the Ancient Dark Arts has been destroyed or documented by the Ministry over the last few hundred years. Excepting, however, the accounts handed down through the descendants of Voldeomortist, much as Merlin's accounts have been..."

"You mean the Dark Lord is descended from this...sorcerer?" Mrs. Weasley spoke for the first time.

"Yes, Molly. In fact, almost all the Dark wizards and witches in the last thousand years were the descendants of Voldeomortist... Slytherin was one, Igrainus was another, Grindelwald was a third... all using the Dark Magic he invented, kept a secret from the rest of the wizarding world..." Dumbledore sighed. "Counter-curses require a knowledge of the curse itself. The Unforgivable Curses were the work of Voldeomortist, and are the first to be used by any other than of his line - the Death Eaters."

"But Professor," Harry was leaning forward eagerly. "Has Merlin foretold the defeat of Voldemort?"

Dumbledore sighed. "Merlin's prophecies, Harry, are very complicated things. Making things easy for the future generations was never one of his priorities... except..." he sighed again. "This prophecy..."

"Except what, Professor?" Hermione interrupted curiously, unable to help herself. Dumbledore turned to her.

"I will be coming to that eventually, Miss Granger. This prophecy," he turned back to the group, "was also made, in a similar manner, by Voldeomortist himself, although his differs from Merlin's in a few minor points... and is much less detailed. However, it would be enough to seriously worry Voldemort... which is why I suspect he was hurrying to enlist Mr. Malfoy." He smiled at Draco, who had started at the mention of his name. "Yes, Mr. Malfoy. Voldemort would much prefer to have you under the power of the Dark Mark... although to be safe, he would have you eliminated under some pretext, which is why, I suspect, he was so eager to enlist you."

Draco was looking both dazed and horrified. "Professor... I'm not that important, am I? Father always talked about our ancestry, but he never mentioned..."

"Your grandfather, Mr. Malfoy, when Voldemort first came to power, surrendered the documents of Merlin to him. Voldemort, after a brief perusal of them, finding mainly historical accounts, discarded them as useless... a very foolish move. Your father had no use for them, and through a certain chain of events they were passed on to Miss Malfoy's family, who already had a large part of them owing to the previous joining of two of the lines of Merlin, in your great-great-great..."

"I'll take your word for it," Draco said hastily. Mrs. Weasley frowned, but Dumbledore gave him a small smile.

"Your family and Miss Malfoy's family are no longer very close, due to what your father calls - er - their 'Muggle obsession' - am I right, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco shrugged. Mr. Weasley was looking at Bianca with a new interest..

Bianca grinned. "Uncle Lucius hates us, Professor. He never speaks about us - my dad works at the Ministry, and he had an Alagrath - a Half-blood - Protection Act passed..." Mr. Weasley was looking more and more delighted. "...And when he was on the committee for that Muggle-Protection Act..." Mr. Weasley looked absolutely thrilled. Hermione had a strong desire to giggle. "Aunt Narcissa likes us fine though, her mother and mine knew each other when they were younger, you see..."

"Yes, yes, Miss Malfoy. As I was saying. Mr. Malfoy - that is, Miss Malfoy's father - discovered some rather - intriguing - prophecies among the new documents, of which he notified me immediately... however, it took nearly a year to translate, in fact, the translation is still in progress, if I'm not mistaken."

"Nearly finished," Bianca added. "That's why Father sent me." She indicated the box on the table. "Shouldn't we open this first, Professor?"

Dumbledore sighed. "Perhaps we-"

"Professor Dumbledore, sir!" A squeaky little voice rang out, making everyone jump. Dumbledore gazed enquiringly at the doorway, where a little house-elf had appeared, carrying what looked like a scroll of parchment. "You is having an owl, sir."

Dumbledore opened the parchment, a slight frown on his face. The frown deepened as he quickly read through its contents, and then tucked it away into his robes.

"Rubeus."

"Yes, Professor Dumbledore?" Hagrid stood up.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to send you on an... er, an errand..." He beckoned Hagrid a little way away, towards the fire, and began to speak to him in low tones. Hagrid nodded a few times, frowning ... well, it looked like he was frowning to Hermione, who was straining her ears (it looked like everyone else was, too.)

"All righ' then, Professor," Hagrid said finally, straightening up and making his way to the door. "Be seeing yeh in a coup'la hours..." the door shut with a loud bang behind him. Everyone turned immediately to Dumbledore, who went on as if nothing had happened, although Hermione thought that his eyes had flicked to Draco for a second, looking almost ... relieved. Now what was that all about?

"What the hell is going on?" Ron asked her in an undertone. "Did you hear...?" She shook her head, keeping her eyes on the Headmaster of Hogwarts, who was standing at the head of the table once again.

"Professor," Bianca was saying to him. "Wouldn't it be easier to explain if we opened this first?" She was pointed at the little chest. Hermione leaned forward, and sensed Ginny, Ron and Harry doing the same, beside her. Lupin and Mr. Weasley looked intrigued, Tonks was leaning forward with a slight frown on her face. Moody looked impatient, and Mrs. Weasley looked both worried and curious ... Snape was also leaning forward, eyeing the ancient chest as if he thought it might sprout legs.

Dumbledore nodded in assent. To Hermione's surprise, he lifted the little chest and placed it in front of Bianca, who was suddenly looking very serious. Hermione leaned as far forward as she could, the thick boards of the table digging into her ribcage, as the other girl's face screwed up in concentration. She pulled a small torn-off piece of parchment from her pocket, glanced at it, and then...

"Acclamo cognomienas Myrddin!"

she passed her hand over the top of the chest, and then pressed it to the faded, dragon-shaped seal Hermione had noticed earlier. Dumbledore was leaning closer, frowning...

Nothing happened.

"Perhaps you should try again, Miss Malfoy," Dumbledore said gently. Bianca was frowning at the box as if it had somehow offended her personally. She nodded, not looking up, and repeated the same action as before.

"Acclamo cognomienas Myrddin!"

Once again, nothing happened. Snape made a small sound of impatience, and Dumbledore shot him a quelling look. Draco was looking both curious and irritated.

"Breaking a Magical Seal after a long period of time is always very difficult, Miss Malfoy," Dumbledore said. "Especially since this one is linked specifically to your blood and lineage... try once again, and concentrate as hard as you can..."

Bianca nodded, gripping the chest tightly on either side and closing her eyes. Hermione could see tiny beads of sweat gleaming on her forehead as she passed her hand over the chest....

"Acclamo cognomienas Myrddin!"

she cried, pressing down hard on the seal...

There was a slight, hissing noise. Bianca started and drew back a little, staring at the chest, and as all of them watched, holding their breaths for some reason, a gleaming line appeared, separating the upper and lower halves of the hitherto almost seamless chest. It widened and widened, until at last, the glow fading, the lid of the chest remained suspended an inch above the rest. Bianca cautiously reached out and lifted it off.

Everyone stood up to be able to see the contents, which were rather strange, to say the least. On a lining of faded velvet lay several rolled-up yellow scrolls of parchment, looking like they were held together solely by magic, the ink faded to faint brown spidery lines. Beneath them lay what looked like a silver handcuff, delicately and finely wrought, engraved with words in a language Hermione didn't recognise. Next to it reposed a heavy silver armband, or wristband, inlaid with a single brightly green stone, and a flat, strangly-shaped silver object with a slight hollow apparent to one side.

Dumbledore frowned, carefully lifting out the yellowed parchment and unrolling it. He gazed upon the first page and muttered, "The documents have been written in very old English."

"You mean the thee-thou-thy old English?" Bianca asked interestedly, trying to lean over his shoulder.

"No, Miss Malfoy, the Old English, the English spoken a thousand years or more ago." Dumbledore laid the top sheet of parchment down on the table, and drew out his wand. He touched the tip to the faded lines.

"Comprenius!"

Apparently, nothing happened. Dumbledore frowned, and tapped the parchment again.

"Conatus comprehendius!"

Nothing continued to happen. Dumbledore frowned, mildly exasperated, and picked up the parchment, examining it closely. His blue eyes scanned the surface of the parchment, seeming to ignore the lines of writing.

"These documents have apparently been treated with some kind of Anti-Deciphering Charm," he said at last, laying them down. "Although not of a sort that I recognise. Unsurprising, as this was charmed more than a thousand years ago... Professor Snape," he added, turning to Snape, who was peering at the parchments from beside him. "I believe you have some knowledge of Old English... if you would be so kind as to assist me, as we have to translate this manually..." He sighed, shaking his head. "Merlin the prankster... apparently, he hasn't made things easy for us... creating some form of assistance for his descendants would be as far as he was prepared to go." He replaced the scrolls, picking up the box and turning away. "We will have to continue this tomorrow, or as soon as Professor Snape and I complete the translation. Meanwhile, you will all continue with your regular duties... and," he turned to the students. "I expect you all to get along as well as you can manage. See that you make your best effort, as it looks like you're going to be here together indefinitely." Malfoy's and Ron's gasps were audible.

Hermione herself was far from pleased at the prospect of staying indeterminably in the same house as Malfoy, and a girl who....

She thought, frowning, of what Professor Dumbledore had told her as she had left the room with the others earlier... he must have had a reason to give her such queer instructions, or maybe he was just being considerate? She followed the others out and back upstairs, where they all stood again in the corridor. Ron was scowling, and Harry's forehead was creased in a thoughtful frown. Ginny looked thoroughly confused. Malfoy seemed considerably disgruntled, turning to his cousin, whose face was at present unreadable.

"Bianca, could I, er, speak to you for a moment?" He grabbed her by the wrist, almost dragging her off to the room he was now being forced to share with Harry and Ron. Hermione waited until the door had banged shut, and then turned to the others with a sigh.

"So," Ron was saying. "What d'you reckon? Dumbledore can't be serious... he can't expect Malfoy..."

"He was perfectly serious, Ron," Harry said. "I don't understand... if what he said was true... and it has to be."

"Here, come in here," Ginny interrupted, motioning them to follow her into the girl's room. Hermione sank down onto her bed as the conversation resumed.

"Dumbledore can't mean we need Malfoy to defeat You-Know-Who... I mean..." Ron began indignantly. "He can't really expect us to trust him, after all, his father..."

"He doesn't seem to be all that eager about his father, now, though," Harry pointed out.

"But Harry, that doesn't mean... what was Dumbledore thinking, bringing him here..."

"Dumbledore must know what he's doing, Ron, we have no idea what his plans are," Ginny pointed out reasonably. "Although I can't say I'm pleased about having Malfoy here with us..."

"Hermione." Ron turned to her. "You haven't said anything so far... what d'you think?"

Hermione bit her lip, frowning thoughtfully. "I don't think Dumbledore meant that we need Malfoy to defeat You-Know-Who," she said at last.

"But Hermione..."

"He said You-Know-Who's army," she continued, ignoring Ron. "After all, the prophecy Harry heard said that... what did it say, Harry? That either Harry or You-Know-Who..."

"Just say Voldemort, can't you?" interjected Harry.

"That either of them would win against the other," Hermione continued hurriedly. "It's up to Harry to defeat You-Know-Who... Dumbledore's saying it's his army they have to help defeat."

There was a short silence.

"What's so special about Malfoy?" Ron demanded at last. "Why do we need his help? How could he possibly help our side?"

"He seems to be on our side now," Ginny said thoughtfully. "And you heard the Professor... the Prophecy..."

"It's a prophecy, Ginny... it doesn't have to be true..."

"It's not just any prophecy, Ron," Hermione snapped impatiently. "It's a prophecy made by Merlin, the greatest Seer of all time. You know how I feel about Divination, you three, but Merlin hasn't been wrong yet... and Dumbledore believes this, do you think you know better than him? Because if so, why don't you go down and tell him we should scrap the whole idea, because you don't like the thought of having Malfoy involved with helping our side!"

There was a long silence, occupied by everyone staring at Hermione. Ron looked almost incredulous.

"Look, I'm sorry," she said, dropping her hands. "I don't understand any of this either, and I don't like Malfoy, but I think we should just trust Dumbledore. After all, we aren't even really part of the Order yet, we can't just raise objections to whatever Dumbledore tells us. And we don't even know anything yet, about the Prophecy, or those things in the chest, or about anything."

After a short silence, Harry said, "I agree with Hermione." Ginny nodded. Ron looked rather mutinous, but gave a quick nod of acceptance. They sat in silence for a few seconds.

"So, er," Ginny said, breaking the silence. "What do you think of Malfoy's cousin?"

Ron frowned. "She's er... bossy. Kind of like Hermione in first year. I don't mean in a bad way," he added hastily, at Hermione's indignant look. "I just mean... I don't know."

"What was it Malfoy said to you, Ron?" Harry frowned. "He said... that you wouldn't want to see her angry, or something, right?"

Ron nodded. "Malfoy doesn't seem to mind her bossing him... What, Hermione?"

Hermione was leaning forward, frowning slightly. "When we left to come upstairs, earlier," she said slowly, "Dumbledore called me back, and said something to me."

"Said what?"

"'Try and make sure Miss Malfoy stays in a fairly good temper, Miss Granger.' I wonder what he meant?"

"Um... maybe he meant that since we don't know her and all, we should be nice to her," Harry offered.

"Somehow, I don't think that's it." Hermione sat back with a sigh.

"Either way, it looks like we're going to have to try and get along with Malfoy."

Ron snorted. Harry sighed, and continued. "It definitely won't be easy, but we've got to try. You know what Dumbledore said, and if he's going to be here..."

"We could just stay away from him," Ron said hopefully. "If we're not together..."

Harry sighed again. "You know I'd be the last person to seek out Malfoy's company, Ron, but..." he shrugged. "If he's going to be working for our side in any way, we should try to at least be pleasant. He'll probably react like a complete git, but Dumbledore said we should try and get along." Ron grunted, looking far from pleased.

"So no more pushing him into walls, Harry?" Ginny said with a small smile. Harry flushed.

"I don't know what got into me... I guess I was just... surprised to see him here."

"Surprised is putting it mildly." Ron grinned, and stood up. "If we're going to be getting along with Malfoy, we'd better go and find him. I want to ask him a few questions anyway."

"Ron..." Hermione warned, not liking the look in his eye.

"Don't worry," he assured her. "I'll ask nicely."

Harry sighed, standing up as well. "Come on, then."

~'*'*'*'~

Draco slammed the door shut, and then turned on Bianca, letting go of her wrist. He could see that his fingers had left white marks on her skin, but he didn't care. She was looking at him with the blank expression he used so often himself, and he found it completely infuriating.

"What the hell do you think you're playing at?" he demanded. She shrugged, annoying him still further.

"I didn't do anything, did I?" she turned away, walking towards one of the beds and sitting down.

"Why didn't you tell me anything before?" he followed her, but remained standing. "Why couldn't you have told me about this last night?"

"I didn't know how, Draco," she snapped, looking suddenly irritated. "I can't explain all this as well as Dumbledore can, obviously..."

"He hasn't explained a thing to me yet." He regarded her with narrowed eyes. She met his gaze, frowning, and stood up.

"I couldn't have told you anything in a way that you'd understand, Draco."

"In a way that I'd understand? You think you're that much smarter than I am? Try and imagine what it's like to find out that your father's decided you have to do something that'll likely end with you being executed by the Dark Lord, and then you run away from home and find..."

"That has nothing to do with this!"

"It bloody well does to me, since it looks like whatever the Dark Lord wanted me for has something to do with whatever that stupid prophecy said..."

"It isn't a stupid prophecy, Draco, it could be the only way we win this war! You don't know what the Dark Lord's been doing..."

"Then why the hell don't you tell me? You just sit there, all pally with Dumbledore, talking about your prophecy and your ancestry, and you don't say one bloody thing to me about it all the time you were with me..."

"You'll understand it all soon enough..."

"Well, you know what I understand so far?" he leaned forward. "Bloody well nothing."

Her eyes narrowed, and he saw that little red spark that he knew was the danger signal, but he didn't care. "Dumbledore wasn't sure I'd be able to bring you... he thought he should explain it to all of us together. Can't you understand? I wouldn't have been able to..."

"You should've at least said something!" he snarled, raising his voice for the first time in weeks, and taking a step forward. "If I'm supposed to be part of this thing with you, you should have told me what was going on! I don't know one bloody thing about..."

"Can't you understand," she yelled back, "that I could not have explained anything properly? Dumbledore warned me not to even try..."

"You could have told me about our ancestry!" He took another step forward. "You could have told me I was descended from Merlin... you could have told me why you were taking me to Dumbledore... you could have bloody well told me I'd be stuck in a house with Potter and Weasley, while we're about it..."

There was a definite red gleam in her eyes now, and he realised he had come so close that her face was just inches from his.

"And what are you going to do to me, Draco?" Her voice was low, almost a hiss. He took an involuntary step back. "Are you trying to scare me? What the hell do you want me to do, Draco?" she took a step forward as he took another back, narrowing his eyes.

"I want you to tell me what the bloody hell is going on." He ignored the fact that her pupils were turning completely red, and that her teeth....

"What do you think I can tell you?" she took another step forward, forcing him back.

"Tell me what this prophecy's all about. Tell me what the hell I have to do with it. Tell me how the hell I'm related to Merlin and why it bloody matters so much. Tell me what the bloody hell I'm doing here!" his voice rose to a shout.

She reached forward, grabbing him by the shoulders. He could feel her long fingernails digging into his skin. "Get this, Draco," she hissed. "I. Can't. Tell. You. Anything."

"Why the bloody hell not?"

"Because." She shook him, and hissed very slowly, almost in his ear. "I don't bloody know, can't you see that? I don't know much more than you do, right now. I don't know what we're supposed to do, other than what Dumbledore said. I don't know exactly what's in the prophecy." She let go of him abruptly, taking a step back. "I'm as nervous and frustrated as you are. So stop yelling at me, none of this is my bloody fault!" She glared at him, her eyes wide with anger, her fists clenched tightly by her sides. He knew, in a detached manner, that her nails must be cutting into her skin. She was breathing heavily, and was about to say something else, when her eyes moved away from his face to a point above his shoulder. He spun around, and saw Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny standing in the doorway, staring at them in complete astonishment.

~'*'*'*'~

"I think they're fighting," Ginny whispered as the others came up to the door. "Maybe we shouldn't go in right now..."

Ron edged past her, his vivid hair looking nearly as black as Harry's in the dark corridor, and put his ear to the door, listening for a few seconds. "Nonsense, Ginny, I don't hear a thing. Come on..." he laid his hand on the heavy brass doorknob

"Shouldn't we... knock or something?" Hermione suggested, feeling vaguely uncomfortable at the idea of just barging in.

"Nonsense, Hermione, what can they be doing?" Ron said impatiently. "Besides, this is our room..."

"That isn't the point..." but Ron had already opened the door. Hermione, Harry and Ginny crowded in behind him, and then stopped abruptly.

"Oh..." Ron breathed. "I guess they are fighting."

Hermione blinked. Draco and his cousin were facing each other, just a foot apart, both breathing heavily. Draco's back was to them, but Hermione could see Bianca's face, over his shoulder... she looked absolutely furious, her even, rather sharp teeth were showing ... didn't they look sharper than they had earlier? Her fists were clenched tightly at her sides, and as they watched, her eyes moved to the doorway where they stood. Hermione started ... she was almost sure that the other girl's eyes were gleaming very strangely, they looked almost red, but once again the light was too uncertain to be sure....

"Er... I suppose it's no use hoping they were just snogging?" Harry said weakly, as Draco whirled around.

There was a silence, lasting around ten seconds, when they all just stared at each other. Draco was looking frustrated and angry and a little scared (Hermione could hardly blame him, the way his cousin was looking) and there was far more blood in his face than Hermione had ever seen, except for that time when Professor Moody....

"Oh, hello, Potter, Granger, Weasley." He sounded tense and abrupt, very different from his usual slow drawl. "Weasleys," he corrected, his eyes flicking to Ginny. "So nice of you to knock."

"Er... we could just go back out again," Harry offered.

"Sorry," Hermione added. Bianca's face seemed to be slowly relaxing, looking almost normal again. She stepped forward, as they started to back out.

"No... it's alright, don't leave." She moved past Draco. "Draco and I were just... talking."

"That's how you usually talk?" Ron said doubtfully. "Because if so..."

There was a step in the corridor behind them, and they turned to see Lupin, who was looking grave. He looked around at all of them, peering rather suspiciously at Bianca - the reddish gleam was just fading out of her eyes. "Er... Mr. and Miss Malfoy, you're wanted downstairs immediately. Perhaps you should come too," he added to Harry, Hermione and the Weasleys, turning and leading the way downstairs, the Malfoys close behind him, looking both puzzled and apprehensive.

"Surely they can't have translated the documents so quickly?" Ginny whispered as they descended the stairs.

"Don't be thick, Ginny, Mum's probably just calling us for tea or something..."

"Professor Lupin did say it was the Malfoys who were needed," Harry pointed out.

"Maybe they've..." Hermione stopped, as they passed through the kitchen door and nearly bumped into Bianca and Draco, who had stopped short just inside. They edged past them and then stopped, too, staring in complete amazement.

Hagrid had returned, and was sitting a little way from the table, a large mug of tea in front of him. Dumbledore was standing by the fire, staring into it thoughtfully, a black shadow in front of the bright orange flames in the high, carved fireplace.

And sitting at the table next to very worried-looking Mrs. Weasley, her hands wrapped tightly around a steaming cup, and looking decidedly the worse for wear, was Narcissa Malfoy.

**********