Against the Tide

Neville walked slowly through the Forbidden Forest, his eyes downcast. He was watching more than his footing on the snowy ground; he was watching a red dot, marked 'Neville Longbottom', on the Marauders' Map. He had taken it from Harry's trunk that afternoon, knowing Harry would be in Potions, then Transfiguration, while Neville had the afternoon off. Shivering violently, Neville could think of a lot of things he'd rather be doing with his afternoon off.

But there was nothing more important to do; he was checking the school's defenses. In Charms, just yesterday, Professor Flitwick had discussed how Defensive Charms could be compromised by the elements, or by time, or by countering, or by any number of things that he couldn't recall. Neville was a bit paranoid, he would admit it, but he was also called "Captain" by many of the students, and had received the Order of Merlin: Third Class, for the defense of Hogwarts last June.

He could give up an afternoon to reassure himself.

The truth was, the Death Eaters had pulled out of their attack at a time when they were winning. It wasn't like the Ministry and media had made it sound, as if the students had pushed the attackers back. Quite the opposite, actually; when the Death Eaters were withdrawing, Neville had been about to advise the surrender of the school to Headmaster Dumbledore. So the Death Eaters must have completed their objective. Only, no one knew what that was.

The greatest concentration of attackers had been in the deep forest, behind Hagrid's cabin. Neville was now surveying the area of the least concentration, the area across the grounds from Hagrid's cabin, deep into the forest. Thirty meters to his left, the small river which fed the lake still moved, though its banks were covered in fine ice and heavy snow. Neville walked zigzag's through the forest, going as far as one hundred meters to the rivers left, before zagging back. The topography was smooth, but he kept his eyes down anyway.

Suddenly, his foot sunk deep into the snow and crunched loudly onto ice. Cursing quietly, he jerked his foot from the pothole and turned the ankle slowly. Twisted badly, and he'd have to go see Pomfrey. Neville decided not to delay the trip, as he could return to the forest before the next period began if he hurried. Glancing down at the Marauders' Map, to check if there was anyone in his path, he noticed something curious.

He didn't have a path. He wasn't on the map.

Forgetting all about his ankle, which came quite naturally, Neville moved out of the grove of snow, and reappeared on the map. Move back to where he'd stood before, and he was gone. Scratching his head, he cast a quick Charm to blow the snow off his path across the gully.

Stretching just a foot across was a shallow, frozen stream of water. The bed it sat on was rather wider, at least two feet, and was not at all worn down. It would seem, to his untrained eye, that this stream was quite new, and hadn't chosen its true course yet.

Walking along that bed towards the rear of the forest, Neville used a pencil to note its meanderings. It never veered more than fifty meters from the river that fed the lake. As he came closer to the edge of the forest, the stream moved closer to the river, until, at exactly the edge of the forest, where the Marauder's Map and the Hogwarts Defenses began, the stream touched the river.

The Death Eaters had diverted this bit of river to create an Unplotted channel onto Hogwarts grounds!

Looking for any other human footprints, and finding none, Neville turned and began to backtrack to the school. He had to tell Dumbledore, even if it meant admitting he'd broken rules, entering the forest and stealing from Harry. Dumbledore was usually good at caring more about the why than the what. He carefully resettled the snow behind him while marking the trail with magic. As he passed the original place he had noticed the stream, he pulled out the Marauders' Map, and began to draw the line again.

It was slow going, but just as it began to get dark, at about four-thirty, Neville neared the edge of the forest. Glancing at the map, he saw several dots clustered near the edge of the forest. In the growing twilight, his eyes strained to see the names without lighting his wand. The only one he could make out was 'Hermione Granger.'

Carefully, trying not to make any noise, Neville edged closer to the edge of the forest. He didn't like eavesdropping, he thought it was wrong, but he thought stealing was wrong as well, and he'd stolen Harry's map. He didn't understand why a group of people would be meeting at the edge of the forest at twilight, and he needed to know.

"Constant vigilance," the imposter Moody's voice rang through his head. Everyone had to be suspect, especially now that Hogwarts was unsafe.

Snatches of conversation were floating to Neville as he crept softly through the snow. Mutterings and debate came from the group, which consisted all of girls, he could see now. Why? Why were they all girls? What were they discussing?

"Professor Gryffindor must not be allowed to continue her work! It's too dangerous for us," Hermione said clearly, with a raised voice. "We must have her stopped before it's too late! It could ruin everything if she's allowed to continue."

Too late for what? Too dangerous for who? Unfortunately, after her quick outburst, the tone of the meeting hushed, and the group continued speaking for only a few minutes before they turned back to the castle. No matter how close Neville had moved to their position, he had not heard another word.

"Merlin!" he gasped. There was no way that Hermione was plotting against them, was there? But then, she was a Granger, and they were usually Slytherin's. And Morag had been among them, and she was a Slytherin. Samantha Malfoy, too, had been with the group, and she was, well, a Malfoy. Ginny Weasley- that was puzzling, until Neville remembered that the Dark Lord had once possessed her.

He hated the way all this came together in his mind.

**

Harry insisted to Neville he didn't mind he'd taken the Marauders' Map, even if it bothered him more than a little. He'd re-Charm all his locks that evening. If Neville Longbottom could steal your things, anyone could.

When Neville explained about the stream, he'd been shocked. How could Dumbledore and the other professors allow such a serious breach of security? It wasn't like Neville picking his trunk and borrowing something; that stream could allow Death Eaters, or even Voldemort, to enter Hogwarts grounds undetected. So, Harry promised to speak to Dumbledore that night.

Then Neville left for dinner, only to come running back to him a few minutes later. Once he apologized for forgetting and remembered what he had forgotten, he explained about the group of girls he'd seen at the edge of the forest, before limping off to the Infirmary. Hermione and Morag had both excused themselves from Charms, claiming they had work for the paper. It had seemed odd at the time, it being so close to Mock N.E.W.T.'s and that they didn't actually have anything for the paper that couldn't wait until after class. Now it seemed sinister.

Not that he thought Hermione or any of the others would be plotting against them, or even Gryffindor. It simply wasn't possible; except, in the world he had come to know, it was completely possible. But not Hermione or Ginny, surely?

When he'd told Ron what Neville had seen, Ron's eyes blazed with a bitter glint. "Sure they weren't just discussing lads?" he snarked. Ron was still upset about Hermione's refusal to talk about her relationship with Draco. He said it wasn't right, that they should tell each other everything.

"Don't you think your being unfair to Hermione?" Harry asked.

"No! Don't you want to know how attached she is to Malfoy? Do you realize how easily Malfoy, or any other bloke, could hurt Hermione? She's tough, yeah, but she's so sensitive. She cries and cares about everything."

Harry thought this was carrying it a bit far, and had said so. Ron, angry, had stormed off to the Astronomy Tower before Harry could tell him about the stream.

So, instead of telling Ron, Harry made his way to Dumbledore's office. The door opened upon his knock, to reveal Dumbledore sitting behind his desk, writing on a parchment.

"Mr. Potter. This is a surprise," the old man said merrily. Dumbledore had aged considerably in the past year. He looked unbelievably ancient, and tired, and it made Harry miserable. "What's on your mind?"

Harry told him about the stream Neville had found, glossing over how he'd stolen his map. Dumbledore listened intently, with a measure of irritation.

"Have you told anyone else, Mr. Potter?" Dumbledore asked as he stood, slowly, and began to walk around his desk. His walk looked painful, difficult. "Mr. Weasley, perhaps?"

"No, sir."

"Thank-you," he murmured glancing at the window. "The Forbidden Forest, Harry, has long been Hogwarts weak point. As much as we enforce it, we can't keep it completely safe. Many Dark creatures live there, as do many, many opportunities."

"Will you do something about the stream, then?"

Dumbledore peered at him through his half-moon spectacles. "Harry, I've known about the stream since the day after the attack. I've known, and done nothing about it."

"Why?" Harry demanded. Was Dumbledore loosing his grip finally, completely?

"Harry, you have faced much more than many wizards dead and forgotten. I believe I can be candid with you, now, while I've the chance," he began, pausing, but not clarifying the time frame he was using for this 'chance'. "Would you change what happened at the Department of Mysteries, the day Sirius died?"

Pain flashed through Harry. That wasn't fair. "Of course I would. Sirius died because of me."

"Yes, Sirius is gone, but the world recognized the truth of Voldemort's return. Ron became a Seer that night. That was important, and it happened because of you."

"Yes, but-" Harry prepared to argue the point, but came to his senses. One did not set out to argue with Dumbledore. "Sir, what are you trying to say?"

Dumbledore smiled again, and sat behind his desk. The moon was rising, and the contrast made him look ethereal. An enormous sadness was hidden behind his smile, which seemed tainted by the grief. "Harry, there are some things that are inevitable. Even Ron, a young and impetuous Prophet, knows this. Some things can not be stopped or even delayed."

"But you could shore up the defenses of the school."

"Not everything is that simple," Dumbledore sighed, steepling his long fingers under his chin. "As many things as can not be stopped, many others should not be stopped." He paused and watched Harry digest that. "There are many futures, Harry. Some are good, or bad, or simply fine. All these futures require an event to set them in motion, or they will not come to pass, and a different future takes its place."

"Are you saying you're a Prophet, too?" Harry asked, confused.

Dumbledore laughed at that. "Me? A prophet? No, I've never been that unfortunate. I'm sure, as Mr. Weasley's closest friend, you know the curse and the horror Prophecy is. No one deserves the burden of understanding the future, of feeling the weight of the world and knowing how the world will go, and how they can reverse the pull of history. The strongest Seers I have known have been wiped void by the prophecies they receive, so dark they are.

"But even knowing this, we don't understand. Mr. Potter, you must have noticed the pain that brews in your friend, as he sees the future unfold every day. He sees what will happen, as we have already passed any event that could stop the inevitable. In the past, I felt secure in the knowledge that he and Hermione would see you through your trials. Now, the three of you must soon face your trials alone."

Harry didn't understand what was happening. He had come to tell Dumbledore about a security lapse, and it seemed as if- well, Harry didn't understand what was happening. "You said you were not a Prophet, Headmaster," he replied stiffly, appalled at the tone of his voice. "So you won't be upset that I don't believe you. Hermione, Ron and I will always be there for each other. It's the way it's always been."

"Things change, don't they, Harry?" Dumbledore said quietly. His eyes pierced through him, bringing unbidden images of the tunnel, Halloween night. Dumbledore turned his eyes from Harry's. "You have been slipping on your Occlumency, Harry. You'll have to be more careful."

He had been sloppy on his Occlumency practice, but after Professor Gryffindor had left the school, there hadn't been much impetus to practice. Besides, Harry defended silently, Voldemort hadn't tried to break into his mind since fifth year. Mentally collecting himself to please Dumbledore, he redirected the conversation, realizing that Dumbledore was trying to avoid it.

"Sir, I still don't understand why you won't protect the students."

"I will always protect the students, Harry. Merely the way in which I will protect them has changed. Things change, Harry. They must, unless they are to stay the same forever. Hogwarts-" Dumbledore shook his head slowly. "This fine castle has stood for many, many years, and has always welcomed students into its halls. But, that must change if anything else would."

Harry's bones chilled. His breath turned ragged as he stared at Dumbledore.

"Harry, this school served an important purpose. Not only to educate, but also to protect the most vulnerable of its students," he said softly, as if he, too, were pained by the speech. "The schools time, like my own, is almost complete. We have both failed and succeeded in our joint mission, but soon you will leave Hogwarts, Harry, triumphant against the Dark Lord Voldemort. For that to happen, something must change."

"What do you mean, Headmaster? That Hogwarts is only valuable while I attend? But it began a thousand years ago!" Harry cried, refusing the truth of any of it.

"Yes, all this was set in motion more than a thousand years ago. The struggle between righteousness and evil was born with time. Your battle will not be the last, nor will it be the most important, but merely one more battle in a war that may never end. It isn't only you, Harry, but many others, for who the future has a planned catastrophe. But, Harry, know this: You cannot and need not fail. To fail is to lose everything that we are, everything we have worked for, everything we can be.

"Harry, if you succeed- if I and this school and the dozens of generations of wizards behind you succeed- the world will be fair. For a brief time only, but that time is what is important!" Dumbledore exclaimed with a fervent gleam in his eyes. "It will allow children to be born without the fear of Voldemort, for people to be happy. It will allow your generation a bit of time to recover after these last years of terror, and prepare for the next fight. Use that time wisely, Mr. Potter. You'll have earned it."

"Headmaster, you can't be sure about this. Why are you telling me, even if you are? Surely that goes against some rule of- of whatever this is."

"I'm a very old man, Mr. Potter. The future is easier to know when you've seen as much history as I. But, indeed, why tell anyone? After all, it isn't very nice news," Dumbledore said severely. "At another time I had many people to tell, but I find myself suddenly alone. Quite like you shall very soon.

"Regardless, Harry, you should know. History and fate have chosen you as the wizard to either defeat or be defeated by Voldemort. It would not be fair to allow Voldemort time to amass his forces and prepare himself, without allowing you the same luxury."

"And your sure there is no way to stop it? Headmaster, I-" Harry stopped, looking into the old man's troubled blue eyes. How does one go about amassing forces? "I don't want to be a murderer, sir. I don't want to kill anyone. I'm not sure I could do."

Dumbledore grinned suddenly. "Good!" he cried, clapping his hands together. His abrupt change in disposition shocked Harry into dumbness. "No need for you to turn bloodthirsty just yet," he said, grasping Harry by the elbow and steering him toward the door. "Was there anything else, Mr. Potter?"

Searching his brain, he remembered about the girls. He explained the matter to Dumbledore as the stairs churned them down. "What do you reckon, sir?" he asked, still a bit upset by Dumbledore's remarkable switch in mood.

"Well," Dumbledore said, his grin spreading, "I wouldn't be concerned by women being mysterious. Its what they are. As a lad, I learned to brew Veritaserum simply because I thought I'd have the courage to use it and ask Midge Fidget if she fancied me."

"Did she?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore laughed sharply. "Even I wasn't brave enough to try. Sometimes, you have to let women do what they will, Harry. If the girls are planning something to do with Professor Gryffindor, you'll never get it out of them. And no, Harry, I don't think Ms. Granger would be undermining the Order and the Ministry's efforts."

"Well, I don't either, sir," Harry said. "I just wish I were more certain."

"Things change, Mr. Potter. They don't end."

Harry left the Headmasters' office confused and even frightened. Dumbledore had treated him nearly as an equal, he felt; unfortunately, he would never have imagined the horror involved in being Dumbledore's confidante. Of all the information he had been given in a short time, Harry's mind held strongly onto one piece, trying to push other bits into the recesses of a teenaged brain.

He had an army to create.

**

Blaise ran down the stairs, tripping over her hem, and laughing. Throwing her head back, she landed in Ron's arms and continued laughing.

"Isn't it brilliant? Isn't it wonderful?" she demanded, full of cheer at a time when all other seventh-year students were surly and exhausted. They had only another week before their mock N.E.W.T.'s, and they all saw their futures disappearing down an imaginary toilet.

Mock results were nearly as important as N.E.W.T. results. The Ministry, and other big employers, gave conditional jobs to those students who met their requirements. If a student did well on their Mock-ups, which were harder than the actual exams, they could relax a bit for the rest of the year, knowing that they merely had to maintain their marks. If a student did badly and did not receive a job offer, they existed in a state of panic until the end of the year, when hopefully they could redeem themselves at N.E.W.T.'s. That scenario was rare, because it meant displacing a student who did well on their mocks.

Not that any of it mattered to Draco, who already knew what he would do for the rest of his life. He would run the family enterprises, recoup the fortune he father had lost and increase it ten-fold. It was merely the strange feeling of belonging with the mass of senior students that saw him study until he could hardly see through the film in his eyes.

Furthermore, studying was the only way he'd get to see Hermione until the exams were over. He had resigned himself to Hermione rushing up to him, not with a smile but a parchment of notes for him to quiz her with.

"What's wonderful?" Ron asked as he placed Blaise back to the ground.

"You mean you haven't heard? Where have you been?" she asked primly, eyeing the mud on their clothes.

"Fighting," Draco growled, unwilling to admit they'd actually been racing Ron's broom to test its speed, now that he'd grown so much. Potter had been serving detention with Filch. "What's so grand?"

" I get to tell you the wonderful news! You'll never guess who's in the castle!"

"Hey, Ron!" a voice interrupted from behind. Finnegan and Thomas came into sight from the Great Hall. "We just heard. Padma Patil and Mandy Brocklehurst have come back from the Auror's College."

Blaise pouted. "That was my news," she said.

Ron laughed. "This is great! Where are they?"

"They're back to finish seventh-year and take their N.E.W.T.'s. That much Parvati told us," Thomas said. "We're all meeting in the Press Room, so we can find out more. Come on."

The group trooped to the dungeons, chattering nonsensically about the returned Ravenclaws. The Gryffindor's and Blaise had been good friends with the girls; Ron had dated both Padma and Mandy, and Finnegan was dating Padma's twin, Parvati. Draco, on the other hand, had hardly known the girls, beyond that they were in his year. But there was nothing else to do, and Hermione would be in the Press Room.

"But why are they come?" Thomas was asking as he opened the door to the room, wincing slightly as Blaise trod on his foot, then elbowed him in the gut when she whipped around to apologize. Pandemonium reigned as the staff members who were late with their copy shouted curses at each other and rushed to get the finished product to Luna Lovegood.

"Where are they, then, Luna?" Weasley asked as the petit girl bustled past.

"Oh? Do you see them as well?" the girl asked with wide eyes.

Weasley looked nervously at Luna. "I was talking about Padma and Mandy. What are you talking about?"

Instead of explaining, Luna rolled her eyes and pushed past them. The group of students split apart, and Draco went to lean against Hermione's desk. "Hello," he said in his lowest natural voice. "Working hard?"

"Yes," she said, pushing a parchment into his hands. "The twelve uses of Dragon's Blood. Quiz me, won't you?"

Draco was slow to unfold the parchment, and was saved when Padma Patil and Mandy Brocklehurst plowed into the room. They looked different, confident and happy and relieved.

"We've just met with Dumbledore. He'll let us back in!" Mandy cried.

Cheers went up and then came round. Finally, after all the greetings were made, they got down to business.

"What was it like? The training?" Potter asked.

"Oh, Harry, you'd never believe it! Fantastic, the equipment they have," Mandy rattled. She had been nearly as enamored with Defense as Potter. "And we trained ten hours a day! After that, most of us would study, and on weekends, we could go out in London, as late as we wanted!"

"Amazing," Longbottom said. "And what of the war? And all the protests? What are people saying?"

"The war is going badly. Half the class that graduated before our intake has died, but the casualties are nearly fifty-fifty. No matter how quickly trained the lower Auror's are, most of Voldemort's followers aren't Death Eaters, but poorly trained warlocks and sorceresses. A first-year could capture them. It's the Death Eaters that kill half the lower class Auror's."

"The protests are going brilliantly, though! Every other day, we got to practice crowd control," Mandy said with excitement. "We'd pick random people up and interrogate them. It was great!"

"That's not good. That's against our civil rights, that is," Regan Miller declared.

"Don't be so serious, Miller," Padma defended her friend. "Besides, we aren't aggressive, we merely ask if they'll allow us to practice our skills, and they say yes, or no."

"But the one thing everyone wants to know is when Harry is going to leave Hogwarts and win the war," Mandy said. "They say only he can defeat Voldemort, like he did the first time."

"No point in trying until I've learned all I can," Harry said definitely.

"Well, yes, of course, Harry. That's what we always say when people find out we know you, that you won't leave until you've learned all you need, but-" Mandy hesitated. "Well, Harry, attacks are picking up again. Families are leaving towns were they might be the only magical family. They say that for every Auror first or second class the Ministry produces, Voldemort recruits three followers in Europe and imports them."

"If he's not stopped soon, there might be nothing to fight for," Padma stated.

"What's this about first and second class Auror's?" Draco asked, intrigued by a system of classification, and not overly concerned by the Dark Lord's recruiting system. He was well-informed on the subject.

"Oh, well, Auror's who have their N.E.W.T.'s, and graduate the Auror's College are regular Auror's, or first class Auror's. That takes three years, and Mandy and I have been accepted into the program. That's why we've come back. But the others, if they make it through the six-week training, are second class Auror's. Professor Lupin, who was an instructor, told us privately that they were glorified Hit Wizards."

"Professor Lupin was an instructor? Good that he got a job," Hermione said. "What about the others? Why weren't they accepted into the College?"

"Some were," Mandy said. "Michael Corner, Su Li and Hannah Abbott were, but turned it down, saying they'd rather contribute now. And other's, like Stephen Cornfoot, left after the second week. It wasn't for them, I suppose."

"Cornfoot did what?" Morag demanded. "When?"

"Didn't you know?" Padma asked. "He and some Lemongrass College girls decided it wasn't their cup of tea. They were hideous at it, really. Anyway, we saw them at the Leaky Cauldron just a few days ago, when we were celebrating our acceptance into the Auror's College, conditional to our N.E.W.T.'s. They all had gotten jobs in London and were rooming together."

Draco could feel half the rooms eyes turn to Blaise. She hadn't known any of this. In fact, she had received a letter only the other day from Cornfoot, telling her how well he was doing at training. Draco, however, had his eyes on Weasley, and was disappointed to see nothing but anger and shock on his face.

Stupid Gryffindor... it'd probably take him weeks to work this to his advantage. It bothered Draco that Weasley was so honest that he didn't even have a smug, calculating grin on his face.

Blaise looked calm and collected. The Ice Princess at her most impenetrable. Draco felt a rush of sympathy for her, quite uncharacteristically. This was unprecedented, and not the type of thing that shy, timid Blaise would be able to freeze out. On cue, a blush rose up her cheeks, crimson, and her chin and lip began to quiver.

While they had never got on, Blaise was a Slytherin, and somehow had remained completely innocent to lies and intrigue. She had never understood the nuances of power, scheming, and propaganda as other Slytherin's had, and Blaise survived in the House because she was kind and endearing. It burned Draco's sense of... decency to see her embarrassed by a spineless Hufflepuff with bad teeth.

Hermione saw the blush sweeping up Blaise's face as well. "That's it. Everybody up to the Great Hall for some dessert," she said, shooing the crowd out the door.

The students closed the door on a much smaller group of Blaise, Morag, Draco, Hermione, Weasley, his sister, and Potter.

"Blaise," Morag moaned, beginning to wrap her arms around Blaise. Zabini shook her off, and simply stood in place. Her eyes were closed and her chin still quivered, while her breath was ragged and her hands balled. "Blaise, you can cry if you want, you know."

Blaise's eyes popped open suddenly, and Draco stepped back and behind Hermione. Zabini looked ready to kill someone. Her eyes, filled with a pure rage, were nearly black, not their natural light brown. Her face wasn't flush with embarrassment, but with fury, and her chin was quivering not because she was about to cry, but because she had clamped her jaw down tight.

Relaxing slightly, she gave a small laugh. "Cry?" she said, and began to pace. More than anything else, watching her move was the most unsettling. Blaise was floating fluidly up and down tangled aisles with the carnage of the Press Room choking the rows. She did not trip or stumble or bump up against things, but shifted seamlessly amongst the rubble. "I will not cry, Morag. That would be humiliating. I. Will. Kill. Him!" She flew around to face the group. "Draco, you know about this sort of thing. What's most painful?"

Draco couldn't find his voice, though, and simply shook his head.

"Blaise," Hermione said softly, "perhaps you shouldn't kill Stephen. You see-"

"Not Stephen. This is not Stephan," Blaise interrupted. Everyone looked dumbfounded at her, the girl who had never interrupted anyone. She smiled an apology. "You're right Hermione, I shan't kill Stephan. There's no point, he's just a boy." Blaise continued pacing, gracefully and in full Ice Princess mode. Stopping in front of the hearth, she became deathly still, until the flames in the cavern exploded to life, surrounding her in brilliant light. "Do you know," she said, turning to face them again, surrounded by hot flames, "I'm really quite hungry. Ginny, how do you stay mad so long? Its exhausting." With that, the girls left the Press Room, talking and soothing Blaise and trying to calm the ever-increasing fury of Morag (which was an awesome thing).

Draco, Potter and Weasley trailed after them, shaking their heads.

"I don't get it," Draco admitted. "What just happened?"

"Women are mysterious, lads," Potter said sagely. "I suppose we should try to get used to it."

Draco left the group at the Slytherin Common Room, determined to bathe before he started studying again. Unlatching his cloak, he began to empty his pockets on to his bed. Wand, quills, twig clippers flooded out, followed by an envelope.

"Hello, then," Draco said, not sure how he came to possess the letter. Flipping it over, he saw it had no markings on it. Unsure, he opened it, and began to read. Quickly, his knees buckled and he collapsed on the bed.

Addressed on October 31^st, it must have been slipped into this, his warmest cloak, without his knowledge. He hadn't worn the cloak since, nearly two weeks previously. The letter was short, blunt, and devastating.

Dear Son,

Our Lord has come to a decision, concerning Hogwarts and the Potter boy. You will return home for the winter break, and receive your instructions.

Mother.

Narcissa's writing jumped out at Draco, refuting any hope that the letter was a mistake. The Dark Lord had come to a decision about Hogwarts and Harry Potter, and he, Draco Malfoy, would play a role. His stomach convulsing, Draco dashed to the lav to rid himself of its contents.

When he returned to the dormitory, Rufus Ratstamper leapt away from Draco's bed.

"What are you doing?" Draco shouted, rushing towards the bed. He pushed Rufus with one arm and pulled the curtains closed with the other. "Stay away!"

"Oi, Draco, oi! I weren't snooping, just looking for a quill. I didn't see nothin'!" he insisted, his face a pasty white.

"Yes, you did," Draco said with a sigh. Rufus was on their side- that was, the Light side. He could ruin everything. "And? What would you do?"

Rufus sat beside Draco, as close as they'd ever sat. "Find out what's being planned, and then tell Dumbledore."

As if it would be that simple. No way would the Dark Lord tell Draco anything useful. In fact, Draco would know nothing of the plan, just his orders. Still, there was much to learn from a specific order. An opponent's plan of attack could be detailed from a single Chess move.

Unfortunately, Draco had never been much good at Chess.