Draco Malfoy and the Last Year

Level 2.3: The Slytherins

The truly exasperating thing about Albus Dumbledore was that he always seemed to be right about things.

The greatest wizard in the world, Albus Dumbledore. The headmaster of the most prestigious wizarding school, Albus Dumbledore. The one wizard who frightened Voldemort, Albus Dumbledore. Founder and head of his own secret army, who had casually turned down the job as Minister of Magic, Albus Dumbledore. Just being over one hundred and fifty gave him a certain sageness.

But no matter how many accomplishments the man had, Draco could not bring himself to admire him. He respected him, grudgingly, but he was extremely suspicious of anyone so apparently perfect. A lot of it had to do with his father, he knew. Lucius Malfoy had never had a kind word to say about Dumbledore. After a steady diet of Dumbledore's faults for seventeen years, it was impossible for Draco to trust the man completely. But after three days of nothing to do but stroll about the castle and think about his present state, Draco did not trust his father's estimation of Dumbledore. He was not sure he trusted his father's estimation of anything, and since Draco had built his own perspectives on his parents', this left him very confused.

He had resigned himself to stay at Hogwarts. As Dumbledore had pointed out, where else would he go? At least he understood this small world, though even it seemed new and strange to him. He could follow its schedules and patterns. The feeling of safety he had spent the past six years building within these walls did not completely abandon him.

Persephone spent her first day in the hospital wing being fussed over by Madam Pomfrey. Draco had gone with her to treat his cuts but had not stayed long. When Madam Pomfrey had learned that Draco was the one who had found Persephone, she had called him a "hero" and hugged him. He had never gotten much more than a business like patching and a quick dismissal from the woman before. The unexpected and undeserved thanks made him feel uneasy, and the hug was more than he could take.

He had tried retreating to the library, but the next day, Persephone was there too. She was cramming for her O.W.L.S., which Dumbledore was having her take before he placed her. Draco tried to help her at first but soon felt that he was being more of a hindrance. Thus he fell to wandering the halls. The caretaker Argus Filch would sneer and growl at him as he passed. Filch's cat Mrs. Norris would track him for several corridors before losing interest, but otherwise he met no one. The Hogwarts teachers did not return until the day before classes were to start. Madam Pomfrey was preparing her ward for the coming term, and Dumbledore stayed out of sight. The groundskeeper Hagrid may have been at his hut, but Draco did not venture onto the grounds.

His birthday came and went for the first time without a sound. No party, no friends, no family, no gifts. He knew Persephone would make a fuss over him if he mentioned it, but he did not want to distract her from the O.W.L.s. She took two of them the evening of his birthday, while he sat by the fire in the Slytherin common room. The rest she took the next day, when the Hogwarts express would arrive. Draco haunted the windows. He knew the train would not arrive until after nightfall, but he still checked for it at least once every half hour. He knew that the teachers were arriving through out the day, but he managed to avoid them. He watched the Divination teacher, Professor Trelawny, shimmer past in the hall, her heaps of cheap beads and bangles clanked and jingled as she passed, but she paid him no attention. She was remarkably short sighted for a woman who claimed to be a seer.

At long last, night fell, and Draco heard the distant sounds of the train coming to a halt. He saw the lanterns bob across the lake with the first years on their traditional boat ride. With greater interest he watched the flying black carriages bringing the older students. They were drawn by nightmarishly gaunt, horse-like creatures, black and dragonish. He could see the thestrals now, and that sent a fresh chill through him. When the carriages landed, Draco slipped away from the window and hurried down the stairs to the front entry hall. He paused at the side of the main staircase. The students were spilling into the castle in their black school robes. He felt a wave of unease creep upon him, but he pushed it away and jogged down the stairs, salmoning his way against the current of students. He was half aware of the curious looks of the other students, but he ignored them, looking for two faces in particular.

"There he is," he heard a voice from his left say. He glanced that way and saw Ron Weasley pointing at him with a look of disgust. Potter and Granger were flanking him and looking slightly disappointed.

"Hi," Draco said absently and went back to scanning the crowd. He finally spotted Crabbe and Goyle, who were standing near the door with a small cluster of seventh year Slytherins. He pushed his way towards them.

"There you are!" Goyle roared as he approached. His constant companions Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle were both large, thick boys. Draco would never call them bright, but they had a fierce loyalty that touched him at times. The look of relief on their faces matched his own internal expression, and he had to restrain himself from hugging them.

"Oh, Draco, we were so worried when you weren't on the train," Pansy Parkinson's fluty voice came from beside them.

"Yeah, where were you?" Crabbe growled.

Draco shrugged. He suddenly felt fully at ease. "Didn't feel like taking the train this year."

The Slytherins gave him curious looks, but he remained coy and they fell to laughing. "You are too much," Pansy cooed. The seventh year Slytherins climbed the stairs to the Great Hall in a small cloud formation with Draco at the center. They took their seats at the entrance end of the hall, leaving the far end open for the first years. His friends tried to get him to divulge details about his summer and absence from the train. Draco waved them off, enjoying the thrill of being mysterious. The staff was settling into their own seats at the high table. Draco watched them, the warm feeling he had found slowly fading.

The first years filed in behind Professor McGonagall, who swooped down the center isle and stood with her list beside the hat and stool for the Sorting Ceremony. The first years approached nervously as everyone turned to stare in their direction. Everyone except Draco.

Draco kept staring at the staff table. He felt something sticking in his throat. Where was Professor Snape?

Surely, he could not have taken off now. Not after Draco had risked so much to bring Persephone here. Professor Snape was one of the most competent teachers at Hogwarts. If anyone could spot one of Voldemort's attacks, if anyone could defend the students from them, it was him. When Draco had come to Hogwarts for protection he had assumed Snape would be here, assumed his old friendship with Persephone would lead him to protect her and allow Draco to worry about his own skin.

Draco forgot to clap as the new first years were sorted. He was watching the door to the antechamber behind the staff table, hoping to see Snape make a late entrance.

"There's my little brother," Millicent Bulstrode announced a little too loudly. She let out a large whoop as the sorting hat put him in Slytherin. It was echoed by Goyle who seemed to be taking cues on everything from Milliscent. "Good show, Toady!"

The sorting ended, but Draco did not show the least bit of interest in the food that followed.

"Aren't you hungry, Draco?" Pansy Parkinson asked him, looking a little concerned.

"Where is he?" Draco said in response.

"Who? Professor Snape?"

"Maybe he got married, and he's off on his honeymoon," said Daphne Greengrass, her voice taking on a whispy air to match her figure. She had long, full wavy hair that was blonde or brown. Draco had never quite figured out the color and suspected that she adjusted it magically every few days. It looked rather blonde that evening. She had a tendency to sway slightly when she spoke and reminded him of a willow tree.

"Don't be silly, Greengrass," said Pansy, her small nose scrunched up in a look of disdain.

"Maybe he's joined the Death Eaters full time," Crabbe said in a low voice intended only for the smattering of Death Eater children in the seats around him.

"Shut up," Draco snapped at him. He felt a horrible panic that he had misjudged his teacher.

Pansy Parkinson was glaring at Crabbe too. Crabbe looked down admonished.

Daphne Greengrass did not seem to have heard them. "I bet Professor Snape is in Spain. Everything romantic happens in Spain."

"Professor Snape is where?" a fifth year further down the table asked. This spark set off a whirl of speculation about Professor Snape's absence and who would replace him as head of Slytherin House if he were gone. It lasted until the plates were taken away, and Dumbledore began his start of term announcements.

Dumbledore began with the usual start of term warnings about the dark forest, and some other nonsense that ran together in Draco's ears. Then he indicated Snape's empty chair. "I'm sure some of you have been wondering about our Potions Master. Not to worry, Professor Snape is just a little late returning from his summer vacation. He assures me that he will be here tomorrow to start his classes on time."

There were a few groans at the mention of classes, but Draco barely heard them for the waves of relief sweeping over him.

"And finally, Slytherins, after you escort the first years to the dormitories, I need you to send a prefect to my office. They'll be picking up a transfer student who is joining your house this year."

That would be Persephone. "I'll go," Draco said. A female voice had overlapped his, and he realized that Pansy had volunteered as well.

She smiled at Draco and cocked her head to the side making her short hair bounce. "We can go together."

Draco did not argue with her. He felt very hungry and wished he had eaten something at the feast. Draco looked over at the Gryffindor table and found Harry who was getting up from his seat. "You're in for a shock this year, Potter," he said quietly.

One of the Ravenclaws standing nearby whirled around and stared at Draco. Draco looked away, wondering if they had heard him. He realized everyone at his table was standing as well and got to his feet. With the other prefects, he collected the first years and began herding them towards the dormitories. He left them in the Slytherin common room, and he and Pansy walked to Dumbledore's office.

"We've never gotten a transfer student," Pansy jabbered. "How do you think they merited Slytherin? Surely they're pureblood, but still, they would have had to been sorted wouldn't they?"

"Maybe she didn't want to have to go through the ceremony with all the little first years," Draco said. "That might be embarrassing for an older student."

"You think it's a girl," Pansy said, looking at Draco in surprise. "Might be nice to have another girl since Addy Flint's father pulled her out."

"Addy's gone?" Draco said. It was his turn to be surprised.

"Well, she's such a little daddy's girl," Pansy said. "He probably didn't think it was safe to leave her at Hogwarts. What with Dumbledore running things again, and You Know Who back, and the top two people on his list being here."

She doesn't mean you, Draco told himself. She doesn't mean you. She means Potter and Dumbledore.

"Draco!" Persephone called out happily from Dumbledore's entryway. She skipped over to him and kissed him on the cheek. Pansy Parkinson's jaw dropped, but Persephone did not seem to notice. "I think I got all 'O's...well, except maybe in Magical Creatures, but I passed that. Dumbledore said he'd go ahead and put me with the sixth years!"

Draco looked at Pansy whose mouth was still wide open. "Persephone, this is Pansy Parkinson. Pansy, this is..."

"Persephone P.," Persephone supplied and held out a hand to Pansy. Pansy closed her mouth and gave Persephone's hand a quick shake. Pansy's eyes were still very wide.

"Persephone's a friend of the family," Draco explained.

"Oh," Pansy said looking slightly relieved. "Well, the dorm's this way." She took Persephone by the elbow and led her away from Dumbledore's office. Draco was hoping he would get to see Dumbledore. He wanted to ask about Professor Snape. Draco lagged behind the girls as they walked to the dormitories.

"Pea's an unusual last name," Pansy said. "I don't think I know your family."

"Well, that's because we're from very far away," Persephone said. Draco repressed a groan. She was a very bad liar.

"From America!" Persephone continued brightly, not sounding the least bit American. Pansy looked at her uncertainly. "I mean Canada, which is in the Americas. Same continent and all."

Draco resisted the urge to fill in Persephone's answers for her. Pansy did not look like she was buying it. "I can't believe-" Pansy began, and Draco knew it was over. "I can't believe that's your real hair color!"

Oh, Pansy! Wonderful, shallow Pansy!

"Oh yes," Persephone laughed. "It is. My eyes too. It's that old Silver Child charm. My mother over did it."

The girls continued discussing hair color until they got to the Slytherin common room. One of the first years ran up to Pansy to ask her something, and Draco pulled Persephone aside. "P?"

"People used to call me Ms. P. sometimes when I was here before. Dumbledore thought it might be easier for me and teachers to remember."

"The teachers?"

"Oh, yes, McGonagall and Flitwick and Professor Sprout were all here when I was last. Oh and I bet Professor Binns is still here as well, I mean he's a ghost, so it's a little late for a career change. I'm kind of hard not to recognize." She touched her silver hair. "Dumbledore thinks I should talk to Harry before I let out who I am, and even then it might be better not to say anything."

"Anything about what?" Pansy asked, walking back to them.

Persephone blushed.

"Why don't you take Persephone up to her dorm and introduce her to the other sixth year girls?" Draco suggested.

Pansy looked a little sore to have been left out of the secret, but she smiled anyway. "Come on, Pea."

Draco went up to his own dorm and changed into his nightclothes. Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott, three of the other boys sharing his room, assaulted him with more questions about his absence from the train and lost summer. The last seventh year, Blaise Zabini, even looked up from his book with mild interest. It was the first year Draco had not visited Crabbe or Goyle during his summer months or invited them to his manor. He had been disinclined to write, and his few letters to them had been necessarily vague.

They all claimed to have received owls from Draco's mother, even Zabini, and wanted to know which friend he had gone to see during his weeklong absence. Draco was slightly tempted to tell them about his adventures but knew that would put Persephone and himself in danger. So, he remained mysterious, which only seemed to intensify their awe and curiosity. Unable to deter them in any other way, he pulled out his new Timebender as a diversionary tactic.

Crabbe and Goyle were the Slytherin team beaters and could fully appreciate a top quality broom. Even Nott, who could barely keep himself up right on a broomstick, adored Quidditch and was completely awestruck. The Timebender was far too expensive for Crabbe and Goyle, and Nott whose family was arguably as wealthy as the Malfoys would have had great difficulty talking his father into purchasing one. The glory of the broom was only lost upon Zabini, who slipped out of the room to seek a quieter place to read.

After an hour or so of admiring the broom and engaging in the Quidditch discussion it inspired, Nott returned to the common room to try to catch one of the female students before they were out of reach in the girls dormitory. When he left, the tone of Crabbe and Goyle's conversation changed. They asked Draco for news of their fathers. This surprised Draco. He knew that Crabbe and Goyle were also the sons of Death Eaters, but he had assumed that they stayed at least as well informed as he did. He knew their fathers were currently dwelling under his manor, but if they had not given this information to their sons, Draco did not feel it was his place to do so. He gave them the assurance that he had seen them and to his knowledge they were in good health. This provided some relief to the other boys, but hardly sated their curiosity.

Draco felt guilty not telling them more and strangely privileged to have been included by the fold. It was a privilege he wished had not been extended. It was a knowledge he would happily trade for ignorance. All the same, it showed a level of trust had been placed on him, which made him sick that he had betrayed. He felt worse that he was unable to trust his two best friends with what he knew. They deserved to have their questions answered, but he had to think of the greater good...or bad...or something...or did he?

He was too tired, too drained, to contemplate the ethics of the situation. He went to bed, hiding himself under the covers, and the other boys were good enough to choke back their protests.

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

In the morning, it all seemed like a distant dream. He awoke in his familiar bed in his familiar dorm. The sounds of the other boys getting ready, the bustling of students in the hall, drained the castle of the alien feeling it had acquired without them. He felt a vague desire then a growing need to find Persephone and confirm the dream or wake from it. His throat tightened then relaxed when he did not find her in the common room. He waited with an eye on the girls dormitory entrance for several minutes before following the crowd to breakfast. He spotted her sitting amidst the sixth year girls at the Slytherin table. For a brief instant, he wondered if the other girls had noticed that this silver child had replaced Addy Flint or if only he could see her. But he had never seen any of them watch Addy with such hungry curiosity.

Persephone was chatting eagerly with them. Draco drew closer, hoping to do some damage control for whatever stories she was telling him. He discovered as he came within earshot that the conversation was centered around Persephone's hair and not her history. He heard her speak the nursery song he had heard his father sing.

"Silver child with hair quite wild..." she giggled with embarrassment. "You were only supposed to sing the charm once a week or so to give the daughter you were expecting all the desirable qualities, but Mama really liked it. So she sang it over and over, and come to find out if you sing it too often it will actually turn your baby silver. I'm told I got several articles in Witch Weekly, even one in the Prophet, but no one else wanted their little girls looking like old ladies, so the charm rather fell out of fashion."

"You don't look like an old lady," a couple of the girls assured her.

"Well, that's the least of it," Persephone said. "If it was just the hair, I wouldn't mind so much. But a lot of magic items won't work right for me unless they're made of silver." She pulled out her shiny silver wand. "I had to have it special made." The girls made appreciative exclamations over the unusual wand, passing it around the table.

Draco saw that some other students had drifted over to look at the wand and Persephone. "What's in it?" Pansy Parkinson asked.

"Well, since it was a special order," Persephone dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "It has a unicorn hair wrapped around a Phoenix feather and a Dragon string." There was a collective gasp.

"All three?" murmured a dark haired sixth year, named Chesann, turning the wand over in her hand. "It must be absurdly powerful."

Persephone looked doubtful. "It's temperamental. I'm not sure they always get along so well together. But it has been behaving a little better more recently."

Pansy snatched the wand out of Chesann's hands and looked it over doubtfully. "Temperamental? I'm rather surprised it works at all. Proper wands are made of wood."

"I know," Persephone said. "Please be careful with it. It's gotten used to me, but it gave Henrietta Glumph a nasty burn when she tried to wave it."

"Burn?" Pansy squeaked and quickly laid the wand back on the table.

"I've got an aunt named Henrietta," someone said from down the table.

"Everyone should sit down and let Persephone eat," Draco interrupted sharply, not wanting to discover if Aunt Henrietta was Persephone's old school mate. "Classes start today. I won't tolerate you all losing Slytherin points by being late." He gave a glare to all the sixth year girls, which caused several of them to scatter. He turned to the girl on Persephone's left. "Are you done?" The girl nodded and scooted over to let Draco sit down. Pansy took one of the opposite seats created by the fresh vacuum.

"Do you have your class schedule yet?" Draco asked grumpily, while he snatched a plate and began piling breakfast things on it.

"Not yet," Persephone said. Pansy made a gesture to one of the fifth year prefects, and they came scurrying down the table with a pile of parchments. He fished their schedules out of the pile and scurried off to continue up the table. Persephone bounced eagerly in her seat as she looked hers over. "I've never been so excited to start classes."

"Suppose Hogwarts is a right sight better than that Canadian school," Pansy said as she looked over her own schedule.

"Oh yes," Persephone agreed. "Much bigger, older, more prestigious. Love the castle."

Draco wondered if they even had a wizarding school in Canada. He knew two other schools than Hogwarts by name, but there were wizards across the pond. He supposed they went to school somewhere. He opened his schedule and felt a fresh sense of relief. "Good, they let me into Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"You added another class?" said Pansy, looking concerned for his well being. "But you were already taking so many and playing Quidditch. How will you manage?"

"It's okay. I dropped Divination."

Instead of looking relieved, Pansy's face fell. "But we had that class together. Who will I be partners with?"

"Oo, I hate Divination," Persephone said, studying her own schedule. "I'm so glad I get to give it up this year."

"It's really kind of a joke class," Draco said. "I just took it because marks were easy. All you have to do is make stuff up."

Pansy went a little paler and took on an offended tone. "I never make stuff up. I see things."

"I'm sure you do," Draco teased her. "How many classes are you taking?" he asked Persephone.

"Six," she said.

"Six?" Pansy repeated. "Are you sure that's wise? These are Advanced Classes you know. Not everyone can handle that many."

"I think I can manage," Persephone said. "I suppose I could always drop one if it's too much."

"I think it's better to just focus your energy on what you really need for your career," Pansy said grandly. Her 'I's always had an extra grand air to them. "I for instance want to work with Unicorns, which means Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures. I take Potions of course because it's useful, and Divination to be well rounded. It's really all about your post Hogswarts plans? Do you have any idea what you want to do?"

Draco could not help smirking. He knew very well that Pansy's post Hogwarts plans involved marrying into money and never working a minute more than was necessary. Spending her days with Unicorns just sounded romantic enough to keep her attention in the mean time.

Persephone shook her head. "I have no clue. So many things sound interesting. I guess I just want to cover all my bases."

Pansy's color returned, and she took on a superior air. "Oh, well, I suppose if you're unfocused that is a good plan." Draco thought about playing with Pansy's head by reminding her that he was also taking six classes, but the thought of her floundering to explain why his six were different was enough to amuse him. He decided to spare her the distress. Besides it would be hard to shovel down his breakfast and tease her at the same time.

Persephone twisted about in her seat, looking over her shoulder at the rest of the Great Hall. "Looking for someone?" Draco asked.

"Well, I wanted to see Harry-" she began but cut off with a nervous glance at Pansy.

"Oh, yes, famous Harry Potter," Pansy twittered. "He's almost directly behind you. Looking your way at the moment."

Persephone turned her head around to look. She snapped it back fairly quickly and dropped her jaw. "He's the image of James," she breathed so quietly that Draco was sure Pansy could not hear her. He had to strain to make her out.

"When are you going to speak to him?" he asked in similarly low voice.

Persephone poked uncertainly at her eggs. "Lunch, after my Arithmancy class," she said at a more normal volume. "I think I can build up the nerve by then or maybe this afternoon after Transfiguration."

Pansy snorted. "There's nothing extraordinary about Potter. He's just odd." Pansy took note of Persephone's curious glance and continued in a dismissively bored tone. "I mean I've spoken to him dozens of times, but he's never impressed me."

Draco put down his fork and, more out of habit than necessity, wiped his mouth with his serviette. "I better walk you to your first class," he told Persephone. She responded with a confused expression. "It's easy to get lost at Hogwarts if you're unfamiliar with the castle."

"But I - Ooh, yes," Persephone caught on. "It is my first day, and I don't know where all the classes are."

Draco managed not to roll his eyes, but it took a lot of effort. He stuffed his schedule into his Charms text. He really needed to teach her how to lie. He stood, and Persephone mimicked him. Pansy looked up at him imploringly. She must have misinterpreted their conversation as an attempt to get away from her. "But, Divination?" she simpered.

"Buck up, love," he said, reaching across the table to tweak Pansy's chin. "We'll still have Potions."

Pansy pouted in a way Draco still thought was very cute but to which he was quite immune by this point. He took Persephone by the arm, and she stuffed a jam-laden crumpet into her mouth as he dragged her away. "You can't let on that you're too at home here," he hissed at her once they were out in the hall.

"I assure you," she managed around her mouthful of crumpet. "Acting confused will be very easy for me." She twisted her arm, and Draco realized that he had grasped it more tightly than he had meant. He released her and continued in a gentler tone.

"Let me see. Where are your books?"

She gave him a patient half smile. "I don't got any."

"How are you going to take your classes?" He felt exasperated. He could not keep providing for her, but if he did not, who would?

She smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry. I'll manage." Persephone skipped towards the stairs with a half-spin and called back to him in a louder voice. "Arithmancy's up this way, right?"

He blinked at her, wondering what the devil she was up to, when he realized. "No, it's down the hall, here," he called back with a nod. "Not far from my Charms. I'll take you." A few other students had glanced in the direction of their raised voices. It was not much of a show, but Draco appreciated the effort on Persephone's part. He led her down the hall of classes and deposited her at Professor Vector's door.

During his Charms class, he tried to be discreet but could not help watching Harry. He wondered how Potter would react to Persephone's announcement.

Oh, hi, Harry, I'm your Aunt P.

I've already got an Aunt P., but she's a Muggle.

Oh, well, I'm your other Aunt P.

He wondered if Persephone could manage to keep him out of her narrative. He rather hoped she did not, even if it went counter to his wish for secrecy. He liked the idea of having Harry Potter indebted to him. At the very least, it should square them. An empty feeling developed in the pit of his stomach as he remembered what he wanted Potter to do. His humor waxed and waned as he laughed silently and bitterly at how he was turning into the sort of wizard he used to scoff at, the older kind of wizard that looked at Harry with a pleading hope in their eyes. Save us, Harry Potter, save us.

He did not find Persephone at lunch, nor did he see Harry Potter or his gang. He ate quietly only half paying attention to the conversation at the Slytherin table. Crabbe and Goyle were even more disturbed than Pansy by his dropping the Divination class. The three of them kept trying to persuade him to change his mind.

"But you already know loads about the Dark Arts," Pansy argued.

Draco figured he knew more about the Dark Arts than the average student, but the summer had convinced him he still did not know nearly enough about them. Particularly not enough about Defense. He had had a number of bad experiences in his Dark Arts classes during his first five years. In his fourth year, the nut pretending to be Mad-Eye Moody had turned him into a ferret, which had been both uncomfortable and embarrassing. He had gotten a great deal of backlash for his participation in Professor Umbridge's Inquisitorial Squad during his fifth year. He still managed to pull an 'O' in his O.W.L.s, and satisfied that he knew as much as he needed, he had dropped the class last year for less distressing courses.

"You'll be so far behind," Crabbe stressed. "You missed the whole sixth year. It will drop your class rank."

Draco knew there was a good chance Crabbe was right, but he was not taking Defense Against the Dark Arts for marks this time. He wanted the subject matter. If previous cycles stayed steady, they were due for a competent teacher this year.

"How'd you get in anyway?" Goyle scowled.

"I asked Dumbledore," Draco said. "He said he'd have to talk it over with the new teacher. I guess my other grades were good enough to impress him...or her."

"Or it," Daphne added. "You never know what will be teaching Dark Arts."

"They could have another werewolf," Pansy gasped.

"Oh, I rather liked Professor Lupin," Daphne said with a sly grin. "Course I didn't see him on his bad nights."

"You're still in it," Draco said to her. "Think I can catch up?"

Daphne grinned a little more widely. "I'm sure you could. I'll help you if you have trouble."

"Down, Greengrass," Pansy said in an offhand manner. Daphne giggled.

Draco took Daphne up on her offer and borrowed her textbook for the first class. He would have to send his Divination text back to the store for an exchange by owl. When he entered the classroom, he saw the wunderkinds in the front row and hesitated. He wondered if Persephone had spoken to Harry yet, and if he in turn had told the others. He took a seat up front near the window and looked at them from across the aisle.

"What are you doing here?" Weasley asked snappishly.

There was certainly nothing warm and fuzzy about Weasley's tone, the dark look he was getting from Potter, or the pointed way Granger was ignoring him. "I'm taking the class," he said in bored tone that was more reflexive than planned. Persephone must not have gotten to them during lunch, which made him wonder where she had gone.

"But you can't!" Weasley objected, sounding like a phantom echo of Crabbe. "You weren't in it last year."

Part of Draco was amused by his distress, but he was too anxious to smile. He settled for feigning disinterest. He shrugged and opened the textbook.

"Why weren't you on the train?" Potter demanded.

"Patience, Potter, you'll find out soon enough," he muttered as he scanned the chapter headings.

"I'm keeping my eye on you," Weasley spat.

Draco gave a short laugh in spite of himself. "Oh, well, that's enough to make me quake in my boots," he said sarcastically. Dark Lord Weasley. Now that would have been funny if it had not brought the memory of the other Dark Lord. He had the sudden inspiration to look up the Magna Secari spell. He would not have noticed when Theodore Nott took the seat beside him, if Nott had not spoken.

"Daphne said you dropped Divination," Nott said as a way of greeting.

Draco made a small grunting noise in response. He was not having any luck finding the particular counter curse he wanted. There was the sound of doors flying open from the back of the classroom, and Draco turned with the rest of the students to the look. Dumbledore strode into the classroom. "It has been a long time, since I last taught a class at Hogwarts. But I assure you that I do have some experience and am well qualified."

Draco glowered. Talk it over with the new teacher indeed. Dumbledore must have known that he would be teaching Dark Arts. He must have thought it was horribly funny to keep Draco in suspense for three days. Dumbledore rubbed this in by pointing out Draco, and ingenuously reminding the class that he was behind all of them. Not surprisingly, Dumbledore started the lesson by calling Harry Potter up to the front for a demonstration. Draco felt his old jealousies kindle for a moment, but they did not have their old strength. When he watched Harry's face he could tell Potter was not too keen on being up in front of the class and all too happy to sit back down again. As the lesson wore on, Draco had to admit that whatever Dumbledore's failings were as a headmaster, he was a competent teacher. He was learning things.

Dumbledore ended the lesson by saying, "I want you all to read the first two chapters in your books and return with three questions that we shall attempt to answer."

Draco pulled out a piece of parchment and wrote down his questions before he left the room.

How do you defend against Magna Secari?

Can you work a counter curse when you can't speak?

Is there really no defense for the Avada Kedavra curse?

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

He had hoped to talk to Persephone that evening, but both of them had become small celebrities. A crowd of students, not just Slytherins, surrounded Persephone. She would have been a curiosity, without her silver eyes and hair and wand, simply by being a transfer. Draco found he could not get close enough to shoo the crowd away from her. He was surrounded by his own older crowd of Slytherins, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs. Only the Gryffindors were hanging back.

They were all extremely curious to know about his absence from the Hogwarts train, particularly how he had managed it without getting a detention. Draco tried to stay mysterious, but this just caused the other students to press more closely to him.

"Oh, for goodness sakes," he said, finally snapping. "My mother had some business at Hogsmeade same day as the train. It just seemed silly for me to go all the way to London to catch the train so I walked it."

The crowd looked very disappointed. Some of them returned to their tables, some wandered off to join Persephone's crowd, and a few of them stayed, looking at him incredulously.

"But the letter-" Pansy began. Draco cut her off with a sharp glare.

"But my mother got a letter too," Padma Patil insisted. The others in the group nodded vigorously, and Draco had a sinking feeling that they had all received letters. His mother must have been in a real panic. Only Draco was not sure whether her panic was inspired by his disappearance or Persephone's. This made him feel betrayed all over and sneer surlily at the intent faces around him.

"What I do with my summers is my own business," he snapped. "Now, go away and let me eat." He could see that he had dropped in their opinion of him as the non-Slytherins returned to their tables. His Slytherin friends gathered around him at the table. They each shot him a number of furtive glances but avoided speaking to him directly. At first, he was glad for the peace but as the evening continued he wished he had been more tactful.

They continued to avoid saying anything to him as they returned to the Slytherin common room. He had hoped to catch Persephone there, but the sixth year girls swept her up to the dormitory before he had a chance. He waited a long time for her to come down, but she never did. He got tired of the other seventh years staring but not speaking to him and went up to bed.

When he got to his room, his eagle owl, Oberon, was waiting for him. Oberon's yellow eyes glared at him from under his steep, dark brow, and Draco felt a slight pang of guilt for having forgotten him in his flight. He sat down on the bed. "Sorry, old boy, I figured you could catch up," he apologized lamely. He reached out a hand to pat Oberon's head, but the owl hopped away indignantly and fluttered out the open window, leaving a thick letter on the bed sheet. Draco unsealed it, dreading the contents. A small slip of blank parchment fell out as he unfolded it. The letter was a very long tirade from his mother, every other sentence ending in exclamation points.

~

Draco Darling,

How dare you take off like that! You had me worried sick! With your father missing and my nerves already worn so thin, how could you do this to me!? Do I really deserve such treatment? Haven't I been a good mother? Have you ever been wanting for attention? Have I ever failed to provide for you?...etc., etc.

...I know it has not been easy for you with your father gone. I know it was dull for you to keep company with me all summer. I felt awful holding you from your normal amusements, but that is no excuse for you to run off like that! Family is more important than ever in these troubled times, and...etc., etc.

...I have sent your trunk along with a few things you have forgotten. I think I can find it in my heart to forgive you, but I don't know if Oberon ever shall. Owls are sensitive creatures in their own way. I see you remembered your Timebender anyway. Flew it off didn't you? At least you weren't seen...etc., etc.

Your devoted mother,

Narcissa Malfoy

~

Draco felt a race of conflicting emotions. He was sure the letter was more or less honest, but he knew from the signature that this letter was meant for show. When his mother signed her full name it was to signal that he could safely pass the letter to other Slytherins. He felt some relief that she had not mentioned Persephone's empty portrait. He felt angry and indignant that she dared be angry with him after what they had put him through this summer. He thought having a lot of deranged, murderous dark wizards in the basement was a very good reason to run away from home. Mostly, however, he felt very sad. He was not ungrateful. He appreciated better than most what his parents had provided for him, and he felt absolutely sick that he had not become all they hoped.

His eyes fell on the small blank parchment. His trepidation returned as he gingerly picked it up off the bed sheets. With his touch, words materialized in his father's handwriting.

V. is not pleased with your disappearing act. Watch yourself.

~L.M.

Draco felt himself blanch. Terror crept over him once again. He had been right. Voldemort had not been fooled by the little note he had left on his desk. He pulled the curtains closed around his bed, despite the fact that the room was still quite warm. He changed into his nightclothes and lay back on his bed. Sleep never came to him. The folded letter with the little parchment tucked inside lay on his chest like a thousand pound weight. He registered the sounds of his roommates making ready for bed. He listened to their snores when his thoughts quieted enough for him to hear them. At some point he realized the noises beyond his curtains had taken on a different tone and that there was light peaking through his curtains. His body protested, but he forced himself to get up. He looked and felt ill.

"Are you all right?" Crabbe asked delicately.

"I'm fine," said Draco. He did not feel up to eating breakfast, but he went to the Great Hall anyway hoping to find Persephone. She was sitting at the Slytherin table and the other students were giving her a wide berth. Draco held back as well, understanding why. The Hogwarts ghosts were surrounding Persephone this morning. She was chatting pleasantly with the lot of them. The Grey Lady, the Ravenclaw ghost, sat to her left side, the Fat Friar was on her right. The Bloody Baron and Nearly Headless Nick sat and hovered across from her. The most remarkable part of all this was that the Bloody Baron was speaking back with an almost happy expression. Since the Baron rarely spoke and never smiled, this was even more unnerving than his normal appearances.

Draco doubted he could shoo the ghosts off very easily, and since walking through one was like having your bones doused in ice water, he decided to try Persephone later. At his present state, he worried that running through a ghost might actually make him sick. He turned to retreat from the Great Hall, but Crabbe and Goyle blocked his escape. Pansy, Daphne, and Millicent beckoned to the three of them, and Draco found himself unable to fight their collective will.

"We've got three spots to fill this year," Crabbe continued a discussion he had started with Goyle in the hall.

"Got your eye on anyone?" Goyle asked, trying to pull Draco into the conversation. Draco remembered having a few people in mind, but not in the mood to discuss Quidditch, he shook his head.

"Where's Captain Weatherby anyway?" asked Crabbe. Jonathan Weatherby was a Sixth Year and the Slytherin Quidditch Captain. He had done a fair job leading the team last year, which was no small feat considering he had been the youngest member.

"Recruiting I think," Pansy said dismissively. She gestured down the table to Weatherby who was chatting up a group of fourth and fifth years.

"I'll be right back," Crabbe said and made his way to Weatherby. Goyle took the empty seat next to Millicent. A first year was sitting nervously on Millicent's right, wedged oddly between her and a group of sixth years.

"Draco, have you met my brother?" Millicent asked, halting Draco's descent into the chair beside Goyle. "Hey, Toady, this is Draco Malfoy."

"Charles," the boy corrected mildly and stretched his small hand out to Draco. Draco shook it. Millicent was a tall, thickset girl with lank black hair that curled on the ends, and this delicate, brown-haired boy did not look a thing like her, except in the nose. "I got to see you play Quidditch two years ago. You were excellent," Charles added. Draco smiled politely at him.

"Hey, Toady, why don't you try out for the team?" Goyle asked. Charles responded to Goyle's recommendation with a long-suffering look, and Draco took the opportunity to sit down. "I taught Toady how to fly this summer," Goyle told Draco with a proud smile.

Down the table Weatherby let out a loud whoop. Draco glanced his way to see Weatherby hold up both thumbs and mouth Timebender approvingly. Draco gave him a nod and a slightly warmer version of the bland smile he had given Charles Bulstrode. Someone passed Draco a plate and fork. He played with the fork absently but still could not find an appetite. What if I just walked off the team, he wondered. That would certainly throw them all.

Pansy had assembled her entire gang of Seventh Year Slytherin girls, including Alice Wenlock and Indigo Stump. Alice had a square face and blonde hair, nearly as pale as Draco's. She was his third or fourth cousin on his father's side. Indigo was an olive skinned girl of pureblooded but racially mixed decent who had long black hair, circular glasses, and a talent for fading into the background. Only this year her glasses were gone, and her hair was cut to just below her chin and dyed an unnatural shade of red. Her body language still put her in the background. Draco could not say whether he liked the changes. The girls were socially on tier with Millicent, and he generally considered them to be extensions of Pansy.

"Nice hair," he told Indigo, who blushed and looked down at her plate.

Alice was watching Persephone with a scowl. "That girl isn't going to have breakfast with the ghosts everyday is she?" she attempted to echo the disdained tone of which Pansy was master. Draco shrugged.

"Your new girlfriend's friendly with the Baron, huh?" Daphne said nonchalantly. Draco scowled at her. She was baiting him. He did not want to bite, but he did not like her confusing the others about Persephone.

"She's not his girlfriend," Pansy told Daphne with mild exasperation. "And her name's Persephone, and I think she's charming." She smiled at primly at Draco, who understood what she was doing.

Sure enough, Alice snapped her head back around. "Oh, well, I don't mind her at all, it's the ghosts you know. They just make things a bit chilly...so uh, you think we'll have a dance this year?"

"I still don't understand why they cancelled last years," said Pansy.

"Might have had something to do with the war going on," said Nott taking the seat opposite Alice, understanding by unspoken contract that the seat to Draco's left was reserved for Crabbe.

"I think it would be an absolutely tragedy to not have one our last year," Daphne said. "War or not."

"Did you get your dress?" Alice asked. Draco twirled the fork in his fingers like he sometimes did his wand, glad the conversation was wandering away from him. Crabbe returned, took his seat, and began piling enough food on his plate to more than make up for what Draco was not eating.

"I've got the one I had picked out for last year," Pansy said. "But I don't know if I like it as much as I did. I think I'll looked for another one over Christmas."

"Mine's green," Daphne said. "Oh, you should see the material. It's got this wonderful crinkle texture."

"Mine's blue," Indigo added softly.

"You can't be on about the dance already," Crabbe said, looking rather appalled. "We ought to make a rule about not bringing this stuff up before the end of Quidditch season. By the way, we're holding try-outs next Thursday."

"Just as long as they leave us out of it," Nott said.

A wicked glint came to Daphne's eyes. "Oh, nonsense, Theodore," she said slyly. "You boys are an essential part after all."

"Lowering yourself to schoolboys now, Daphne?" quipped Nott.

Daphne laughed and tossed her long, crinkled hair, which was somewhat browner this morning. "Oh no, I just like getting dressed up, but I want to make sure none of you children has to go alone."

"How generous of you," Pansy said and took a dainty bite of her breakfast.

"Now let's see," Daphne said with a dictating air. "Gregory, you'll take Millicent of course, and the rest you, just take the girl sitting across from you. There, see, now it's all settled, and you don't have to fret about it." Pansy eyed Draco and repressed a giggle. Crabbe and Indigo both looked horrified. Alice gave Nott and Pansy alternating glances as though asking if she was expected to bide by this ruling.

"Back off, Daphne," Nott said defensively. "I've already got a date." Draco was startled by this announcement and turned his head to look at Nott with the rest of group. Nott was unflustered and continued eating his breakfast. Persephone had finished speaking to the ghosts and stood. Draco considered trying to follow her, but she walked in his direction.

"Well, at least one of you is on top of things," Pansy said. "It's really never too early to plan ahead."

Persephone reached Draco. She looked as though as wanted to say something, and he was eager to hear from her. "Do you mind?" he asked Crabbe, and with surprising gentility, or maybe simply to distance themselves further from Daphne, both Crabbe and Nott scooted over one seat to allow Persephone to sit down by Draco.

"What about you, Draco?" Daphne pressed. "Already got a date?"

Draco was not sure whether Daphne's inability to mind her own business or Pansy's obvious, hopeful glances were annoying him more. "I thought I'd asked Granger," he said casually as though he had actually given the matter serious thought before. The other Slytherins, all familiar with his dry style of humor, laughed. Draco smiled at the success of his joke and the somewhat indignant look on Pansy's face. He caught sight of the real Granger walking into the Great Hall and decided to push the joke a little further. He leaned back and called out to her. "Hey, Granger! How about it? You and me at the dance this year." The Slytherins waited with baited breath to see how Granger would react.

She paused for the short time between her name and the end of his sentence. "Shove off, Malfoy!" she shot back with clear irritation.

Draco shrugged and turned back to the table with a sigh of mock-resignation. "C'est la vie." Everyone exploded with laughter, even Pansy convulsed with mirth.

"Don't be rude, Draco," Persephone reprovingly. Her lack of so much as a grin surprised him. She usually laughed so easily.

"She knows I wasn't serious," Draco explained, not sure why there was an apologetic tone in his voice.

Persephone did not yield. "I know that. If I thought she took you seriously, I would call it cruel rather than rude." Some of the people around him snickered again at Persephone's presumptiveness. Draco could not believe she was rebuking him in front of everyone.

"Have you had your chat with Harry yet?" he snapped at her, knowing everyone would mistake this for Potter-fancy, something considered particularly loathsome in Slytherin House, on Persephone's part.

"Not yet," she said, completely unabashed. Somehow unaware of all the raised eyebrows and rolling eyes around her, she sighed impatiently, and then her expression changed subtly. "Look, I'll talk to you later." She stood and walked off. Draco felt a flash of anger at her for treating him like an inconsiderate toddler in front of the others. How dare she condescend to him after all he had done for her. He slapped his fork down irritably, and then felt twice as irritable that she had managed to make him show his irritation.

"Mudblood lover," Pansy said in a singsong voice, and Draco felt vicious satisfaction that she was taking some revenge on Persephone for him.

Alice looked confused by Pansy's sudden change of opinion. "Well, maybe she doesn't know," she ventured.

"She is new," Indigo agreed. Her eyes were wide, and Draco decided she looked less intelligent without her glasses. Crabbe and Nott shifted back to their original seats.

"Did you see Granger's face?" Crabbe said gleefully, and there was a fresh set of laughter in response. Draco no longer enjoyed it though. He suddenly remembered half of them were Death Eaters' children. He shoved his empty plate away and stood.

"I've got some things to do before the next class," he announced unnecessarily. Pansy gave him an odd, questioning look, but he ignored it and stalked off.

He found Oberon in the Owlery and sent him off to exchange his Divination text for the one he needed in Dark Arts. His anger cooled as the morning passed, and he found himself wishing he had shown Persephone the letter, which was still weighing like an albatross inside his robes. She was the only one who could appreciate it. By lunch, his trunk had arrived, and Draco took it up to his room himself, passing up the crowds in the Great Hall. He saw Persephone in the entryway, still surrounded by a small cloud of students, but only long enough ask her, "Did you-?"

To which she replied, "Not yet." Before she was swept away.

This gave him no comfort. He went through his classes in a fog. He had a dim idea that Harry Potter, still blatantly unaware that the last of his family was again wandering the halls at Hogwarts, was in his Transfiguration class. He could see the back of his head, hair sticking up in the back. Did he never use a comb?

After classes, Draco went upstairs to see what his mother had sent along with his trunk. There was some extra clothing, a few Quidditch supplies he had forgotten, and various school supplies like extra ink and quills. In the trunk's false bottom he found Horribly Harmful Draughts From Humbly Harmless Herbs. He stared at the book, anger breaking through his fog. It seemed neither Lord Voldemort or his father had given up on using him. That was exactly what they were trying to do. Use him to get to Potter. He threw the book angrily back into his trunk. His head was pounding, and the fog was threatening to return.

He left the dormitory and took the stairs to the common room. Pansy was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. "You have to eat something Draco," she said, her voice thick with concern. Eat? He remembered he had missed lunch as well as breakfast. That would explain the fog.

He put his arm around Pansy's shoulders. "Good idea," he said. "Let's eat." He walked with her down to the Great Hall. Persephone waved at him from her cloud of sixth years. He was not in the mood to wave so he just gave her a nod in return. The meal and the anger cleared his head.

He slept soundly that night. He awoke a little late Wednesday morning and hurried down to breakfast. The ghosts were not fencing Persephone in this morning. She was sitting next to Pansy and chatting with Crabbe and Goyle. There was an empty seat directly across from her, which he was sure had been left open for him. The table was less crowded. The second tier girls were absent. Daphne was still there, but he knew she was far more tolerable without an audience. He felt silly to have gotten annoyed with any of them. His bad mood had simply come from lack of sleep. Persephone was getting along with his friends instead of alienating them. It was a far more comfortable image. He headed for the empty seat but heard a roar of excited chatter from the Gryffindor table. They were passing a paper around with great interest, but Draco had his own papers to show.

Seamus Finnigan shouted at him. "Hey, Malfoy, is it true? Were you at the hotel?"

Draco stopped. "What?" he said with only a small trace of the shock he felt. He passed up the Slytherin table that he so desperately wanted to join and crossed the hall to the Gryffindors. "What are you talking about?"

"You finally got your name in the paper," Potter said with a smug grin and pushed a copy of The Quibbler toward him.

The Quibbler was a nonsensical tabloid, but Draco was curious enough from Seamus's hotel comment to snatch it up. He read, his worst fears confirmed. Someone, some wizard, must have seen him and Persephone at the Newbury hotel. His first instinct was to blame the shopkeeper, but he would have known that Persephone was not a Muggle. Not that it mattered. His mother would see this. She never bought The Quibbler, but someone in her network of witches would put her onto it. She would connect the girl to Persephone even if no one else did. The article hit far too close to home, far closer than the snickering Gryffindors realized.

"Did you really take a girl to a hotel?" Weasley asked incredulously.

"Oh, sure," Draco said retreating to his dull sarcasm. If he told the truth the right way, no one would believe it. "I kept her in my bedroom for a month or so. Then I got worried my parents might find her, so I took her to a hotel." But what if his father believed it? What if Voldemort did? Surely they knew him better. It was impossible for him to have a girl in every town. He had not gotten out of the house this summer.

"You're not serious?" a female voice interrupted his thoughts. He looked up from the article. It was Granger who had spoke. She looked like she was starting to believe it, and Draco could not stand having her think he was a Muggle-loving playboy, particularly not after that stupid joke he had made yesterday. He glanced at the other Gryffindors. He had thought they would pick up on the sarcasm in his tone, but they were all looking at him as though he had really kidnapped some poor Muggle and kept her locked in his room for months.

"Don't be a bunch of gits," he snapped at them angrily. "I have never been in a hotel with a Muggle girl!!"

"That's not what the paper says." Looney Luna Lovegood was smirking at him in a superior manner.

His father had always kept him well apprised of what everyone else's fathers did, and he had gotten an earful about the Lovegoods after his father had gotten out of Azkaban. "You're father prints this rubbish, right?" he shot at her. Luna had been one of the students who had put him into the prison. Draco curled the paper in his hand. He wanted to strike the smug look off her face.

"It's not rubbish," Lovegood retorted. "Just because you don't like the truth getting out."

"Truth?!" Draco fumed. "Fine bit of journalism, they made it all up. Unnamed 'Hogwarts student'. Unnamed 'Sources'. 'Unavailable for comment'-like they even tried to contact me- What sort of name is 'Adalade Pickwick'? Is that even a real person?!" Several of the Gryffindors, Harry included, were having trouble holding back their snickers. Granger wore a half smirk, but eyed the paper doubtfully. Draco pointed the curled paper at Luna, successfully curbing the urge to strike her with it. "Make your dad print a retraction, or-"

"Or what?" Luna sniffed, looking bored. "Your dad will come out of hiding to set him straight?"

My dad--the words formed in his head, but he did not know where to go with them. He felt his anger rising. Anger at the sniggering Gryffindors. Anger at his father. Anger at the nosey reporter who wrote the article. Anger at this Lovegood girl who had the nerve to look bored by all his trouble. His hand tightened around the paper. He wanted to strike her, break her, but--he caught the glint of something just past Luna and threw all his rage into it.

The goblet exploded. The shattering noise and all the little diamonds it left in its wake snapped him out of his intense anger. He felt a split second of relief until he caught sight of Granger's hand. A large piece of glass had lodged into it. Blood was spreading out from the long thin cut. He had a flash of Evra Tomes. A flash of Hermione covered in nasty cuts. He pushed the idea away, fearful he could make it come to pass. He had put his rage into the goblet to avoid hurting someone, not to... "I didn't mean to," he told her.

She stood slowly, not responding to him. The blood was making him feel sick, and he wanted it to go away. He wanted her to not be cut. "I'm sorry," he tried again, reaching out take her hand as though touch could make it better. That's what his mother had always done when he got a cut, took it in her hands to check it. Her touch always made it seem a little better.

"Don't touch me!" Hermione pulled her hand away, glaring at him as if he were something very foul. He did not feel foul though. He felt very light and pure as if his touch was the only thing that could heal her. His hand hung in the air for a moment, waiting for her to come back to it. The feeling of purity wilted under her glare, however, and he did begin to feel foul.

"I'm going to see Madam Pomfrey," Hermione said sensibly. She left. Weasley followed her like a surly guard dog. Draco wanted to follow too. He wanted very much to convince her that it had been an accident, unintentional chaos, but Potter was glaring steadily at him. Draco doubted he would let him past. When Granger was out of sight, the rest of the situation flooded back upon him. He had not done accidental magic, he had not lost control like that, since he was nine. Never at Hogwarts, never in front of people who already has such a low opinion of him. He felt the heat of embarrassment rise in his cheeks. He looked back at Lovegood, who continued to sit as before, smirking as though oblivious to the exploding goblet and Granger's bleeding hand. It made him loathe her more, but he just wanted to escape now. "Retract it," he spat at Lovegood, throwing the paper into her lap.

He walked away from the Gryffindor table as quickly as he could, feeling cold and stiff. He had a great desire to keep walking, out of the Great Hall, and back to his dorm room. He found himself at the Slytherin table, however, because his legs had carried him there, and he had a vague feeling this is where he was supposed to go.

"Draco, come sit," Persephone called to him, and he yielded to her command. He sat down in the empty seat. Hot anger and embarrassment competing with the cold sick feeling building in his stomach. Persephone took note of his twitching hand. "Are you feeling alright? Pansy said, you haven't been eating normally. Are you coming down with something? Do you think you need to see Madam Pomfrey?"

"No," Draco said, shaking his head. Her voice was soothing to him, and the glass and the Gryffindors seemed a little farther away. "Just a little stomach bug, yesterday. I'm fine now."

Pansy looked relieved, and she was not the only one. "Good thing," Crabbe said. "You had me worried, mate." Goyle nodded in agreement.

Draco felt like he had settled into a nice warm pocket. The things that disturbed him fell into order again. He remembered the letter he had tucked into his robes and pulled it out. He unfolded it and handed it across the table to Persephone. He kept a finger on the small parchment so that she could read the message as well. She read it quickly. Her face showed that she understood the seriousness of the message and that it was why Draco had not felt like eating.

"Can I see?" Pansy said, glancing at the letter.

"Sure," Draco said taking his hand off the parchment. Persephone was slicker than he would have guessed. She handed the letter over to Pansy and slipped the, now blank, parchment back to Draco discreetly.

Pansy looked over the letter and whistled.

"I think she over reacted a bit," Draco said.

Pansy raised a well-sculpted eyebrow. "I think you're lucky you didn't get a howler," her tone implied that he deserved one.

"You still might," Daphne said from beside her. She held up a copy of The Quibbler. "Have you seen this?"

"Lot of nonsense," Pansy said with a derisive snort. Draco smiled. He felt very glad that someone thought it was nonsense.

"Yeah, the Gryffindors were just showing me," Draco said more lightly than he thought he could have managed. "It seems I'm quite the lady's man. Got a girl in every town." Persephone smirked, Pansy rolled her eyes, and Daphne laughed loudly. "Where'd you get that anyway?"

"Mum sent it along," Daphne said. "She thinks it's funny."

Draco breathed a hissing intake of air. "Don't think my mum will find it funny."

"It's a cheap shot," Pansy said, her slender hand closing into a fist and banging the table lightly. Crabbe and Goyle echoed with similar indignation. They seemed particularly angry over the references to Draco's father. Their support made him feel better, but he wondered if their anger had to do more with their anxiety over their own fathers.

The mass of post owls fluttered into the Great Hall. A very large, grumpy looking one dropped a large brown package in front of Persephone and flew off again immediately. Another owl, its feathers such a bright tan they looked golden, flew towards Draco. It was his mother's owl Roughskin. Roughskin landed and dropped a letter next to his plate along with another copy of The Quibbler. She did not seem to be angry with him like Oberon but blinked at him patiently until he told her thank you and gave her some bacon. With a graceful flourish, she took back into the air as well.

Draco held up the rolled Quibbler. "She's seen it," Draco said. Pansy pursed her lips, and Daphne giggled again. He dropped the magazine and picked up the letter. Persephone's large package caught his eye, and he left the letter unopened. "What is that?"

Persephone looked at the package uncertainly. "I don't know." Catching sight of a small note tied to the brown wrapping, she took it gingerly, glanced at it, and smiled. She began to put it away, but Draco held out a hand for it. She gave it to him and untied the string from the package. Draco wanted to tell her to stop but could not think of a way to do this without betraying his paranoia. He looked at the note. The handwriting was vaguely familiar.

You may need these. Best of luck with your classes.

I regret I can no longer take them with you.

~S.O.S.~

"Oh, it's my school books," Persephone announced before she had finished unwrapping them.

"You mean you didn't have them," Pansy said incredulously.

"Well, I had to pack in a bit of a hurry," Persephone said vaguely. Her eyes were shining with delight as she opened the fresh books. A second package fell out of the sky, landing its corner in Persephone's eggs and nearly upsetting a pitcher of orange juice. Persephone opened it quickly, and Pansy unbidden helped her tear open the paper. Daphne even reached over to tear a piece away. They exposed a set of black school robes; Draco guessed that there were two pairs from the thickness of the package.

"Doesn't look like you packed at all," said Pansy. Persephone laughed in response and looked twice as delighted as before. Draco frowned at the packages. He knew Persephone needed these things, but he wanted to know who sent them. "Who sent them?" Pansy asked. She had the note in her hand now. "Doesn't S.O.S. mean Save Our Ship?"

Persephone giggled even more furiously. "Yes...and no," she took the note back from Daphne, who had taken it from Pansy, and tucked it fondly into her robe pocket. "It's an inside joke we had."

"Who had?" Pansy asked.

Persephone however just smiled secretively and repressed more giggles. "I best take them to my room before class starts." She stood, and Pansy and Daphne, obviously hoping for more details, stood as well and helped her pick up the packages. "I'll see you later, Draco," she said.

"I'll see you in Potions," Pansy added, and the trio of girls walked off.

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

Draco had thought that seeing Professor Snape in Potions would put him more at ease, but he got the strange feeling that Snape was annoyed with him. He gave Potter five points but ignored Draco throughout the lesson. Pansy attempted to scoff at Granger's bandage as a petty plea for attention, but this only made Draco feel worse.

He had wanted to say something to Professor Snape about Persephone, but he was not sure what that was. Hey, so what's it like seeing your friend whose been missing twenty years is back and unaged? It sounded horribly lame in his head. His mother and Persephone had indicated that they had been particularly close, but as he watched Snape pace the classroom with his careworn face and dark robes, he could not imagine him finding much common ground with Persephone. Or had her absence had something to do with him becoming careworn and dark?

Draco left the classroom at the end of the lesson with the other students and without a word to Professor Snape. He really wanted to have another conversation with Persephone first. Less than a week ago he had been very keen to hand her off, but now he felt pangs of jealousy that the silly sixth year girls were getting all her attention. What he had to discuss with her was so much more important than hair and homework. He marveled at how happy she looked, how oblivious she seemed to be to the danger that was facing them, how at home she seemed dropped twenty years out of time. Why was he the one feeling so miserable and displaced?

At dinner, Professor Snape stopped Draco just long enough to give him instructions to escort the first years to their first Astronomy lesson at midnight. It was one of his prefect duties. Draco sat down next to Persephone at the Slytherin table, but he still could not talk to her like he wanted. Not with the other students around, particularly not near the other Death Eaters' children. He looked up at Professor Snape during the meal and could have sworn that Snape was glowering at him. But why? Was it because as Crabbe had hinted he was actually a Death Eater and knew of Draco's treachery, or did he suspect Draco's connection to the Death Eaters as Draco had wondered before? Or was Draco over thinking things? Maybe Snape had read The Quibbler article and was disgusted by the idea of Draco being a Muggle-lover, as Draco would have been if the situation were reversed.

Draco did not mind the funny looks from the Hufflepuffs or snickers from the Ravenclaws, and his initial burst of anger had expelled any ire he might have felt at the Gryffindors hushed whispers. But those were just students. He respected Professor Snape, and his displeasure weighed heavily on Draco. Draco caught sight of Granger's bushy hair at the Gryffindor table and remembered the glass. Of course Snape had not believe the article. He was too intelligent to read such drivel and knew Draco too well to believe it if he had. Professor Snape, like the rest of the school, had heard how Draco had lost control at breakfast and shattered the glass. He must have been deeply disappointed in him. Draco felt a fresh wave of embarrassment thinking about it.

He had several hours after dinner to dwell on his discomfort. He settled himself into a large chair near the fire and pretended to read as he waited for midnight to roll around. He had intended to read the chapters Dumbledore had assigned, but the borrowed textbook could not hold his attention.

Someone shook him gingerly, and Draco realized he had dozed off in the chair. The first years were collecting in the dim firelight. Persephone hovered over him.

"Do you think I could go with you?" she asked quietly.

Draco nodded as he rose from the chair. He gestured to the first years to gather near the entrance. He started to do a head count, but he had not been paying attention at the start of term feast and did not know exactly how many first years had been sorted. "Is everyone here?" he asked. The first years looked at each other and nodded their heads. They were all so small. Persephone, short as she was, stood head and shoulders above the lot of them. Surely he had not been that baby faced when he started Hogwarts.

"This way." He led them out of the dungeons and up to the Astronomy Tower. Persephone brought up the rear, pretending to be a second guide. He heard a few whispered questions and Persephone's answers but did not try to make any of them out. The first years did not ask him anything directly. Maybe they had heard about the glass and were afraid of him, or maybe it was just the unapproachable aura he was radiating.

He deposited the first years in the Astronomy classroom, and though he had not been instructed to do so, said he would wait to escort them back down.

When the door closed, Persephone took a seat on the steps leading to the tower, and he did the same. For a few minutes, they just sat there. Draco felt exhausted emotionally if not physically. He just wanted to go back to sleep, maybe she would let him lay his head on her lap. But he knew that he could not. He knew Persephone had followed him up here to have a private conversation, and though he had wanted to talk to her very much earlier, he could not find the right way to begin. He had to begin however. He was very aware that the minutes would pass too quickly, and it would be hard for them to slip away like this very often without raising suspicions.

Persephone for her part was staring at the far wall, thoughtful, simultaneously distant and extremely present.

"Harry's not really that bad is he?" she said into the silence.

Draco shifted uncomfortably. He had suffered a number of abuses from Potter and his friends. The image of Potter's smirk over the article that morning was still fresh on his mind. But Potter had suffered a number of abuses from Draco and his friends. Verbally, Draco had by far been the worse offender. Potter had been responsible for putting his father in jail but--the thought required a painful push before Draco could bring it to the forefront of his mind--his father had committed every crime Potter had accused him of and more. He de- Draco dropped that line of thinking, and pointed his mind back towards Potter. Was Harry Potter really that bad? Knowing everything he knew, examining all the evidence, was Potter... "No, he's not." Draco admitted.

"I've been asking people about him," Persephone said. "The way you described him. I pictured him as another James, but he's not a bully like James, is he? Not as bad as you and the Dursleys made him out." Draco felt she wanted an explanation, but he could not think what to say. "Do you really dislike him so? Do you really hate him that much?"

"I did," Draco said.

"Did?"

"I tried to kill him last year."

Persephone did not seem able to find a response to this. Draco had been intently looking in the direction of his shoes. He stole a glance at her and could see the mixture of disbelief, fear, and confusion in her eyes. "It didn't work obviously."

"What did you do?" she asked cautiously.

Draco shifted uncomfortably again. He felt embarrassed. Not because he felt any great regret for his actions, but because the whole attempt had been so childishly unplanned and clumsily executed. "Potter was sitting in an open window a few floors up. I was taking the Quidditch ball case back to Madam Hooch's office. There was no one in the hall, so I sent a Bludger at him. It knocked him out, but he managed to grab the sill and climb back in. I pretended it had been an accident, but I don't think Potter believed it. Everyone one else seemed to think was funny."

"Funny?"

"They thought I'd thrown a ball at him, alright," Draco said, remembering Crabbe and Goyle's guffaws, Pansy's flippant 'too bad', the bizarre running gag that had popped up among the other Quidditch players...'Try it again at the next game, it'll look more like an accident'...'Watch out for any Bludgers coming from Draco's direction, they're lethal'..."They just couldn't believe I actually thought it would kill him. That I was actually trying to kill."

Persephone did not seem to find anything funny about the story at all. She looked very serious. Draco had wanted to disillusion her, snuff out the absurd "hero" image she had had of him, but now that he had achieved his goal to some degree, he was very worried that she would never look at him admiringly again. He hoped she would find someway of glossing it over, someway of telling him that he was taking it too seriously. He wanted her to tell him that he was really not that bad either.

"Do you still want to kill him?" she asked. A hardness had crept into her tone.

"No," Draco told her. "I'm glad I failed. I don't hate him anymore."

"Why?" The hard edge had left her tone, but her eyes were still apprehensive.

Draco shrugged. His mind flicked back over the summer. "I don't know. I guess I finally figured out that Harry isn't the enemy. Hard to hate a bloke after you spend the night in his bed."

Draco winced at his last sentence. "That didn't come out right."

Persephone caught on and sniggered. Draco pursed his lips to fight a bashful smile. Persephone sniggered again, which gave way to repressed giggling. Draco could feel himself blush. "If you ever tell anyone that I said that..." but there was no real threat in his tone.

Persephone attempted to look indignant. "What? You'll hurl a Bludger at me?"

Draco choked back a laugh and shook his head. He felt much lighter. She had taken him seriously, completely seriously, and forgiven him all the same. It had been such a relief to tell someone the truth and have them react appropriately to it. He had resisted telling his father because he had failed. When Lucius found out anyway, he had just told Draco 'better luck next time'. He had had to lie to Professor Snape about it. No matter how much his professor disliked Potter, Draco doubted he would gloss over attempted murder.

"Have you spoken to him?" Draco asked her. She nodded. "What did he say?"

"Well, I mean, I spoke to him, but I didn't tell him yet," Persephone admitted. It was her turn to look embarrassed. "I mean, I tried but-" She suddenly whirled on him. "Why didn't you tell me that Severus was teaching here!?"

"Oh, I-uh-thought it would be a nice surprise for you," he managed. He had thought she might be angry with him for hiding the information, and she was attempting to look cross. Her delight was too strong, however, and she twitched into a funny sort of smile.

"I could have had a heart attack," she said with hand placed dramatically over her heart. "Oh mon!"

"So what's it like seeing him after all these years?" asked Draco conversationally.

"Wonderful!" she said. She seemed to remember the first years just beyond the classroom door for she kept her voice down, but it was a struggle. Her face was very bright, and her voice turned breathy as she tried to curb its volume. "Oh mon! He looks so good."

Draco blinked at her in surprise. He did not claim to be an expert on what made for a good-looking male from a girl's perspective, but if he had guessed, he would have picked the teenage Snape in the photographs over his professor. Persephone either picked up on his confusion or just wanted to keep talking about it. "He's gotten taller, since I saw him last. And he's got this--I don't know--presence about him. And his voice, mm, it's gotten deeper, richer, like velvet." She shuddered with pleasure. "I could listen to him talk all day."

Draco felt even more taken aback than he had a minute ago. There was something wrong about her wistful expression. She was looking at the ceiling, but there was a hunger in her eyes that seemed very off. For the first time he got the strong impression that Persephone was not a sixteen-year-old girl, but a grown woman near forty trapped in a teenagers body. She looked back at Draco and regarded him coolly for a moment, before the girlish grin stole back across her face. "He looked for me," she confided in a voice just above a whisper. Her eyes were shining. "Everyone else gave up, but he looked for me. I had wondered..." She looked away from him again and stared off into her own thoughts. "...if he really cared for me, but I know now."

Draco felt his stomach twist. "You mean..." He was not sure why the words were so hard to push out or why his brain protested to loudly to the rather obvious conclusion. "...he was your boyfriend?"

Persephone blushed and looked at Draco shyly. "No, we were just friends, but I'd rather been hoping...I suspected he might like me a bit that way, but he was really shy about things like that. The day I disappeared he had asked me to the Leaving Dance. Severus told me it took him nearly two years to work up the courage." Her cheeks were very red.

Draco's mouth felt dry. "You don't still fancy him, do you?"

Persephone nodded. "I adore him!" She looked excited enough to explode. Draco realized that she, like he, must have been bottling up for the past two days. "Oh mon! I spent twenty years, wondering how he'd turn out, what he was like now. I worried sometimes, but he's everything I could have hoped for...more...better. He's gorgeous. He's absolutely wonderful, and he hasn't forgotten me! He didn't forget me at all!"

"But he's a professor!" Draco gaped at her. The twisting in his stomach was getting worse.

"I know!" Persephone continued as though he had just given a compliment instead of an objection. "Oh, I'm so happy for him. He was so anxious about what he was going to do with himself. I think it's excellent that he found something as fulfilling as a teaching position!"

Draco groped for words. "I know...but uh, I mean...does he...are you saying that he still fancies you?"

Persephone's mouth formed an 'o' shape, and she looked down. Her blush settled into steady, more flattering pink. The aura of maturity Draco sensed earlier was gone, and she was back to looking exceptionally young. "I don't know," she said sedately. "I mean, well...I know he cares about me, but it's been twenty years, hasn't it? And he's a professor and all..." She started playing with her fingers. "I hope he does, though. Even if he can't show it right now, I really hope he does."

Draco rather hoped he did not, or that he would at the very least have the good sense not to show it. Maybe he was being selfish, but his world had been toppled quite enough without his teacher dating the student he had brought to Hogwarts. No matter how unfair time had been, that would cause a nasty scandal, and he would feel responsible.

"There's a dance this year," Persephone said wistfully. "I know it sounds silly, but I am looking forward to it already. I heard your dance was cancelled last year. I really hope this one isn't. I didn't get to go our dance...the one he asked me to. I went through it in my mind a thousand times. I kept hoping someone would find me in time to let me go...Dreaming about it and being there aren't the same, though. I do so want to go...even if he can't take me."

Maybe there was something magic about being female that allowed them to go up and down their emotional roller coasters without getting dizzy. Draco was still on his disgust and irritation and felt guilt as they collided with her sudden melancholy. She had not asked for this anymore than he had. How had he been so base as to be disgusted with her, when all she wanted was a dance she had been denied with the boy she liked? It was such a simple, bittersweet fantasy. His fantasies were so much more deplorable.

She smiled and tried to sound conversational. "Who are you taking to the dance, Draco?"

"I don't know," Draco said, thrown again by the question. The dance was months away and the last thing on his mind.

"Well, who would you want to take? Who do you fancy?" asked Persephone.

Draco hesitated. Pansy Parkinson had never tried very hard to hide her interest in Draco. Draco certainly thought Pansy was pretty, with her swanlike neck, smooth white skin, and sleek dark hair, but her charms had ceased to impress him. He had kissed Pansy a grand total of three times. Each time she had been so happy that she had told everyone in Slytherin House who would listen, which made him disinclined to kiss her again. He had had a lovely make-out session with Daphne Greengrass last year, which neither of them had told anyone about, but the instance still baffled him. Daphne had shown no further interest in him before or afterwards, though that may have been for fear of Pansy's reaction. It was neither Daphne nor Pansy who haunted his dreams or waking fantasies, however.

"Come on," Persephone prompted. "There's got to be someone you want to dance with."

Yes, there was. She stepped into his mind in light blue dress robes, an impossible, unwanted, yet persistent fantasy.

"Tell me," Persephone persisted. She was smiling genuinely now, intrigued by his silence.

He wanted to tell her. She was his secret keeper. But this secret was old and deep and resisted telling. He knew how some would react, but he also knew, hoped, that Persephone would never be disgusted by him. "You'll laugh," he said.

"I promise I won't," she almost laughed with those words. "Tell me."

The name hovered just below his throat. Maybe he wanted her to laugh, to tell him it was ridiculous. Maybe if he could just get the name out, tell someone, it would stop building inside him. Surely keeping it locked down so tightly was what had caused it to fester as it had. Still, the web of fear and shame that kept the name tied down was not easily swept away. Just say it, he told himself. Just get it over with. His voice was quiet, but he forced himself to speak clearly enough she would not ask him to repeat the name. He cast one last glance about to make sure no one else had wandered up to the tower. "Granger."

To Persephone's credit, she did not laugh, but it was a near thing. Her eyes widened, and her grin became painfully broad. "Hermione Granger? The-um-bossy, know-it-all Mudblood who told you to 'shove it'?"

Draco nodded once and avoided looking directly at Persephone. "Really? Oh, well that explains why you mentioned her one or two--thousand times this summer," said Persephone. He felt the color rising in his cheeks and smiled weakly. She was making light of it, so it was just silly and not shameful. "I think she's pretty. You should ask her."

"You heard her when I asked yesterday."

"I mean ask her nicely, sincerely."

There was a thoughtful thread to her tone that told Draco she was giving advice. "I can't," he said.

"Why not?"

Draco's smile faded. Had he not already told her? "She's a Mudblood."

Persephone snorted softly. "Like that matters," she said. Draco was not watching her face, but from her tone, he guessed she was rolling her eyes.

He looked at her again in time to see her eyes finish their roll and settle back upon him. How could she be that clueless and naïve? He thought she understood him, his situation better than that. "Have you met my father?" he hissed at her.

"Well, Lucius and I never really saw eye to eye on that subject," she said in the same dismissive tone.

"He'd kill me," Draco said, not certain whether he was exaggerating.

"No, he wouldn't," Persephone insisted. "He might not be thrilled, but you're his only son. Blood's important to him."

"Exactly, Pureblood's important to him. At best, he'd disown me. They did it to my Aunt Andromeda. I didn't even know she existed until I was thirteen."

"Now you're worried about being disowned?" she asked in a tone both cautious and bemused, which brought back the memory of his flight from the manor and The Quibbler article.

Draco felt his stomach turn, and a dark mood set on him as though a sudden rain cloud had descended. "It doesn't matter," he said, trying to sound equally dismissive but ending up with a sulky mixture of despair and irritation. "She'd never go, even if I did ask her nicely. She hates me."

"Surely not," Persephone soothed with a sympathetic frown. He saw a small glint of the admiration in Persephone's eyes. It was something he knew that he would never see from Hermione, though at that moment, he noticed a faint resemblance between the two girls. This took him aback, and he forgot to respond. "Why do you think she hates you?"

The long list of offenses he had committed against Hermione Granger and the even longer list of the ones he had considered committing unfurled in his mind. "For starters I called her a filthy little Mudblood," he said.

Persephone's mouth fell open a little. "To her face?"

Draco nodded. "More than once," he told her evenly. He felt no guilt for this particular crime. Granger was a Mudblood. Why should he regret saying so? He knew it was yet another thing that widened the gulf between them, a sort of protective barrier. "Pretty much every time we've spoken for the last five years."

Persephone winced.

"And then, I tried to kill her mate Harry last year and that couldn't have endeared me to her. Fifth year, I allied myself with Umbridge and got on the Inquisitorial Squad, which made most everyone from the other Houses hate me, Hermione in particular. No, I'm not going to explain Umbridge, though I'm sure you could get an earful from anyone else you want to ask," he answered the question that was beginning to form on her lips. "Fourth year, I helped Rita Skeeter write nasty stories about her and her friends in Witch Weekly and The Dailey Prophet, and before that I hexed her front teeth so that they grew a foot or so in length. Well...you get the idea. I've stood against everything and everyone she has stood for, so naturally, she hates me."

Persephone's wince grew more pronounced with each item, and at the mention of Hermione's teeth her jaw dropped, so that she finished the list with a pitying look of mild horror. "That's...a lot...to apologize for," she said slowly.

"I don't want to apologize," Draco retorted. The horror faded from Persephone's expression leaving the pity. "I'm not sorry about any of it, and it wouldn't do any good, if I was."

Persephone studied him for a long moment. "Do you like her?"

"She's a Mudblood," he repeated.

"That wasn't the question. Do you like her?"

"She hates me," he repeated firmly.

"Do...you...like her?"

"She's a bossy, self-righteous, know it all."

"But do you like her?"

Draco felt heat rising in him, though he was not sure if it was anger or something more ambiguous. Did he like her? "It's not that simple," he began slowly but found himself speaking with greater speed, trying to explain everything with the same velocity it impacted inside him. "I want her. I dream about her, but I don't know if I like her. I hate her. I hate what she is. I hate what she represents. I want to hurt her. But then, I want to hurt anyone who hurts her. I can't stand hurting her, and I hate myself when I do. Then I hate the fact that I'm weak like that, so I try to hurt her again. I keep hearing my father's voice in my head. I'm not supposed to feel regret, not over a Mudblood. And so I think maybe insults are a good compromise, if I can just keep insulting her, it will keep my father happy, and I know they don't hurt her like they would some people. She just ignores them, and then I get angry when she ignores me, so I push it further. If I can cut her enough with my tongue, she'll retort, and that's the only way I can talk to her. And I like it when she talks to me. Even when she's being insulting, because I know she's aware of me, that I effect her somehow, and that makes me happy, but I can't I show it. I don't dare smile, because there's always people watching. My mates are always with me, and her mates are always with her. And if I did ever manage to get her alone, I'd probably go dumb. I know I would. On those incredibly rare instances when it's just me and her passing in the hall, we just avoid looking at each other. And the fact that she reacts the exact same way I do, makes me feel like she understands on some level, but naturally that's all in my head. She couldn't possibly understand." Draco was aware he was babbling, but it was as though he had pulled out the cork of well-shaken bottle. If he kept verbalizing, maybe he would find some sense or maybe Persephone would. She had known Draco's father, who he was supposed to so much like anyway at his age, maybe that would give her some special insight.

"The whole bloody things my father's fault, anyway. How does he expect me to look down on her, when he's using her as measuring stick?" He took to imitating his father's voice. "'Honestly, Draco, I'd think you'd be ashamed a Mudblood out does you in each exam'. 'Well, that's a little better this year, Draco, but I see Granger's still ahead of you. Can't have that can we?' 'I suppose six O's is respectable, but if you had pushed yourself a little harder you could have matched Granger's eight.' Well, Granger doesn't have Quidditch on her plate does she?" he spat falling back in to his own voice. "It doesn't come naturally to me like it does her, like it did to him, I worked hard for those O's."

Persephone twitched as though to say something but deciding not to. He was glad for her silence. She would try to diffuse him, and he was not done exploding.

"I worked really hard...but nothing impresses him. Nothing. I make prefect, and well, that was expected. Not everyone gets on the house teams, you know. Doesn't matter how many games I win though, or how many Snitches I catch. It's all about not making Quidditch Captain. Not beating Potter. I don't wanna be the stupid Quidditch Captain, I'm far too busy trying to get all those bloody O's. How'd he expect me to get head boy with Potter around anyway? Like Dumbledore would ever make a Death Eater's son head boy, but oh, no, none of this is ever dad's fault.

"It would serve him right if I did marry a Mudblood." Draco ran his hand through his hair using it to discretely wipe off the angry tear he had shed. His breathing was hard now that he had stopped speaking. He took a moment to steady it, and mulled over his last sentence. "No, no, I don't want to pursue a relationship out of anger or revenge. I don't want to sabotage myself that way." He dropped his face into his hands and massaged his temples. "I just...I just...I don't know. I'm not sure what I want with Hermione is a relationship."

Persephone was sitting very still. He chanced a glance at her to find her face a thoughtful, sympathetic mask. Her silver eyes studied him. She opened her mouth experimentally and when he made no objection, she spoke. "Why do you want to dance with her? If it's so confusing, why hold on to the fantasy so tightly?"

The words from the Quibbler article played back through his mind love, lust, or simply teenage rebellion. Lust, that certainly came in to play. He was a healthy seventeen-year-old male, and Hermione was a fairly pretty female, though no prettier than Pansy or Daphne or any number of other girls he knew. Rebellion played its part as well, more strongly as his parents pulled away from him, and he been given copious amounts of time to ponder the unfairness of it all. His parental loyalty had ebbed and flowed in the past two years, waxing and waning in cycles along with his loyalty to their ideals. Again however, there were safer choices he could use to express his anger. Hogwarts was hardly short on Mudbloods and half-breeds. So why had his addled brain settled on Hermione Granger? "I guess I just feel like if I could have a real conversation with her, a little time. I could figure out how I really feel about her. I don't know if it's even Hermione that I want, maybe it's this image I have of her. This fantasy Hermione who likes me and smiles at me and talks to me."

The smallest hint of a smile graced Persephone's lips. "What do you like about the real Hermione?" she asked patiently.

Draco thought this over, but the release of his anger had cleared his mind again so that the thoughts formed more readily. "She's smart, real smart. I used to resent it, but I rather admire it about her now. I just resent being measured against her. And she's passionate, aware. She cares about more than just her appearance and the current gossip. She has this stupid little house elf awareness organization she started a few years back called Spew. Load of nonsense, but I think it's...cute...that she cares about things as lowly as House Elves and Hippogriffs."

"Hippogriffs?" Persephone repeated, clearly confused as to how they figured into the conversation. Draco waved his hand dismissively to show it was not important.

"She stands up to me. I think she's the first girl to have done that. Pansy and Daphne and their clique they just go along with anything I say or do, because I'm rich and I have influence or something. It's not that I want them to argue with me all the time, but I just feel like I'm talking to myself when I'm with them. Actually I think that is what I want. I want someone to argue with me once in a while, to tell me when I'm being a git. I've been an absolute ass to Pansy at times, and she never stands up to me, none of them do. I know Granger would. Is that twisted? Am I completely deranged to want some who'll slap me?"

Persephone shook her head. "James always said he loved a girl who would argue with him. I'm not sure he would have fancied the slapping though." She cocked her head with that odd scowl which reminded him of Hermione.

"I don't like being slapped," he said quickly. "I just mean she won't take guff."

"I know," Persephone smirked. "I was teasing. So you would love a good row now and then, sounds healthy."

Draco frowned. Love? The word was batted around so carelessly by the Slytherin girls and approached apprehensively by the boys. If he had the nerve to speak to any of them about it, and they could see past their disgust, they would call his confusion love. Draco felt some gratitude that Persephone had been more conservative in her wording and not asked him if he loved Hermione. He felt that his understanding of love was more sophisticated than the average teenagers and therefore more sacred. "I don't know what I feel for her except that it's fierce and complicated...and that's not love is it? Love isn't supposed to be complicated."

Persephone smiled a small wistful, approving smile. She dropped her eyes and again gave Draco the impression that she was much older and wiser than her sixteen-year-old form portrayed. "No, it's not complicated. It can be fierce, but love is very simple." Her eyes met his again, and her smile widened a bit as though to say see, you have a much better grasp of things than you thought. He felt some relief that she agreed with him. His philosophy of love was another thing he was reluctant to talk over with his social circle, but hearing it from someone else increased its validity for him and made the idea more solid.

"Love is pure and powerful," Persephone continued more to herself than to him. "But simple. Always simple. I think it's all our other thoughts and emotions that complicate it. Our anger...our fear...our nature to be selfish... Romance is complicated... It's so tied up with that selfishness, but love itself is very simple. I think when we learn to sort it out from all the other strands, we start to understand it."

Draco nodded, realizing she was trying out her theories on him just as he had on her. He also realized that he felt more comfortable with her talking about these things because she was female and her gender provided her with protection from the social reproach associated with verbalizing emotions. It was an old fashion idea of social order than even some of his Slytherin friends would have reproached him for, but the hypocrites followed it all the same.

"You should ask Hermione Granger to the dance!" Persephone said so sharply and suddenly, that he jumped a little.

"Brilliant idea, except that she would never go with me," Draco said dryly, feeling like they had already had this part of the conversation.

"I think she might. Yes, I think it's doable, if you'll listen to me," she was speaking with conviction. He opened his mouth to object, but she cut him off. "I know a little something about these things. If you just want to get your jollies, I can't help you, but if you care about Hermione on some level, I can tell you how to get her to dance with you."

She was serious. She was absolutely serious. "Are you mad?!" he hissed and had to remind himself to watch his volume. "Haven't you been listening? She's not just a Mudblood. She's allied with Harry Potter and Dumbledore. My father would kill me. We are still on the run, Persephone. Didn't you read that note? Voldemort's not happy with me, but maybe if I keep my head down, he'll ignore me for larger prey. I keep trying to explain this to you. Why can't you understand? I'm not brave. I'm scared. I'm terrified. We have some protection at Hogwarts, but that won't last."

"Do you honestly think you can make things up to Voldemort?" she asked coolly, mercilessly, spitting Voldemort's name, but otherwise keeping her voice too calm. "You think he'll let you stay on neutral ground, knowing what you know? Or am I that confused, do you want to work with that murderer?"

Draco's thoughts turned to Evra Tomes, and he felt sick again. Persephone, of course, was thinking of her parents and brother, and he felt sicker, more loathing, as it clicked in his mind that Voldemort had hurt Persephone as well. He had stolen her parents as well as his. He had stolen Potter's parents, and Crabbe and Goyle's fathers. "No, no...I have no loyalties to Voldemort," he said softly. "But my father...my mother...what if he takes out what I do on them? Or what if he turns them against me? Don't you understand that I love them? I know what they've done, but I still love them."

Persephone's features softened. "I do understand," she said softly but firmly. "They were my best friends, Draco. I imagine I care about Lucius nearly as much as you do, but you can't let him control you. Even if things were much simpler, you're of age now. You are practically an adult, and you can't rely on your parents to make your decisions anymore. You have to decide your own course. You have to let them take the consequences for their actions, and you have to be responsible for your own. That has nothing to do with Death Eaters. That's just growing up.

"I know you're scared. You'd be an idiot if you weren't scared. I'm scared. But I am not letting Voldemort control me through fear, and I don't think you should either."

"I don't like being afraid," Draco began, but was stopped by the creak of the Astronomy room door. He got to his feet quickly. Persephone stood with more dignity and managed another glowing smile as the first years appeared. The first years all came out looking tired and quietly followed Draco down the long sets of stairs to the Slytherin common room. From there they marched obediently back up the short steps to their dormitories. His last sentence had resounded in his head during the descent. He did not like being afraid. When he was younger his father had often told him the only way to defeat a fear is to face it. The platitude seemed as useless as ever. He felt it was wiser to fear Voldemort than face him, but Granger on the other hand.

Draco put a hand on Persephone's forearm to hold her back. She paused a few steps up and waited until the first years were safely away before turning back to Draco. "If...and I'm only saying if, I decided to ask Granger, how would you have me go about it?" He had his doubts about Persephone's abilities, but she was the only anchor he had left.

"You should start by apologize for that thing with the glass this morning," she said in a business like manner.

Draco felt a shadow of his earlier embarrassment and indignation. "That was an accident, and I did apologize."

Persephone smiled as though this was unexpectedly intelligent of him. "That's good."

"She didn't accept it."

"Doesn't matter. She heard it."

"So is that it? Apologize? Cause I told you..."

"No," Persephone shook her head. "You should apologize for glass because it's so recent, but there's no point in apologizing for anything else right now. We need to be careful how we do this..."

"I don't want to trick her into liking me either," he said.

Persephone cocked her eyebrow as though to say this is one of my plans not yours. "No tricks. We'll keep it very simple to start with and that way you'll have room to change your mind." Draco waited patiently for her to continue. "First thing, you have to stop calling her a Mudblood."

"Okay."

"And I don't mean just to her face. Don't call her a Mudblood around your mates either. Second, don't tease her anymore. Shouting across the Great Hall to get a laugh out of your mates does not make a good impression. Let's try to avoid hurling shards glass at her while we're at it too."

"That was an accident!"

"Well, let's try to avoid further accidents then. And third, try to do something nice if you can. Nothing overt or grand, just get the door if you're standing next to it or say good morning or something along that line. Try acting civil for a while, and we'll see how she responds."

Draco considered this. It did seem fairly low risk, not nearly as intimidating as the grand gesture he was afraid she would want him to make. "Fine, I'll try it."

Persephone took the hand he still had on her forearm and gave it a light squeeze. "Goodnight." She released his hand and ascended the steps.

"Wait," Draco said, and she paused, looking back over her shoulder. "Who sent you those packages?"

Persephone laughed. "I thought that was obvious," she replied and vanished into the girls dormitory.