Surfeit Of Curses

A Surfeit of Curses Chapter 7

Have You Ever Had It Blue?

Have you ever chased the night that sailed in front of you,

On a boat that's bound for hope, but left you in the queue,

With your shouting, waving, taunting, flaunting friends as crew,

Telling you that every lie you ever heard was true?

Have you stood upon that dock?

Have you ever had it blue?

The start of December brought windy, sleety weather to Hogwarts, Every morning at the Slytherin table, the Durmstrang wizards emptied the tea, White Hot Chocolate and coffee pots before most of the Slytherins even arrived, as they tried to warm up from their freezing overnights on the ship. Even though, as Viktor said, the cabins had warming charms worked into the sheets, the water kept washing the spells off the wood, so the corridors and the deck were brutally cold. At least they were dressed for it.

But the cold outside was nothing compared to the tone of the letter Draco received from Lucius a few days into the month.

Finally, I've found an assignment for the Prophet that even someone as untrained as you can handle. Rita Skeeter, who you met at the open house last summer, has been visiting Hogwarts regularly this fall, doing features on the Triwizard. She's having a hard time getting quotes from the Champions, and we need someone to take her around the school so she can find more things to write about - light and fluffy suits her style. You will meet her at breakfast on Monday and I hope that she will be able to spend the day observing your classes.

This is a stupidly simple task, Draco. Even you shouldn't be able to mess it up, but even if you do, you'll still be staying at school for the holidays. Your mother and I have been invited to join the Pormises on a Sasquatch hunt in Canada through the 29th . You could come, but you'd fall too far behind in your studies. I have an end of the year investor meeting at the Newport Inn in Hogsmeade on the 30th. We'll combine my business trip with an early birthday dinner for you, so your mother and I don't have to make two trips up in such quick succession. My office will get in touch with you to schedule a meeting for that day, probably at the paper's local offices, then plan to spend the night at the Inn in Hogsmeade, and you will return to school on New Year's Eve. I've sent an owl to Snape to arrange this.

Furthermore, I have been meditating on our conversation about that Mudblood teacher of yours. It still makes me ill to think that you're learning about the Dark Arts from an Auror, but that cannot be helped. I would prefer to give you similar instruction myself, but it's not feasible now. I have concluded that your complaints about the instruction he is giving you regarding curses prove that you are weak, and by that I mean more than your failing to manifest sufficient magic to block his curses. There will be no complaints lodged with the Board about Moody's teaching methods, and you will not be heard to complain about them either. Instead, you will take this class as a learning experience, not just in curses and your ineptitude in blocking them, but as a weekly affirmation of the fact that a Malfoy must be able to stand up on his own to his enemies, including Mudbloods. Learn this lesson over the course of this year. I expect that eventually, you will find a way to get Mad-Eye Moody.

The letter was a mixed blessing for Draco. He was pleased about being allowed to stay for the holidays, of course, and it wouldn't be bad to take Rita around to his classes, and he did have his birthday to look forward to. He congratulated himself on not telling Lucius about his plans to make a Pensieve, because once it was finished, he'd be able to destroy Moody and Lucius would be so pleased that Draco had found a way to do so, all on his own. He'd be proud, wouldn't he?

In many ways, the last weeks of school before the holidays were no different than the previous three months had been. Draco spent hours in the library, but thankfully the wards managed to keep out all the other students. He managed to modify them to keep out beetles as well, in case Rita was flying around the school and spotted him with Hermione; Draco still hadn't explained the nature of their relationship to Lucius, and didn't want to take the risk that Rita would.

Of course, if she had spotted them, she wouldn't've assumed they were friends or anything like that, given the lack of conversation between the two of them. Draco was becoming more and more preoccupied by Moody and was poring through a stack of books about Pensieves so he'd be well versed on their history and use by the time Professor Snape was ready to help him build one. Between these projects and his regular schoolwork, he didn't have the energy to dwell on other people.

He did, however, take a few minutes to ask Pansy Parkinson to accompany him to the Yule Ball; of course she said yes immediately. The only problem was that she considered the invitation to mean that she could sit next to him at each meal, in the common room and class, and even in the library. As they were walking back to their respective dorms after their last study session before the holidays, about ten days before classes ended, he complained to Reilly that she was trying so hard to distract him, that he'd had to promise her that he would sit with her at breakfast and in class, as long as she didn't try to talk to him, before she agreed to stop clinging to him all day everyday. "I told her that if she didn't put a few feet between the two of us, Moody would turn on her next, and that I was slipping up on my homework."

Reilly said, "See, that's why you need to date someone who cares as much about her grades as you do about yours. Otherwise, you'll never get anything done!"

"Not many options in our class for that. You're already dating Miranda, I've lost my bet on Viola and that Hufflepuff staying together, and Hermione's already dating Potter."

"No, she isn't. He asked Cho Chang to the Yule Ball, but she's going with Cedric Diggory," Miranda interjected.

Draco was baffled. If she wasn't dating Potter, then who was she going with? Not that lowlife Weasley, who'd probably show up in his regular school robes. Not that sad sack Longbottom either - she had to have higher standards than that. She must've lied to him about going with someone else, but why? It couldn't be that bad to go alone - he'd been perfectly willing to go solo until she'd told him she was already going with someone. Now that he had asked Pansy, he had to go with her; Draco knew that she'd already owled her parents to tell them about their plans, as he'd overheard her at lunch telling one of the fifth year girls about the makeup charm kit her mother had sent to her, but it wasn't going to be as much fun as going alone would've been.

---

One early December morning, Draco waited at the breakfast table, glancing at his watch every few moments, until five minutes before class was scheduled to start. Rita had never made it into the Great Hall. Even though Hagrid was never one for giving detentions to tardy students, Draco didn't want to be the first, so he decided that right after class, he'd go to the Owlery and send a message to Lucius, explaining Rita's absence.

As he walked past the Beauxbatons carriage and paddock, he felt dizzy from the horse fumes; the scent of the whiskey reminded him of the Manor, especially during his parents' parties. He shuddered, more from the cold than from his reverie, and found himself wobbling from the effect as he approached the class, hanging towards the back of the group.

Since they were still working with the repulsive skrewts, most of Hagrid's class tended to stand as far back from the teacher and his demonstrations as possible, so as to avoid burnings and stickings. From where he was standing at the edge of Hagrid's pumpkin patch, near the door to the hut, Draco could hardly hear Hagrid over the wind.

"I'm not sure whether they hibernate or not. Thought we'd jus' try an see if they fancied a kip. We'll jus' settle 'em down in these boxes. . . ." Hagrid said, gesturing to the ten skrewts that sat on the ground around the teacher, tethered to sticks. Each was almost six feet long, covered in thick, dingy coloured armor, and Draco wondered they could manipulate their fire blasters to break through the tethering ropes. With those scuttling legs, they'd be able to run among the students quicker than any of them could escape.

"Next time, I'm bringing my broomstick to class," he muttered. Seamus Finnegan, who was standing on the outskirts of the crowd as well, nodded vehemently. Draco stared, aghast, as Hagrid gestured to a stack of a dozen boxes towards the field; each was lined with pillows and fluffy blankets, and thankfully, each also seemed to have a lid. Good - skrewts trapped in boxes that were charmed to be unburnable were a lot better than skrewts running around on the school fields.

"We'll jus' lead 'em in here," Hagrid said, "put the lids on, and we'll see what happens. Come on, you in the back. Team up - three students per skrewt! Go on now."

Draco briefly debated on what was worse - dealing with mad blast-ended skrewts or dealing with Mad-Eye Moody - and resolved that Moody was worse. At least here, he'd have some help in dealing with the nastier elements of school. He walked towards one sucker-less skrewt, closely followed by Vin and Greg, thinking he would organize and plan the capture of the skrewt, and leave them to the dangerous task of touching the creature, when a loud popping sound made all three of them jump. One of the skrewts was flying in a low circle, spinning backwards but still tethered to the stake. The centrifugal force was enough to pull the tether loose, and the skrewt began rampaging around the pumpkin patch, as its blind movements knocked other skrewts loose.

Within moments, all but one of the skrewts were free, and they set to destroying the boxes, fluffy pillows and soft blankets. With a horrified glance at a decapitated teddy bear, Draco grabbed Vin, who was standing, stunned, and tried to push him towards the hut. A shove from Finnegan helped get Vin moving, and Draco dashed behind the two, looking over his shoulder to assess whether the rest of the class was out of the way of the skrewts.

As he reached the door of the hut he could see Greg inside, with Pansy peeking out behind him. Blaise was already halfway to the castle, Finnegan was darting around the outside of the area, back to the few people that were still in the pumpkin patch. They were all standing very close to Hagrid with their wands out. Draco pulled his own wand out and stood in the hut's back door, hoping that Hagrid wouldn't make them come back outside. The last thing he wanted was another injury in this class.

When one of the Gryffindor girls yelled, "Close the bloody door, Malfoy!" he did, and moved to the window to watch Hagrid and his followers deal with the creatures.

He watched Hermione stun a skrewt with excellent aim to its underbelly, and gaped as Hagrid lifted one of the things right off the ground and threw it into a box that Weasley had repaired with a few bursts from his wand. Martin Kratt, who was obsessed with weird creatures and collected Guinea Fish in a tank in their common room, conjured ropes out of his wand, and waved them around like an American cowboy, managing to capture a skrewt by the stinger and drag it into yet another box.

At one point, when a skrewt was right outside the hut, he and Millicent moved through the class to the door in hopes of stunning the creature through the crack under the door, but Greg grabbed his left arm and wrenched the wand out of his hand. "Are you crazy? If you open that door, it'll get all of us!" he yelled in an almost hysterical tone, pointing his wand at the door and shouting a locking charm. Despite Greg's frenzied aim and general inability to cast charms properly, his spell did hit the door, which looked even more solid than it had before. Now, they were all trapped in the hut.

Draco held his splayed fingers out towards Greg and stepped back, putting some space between his classmate and himself. "Calm down, nobody's going outside now! It's okay," he added slowly, speaking the way he did when he was trying to calm a frightened Pegasus. "I'm just going to go look out the window until they're done, alright?" He put his hand over Greg's, slipped the wand out of his shaking fingers, then pointed the wand at the frightened Slytherin and said, "Sartrennui." Greg dropped into the chair and sat quietly, twiddling his thumbs. "Does anyone else want to overreact?" Draco said to the rest of the class. "No? Good. Then I'm going to watch the fun. We'll unlock the door when they're finished."

Draco walked back to the window, and opened it a crack, wide enough to hear what those still outside were saying. He was a little disappointed that Greg had locked them inside so effectively. Draco reasoned that the heightened emotion of the moment helped Greg's usually weak spell, the same way untrained children manifested their powers during emotional moments. Draco vaguely remembered standing in the middle of Lucius' study when he was too small to see over his father's desk, listening to Lucius fight with his own mother about whether Draco's expressions of magic were an overemotional, sissy reaction, as Lucius thought, or whether preventing emotional outbursts would stunt his magic as he grew. Draco recalled being surprised that his grandmother had won that particular battle.

Even though they were locked in, there would be enough room for Draco to point his wand through the gap in the window and magick a skrewt if he had to, but they seemed to have everything under control. Some of his classmates gathered around, to see what was happening. He heard that Gryffindor girl again, whinging about her fear of missing Divination if the skrewts weren't captured by the afternoon, and mused for a moment about how stupid some of their classes were. The only reason he was even in this class was because Lucius despised Muggle studies and divination. He would go on about how pointless it was, the corruption in every alleged seer he'd ever met, and the ministry's continued refusal to restrict the practice. Of course, a whole page in every issue of the Prophet was given over to horoscopes, because Lucius described himself as a capitalist and businessman first, and a man of principles second.

Draco watched Hagrid shout at Weasley and Potter, who seemed to be backing towards the hut wall around the corner from where Draco was standing. "Don' frighten him, now! Jus' try an slip the rope 'round his sting, so he won hurt any o' the others!"

"Yeah, we wouldn't want that!" Draco heard Weasley shout back, as a torrent of sparks appeared from the other side of the wall. It's amazing - I finally agree with Weasley about something, Draco thought. He turned his gaze to the rattling boxes in the pumpkin patch, realizing that with Weasley, Potter and Hagrid busy around the side of the house, if any of the boxed skrewts managed to escape, he might have to stop them from where he was. Something very colorful caught his eye, and a vaguely familiar voice reached his ears.

"Well, well, well. . . this does look like fun." Rita Skeeter was leaning on Hagrid's garden fence, looking in at the mayhem. She was wearing a thick magenta cloak with a furry purple collar today, and her crocodile-skin handbag was over her arm. Draco recognized the familiar Prophet reporter's pad sticking out of the top of her bag.

"Who're you?" Draco heard Hagrid's booming voice simultaneous with a thud that shook the hut. Hagrid must've captured the skrewt, people said. Pansy, who was sitting at the table in the area which resembled a yacht's kitchen, in size more than in style, picked two broken cups and a jug off the floor and reassembled the pieces with a blue burst from her wand.

"Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet reporter," Rita replied, beaming at Hagrid. Draco could see her gold teeth glinting as they caught the weak winter sun, and shuddered at the effect.

Draco cracked the window a little more. Even though the skrewts were all captured, the one Hagrid held might still escape, and who knew how long the boxed Weasley and Finnegan had made would last. He wanted to go out and greet Rita, as Luicus would've wanted, but thought that if he made another move towards the door, one of his classmates would probably curse him.

"Thought Dumbledore said you weren' allowed inside the school anymore," Hagrid said to Rita as he started tugging the last skrewt over to the others.

"What are these fascinating creatures called?" she asked, beaming still more widely.

"Blast-Ended Skrewts," grunted Hagrid.

"Really?" she asked inquisitively. "I've never heard of them before...where do they come from?"

Hagrid spoke with Rita for a few minutes about the horrible skrewts before the students in the hut were joined by some of the others, including Hermione. Draco tried to catch Rita's eye, to let her know they were locked in and that was why he hadn't come out to greet her. He'd have to tell Luicus in his letter of the day how he'd messed up such a simple task, by missing Rita at breakfast and again at lunch. In his mind, he was already working on the precise language, apologetic with a strong hint of "not my fault," and to the group gathered in the hut, he was asking if they were ready for him to Finite Incantatum Greg so they could get back to the castle.

When the bell rang up at the castle, signaling the end of the lesson, he was already halfway across the pumpkin patch, hoping to reach Rita before she finished with Hagrid, and if he had a chance, speak with Hermione about her giving a summary of what they'd done to collect the skrewts at the next study group meeting. But she was already walking back to the castle, laughing, practically arm in arm with Potter. As Rita said goodbye to Hagrid, Draco glared at the Gryffindors' retreating backs and thought nasty curses involving bad dancing ability at the black-haired boy.

Then, he stood at Rita's elbow as she finished speaking with Hagrid, unwilling to either interrupt or let her get away without his having a chance to speak with her. Finally, she turned away from the skrewts and noticed Draco standing there. She looked at him blankly for a moment, then found her voice. "Little Draco! My, you are growing up well. What are you doing here?"

"This was my class. I'm heading back to the castle now, but..." he paused, looked at Hagrid, who was paying close attention to his conversation with Rita. Draco didn't like Hagrid's class, but it wouldn't do to be rude in front of one of the Prophet's reporters, both because it might be reported to Lucius, and because it could, as Lucius said, harm his ability to edit or manage the reporters in a few years' time. So, in the interest of politeness, Draco asked Hagrid, "Do you mind? Your class is over, and I'd like a few minutes to deal with some pressing business matters."

"Jes have to get back ta th' skrewts an' check on th' boxes anyway," Hagrid said as he waved goodbye to Rita.

She gave him a grand wave and pulled her Quick Quotes Quill and pad from her bag. "One second," she said to Draco, as she sucked on the end of the quill for a moment. "Let me get this down. 'Rubeus Hagrid, Care of Magical Creatures teacher, brings excitement to his students in every class.' How does that sound for an intro, kid?"

"Depends on how you define excitement, I guess," Draco replied as they started walking towards the castle. "Why would you do an article on him, anyway?"

Rita grimaced. "Because your father won't let me do one on Mad-Eye Moody. He said he doesn't want to draw attention to the way he's teaching the class, but I've heard that there's another reason, isn't there? I've been told that you're having a bad time of it in his class, is that true?"

Draco pushed his lips together before answering. He'd recently noticed that he'd been biting his lips from the inside, or, in private, pushing his teeth into his own knuckles and fingers, and it was giving him strange calluses, but it somehow helped relieve some of the stress he was under, almost as if by causing himself to feel just enough pain, he could block out things, like Dark Arts classes, that he didn't really want to think about.

"So, how's Moody's class going?" He could hear her Quotes Quill scratching around in her bag, and guessed that she had it magically expanded from the inside, so it could hold a lap desk and allow her to take notes while walking.

He replied quickly, "It's fine, all my classes are fine, no problems at all with anything." Rita was a reporter, after all. Even though Lucius wouldn't let all of Britain read about his problems in class, she could still report to Lucius that he'd spoken about his school problems in public, and a reaction to that would be bad enough, so he changed the subject. "I was supposed to meet you at breakfast, but you weren't there. Have you really been banned from the castle?"

"Dumbledore told me that I was no longer invited to come inside the building, so I can't pass into the castle through the Protective Field, but he can't keep me off the campus or even off windowsills. Yes, I know your father told you about my little trick," she said, looking at Draco's surprised face; she was so trusting, telling him her Animagus secret this way. "I asked him to, as a matter of fact. I need someone inside, to feed me information, let me know what's going on, where I should look for stories and news."

"You want me to be a spy? On my own classmates?" Draco asked. If Rita'd been banned from school, what was preventing Dumbledore from suspending or even expelling him if he was caught giving stories to a notorious reporter.

"How different is this from those letters you write to your father every day? You don't think he gets things from there to put into the paper, or to investigate, or to use as blackmail?" Draco blanched. Of course he'd seen articles in the paper about things he'd told Luicus about, but he'd never realized that Lucius was basing the news reports on what Draco had said.

He grabbed for an appropriate answer. "I don't want to spend time that I should be spending on revising doing this, and all my father asked me to do for you was take you around school. It doesn't even sound like he realizes that you've been ordered to stay out of the castle." There. She couldn't argue with either of those things. He added, "Plus, there's not much more before the holidays - how long do you plan to stay here anyway?"

"As long as it takes to do what my boss wants."

"Which is?"

"Uh-uh, Draco. You don't get information from me without giving me something I can use. As a matter of fact, why don't we work it that way." Rita gave him a thin smile; her eyes were glittering with secrets. "Lucius doesn't even need to know my side of the bargain."

"What are you talking about?" Now he was completely puzzled.

"If you get me information, story ideas, quotes from your housemates and even your teachers, especially about any of the Triwizard Champions or your professors, I'll give you information - about your classmates, their parents, maybe your professors -I know things about Severus Snape that would make your hair curl." She paused, leaned over and ran her fingers over his floppy hair, as an almost wistful expression crossed her face. "You'd probably look really cute that way. Malfoys with curls are a rare thing indeed."

Draco pulled away. Rita's hands were very creepy, such long fingernails made him feel like they were going to impale his head. "What do I need with anything like that?" He admittedly was curious about these secrets Rita was hinting at, but wasn't sure they were worth the risk of getting into trouble with Professor Snape or even Dumbledore.

Rita made a clucking noise with her tongue, as if she was trying to sound sympathetic or pitying, but didn't have the experience to do it properly. "Let me ask you a question. What do you know about your parents?"

That wasn't the kind of question Draco had expected. "Seeing as we talk and write to each other regularly, and as I read practically everything my father writes, I think I know a lot," he said coldly. They had stopped walking, only a few dozen feet from the steps to the castle, in the shadows off to the right hand side.

"I'll bet you don't know anything that you didn't learn from a book," Rita said. "Am I right? Does Lucius Malfoy sit down with you and tell you old family stories? Does Narcissa ever take you out for lunch and regale you with reminisces about how she fell in love with your father?"

Draco could feel the conversation getting away from him. No, of course they didn't, but was he actually meant to tell one of Lucius' employees that? What right did she have to ask, or to demand answers? He had to tell her something, and in a way that wouldn't insult her or embarrass the family, but all he could think to do was end the conversation as quickly as possible. "Ms. Skeeter, I don't think this conversation is appropriate at all, and I must get back to my schoolwork. I'm sorry, I don't think I can help you right now."

"Run along then, little boy," Rita said, with that same fake sympathetic note in her voice, gesturing to the school. "But I will ask your father to let you know exactly how you can help me. You won't be able to say no then, and I won't have bargained away any information to you, which would give me the best end of the deal. I'll give you one more chance to give me the information I want, then my offer is, well, off."

It was too awkward and too inappropriate to give in now. This might be one of Lucius' tests, since all he'd allowed in his letter was for Draco to bring Rita to his classes, and what she was asking for was so different. It would be safer to ask permission, instead of just trusting Rita, so instead of agreeing to Rita's request, he simply said, "I'll need to check with the home office. If Lucius says I can, I certainly will, but I don't want to go behind his back on this."

"And you don't want to know any secrets? Any of those hidden whispers that nobody lets the children hear? Poor little boy, you're missing so much. So much loyalty - it's so sweet." She touched his hair again, looked around quickly and then - she wasn't there anymore. A tiny beetle rested on Draco's shoulder, then spread its wings and flew away.

As he walked back to the castle, he kept replaying the conversation. Rita was lying about knowing deep secrets, she had to be, he just knew it. His family had been the subject of so much press, so many books, like the one that had just come out about his grandfather, Hostage to Fortune-A Compendium of Malfoy Correspondences. Of course, little things didn't necessarily make it into the public eye, but anything really big, everything really serious - he would've read about that over the years, or someone would've told them.

The wizarding community was too small to keep really big secrets.

---

But somehow, Hermione managed to keep who she was going to the Yule Ball with a secret.

As the Winter Solstice and the start of the holidays approached, the classrooms, halls and common rooms became increasingly jovial, as gossip about the Yule Ball flew everywhere, about who was going with who, where flowers for the girls could be delivered from that weekend, and he even overheard some conversations amongst the girls about what would happen if two of them showed up in the exact same dress robes. People were talking about Dumbledore having booked the Weird Sisters, and part of Draco was impressed, because they were rather popular among the Hogwarts set, even if he didn't think much of their overall musicianship. Kirley McCormack would've been better off sticking with Quidditch. Still, for dancing, it would be fine.

Some of the teachers, like Professor Flitwick, gave up trying to teach them much when their minds were so clearly elsewhere; he spent the last lesson before the holiday demonstrating the wizarding duel maneuvers that had won him national titles thirty years before.

Other teachers were not so generous. Professor McGonagall at least allowed them to transfigure icicles into jewel-coloured Christmas tree ornaments, but nothing would ever deflect Professor Binns from plowing on through his notes on goblin rebellions. As Binns hadn't let his own death stand in the way of continuing to teach, they supposed a small thing like Christmas wasn't going to put him off. Each time he walked into the History classroom, Draco was again thankful for the solid grounding in his nonwizarding magical history, as it allowed him to spend the class revising and duplicating notes from his other lectures. Professors Snape and Moody kept them working until the very last second of their classes too, and Moody, of course, would no sooner let them play games in class than lay off Draco for a day. Staring nastily around at them all, he informed them that he would be demonstrating special holiday curses in their last class, which was enough of a justification for Draco to spend the last week of the term tucked away in the library. None of his study cohorts were there - they didn't have enough to do to justify a meeting, so he managed to get all the way through Fright Of The Reindeer and Holiday Hexes For The Naughty & The Nice in hopes of learning whatever Moody might throw at him.

To some extent, it worked. When Moody cast the Red Nosed Curse at the beginning of class, Draco deflected it onto Millicent, who spent the afternoon in the infirmary, waiting for the glowing light in her nose to fade, and Draco thought he minimized the effect of the Jingle Bells Jinx, which made the victim hear cacophonous, clanging, off key bells in the background, because they weren't very loud. However, the Draco hadn't learned about the Cracker Curse, and for the rest of the day, every time he opened his mouth, two cheap trinkets fell out. Pansy followed him around for a while, collecting the tiny stuffed animals, which, according to Millicent, she arranged so they would parade around her night table.

At least outside the classroom, the Hogwarts staff had created decorations which were as stunning as the ones at the Manor the last time his grandmother had been around for the holidays, when he was eleven. Everlasting icicles had been attached to the banisters of the marble staircase; the usual twelve Christmas trees in the Great Hall were bedecked with everything from jingle bells that sang on key to tiny ornaments of maids a'milking and lords a'leaping who spent their days waving at anyone who passed by. Pansy circulated a rumor that if you went into the Great Hall a few hours after supper, they were doing more than waving, but the next night, the doors to the hall were locked by Filch, and nobody ever learned if she was reporting or fictionalizing.

In the midst of these bits of pre-holiday frivolity, he received a note from Lucius criticizing him for how he had responded to Rita. "Can't you ever take the initiative with anything?" Lucius wrote. "You lost a perfect opportunity to have one of our most inquisitive reporters in your debt, and even worse, you showed the wit of a Jarvey in your descriptions of your classes. I do not want to hear that you've spoken about Mudblood Moody's class with anyone."

So at Lucius' request, a few nights before the end of classes, Draco kept his appointment with Rita atop the Astronomy Tower. It was too cold for most of the students, and Draco was astonished at Rita's ability to endure the cold in her bug form. She certainly was the only "insect" visible outside the castle in these snowy times. Thanks to Draco's wards, after she transformed, they were invisible to any students who did wander up there, and after she set her quill and parchment to take notes, he told her what he'd heard as planned for the Yule Ball, about each professor's lessons, especially Hagrid, Moody and, for some reason, Professor Snape, and made some choice comments about the lack of Quidditch that year.

Rita explained that she was working on a story about the complaints among Hogwarts graduates regarding the absence of Quidditch that year. It seemed that most of the Old Boys and Girls found the Triwizard Cup interesting enough, but not as thrilling or as social as coming back for Quidditch matches, and had complained to the Board and Dumbledore. Rita hoped her article would spur Dumbledore to allow graduates to attend each house's pickup matches, even though there were no interhouse matches.

On the first afternoon of Christmas break, he bumped into Hermione sitting on a sofa in a corner of the almost completely deserted library, reading for fun, and joined her on the couch. He was in the middle of Bradford Meltzer's The Minister of Magic's Counsel, and she had recently started A Calculated Risk by Katherine Velis, when she complained to him that her housemates were pestering her about who her date was. He had been just about to ask her to tell him, but his question stopped in his mouth when she said, "And Draco, thanks so much for not prying and pestering. I don't want to deal with questions about who I'm going with from people - if they really want to know so badly, they can just wait until the Ball."

She'd never shown gratitude like this to him before. It was kind of endearing, for some reason, even though she was acting so guarded about this information. "Hermione, I don't understand why it has to be a secret, but I'll respect your wishes about it."

Hermione smiled, a spark of mischief in her eyes. "Then will you do me a favor?"

"Depends on what I have to do."

"You'll like this one a lot." Her eyes widened as she closed her book and pulled her legs onto the sofa. "You have to be obnoxious to do it properly. I want people to stop asking me about the Ball, and the only way to do that is to get them distracted."

Draco felt a twinge of excitement. "Sounds good so far ... go on."

"The next time you overhear anyone asking me who I'm going to the ball with, you have to act all surprised that somebody asked me at all. Say whatever you want, just make sure you sound like a complete git." Hermione laughed, "You can do that, can't you?"

"It's my best skill, isn't it? Sounds like a treat. You're sure you don't mind who I say it to, though? Even Weasley or Potter?"

"Honestly, Weasley - I mean Ron - is being the worst about it. If I didn't know better, I'd think he wanted to ask me himself, but he's not even going with anyone. I want you to do this in front of Ron as much as anyone else, but he's so clueless about things, I doubt he'd even realize what's going on," Hermione mused.

"So can I be very obnoxious to you?"

"Oh yes! And I'll say something horrible back to you. Let's just hope that none of the Ravenclaws are around - Miranda told me that they are getting sick of us snapping at each other all the time."

"If we fight in public..." Draco began.

"We stay collegial in private," Hermione finished for him. "I know our rule as well a you do, but sometimes things you say in private do irritate me."

"Like the night we talked to Viktor about the study group," Draco noted. "But we can't agree about everything - we just don't. The only person I agree with all the time is Lucius Malfoy." They both sat quietly for a moment, Draco thinking about what he'd just said, realizing he'd have to modify it. Realizing he'd modified it along time ago.

"Do you -"Hermione said, but Draco interrupted her. He wasn't looking at her, but stared straight ahead, towards the back of the library.

"On second thought, I don't agree with him all the time, I just tell him I do. If I really felt the same way as he does, I wouldn't be sitting here now." He turned to look at her as she reclined against the arm of the sofa.

"Then why are you sitting here?" Hermione asked, smiling slightly. "Finally a glimmer of teenage rebellion from the Malfoy heir?"

Draco knitted his brow and pondered his answer. "No, I don't really want to do that. Despite what you may think, I really respect him, and want to make him pleased with me. I want to do what he wants, because that's loyal and honorable, and respectful, and all those other things that most people think are meaningless. He's as close to perfect as anyone I know, and I know that I should aspire to that."

Hermione asked, "When he was growing up, did his father make him do all sorts of extra assignments and stuff? Is that why he thinks it's the right thing to do with you?"

"He doesn't talk about his father very much, nor does my grandmother, at least not about personal things like that." Draco stopped himself before he said anything more. He had never really discussed family with Hermione or anyone else at Hogwarts, not really, not the personal parts, at least. That would be no different than admitting a weakness and a weak Malfoy would humiliate Lucius and the rest of the family. Draco couldn't bring himself to let the side down that way.

Hermione wasn't satisfied with that answer, and pressed the subject again. "Why do you let him put so much pressure on you?" He was about to tell her that he wasn't under too much pressure when she said, "Don't lie to me, Draco, I've seen the way you work and worry and I know the letters you write home."

"It's not too much pressure!" Draco interjected. "Like I said, he just wants me to be as perfect as he is, and I'm anything but. I need his guidance, otherwise I'll be a failure, not just as a Malfoy but as a wizard too. I make mistakes and recognize my failings every day. Some of them I tell him about, and do something about, and others ... they'll just have to wait until I'm ready to tell Lucius, or deal with them on my own. My choice to spend time with you is probably a failing of mine, but I don't want to deal with it now, so if I have to tell myself that you're a pure-blood witch who was accidentally switched at birth, and there's some pathetic Muggle child growing up as a squib, then I'll do that."

Hermione's serious expression turned into a laugh with his last sentence - she obviously thought he was joking. He wasn't. He knew his failings - those he reported to Lucius, and those which he, over the past year, had tried to deal with on his own. Hermione was in the latter category.

Draco had spent too much time thinking about Hermione Granger, but instead of changing what he felt about Mudbloods or wizards from weak backgrounds or ludicrous families like the Weasleys, he'd convinced himself that Hermione wasn't really a Mudblood; she was different, and he had to create an explanation that was consistent with what he'd been taught about Muggles and Mudbloods, and what he saw from Mudbloods like Moody every day, yet wouldn't make it impossible to spend time with her.

But once you've kept a secret for almost a year and a half, turning it over and over in your mind, you've gotten used to explaining every part of it away.

---

As December went on, Draco found his energy slowly ebbing away. He had been able to cope notoriously well with Quidditch, study sessions, and classes in general in terms past, but this year, the added stress of Dark Arts classes, both the nervous expectation about what Moody was going to do to him in any given session, and the hours, if not days, it took to recover from the curse, or series of curses, that Moody put on him, added to his complete exhaustion.

And on top of everything else, Lucius' letters gave Draco a new series of projects set to enhance his Projection talents. Every night, he was to spend time in that state, gradually increasing the duration of his projections and the distance from his dorm that he could go. When he'd first tried, years before, he hadn't been able to get beyond his dorm floor, and later, the common room. By the middle of third year, public areas of the castle where he spent time in his body anyway were accessible, and he found that it was almost as easy to get into the library and Great Hall as it was to move around the Slytherin rooms, although he found that trying to read the books in the restricted section without opening them gave him a headache, as the letters were all pushed together and it took more effort than it was worth to separate them.

This year, though, Lucius had insisted that he work to get into other dorms, teacher's private rooms and offices. Snape's rooms were easy enough - he was open to visits from Slytherin - and even Professors Flitwick's and Sprout's were accessible during their evening office hours, which allowed Draco the unenviable task of observing the Herbology professor chat with Neville Longbottom about the wonders of DRAG-ON, a new kind of plant fertilizer. He wasn't yet able to get into the other common rooms, and could only get into the prefects' bathrooms when an entrance door was actually open, a trick he discovered after days of trial and error.

As usual, the effort of projecting, especially into new places, devastated him physically and mentally, and he always wanted to fall asleep immediately afterwards, but Lucius would want a letter about his progress by the morning, so he dutifully wrote up his report, went to the common room, and called Kira to come to the window to bring the letter to the Manor, or wherever else Lucius was. The faithful owl always returned the next morning with Draco's reward for a job well done - sweets or books - and a response from Lucius, with orders about what to try next.

Between his projects, his homework and his revising, Draco was sleeping less than five hours a night.

He could feel it affect his studying. It was harder to concentrate. It damaged his appetite. He snapped at people. Lunch hour was better used taking a quick nap over his books in the library than eating. And worst of all, after a little over a week of this schedule, it began to mess up his Projections. He was pulled back into himself after fewer minutes away, the breaks were almost jerky, and at one point, Draco feared they were no longer instantaneous. Even since he had first Projected, there had been no perceptible passage of time between the end of a projection and the sensation of being in his body again. Now, when a Projection ended, he didn't feel the familiar snap, but rather, the sensation was one of settling - his limbs tingled and it felt like they were shaking, growing, stretching, almost recreating themselves, his back would ache, and his head would buzz until he fell asleep. It was strange and frightening.

And he didn't want to tell Lucius. Not only was he afraid that his father would be angry about these failures, Draco didn't want to disappoint him. Lucius had spent so much money having this skill taught, so much time creating new exercises, reading Draco's reports, all to help him develop this power, time and money that could have been spent on more important things. Draco thought, I owe it to him to do this better each time, not to slip back, not to mess up. Not to fail.

So, instead of explaining what was happening, Draco tried to find descriptions of his experiences in various books about the art of projection, especially his dog-eared copy of Mulroney Venga's Flight of the Navigator about an explorer from the mid-1800's who had used his prodigious projection talents to explore the depths of Africa, China and Siberia. Nothing helped.

He also worked to couch his failures in the letters he wrote. Lucius never expected him to write about how it felt to end a projection, so it was easy to skip any description of that sensation. And instead of noting how long his projections lasted, he instead wrote about how far from his dorm he traveled, or described the new rooms he saw, conversations he overheard and ghosts he avoided. Since Draco's Projections were always briefer under those circumstances, Draco hoped that Lucius would overlook the limited duration in favor of the gains from such exploration. It never occurred to Draco that his fear over what would happen if Lucius discovered his misrepresentations probably put him under as much stress as he would have felt if he'd told his father the truth about the Projection problems, and dealt with the consequences.

---

Draco woke late on Christmas morning to the disturbing sound of crunching. The window showed that the sun was barely above the horizon and when he pulled his curtains apart to confirm the source of the disturbance, he could see the floor beside his bed littered with Famous Witches and Wizards cards, Morag's Mincemeat Pie wrappers, empty blue bottles of Pixie! brand soda and what looked like a three foot tall can that had held popcorn.

"Can't you take that into the common room?" he muttered, still half asleep and completely revolted.

"No," said Vin. Greg just shook his head, too busy eating to say even one word. "We'd have to share if we did, same thing that happened second year when you had us stay here over the hols."

"I didn't make you stay then, and I don't know why you even decided to stay here this year. It's not like either of you are going with anyone tonight."

The boys finally paused in their binge, and exchanged a puzzled look. "We're here because our parents told us to stay."

It was a simple enough explanation, but they likely thought it was the real one, even if it wasn't. They just weren't imaginative enough to come up with what was probably the real reason - they were there to keep an eye on Draco, not simply in case he needed anything, but also to report back to their parents, who would report to Lucius, any unusual out-of-class behaviour. The only reason this didn't bother Draco as much as it should was because they were a little too dim to notice anything that really was unusual, such as his study partners. It did, however, force him to make his daily reports home as accurate and complete as possible.

Since his parents were half a world away, and owls didn't enjoy traveling so close to the Arctic Circle, he even had a reprieve from sending daily reports this holiday. Instead, he wrote at least a page a day, and was to send all of them to the Manor on the 28^th, so Lucius would have time to read them before their meeting on the 30^th. With a final grimace at the still-growing pile between Greg and Vin's beds, he pulled his curtains shut and set to opening the pile of presents that Father Christmas had placed at the foot of his bed overnight.

New robes, new books (one with a Moke bookcover, which was very useful for reading under the desk in history class) and a new bookbag from his parents, a self-spinning candle-lit kaleidoscope from Narcissa's family in France, from his grandmother, who he assumed hadn't heard about the ferret incident from the beginning of the year, he got a singing stuffed Jarvey which he quickly gagged and shoved under his bed, and finally what proved to be an empty box with a card from Vin and Greg were unwrapped in quick succession. He opened his curtains again after looking inside that box and yelled across the room, "What was in here, and where has it gone?"

Vin at least had the decency to look guilty as he admitted, in stumbling words, that Greg's mum had sent them the box filled with Popping Candy Canes over a week ago, and it had been sitting in his trunk ever since, but that every night, he had slipped one or two of the Canes out as snacks. Draco wasn't surprised - he'd heard an almost identical story from Greg two years before, when Draco never even received the box that had once contained Chocolate Crackers.

He turned back to the last few packages. An envelope from Professor Snape held a small book about the use of Pensieves in colonial India, which had a note inside the flyleaf, hoping that Draco would find the book as useful as the Professor had. And a box wrapped in blue with a white satin ribbon bore a note from Hermione, and held a thick book called One Hit Wizards - Musical Adventures in the Muggle World. It looked fascinating, with photographs that didn't move - they must've been taken by Muggles - and little glyphs which played the songs when he tapped them with his wand. Draco wondered if she had opened the tawny-coloured scarf he'd ordered her from one of the owl-order advertisements in the Prophet.

He stuffed Hermione's present into his new bookbag, then went to shower and change and go down to breakfast, accompanied by Vin and Greg. It was amazing that they could still eat, after devouring all their holiday candy in one sitting. If they didn't get so much exercise chasing the younger students around the grounds, they would be as big as baby whales.

Some of the Slytherins, Draco included, spent the afternoon dropping Flying Snowballs from the top of the Astronomy Tower, which was a great way to mess up various ground-based snowball battles. From his perch atop the school, it looked like none of the students in the snow had any abilities when it came to building snow forts, because they kept getting knocked down and blasted by enemy wands. Lucius had taught Draco how to fortify a snow fortress so it couldn't be destroyed by anything other than the warming sun, and he would've liked to show everyone else how a true snow battle should be run, but none of the other Slytherins wanted to descend to the ground. It was too much fun pelting and hiding, making the warriors think that the flying lumps of snow were coming from the sky.

As sunset approached, he left a few hardy sixth and seventh years in the tower to finish off the rest of the snow, and wandered back towards the dorms, hoping to finally get a few minutes to flip through Hermione's book before he had to get ready for the ball. He was supposed to meet Pansy in the common room a few minutes before eight, and he knew it would take almost twenty minutes to do up all the buttons on the dress robes Narcissa had selected for him.

As soon as he got down the stairs from the tower, he pulled out One Hit Wizards and began paging through the section on Then Jerico, so engrossed that he didn't even notice someone come backwards through the doors, still waving to people outside the castle, until they collided.

Hermione gasped as she stumbled and they tumbled onto the floor in a messy heap. Draco managed to disentangle himself from her legs, and crouched by her side, offering a hand to pull her back upright. When they were both standing again, she pushed her hair from her face, and he could see that she'd tied the scarf he'd given her around her hair.

"Where are you running off to?" they asked each other at the same moment, before breaking into easy laughter at the synchronicity of their questions.

"You first," Draco added.

"I've got to get ready for the Yule Ball," Hermione replied.

"It's going to take you three hours?" Draco asked. "Why?"

"Don't you know never to ask a girl about her getting-ready-for-a-party primping?"

"I've never spoken with a girl before a party before. It's a little outside my zone of experience," he replied.

Hermione said, "So now you know," then paused and touched her hair, adding, " Thanks for the pashmina. It was a really sweet gift. Did you get your book safely? I gave it to a house elf, but they had so much to deliver, I wasn't sure -"

"I got it." He held the book up, to show her that he'd already started on it. "It looks great, and I'm looking forward to listening to it too. Thanks a lot."

They exchanged pleasantries about Christmas morning and the presents they'd received and given. He mentioned the Everlasting Orchid corsage he'd ordered for Pansy, explaining that it seemed to be the Official Slytherin Gift for the holidays, from the boys to their dates.

"You're dropping a hint, aren't you?" Hermione asked with a small smile. "You want to know who I'm going with, before tonight, don't you?"

He shrugged, to show his indifference. "If you were going to talk about it, you would've by now."

"Well, tonight I feel different about it, so I'll give you a hint. I'm going with one of the Champions!" she said brightly.

"Reilly told me you weren't going with Potter," he spluttered. "That liar, I'm going to..."

"No, I'm not," she interjected. "He never even asked me, and he's going with Parvati Patil. And you know I'm not going with that vapid Veela."

Draco laughed, and mused aloud. "You're not going with Diggory, since he's been with the Ravenclaw Seeker for over two years now, so you must be going with ... Viktor?" he finished, his jaw dropping. For the second time this conversation, he asked her "Why?"

"He was the first person to ask me," she said simply. "That day..."

"In the library? They day he came to the table? When I introduced you to him? The first time you ever spoke to him?" Draco's voice had gotten higher with each question, and he almost ended his question with a squeak. He forced himself to lower his pitch. "And you got so angry at me that night," he added, remembering the way Madam Pince buttoned their lips.

All Hermione said was a very quiet, "Yes."

Draco thought back on Hermione's words and behaviour over the past month, and said coldly, "I thought there was something going on. You were acting so strange, especially when Viktor and those troupes of girls were around. So now I know why. Well. Have a nice time."

He turned to go down the corridor before she even had a chance to say, "You too!" and paced his way down to the dungeons, walking very stiffly. Hermione? Going with Viktor? He was almost five years older than she was! He barely spoke any English! He probably wouldn't want to talk about anything but Quidditch! Draco's litany of questions about Hermione's plans for the evening bounced around his head like Bludgers.

Back in his dorm, he forced his attention to his book and then on the task of getting ready for the Yule Ball, pushed all thoughts of Hermione Granger from his mind and focused on thoughts of Pansy and this, his first date. He had read about dates of course, and knew that outside of school, they might include trips to Isola or Café Lola in Diagon Alley, a concert at the museum, or a Quidditch match, but very few of his books gave useful information about a first date at Hogwarts, especially when that first date was a schoolwide event like the Yule Ball.

He would just have to make like a Golden Snidget, and wing it.

It wasn't like he hadn't known Pansy, in various contexts, for a few years. Pansy Parkinson was almost a month older than he was, and already fifteen, with a fine complexion and good-humored countenance; her father's favorite, with high animal spirits, and a sort of natural self consequence, with easy manners and a strange self-assurance. She was far from five feet tall, tiny and light, with a flair for flying her candy apple red BMW (Broomstick MagicWerks) at very high speeds, but only across long expanses of land, because she wasn't very good at turning.

She was fine to talk to for brief periods, but she wasn't very interested in any of the subjects that Lucius had said people should talk about at parties, like politics or books or the ethical justification for Muggle repression, even though she pretended to be, because, as she said, "If it interests you, Draco, then it interests me."

As he'd once overheard Millicent say to Blaise, "Pansy is a girl who follows the Rules."

It was almost eight o'clock when he found her in the common room, looking like a bundle of candyfloss in her the ruffles of her soft pink robes, her hair in tiny curls that framed her face. She really did look incredibly pretty, and as one of the mercenary second year Slytherins snapped their picture at a little photo area he'd set up at one end of the common room (two photos for a Galleon) Draco thought that at least this one thing would please Narcissa when she saw the pictures. On the rare occasions when she wrote to him, her letters usually began and ended with the question, "So have you had a date yet?"; the middle was usually full of statements about his flaws and why they would likely prevent any girl, other than gold diggers, from being seen with him. Even Narcissa couldn't say that about Pansy Parkinson.

Some of the other fourth years, like Blaise, who was taking Eloise Midgen from Hufflepuff, had already gone up to the Great Hall, so when Vin, Greg, Millicent and her escort, who was a sixth year, and Martin and his longtime girlfriend, finished their photo sessions, the group went upstairs.

And as soon as he got into the entrance hall, all his efforts to not think about Viktor Krum and his date were for naught, because the moment he saw Hermione, it took all his force of will to keep from staring.

She didn't look like herself. Her hair was different, the way she stood was different, even the way that she turned towards him while Pansy was occupied by chatting with Eloise, and winked at him, just a little, and very quickly, was different. They usually didn't acknowledge each other in public, at least not in a nonconfrontational way, but the way the castle looked tonight, the lights and the people all so different from their mundane day to day existence, it was easy to forget how to behave, and so reasonable to smile back, just a little.

Pansy broke his concentration when she turned to look at the champions and their dates, saw Hermione and let out a shriek that might have been horror, and might have been disappointment, in seeing one of the girls she disliked the most on the arm of one of the most famous people at the Ball, especially since Pansy herself had tried to attract Viktor's eye earlier that fall.

Better get her out of here before she causes a scene, Draco thought, tugging Pansy's arm to lead her into the Great Hall, just as the massive doors were flung open. Even though she still had a smile pasted on her face, and was looking around, vacant-eyed, at the decorations and the other students, her grip on his hand was like a vise, and her lips were barely moving as she muttered to Eloise under her breath what Draco took to be criticisms of Viktor's vision and sanity and Hermione's likely extracurricular work with love potions.

By the time the girls finished their catalog of Hermione's likely violations of Wizarding Laws and the Witches Code, which Draco took to be something written a few years ago by a sorceress named Helen Fielding, the group was already at a table which was vaguely in the middle of the area where the large Slytherin table was normally situated. A small scene was averted when the spare two seats at the table were filled by two dateless fifth year boys - Jeremy Banwart and Augustine Verdant. They were both dating girls who attended Durmstrang, but since none of the girls from that school were part of the Triwizard guests, they went dateless, rather than have their girlfriends' schoolmates send owls to report their two-timing activities.

Only moments after they settled into their seats, they were back on their feet, as the School Champions entered with their partners. Draco stood to catch another glimpse of Hermione, which was easy as her blue dress robes stood out against the neutral and jewel colors the other champions were wearing. Of course she didn't look as ethereal as Fleur, nor as effervescent as Pansy, but she had the same glowing look about her that he'd seen on her face when she was the first to finish a particularly difficult homework assignment or understand the reasoning behind an enchantment.

When the Champions took their places at the Head Table, Pansy pushed her knee against his leg and whispered, "Stare much?" into his ear.

Draco was a little rattled by this comment. Had he been staring? He didn't think so, but Pansy would likely be very attuned to slights like her date staring at other girls. Draco picked up his gilded menu and avoided Pansy's question, asking instead, "What do you want for dinner?"

Pansy made a show of examining the menu, then said, "I want Pasta Primavera, and I want that Veela to stop sending her charms out over everyone's dates. Please stop ogling her, Draco. You're here with me. Pay attention to me."

Oh hell, she sounded like his mother, all needy and demanding. Not exactly what he wanted on his first date. He glanced at the menu himself, told his plate that he wanted Roast Beast with rice pilaf, and turned to Pansy, trying to sound attentive and focused. "I wouldn't notice if there was a Veela Strip-O-Gram, as long as you're next to me," he murmured. "Besides, only pureblood Veelas have any impact from this distance."

"I think she must have an amulet that extends her Charm," Eloise interjected, and she and Pansy were back onto a discussion of all the ways a girl could get, have and hold a boy's attention and how unfair it was that, given the forbidden nature of love potions at school, there were girls wandering around with Veela blood, bewitching the boys. Draco tuned them out, and looked around the room, collecting observations for his next letter to Lucius. The walls of the Hall had all been covered in sparkling silver frost, with hundreds of garlands of mistletoe and ivy crossing the starry black ceiling. He mentally composed news items about which new couples were there, a review of the meal and the background music, a note that Karkaroff's wife did not travel in to spend the holiday with her husband, and little comments that would give Lucius a good picture of the event. Once the dinners disappeared from their plates, Pansy again chattered in his ear, peppering him with questions about Quidditch, classes, what he thought of the other girls' dress robes, and whether it would break too many school rules to go on a broomstick ride afterwards.

They stood again, at Dumbledore's request, and watched as with a wave of his wand, all the chairs and tables, their lanterns blinking out, zoomed around the students to line the walls, leaving the floor clear. Then he conjured a raised platform into existence along the right wall. A set of drums, several guitars, a lute, a cello, and some bagpipes were set upon it. The Weird Sisters now trooped up onto the stage to wildly enthusiastic acclaim from most of the students, and more muted applause from others. In the Prophet that morning, Rita had written an article about the band and their new Fashion Director, and their hopes for the success of their new line of GrungeRobes™, which was going to be carried exclusively at Gladrags starting in the Spring.

Their first song was a ballad, and Draco couldn't help notice that Potter and Patil danced as if they had never even touched each other before, whereas Chang and Diggory swayed with the obvious unity that comes from years of dancing together. Both he and Pansy sniggered at Hermione's wince when Viktor stepped on her toes within the first three bars of the song, but Draco suspected they had different reasons.

When the song was half-done. Pansy pulled on Draco's arm and led him to one side of the dance floor, a good distance from one of the Weasley beaters, who was jumping around the dance floor with a Gryffindor chaser, and as far from Moody as possible. He appreciated her consideration that Moody not hex them during the Ball, and told her so. She responded by giggling and pulling her arms even more tightly around him. His velvet dress robes were already heavy and warm, and having Pansy so close made him even more uncomfortable. As they spun, he maneuvered them to the edge of the dance floor, where it was a little cooler.

The crowd was a lot thinner there too. To the side, he could see Vin sitting at their table, seven empty Butterbeers littering the table in front of him, just staring at the little Barny the Fruitbat who had jumped off the bottle's label and was dancing on the table. And over Pansy's head, he saw Hermione sitting with Potter and Weasley, who had obviously been ditched by their dates. From the looks of it, she was yelling about something.

Draco watched Hermione jump to her feet. She stormed across the dance floor, passing only a few feet from Draco, and he saw that her face and eyes were red, although it didn't look like she was actually crying. He glanced back at the Gryffindor table and saw that Potter looked surprised and Weasley looked pleased with the fact that she was upset.

Then, Draco did something fiercely unusual for him. He acted on impulse. "Pansy," he began, "will you dance with Vin for a few rounds? He looks pretty lonely over there, and I could use a break and a drink."

Pansy's face twisted into a pout, showing her obvious disappointment. She glanced over at Vin and said, "I don't want him to ruin my shoes, clomping all over the dance floor. That's why none of the girls will dance with him."

"For me, Pansy, please? Just two songs?" Draco looked straight into her eyes and focused so intently on his plea. "I know it's a lot to ask, but..."

"You'll make it up to me later, won't you?" Pansy finished for him, as she stroked her hand along his cheek. "Two songs, then I expect you to cut in and rescue me."

Draco nodded quickly, turned Pansy towards Vin and gave her a little push, then moved as quickly as he could through the crowd, in the direction Hermione had vanished into, secure in the knowledge that at least she hadn't Apparated away, since you can't Apparate or Disapparate at Hogwarts.

She wasn't in the entrance hall, and he realized that if she'd gone back to her dorm he'd never be able to follow, so on a whim, he walked out the front door in hopes of seeing her on the steps or among the topiaries.

The front doors stood open, and the fluttering fairy lights in the rose garden winked and twinkled as he went down the front steps, where the path was surrounded by bushes, winding, ornamental paths, a splashing fountain and large stone statues. He found her sitting alone on one of the elaborately carved benches, and, afraid to sit down, simply knelt down in front of her. It made the bottom of his black robes dusty, he knew, but he didn't much care. He'd send them home with Lucius for a house elf to deal with if he had to.

She didn't look up, so after long moments, Draco finally decided to speak. "What happened in there?" When she still didn't look up or speak, he added, "I saw you run out. Are you okay?"

Finally, she replied. "I don't want to talk about it here. Ron might come out, and I don't want to talk to him tonight. He's an obnoxious, self centered git." She stood up, lifted the skirts of her dress robes off the sparkling path, and moved off to the side, making a movement with her hands which Draco took to be a request for him to join her standing close to the walls. They could hear the faint sound of the music from the Ball and occasionally voices drifted their way through the enchanted grottoes and flora.

Hermione still didn't say anything. Draco didn't know what to say. Why had he followed her out here? Perhaps she wanted to think in peace and quiet, or cry (as girls were wont to do at times) and his presence was preventing that. Or maybe... "Are you supposed to meet Viktor out here? He hasn't deserted you, has he? I saw you talking to Potter and Weasley inside, and I was wondering..." Draco asked.

Hermione interrupted him with a short, sharp sound that may have been a laugh, or a cry. She was still staring straight ahead. "He went to get me a drink. I should go back in and find him, but I need a few minutes by myself, I think."

That was his answer. "Alright, I'll head back in. See you..." he began, touching her right shoulder lightly in his goodbye.

"No," she said simply, reaching up her hand and resting it over his where it lay on her shoulder. "I didn't mean that. You can stay for a few minutes - unless you have to get back yourself." He didn't reply as she turned slightly and faced him, moving her right hand to clasp his arm, as if to keep him from walking away. She was shivering - he could feel it where his hand touched her shoulder - probably from the cold. Her dress robes were too light for the winter weather.

Draco focused on responding to Hermione's last question. "Pansy's off doing her good deed for the year. I can spare a few minutes. Are you sure you don't want to go back?"

"No."

"Do you want to go get a drink? They set up a little bar over by the stone reindeer."

"I'm fine."

They stood in silence for a few moments, listening to the music, the fountain and the noises coming from the now-distant pathway. She shouldn't get upset tonight, Draco thought. I should cheer her up somehow, because if she gets upset and starts crying she'll have a terrible headache tomorrow, like the kinds she was having last winter, and she won't be any use at essay writing or revising or anything. Good music usually helped his moods improve, and while the Weird Sisters didn't quite qualify for him, Hermione might like it. "Would listening to the music make you happy?" he asked.

A ghost of a smile appeared on her face. "Worth a try," she answered shortly.

He took out his wand and with a simple Sonorus charm, made one of the stones in the castle wall pulse with the Weird Sister's ballad, "Two Way Street."

Hermione still looked miserable. Was it the song? "You're not having much fun, are you?" he asked.

"I'm missing the dancing," said Hermione, with what sounded like sudden realization. "And I was looking forward to it."

"You don't have to miss it," Draco replied. "You're almost dancing right now. With me. Sort of. Is that okay?" Hermione nodded, and moved her other hand onto Draco's shoulder. He began to move his as well, and then stopped when he heard a familiar voice.

"I think you're overreacting." They both jumped as the voice of Professor Snape shot through the bushes. They were frozen to the spot as they heard him move around the corner, but couldn't see or hear who he was talking to as he said, "I just don't ..."

"This is..." said Draco, at the same time as Hermione said, "I'm afraid..."

"It's too public," she finished.

"It doesn't have to be," Draco retorted gently. "I did remember to bring my wand. Just give me a moment." He stepped back for a moment, and set wards up to protect them from wandering eyes and enchanted the stone they were standing on to provide warmth despite the chill air. With the amplified music, it was easy to enjoy their own little dance floor. She moved her hands to his arms this time, and his rested on her hips, and they just swayed to the music, no conversation, no real thoughts, no real awareness, for a brief moment by the wall.

Draco wasn't sure, afterwards, how long they'd been out there. Hermione had stopped shuddering, and he wasn't aware of anything other than the scent of vanilla from her hair and a soft swaying feeling, until an accented voice broke into the scene.

It sounded like Viktor was asking people, "Where is Hermowninny?" For the second time that night, Draco and Hermione jumped simultaneously, startled by the break in this peculiar passing moment.

Hermione seemed to have a brief crisis of conscience, as she said, "I should go let him find me. It's not his fault that I didn't want to stay inside. Thanks for the pick up, I mean, the pick me up." She pulled away and stepped through the wards towards Viktor, before Draco could even say a word.

He watched her call out to Viktor while taking down the wards. No reason to leave them up and risk somebody bumping into the castle, he thought, brushing a bug off the side of his high collar. Viktor spotted Hermione and stepped towards her in that ungainly, duck footed way of his, saying, "There you are! I thought I had lost you. Come back and dance with me!" The Seeker put his arm around her and led her back to the castle doors, as she glanced back towards Draco with one more smile.

Draco followed them back through the doors, a few steps behind, pleased that he'd been able to cheer Hermione up and prevent her from losing hours, or even days, of studying time in post-crying headaches. Viktor never even saw Draco following them, but as soon as he went into the entrance hall, Pansy did. She looked petulant, and her arms were folded over her chest as she stood with a Durmstrang boy Draco didn't know well, and Eloise and Blaise.

When he approached them, but before he could speak, Pansy took his arm and led him towards the wall by their staircase, hissing accusatory questions under her breath. I must've been out there a long time, he thought, for her to be this upset. Pansy launched into a tirade that lasted at least seven minutes, and Draco would've bet that she didn't stop to breathe once. She complained about the state of her shoes and the hem of her dress robes, which Vin had desecrated, about the unfairness of being left alone for two whole dances, his meanness in ignoring her and wandering off, and the importance of being at the ball when the band played her favorite song, and his selfishness at forgetting that, even though not five minutes before he'd left, she had told him that she had requested it.

Luckily, his experience at getting through Narcissa's speeches allowed him to convince Pansy that he really did care about her, didn't intend to hurt her feelings, was deeply sorry for the problems Vin had caused to her clothing, and had lost track of time when he went outside to cool off because she made him feel really hot.

Her reaction to this comment of his was completely unexpected. Pansy threw her arms around his neck, kissed him in front of everybody, and practically dragged him, stunned and gaping, back into the Great Hall and onto the dance floor, where she spent the next hour dancing around him, as he tried to keep up with her bouncy movements. The loud music and fairy lights made it difficult to think.

At various intervals, he noticed Hermione, variously dancing or sitting with Viktor, all her attention seemingly focused on her date. For one brief moment, as Viktor looked away, her eyes found Draco's and she smiled and mouthed a quick, "Thanks!" before turning back to Viktor again.

By the end of the Ball, Draco was exhausted by Pansy's exuberance, and said as much as they walked back to the dorms. It wasn't unusual for the Slytherins to continue a school party in the dungeon common room, and Draco usually enjoyed the break from his ordinary routine. However, on this night, all he wanted to do was sleep for hours, ideally all the way through Boxing Day. With no classes, and Lucius so far away, his usual obligations were absent, and he wanted to take advantage of it.

It took a promise to Pansy that he would be her date for the New Year's Eve celebration the following week, before she let him go up to his dorm. As usual, he got ready for bed mentally composing his next letter to Lucius, but this night, between the dance, if he could call it that, with Hermione and the kiss with Pansy, there were going to be a few things that might be hard to phrase.

---

For the rest of the break, various house activities and family responsibilities conspired to keep him out of the library, and for a few days, off school grounds entirely. All through Slytherin house, people had decided that was time now to think of the homework they had neglected during the first week of the holidays. Everybody seemed to be feeling rather flat now that Christmas was over - everybody except Draco, that is, who was starting to feel slightly nervous about his upcoming trip to Hogsmeade. He managed, however, to arrange a short meeting during Professor Snape's office hours, where Draco told him that Lucius didn't know about their plans to create a Pensieve, and wasn't to be told about it, which relieved at least some of his anxiety about his birthday dinner.

Over the next few days, Draco went through his pile of copies of the letters he'd sent to Lucius that term, especially the journal he'd kept while Lucius and Narcissa had been away, scrambled to read through the five Christmas presents he hadn't opened yet, and caught up on a few issues of the Prophet, all in preparation for his birthday dinner.

The morning of the thirtieth dawned bright and clear, and a fresh layer of snow had fallen overnight, leaving the ground blanketed in a crunchy white wonder. Professor Snape, who would not be joining the Malfoys until the evening meal, allowed Draco to fly his Nimbus to Hogsmeade alone right after breakfast, in accordance with Lucius' request. Draco packed his papers, dress robes, Quidditch garb and other clothing into a Miniature Suitcase, which had almost unlimited space inside, but weighed very little and didn't throw off his balance on the broomstick when he secured it with a hook just above the tail.

It was almost blinding to fly over the snow, with the wonderful sensation of speed and exhilaration leading him from the castle, through the streets of Hogsmeade to the Newport Inn.

Thankfully, his arrival at the Inn was timely, and he had a few minutes to organize his things in his room in the family's three bedroom suite before he was due down the street at the Prophet offices. Lucius had obviously checked in already; one of the house elves always traveled with him, because Lucius didn't trust hotel staff with his belongings, so Draco didn't have to worry about unpacking. He hadn't put anything Lucius shouldn't see in his satchel anyway. The elf handed him a folder of papers that Lucius had left for him to review - maps from his Sasquatch hunt, a few issues of the American magazine Newswizard, a checklist of things Draco was supposed to have accomplished during the term to date.

He was able to cross off many of them, such as "get extra points for Slytherin in Potions" and "win all House Quidditch matches", but others, like "learn how to transfigure a hawk into a handsaw, and "perfect Starfish and Stick hold" couldn't be marked off. And he didn't waste a moment of thought on the discussion they'd be having about Dark Arts classes.

Draco shook his head to banish thoughts of Moody - it was the holidays, after all, and he was out of the castle, albeit briefly, for this ... what was a it? A meeting? A vacation? A birthday celebration? Probably more of the first two than the latter, he reasoned, as he walked across Hogsmeade from the Inn to the offices. He enjoyed the brisk air and sunshine, and used the twenty minute stroll both to focus his thoughts on answers to the questions Lucius would probably ask and to flip through the new stack of papers.

When he reached the building, it was almost deserted. Since this was just a satellite, it was always much quieter here than in the Diagon Alley offices - it was more of a hangout for the witches and wizards who covered Scotland and the Hebrides, including the one wizened warlock who was obsessed with Muggles who tried to get evidence of the Kelpie in Loch Ness. The Office of Misinformation frequently tried to subpoena the warlock's notes, but the paper's attorney, Suzanne Lilac, always had the demands overruled.

These days, it was also Rita Skeeter's base of operations, and as Draco approached Lucius' open door, he heard her loud laughter mixed with, surprisingly enough, a sound that had to be Lucius really laughing. Draco had heard that sound so infrequently that he could barely place it in context.

He didn't really want to knock and interrupt them, but if Lucius looked up, he'd know Draco was there, so his options were only to interrupt or openly eavesdrop, and the unknown consequences for an interruption, especially when an employee was around, couldn't be worse than the consequences for eavesdropping. So he rapped softly on the door frame, and gazed into the room.

Lucius was in his chair behind the desk, tipped back so his legs were resting on the desk edge. Rita was in one of the visitor chairs, her bag spilling parchment, quills and a few green leaves over the floor. They both held crystal glasses filled with an emerald coloured liquid - Draco assumed it was the Effervescent Re'em Martin that Lucius tended to drink during the day, which supposedly gave him extra energy so he could work late into the night if he needed to. Draco had never been allowed to taste it, because, as Lucius said, it was too expensive to be wasted on him.

Draco stood in the doorway and gazed around the office. He hadn't been here since second year, when Lucius' trips to Hogsmeade were almost monthly occasions, as he had regular School Governors' meetings, and the office hadn't changed much since then. It was a perfectly round room in the middle of the floor, and the crystal clear walls could be given opacity with a simple twist of the Lucidity Knob by the door, although the ceiling remained clear. Now, the walls were almost invisible, so he waited as Lucius finished what he was saying to Rita and told him to come in and sit on the ottoman over to the side of the office. Draco was surprised that Lucius had brought the chair set from his den at the Manor; he'd never done that before, and it made Draco nervous. He chewed on his finger for a bit, and looked around the office at some of the weird new pieces Lucius had hung around the room. Some were even on the walls.

Lucius' voice brought him out of his reverie. "Did you tell Rita anything about last year's Hippogryff attack?" he asked. Draco sprang to his feet and answered honestly, that he hadn't, and Lucius smiled, and said, "Good. I want you to describe for her how you followed all the instructions from that giant who calls himself a teacher, and how you were still nearly killed." Lucius went on dramatically, "My only son, brutalized by a mad beast."

But Draco didn't really hear the last sentence. "Giant?" he asked, his eyes as large as teacups. "Hagrid's a giant? How?" he asked stupidly.

Lucius asked in a voice that mimicked Draco's, "'How?' Draco, you ought to take your head out of those schoolbooks once in a while." He turned to Rita and noted, "He's been working so hard to be at the top of the class, he has a tendency to tune other things out. But it's worth it, isn't it, son, being number one in Potions and battling for that spot in every other class?"

This was a familiar pattern when they were in public. At such times, Lucius couldn't praise him enough, talking up his grades, running through a litany of parlor tricks to show off his photographic memory, and Draco knew perfectly well how he was supposed to respond.

He said to Rita, "I'm only doing so well because my father is so generous with his time and attention, and focuses so much effort on me. All I want to do with my life is live up to the family's expectations and make him proud of me." Over Rita's head, he saw Lucius smile, just a little.

Rita broke into coughs, as if she was choking on her drink, but recovered herself quickly. Lucius handed her a glass of plain water and said, "That's enough chit-chat for now. Back to the matter at hand - Draco, explain to Rita what happened last September."

He started in with the same story he'd written down as testimony before the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, how Hagrid brought the animals out the first day of class, how that teacher's pet Harry Potter had obviously colluded with him before class to show up the other students, and how the hippogriff had attacked him, out of the blue. But what would you expect from the pet of someone who probably restrained himself from eating children every single day? How could Dumbledore let someone like that around students? Finally, he spoke about his long recovery - not quite as long as everyone thought, but still not easy, as the beast had ripped his arm muscles pretty badly.

"And while bones can be healed with a potion, and skin with a charm, almost impossible to speed muscles and ligaments to knit together," Rita noted. "You poor little woobekin," she added, looking at Draco with an expression of complete sympathy that he couldn't quite believe. When she glanced down at her notes for a moment, he caught Lucius' eyes and shrugged slightly, communicating his disgust with Rita's failed attempt to be sweet and understanding. The pretense didn't fit her at all.

Then, Rita asked him some questions about Hagrid as a teacher, and what they had learned in class. Draco replied, "By the time I came to class again, which I think was some time in October, we were done with the dangerous creatures for the year, and spent months feeding lettuce to flobberworms. It was really boring and I don't think we learned anything for our O.W.L.'s, which makes me more than a little nervous. I've done a lot of reading on my own, as have some of my classmates," he noted, thinking of Hermione, "but we all hate the way Hagrid is teaching the class, but we're just too scared that he'll mark down our grades to say anything. I would never dream of criticizing a teacher to his face, and since Hagrid was away last year when he was supposed to be handing out our class evaluations, we never had a chance to complain anonymously."

"How were your exams last year? What did he test you on, if you hadn't learned anything?"

Draco felt Lucius' eyes on him. Draco had deliberately avoided telling Lucius about the third year Magical Creatures exam, because he guessed that the reaction to such a silly test would probably include two or three long summertime essays on more interesting beasts, but now, he had to. "We had to keep flobberworms alive for an hour. There was no way to get anything but a perfect mark on it, since it's pretty difficult to kill one of those things. But during the test my friend Vincent Crabbe kept poking his, and it ended up that he got a bad bite off one, which is pretty stupid unless your MQ is the same as a flobberworm. I know they don't have teeth, but it took him until lunch to get the slime off his hand." Draco shuddered a little at the memory of Vin mucking up everyone's books and parchment, but relaxed a little as no reaction to the exam summary was forthcoming.

Lucius was beginning to look impatient with the interview, and interrupted Draco's story. "Skeeter, will that be enough for you? I want this ready to run the day before school starts, so we can hawk a bunch of papers to the parents of the younger students at the Hogwarts Express."

"Oh, it'll definitely be ready, sir. It'll hit the school like a Bludger Backbeat, if you want it to."

"You've got the right idea, Skeeter. Now, will you leave us for a few minutes? I haven't seen my son in months."

"Of course, Mr. Malfoy. I'll get started out here straightaway, should I? Do you want me to have a draft for you by the time you leave tomorrow?"

He nodded in her direction, his conversation with her at an end. Draco could feel all of Lucius' attention shift to him, and he focused on keeping his hands in his lap and looking straight across the room. If he broke eye contact, Lucius would probably say that he'd lost his strength and focus, and Draco knew he hadn't. Somehow, he had to make it clear to Lucius.

Lucius stood up, opaqued the walls and moved from behind his desk to the chair by Draco. Draco had prepared himself for a Talk, but it was so strange to see the familiar furniture from home in this office setting. He didn't dare ask why Lucius had moved the things from his den's alcove to Hogsmeade, but he assumed it was only temporary, and everything would be back where it usually was when he next went home.

Finally, Draco felt that pulling his gaze away from Lucius would not be hazardous, and he moved to the edge of the ottoman, his hands gripping the side so tightly. He fought to hold his memories about the things Lucius had sent him to read, the papers he'd flipped through on his way to the Prophet and every word of his recent letters where he'd be able to access them quickly and easily when Lucius asked him a question.

This was the first time that he'd gone into a Talk with Lucius knowing that he was going to lie. Usually, he just couched situations in less damning terms or altered his opinions mid-flight, but minimization wasn't a falsehood and his opinions were uninformed, unenlightened things, so far away from factual, and not like Lucius' at all. He felt so peculiar lying to Lucius, even though he knew he had to lie, because telling the truth would only get him into more trouble.

Lucius settled onto his chair, and looked the opposite of relaxed as he moved forward and crashed his forehead against Draco's. Through the bright red haze behind his tightly closed eyes, Draco wondered what spell Lucius used so he didn't hurt himself when he did this. Draco had never seen him perform a head protecting charm or use a pain dampening potion before a Talk. This was simply another manifestation of Lucius' extensive power and awe-inspiring strength.

Once Lucius' questions began, they didn't stop. After almost two hours going through all the books Draco had read that term, practically page by page, they took a brief break. Lucius Summoned some Butterbeer from the Coolerator for Draco and another glass of Re'em Martin for himself. From the bumps and the force of holding his back and shoulders in the same position for so long, his whole body was aching, but at least the Butterbeer helped his dry mouth. He felt like he'd been talking for years.

For those few minutes, Lucius was a different person. He chatted casually and easily about the weather, the excellent Quidditch match they'd seen the day before they went on the Sasquatch hunt, and how spectacular the Meteors show afterwards had been. "The next day, the Muggle papers were full of stories about the spectacular Aurora Borealis. Stupid beasts, they can't appreciate anything properly." Draco listened while rubbing his neck and stretching his shoulders with small movements that he hoped Lucius wouldn't notice. He tried to make his drink last, because he knew that as soon as he swallowed the last sip, Lucius would start the Talk again, but Lucius grew impatient and pulled the bottle from his hand when it was only half empty.

He pulled Draco's shoulders and held his arms in close to his body, bringing their heads back together, then started asking about Draco's classes, his failures with portions of the Projection projects and the Yule Ball. When Draco fumbled for an answer, or said something that wasn't in complete compliance with what he'd written in an earlier letter, Lucius was displeased. At least with the falsehoods he told to mask his failure at extending the lengths of his Projections, he'd practiced the words he planned to use so many times so he could memorize them well enough that saying those words would be automatic. Draco didn't think that Lucius noticed his misrepresentations - at least, he didn't respond to them any differently than he reacted to the truthful statements. Of course, his Projections were the only thing he could actively lie about, because nobody else at school could follow up on him. Not mentioning Hermione was different, since he wasn't actually lying about what they did in study group, he was just neglecting to mention that she was part of it.

Between questions, Draco sometimes heard Rita's voice, or another staffer outside the office, and his stomach tightened when he overheard the receptionist announce the delivery of prawn and pineapple pizzas, but he couldn't afford to let his mind wander.

The light coming in through the ceiling was almost gone when Lucius finally stood up and stretched. Draco was surprised at this demonstration of discomfort. Lucius always said that it was a weakness to show a physical ache, because it would let your enemies know what troubled you, which was stupid and ignorant and wholly unwise. Draco took his cue from Lucius and raised his arms over his head, trying to get some feeling back into his limbs. In less than a blink, Lucius was behind him, and grabbed Draco's wrists and held them in the air, pulled just a little too far back. "Don't." was all he said as he looked down into Draco's now-upturned face. Long moments passed, with neither of them saying a word, while Draco fought to keep from showing the pain on his face or even squirming, even though his arms felt like deadweight and all he wanted to do was pull them down and collapse onto the floor and rest.

Finally, Lucius dropped Draco's arms with a swoop, and Draco tumbled backwards across the ottoman. He didn't want to do anything but lie there and breathe, but Lucius demanded he stand up and get his cloak. "You've taken up enough of the afternoon," he said, "and we're going to be late for dinner if we don't get back to the Inn. Quite unfortunate, as I was looking forward to seeing whether your Quidditch maneuvers have improved. That will wait until tomorrow." A pinch of Floo Powder sped Draco on his way to the hotel lobby, while Luicus Apparated directly to their rooms, and was already ensconced in his bathroom by the time Draco got upstairs.

Narcissa was in her room, working out on the Charmed Steps she had conjured in front of the fireplace. Draco didn't interrupt her, partially because the room was stifling hot, and partially because Narcissa hated interruptions while she was concentrating on exercising. He told the elf to let her know that he was back, so she shouldn't worry. Draco knew that even without the message, she wouldn't. She only concerned herself with his whereabouts when Lucius told her to.

A note on Draco's night table told him to be in the house bar by seven o'clock. Good. He had over an hour on his own. He was starving, thirsty and exhausted, and wished he could deal with all three at the same time, but he didn't really have time for a kip in the first place. He pushed all memories of the afternoon to the back of his mind and, through the fireplace, ordered a cheese tray. While he waited for the Inn Elf to knock on the door, changed into a bathrobe and turned on half a dozen faucets in his bathroom. When his snack arrived, he brought the plate in and rested it on the counter, breathing in the eucalyptus steam. He thought about Lucius' performance review and determined to spend the next morning writing out a twenty inch long parchment of Birthday Resolutions. Most wizards made resolutions for the New Year, but as both of their birthdays were so close to the holiday, at Lucius' suggestion, they always took a few days to perfect Draco's list and allow him to return to his ordinary school routine before implementing the plans and resolutions.

Once he'd calmed his stomach pangs, he stepped under the waterfall faucet and let the steaming hot waves roll over his head and back, easing away the aches. In this moment of relaxation, every word, every order and instruction and demand and claim and requirement and limitation and wish Lucius had said during the afternoon flooded his mind in a cacophony that almost drowned out the roar of the water. He leaned against the warm tiled wall and slid down to the floor, the water still pouring over him, his palms flat against the wall and his face turned towards one of the other faucets, which was spraying a light mist into the room, and let the liquid from the pipes keep the water from pouring out of his eyes.

He felt disgusted at himself for being so weak that he couldn't handle a few hours with the man he idolized, especially when Lucius was only trying to make him stronger, better, smarter. He had to put himself back together, he thought after a few minutes of self pity. They would be having dinner in public, Narcissa would have to be placated, one of his professors would be there, he couldn't embarrass the family tonight. He'd never get to sleep if he did, and he so wanted to. The water really had helped the muscle pain, and he could almost turn his neck from side to side perfectly again, and his headache was barely noticeable, except just above his eyes. Everything was going to be fine, he told himself as he stood up and hit one of the faucets for emphasis. This evening was for him, for his birthday, and he was going to enjoy himself.

---

Lucius and Narcissa were both downstairs by the time Draco came back into his bedroom to find his robes hanging near his bed. He'd brought one of the new dark green wool sets he'd received for Christmas, as they were less fancy than the formal dress robes he'd worn to the Yule Ball and more well made than his uniform robes. They were charmed to be warm outside but weren't stifling indoors, which enabled him to leave his cloak in the suite without fear that an after dinner walk around Hogsmeade would send him to Madame Pomfrey for a Pepperup Potion.

He expected to find everyone at the bar, but when he went downstairs, the Major Domo informed him that his party had already gone to their table, as the rambunctious Magpie fans were listening to their team over the WWN and his mother had been concerned that the Fiery Scotch would set her hair alight. As Draco joined the table, he could tell from Lucius' look that he was displeased that Draco had joined the table after everyone else was seated.

Lucius and Narcissa were at a round table in the middle of the room, joined by Professor Snape. Draco watched as a steady stream of witches and wizards came by the table, to show deference to Lucius, admire Narcissa's dress, applaud her work on the Levitating Golf tournament the month before (as only wizards and witches could play golf in the snow, some of the most wonderful courses around Scotland were reserved for their use during the winter), praise his recent article on the importance of trade with sub-Saharan Ministries of Magic and congratulate the family's recent divestiture of Obscurus Books. He behaved perfectly, speaking only when spoken to, smiling at everyone who clapped him on the shoulder to wish him a happy birthday and asked how school was, nodding politely whenever a visitor complained about the low standard of students these days, how Hogwarts was going downhill and precisely why the old fool should be removed as Headmaster, again. In reality, though, most of the words washed over and through him, as he focused his attention on the bread basket and menu, and wished that he'd had the nerve to read a book under the table, the way he did so often at the Manor. Professor Snape looked distinctly uncomfortable with the conversation at times too, and ducked behind his menu when the Subcommissioner of the Revenue Division stopped by to chat.

The Newport Dining Room was unusual for a wizarding restaurant in that it had waiters. It was a tradition, as the first proprietors, back in 1503, noticed the complaints from their customers that if they didn't order from their plate quickly enough, or had a special request, their food would not be served the way they wanted it. Most of the staff were Mudbloods, recently graduated from Hogwarts, working not only for the money, but to get an understanding of the wizarding world. Hogwarts just couldn't teach everything.

When their first course soups arrived, Lucius let everyone know that he wanted some private time with his family and their guest, and the crowd quickly dissipated. He asked Professor Snape about the goings on at Hogwarts, and Draco could see Lucius comparing what the professor said with what Draco had told him earlier in the day. Draco tried not to visibly react as Lucius' mouth tightened when Professor Snape made a comment about Professor Vector that conflicted with the characterization Draco had given. Narcissa was barely involved in the conversation, except when they spoke briefly about Quidditch, and Draco was rarely asked a question, and therefore said very little.

When they were halfway through the main course, though, Lucius turned his attentions to his son. "A letter arrived while we were out of town that I wanted to speak about with you. The Department of Magical Cooperation is asking whether the Prophet has in its archives any copies of the Alexandria Papyrus. Do you remember what that was?"

"First published almost thirty five hundred years ago, the Alexandria Papyrus was the first wizarding newspaper distributed to the public. It was initially written in hieroglyphic form, and in its second millennium, two editions were published daily, in Egyptian and in Greek. It won awards for its in-depth investigations of cracked foundations at the Gaza pyramids and first reported the failed memory charm used against the Muggles who saw the Sphinx, and created that terrible reproduction in the desert," Draco recited from memory.

Lucius smiled and went on. "Barty Crouch asked me for a favor, and since I want him to owe me one day, I told him I'd see what I could do." Lucius pulled a letter from his pocket and unfolded it on the table so Draco and Professor Snape could see it. "It seems the Egyptian ministry has uncovered a cache of ancient papyruses, and they're understaffed when it comes to determining the details they contain. They're keeping this under the carpet, because they don't want a lot of people going down there on treasure hunts, it causes too much trouble for their waste of money Muggle Memory Charm squad. Barty asked us to review the Prophet's files to find anything relating to the Papyrus, to see if we could find any articles from the time the cache was originally buried."

"Did you find anything?" Draco asked, intrigued by Lucius' descriptions.

"We've got a folder full of records, but I can't spare anyone to go through them. I thought you might want to take on the project."

Draco certainly did, and told Lucius so. Even though he was already so busy with classes and projects, this kind of research was just the type that he enjoyed burying himself in. He did want a little more background information, though. "Do they have any idea what the papyruses are about at all?"

"All I was told was, the runes deal with spells that incorporated mummified bodies, and they need to know the details of the spells, and learn whether any more modern texts discuss whether the spells were ever modified to integrate decomposed bodies."

"Lucius! This is not a conversation I want to have over dinner," Narcissa complained. "Draco, why do you encourage him?" She glared at her son and her husband, and pushed her plate away, moving her drink directly in front of her. "That's the end of dinner for me, and thank you both for ruining a perfectly good meal."

"Narcissa, please. We're with company," Lucius said, looking pointedly at Professor Snape. Draco rested his fork on the side of his plate and waited for the confrontation to be over. Narcissa didn't answer her husband, but lifted her drink and downed the rest in one swallow. She replaced it on the table and quickly excused herself.

Lucius tried to smooth things over. "Severus, I apologize for my wife. She's under a bit of stress right now, with all the organization she's been doing for the Candle Parade tomorrow night. It's a drain on her energy."

Professor Snape seemed eager to move the conversation back to the Papyrus texts, and quickly asked Lucius, "What does the ministry want to do with the spell?"

"The letter doesn't discuss that, but I can't see how it matters. There were loads of spells involving mummified bodies in ancient times, weren't there, son?"

Draco took this as his cue to describe the unusual charms and complicated hexes the Egyptian wizards had used in their tombs, many of which were placed on the bodies themselves, to keep Muggles and even other wizards away. Professor Snape interrupted frequently with observations about the potions created in those ancient times, and Lucius looked as if he was having as much fun as he did at a Quidditch match.

The conversation went on in this vein through dinner, which ended with Draco's Chocolate Euphoria Birthday Cake, which was charmed to bring a night of pleasant thoughts and wonderful dreams to anyone who tried a bite. Narcissa was forgotten, and Draco even managed to push back thoughts of the afternoon's Talk as he sipped a cup of Cambia tea.

As they finished, Lucius ended their discussion by asking, "Severus, will you join me in the bar for one more drink?" The professor agreed, and told Lucius that he'd meet him at one of the tables far away from the celebrating Quidditch fans. Draco thought he saw Narcissa in the middle of the group, but when he blinked, he realized he must've been wrong.

Lucius leaned down to speak to Draco. "We still have a lot to do in the morning before I have to go back to London. We'll have breakfast at five, then finish your Resolutions and talk a little more about this project. I don't want you to speak to anyone about it, Rita and Snape included, without my direct authorization."

Draco was exhausted, hardly able to think anymore, but somehow managed to say, "If you authorize it, I'll want to see it in writing, with the family seal on the envelope. I don't want anyone to try to get something past me."

Lucius smiled at that and sent Draco off to bed, saying, "Bright boy, it's good you're so cautious. It's the only way to keep from being trapped in someone else's spider web."

The dreams that came to Draco that night were pleasant ones. He had won the Quidditch Cup for Slytherin, and as he beamed, and held the cup over his head, he saw Lucius and Narcissa in the crowd, nodding proudly and speaking to the witches and wizards standing near them. Even though he was half a pitch away, in the way one could hear in dreams, he heard Lucius and Narcissa clearly. "That's our son," they said.

The last day of the year was almost as bright and snowy as the previous day had been. Lucius began the day by starting Draco on his list of resolutions and challenges for Draco to fulfill and accomplish in the new year, including perfecting his Wronski Feint and working on the Alexandria project. Draco was relieved that Lucius seemed to be off his "less sleep, more work" kick, and didn't mind if he had seven whole hours of sleep a night. It was a surprise, too, when Lucius announced that he was to avoid Projecting until further notice; during their Sasquatch Hunt, an Inuit mediwizard had told Lucius that their research and historical tradition prohibited Projection "while the snow flies, for the spirit may be consumed by ice." Draco was relieved, not because he'd been concerned about Projecting in winter, but because it would free up some much needed time, and let him stop writing lies in his letters.

While Lucius visited the Prophet offices, Draco finished writing his lists, and before Lucius went back to London, they visited Quality Quidditch Supplies to look at training gear. Lucius arranged for them to send to Draco at school a set of balancing weights and a Paint Bludger, which didn't hit with excessive force, but stained one's robes, and was designed to train a Seeker in avoiding real Bludgers.

The last thing Lucius spoke about before he left was a final instruction about the Alexandria project. "Another letter came from Crouch this morning. I sent an owl to his house last night before I went to sleep, telling him that I had arranged for you to do the research, and I got an owl this morning that you have to get a pass to the Restricted Section from Mad-Eye Moody."

If Draco hadn't been sitting, the buckling of his knees would have dropped him to the floor. See Moody voluntarily? Outside class? Did Lucius want him to spend a week in the hospital wing, recovering from a surfeit of curses? Finally, he managed to choke out, "Why?"

"I don't know."

Draco was surprised. He had never heard Lucius say such a thing. "But I already agreed that you'd do this," Lucius continued, "and I don't want to go back on it now. It's too minor an issue and you're too unimportant for me to raise a ruckus about this."

"Can't I get started without Moody's help and if I get stuck, go to him?"

Lucius looked at the letter and at the strained expression on Draco's face. He sounded resigned when he said, "You have until the middle of February. If you haven't finished then, you'll have to talk to Moody about it. I don't like it any more than you do, it's bad enough that you have to deal with that Mudblood in a classroom." Draco grimaced and bit his lips. He'd just have to work extra hard on the project for the next few weeks, and wrap it up by the deadline.

By the time Draco returned to the school in the late afternoon, the Slytherin New Year's Eve party was in full swing. Professor Snape knew to avoid the common room for the night, as the students played all sorts of games in the public areas, and some in the private rooms. This was the first year in at least a dozen that more than a handful of students had stayed at school over the holidays, and in honor of the occasion, Bruce Warrington, one of the Slytherin Chasers, arranged for a party that was as identical as possible to the one he usually had at his parents' on New Year's Eve. Draco had never attended, but he'd heard about it from Pansy and Blaise, who went the year before.

Warmers of Butterbeer filled the room with a spicy scent, and music filled the air from a contraband Sounderator. The witches, one after another, sent an empty bottle flying around the room, then kissed whichever wizard whose head it stopped over; Draco kissed no less than three different girls, including two seventh years whose names he didn't even know. Every time he turned around, Pansy was clutching at his shoulder, holding his hand, pulling him to the mistletoe which still hung near a fireplace. It was easy to get lost in the festive moments.

A few minutes before midnight, many of the students went to the highest room in the house, the prefects' private common room, seven floors up, to make New Year's wishes. In years past, Draco had wished for practical things - a better broom, Quidditch victories, points for Slytherin, greater skill with his Projecting. This year, making a wish was harder. How could he create a wish for improved relations with Mad-Eye Moody? He knew that making a wish that could affect the way people thought or behaved was dangerous. But if he didn't finish the project by Lucius' due date, he'd have to ask Moody about the pass, and it couldn't be too problematic to make a wish that would make that one question easier.

Draco moved to one of the less crowded windows and leaned against the sill, trying to tune out the noise from the other Slytherins in the room. He closed his eyes, focused his thoughts on Moody, imagining that cruel man smiling and handing him a piece of signed parchment, and wished.

He had barely finished his thought when a pair of hands on his shoulders spun him around, and he found Pansy pressing her mouth against his. Instinctively, he kissed her back as the room erupted in shouts of "Happy New Year!" Wands exploded with showers of sparks, a dozen Filibuster Fireworks were tossed out the windows to explode and some of the seventh years conjured unpoppable bubbles which floated down from the ceiling, and were batted around the room. When Pansy broke away, he wished her a wonderful 1995 and thought, maybe this year will be better than the last.

---

Classes recommenced with the snow thick on the grounds. The greenhouse windows were covered in condensation so thick that the Herbology classes couldn't see outside, and since the substitute Care of Magical Creatures teacher didn't want the wizards anywhere near her precious unicorn, some bluebell flames minimized the wind chill effect during those sessions. Even once Hagrid returned, his salamander bonfire kept things from getting too uncomfortable.

Draco divided his time between schoolwork and the Papyrus project. He found a lot of useful resources in the library, even without going into the Restricted Section, but as February drew closer he realized that he probably would need that pass from Moody.

He did ask Hermione to try to get to those books, but she refused to help with his project, saying, "After those horrible quotations you gave about Hagrid, the last thing I want to do is help your newspaper get a story." She was sensible enough to accept his explanation about Rita editing his quotes, even though, of course, he didn't deny saying something similar to what she printed. She agreed that Rita was notorious for mangling quotes, although it annoyed Draco to have his comments compared to the quotes Potter had given to Rita back in November. Rita might mischaracterize, but she wouldn't've made them up out of whole cloth.

As the winter months rumbled forward, Draco fell back into his pre-holiday routine for revising and classes, with one important difference. Much of his purportedly free time was no longer spent extending his powers of Projection, but on research into Mummy-related magic. On at least three occasions, he wanted to crow over a discovery or bash through a problem he'd discovered, but he took Lucius' admonition to speak with nobody about this seriously, at least until it he feared that he wouldn't make the February deadline.

---

Despite Pansy's obvious hopes that he would spend most of his weekend evenings with her and her friends, he let her know that even though he enjoyed her company, he was too busy that term to spend too much time at her side. She cried a little, and said, "But we fit together so well!" but Draco couldn't handle another time commitment and simpley repeated that it wasn't her, it was his schedule. He was already overtaxed, and it was more important to spend his free hours on the Pensieve than with Pansy.

In the middle of January, Draco took a moment after Potions to speak with Professor Snape about getting to work on the Pensieve.

"Ah yes," said Professor Snape, when Draco reminded him of his promise at the end of class. "Let me see... how about eight o'clock on Tuesday evening? The Potions classroom should be good enough at least for now .... I'll have to think carefully about how we're going to do this...."

At eight o'clock on Tuesday evening, Draco left the Slytherin dungeons for the Potions classroom. It was dark and empty when he arrived, but he lit the lamps with his wand and had waited only five minutes when Professor Snape turned up, carrying a large packing case, which he heaved onto his desk.

"What's that?" said Draco.

"Research materials and raw materials," said Professor Snape, stripping off his cloak. "I've been combing the library ever since Friday, and very luckily, I managed to put this collection together. It's not everything you need, but it will be a starting point. I can store everything in my office when we're not using it; there's a cupboard behind the door that you can access easily."

"Okay," said Draco, trying to sound as though he wasn't apprehensive at all and merely glad that Professor Snape had managed to give him such a good head start on the project. He didn't know why he was nervous - perhaps it was simply the idea of going behind Lucius' back to do such advanced magic.

"So..." Professor Snape had taken out his own wand, and indicated that Draco should do the same. "The spells and potion I am going to try and teach you for this are highly advanced magic, Draco -- well beyond Ordinary Wizarding Level."

"How does it work?" said Draco nervously.

"Well, when it works correctly, the spells and potion work with the amulet you have to create with your own hands and wand," said Professor Snape, "to create a basin, much like the one you saw in my office, which will hold a limited number of your thoughts. Once a memory has been placed in the Pensieve, you will be able to examine it, and the Pensieve itself will mingle with the other memories you've put in there to help you make decisions. You'll also have to modify your wand, but we won't do that until the very end. Are you ready to get started?"

Draco nodded, and Professor Snape grasped the lid of the packing case and pulled it open. A pile of books, papers and vials flew out of the top and landed in eight discrete sections on the desk.

Professor Snape said, "Did you read the Guilio Camillo book I sent you over Christmas?"

"Of course! It said that there are eight components to a Pensieve. The simplest part is the soapstone basin, which is porous enough to let your collected memories flow, but solid enough to keep them from dissipating; it must be hollowed out by the wand of the wizard who is creating it. Then, you need a piece of ivory which you have carried with you for sixty days, and which provides a memory as good as an elephant's, a flower from the Chinese Ginkou tree, a dram of Rosemary mixed in equal parts with Rue, and the four charms and spells, including Simonides, Recordatio, Benevolo and Amaritudo. The last charm is the one for the wand, so it can remove the memory fragments from your mind." Draco moved toward one of the desks and leaned against it.

"Did you see that the flower has to be picked on an Equinox or Solstice?"

"No, the Camillo didn't mention that. It was more about how people use their Pensieves than how to put them together. That means we can't finish until at least April." Draco felt a shudder of disappointment. He had hoped this wouldn't take so long to do.

"It'll take longer than that. Where do you think you can get ivory these days?" Professor Snape asked harshly. "New ivory isn't for sale on the open market in the Wizarding world, or in the Muggle world either, since it comes from an endangered species. Unless you plan to desecrate Professor Dumbledore's harpsichord, you won't find any around the Castle, but you'll probably be able to find some at home."

"But I'm not going back until the summer!" Draco exclaimed. Lucius had a Prophet conference scheduled for the week of Easter break, and he'd planned to stay at school again. He did have some ivory things there - one of his sets of chessmen was made of ivory, but Lucius would never allow it to be sent to school. He could secrete it away at the Manor, but that was months away.

"You look like you need a pick me up. Here --" Professor Snape handed him a chocolate frog. "Eat this while we talk about a solution. I had thought you would be leaving over Easter, and but it seems like it won't be finished until June. We can have everything organized by the end of the term, then pick the flower at Summer Solstice. You can take everything home for the summer, get the ivory there, and work the spell on your own during the first week of July. The flower grows wild in Hogsmeade, and I'll make sure it gets picked at the proper time. It can't be more than a month old when you finalize the Pensieve anyway."

It could be worse," Draco muttered, biting off the Frog's head. "It could take a year."

"Oh, I doubt it will be delayed that much," said Professor Snape.

They finished organizing the piles, and Draco took the Rosemary stack, which at least gave him something to get started on. Twenty minutes later, Draco left the classroom, walking along the corridor and around a corner, then took a detour behind a suit of armor and sank down on its plinth to finish the last chocolate frog. He thought about the amount of time he'd be spending on this, and how he should be expending his efforts on all the assignments Lucius had given him instead. But this was, in a way, another kind of assignment. Hadn't Lucius told him to defeat Moody, anyway he could to defeat Moody any way he could? Wouldn't this go a long way toward accomplishing that? As he thought about what Professor Snape had told him and given him, he felt drained and strangely empty, even though he was so full of chocolate.

---

Draco got up on a Monday morning towards the end of February and dressed so inattentively that it was a while before he realized he was trying to pull his hat onto his foot instead of his sock. When he'd finally got all his clothes on the right parts of his body, he hurried off to find see if he could find Hermione in the library, but his dressing and organizational delays meant that he'd missed her, so he went into the Great Hall and spotted her at the Gryffindor table, where she was eating breakfast with Potter and Weasley, who were notorious for keeping her preoccupied when Draco had to talk to her, blast them. Feeling too queasy to eat, Draco waited until Hermione had swallowed her last spoonful of porridge, then communicated to her through a complicated series of hand gestures and head movements that he wanted to speak to her outside. The cold weather made the area just outside the castle a useful meeting place, since no student would simply hang out there without an important reason. Together, they formulated a plan for Draco's approach, which he would try during Moody's office hour late that afternoon.

Students were supposed to sign a sheet outside a professor's office when they wanted an Office Hours appointment, but Draco and Hermione had determined that giving Moody advance notice that he wanted to see him would be counterproductive. However, given Moody's reaction when he saw Draco in his doorway, he had clearly known to expect him.

As soon as he entered the room, Draco glanced briefly at a number of objects that he supposed Moody had used in the days when he had been an Auror. Some were familiar, as Draco had seen similar devices in Lucius' collection, like the large, cracked, glass spinning top on his desk, but others were exceptionally odd. He noticed a blurry, shadowy version of himself in the mirror hanging opposite him, but it wasn't quite his reflection, and there was a Secrecy Sensor that was just a little smaller than the one Lucius kept in the alcove in his den. But he didn't have time to ask Professor Moody about his mirror image, as there was business to be done. He clutched his hand around the letter Lucius had received from Crouch, took a deep breath and started to ask his question.

"Please, sir," he said, starting in with the script they had written that morning, "I was asked by the Ministry to speak..."

"You're a liar, boy," Moody interrupted before he even finished his first sentence. "The Ministry would never ask you to do anything, you're not even a spark on their map." He sat silently, glowering at Draco with that horrible eye.

"But sir, I have a letter here from Mr Crouch's office regarding an assignment and I was told to ask for your help," he said very simply and quickly, spouting out as many words as possible before Moody interrupted again.

"Are you the one who's doing the Mummy research?" Moody reached out his hand for Draco to hand over the letter, and turned his ordinary eye to read it, while his magical one didn't leave Draco's face. The teacher let out a short, harsh laugh as he read, and Draco tried to look calm and impassive as he waited. He knew every word of the letter himself, but Moody didn't evince give any reaction to what he read. Then again, his face was so scarred and horrible that Draco wondered if it would ever be possible to see a mellow or kind expression on those features.

Moody rolled the parchment back up, tucked it into his desk drawer and stood up, stretched out his wooden leg with a groan, and began pacing around the room. "I was told that a student would be speaking to me about this project," he said disdainfully, "but I didn't expect it would be you. It makes me sick to think of trusting you with this project, but given the germination of the assignment and his determination that you are to be trusted with such an important work..." His voice trailed off, then his next sentence was as harsh as he normally was. "Have you spoken with anyone about your research?"

Draco quickly assured him that since he started his research, he'd only spoken about it with Lucius. "And I assume he's spoken about it with Mr Crouch" he added, glancing at Moody, whose jaw was set, as if he was trying to keep from cursing Draco where he stood. Draco wondered briefly why his own wand was tucked into his pocket. He should've had it in his hand when he came in there, he should be practicing his own form of constant vigilance, especially around Moody.

Moody walked behind his desk again and gave another harsh laugh, his magical eye swiveling around so fast it made Draco feel queasy to watch it. "And we can trust Mr Crouch to keep this secret, he's so good at keeping important things under wraps," he murmured. Moody pulled parchment and a quill from a tray on his desk and began to write, the scratching sound sending shivers up Draco's spine.

"I will give you what Mr Crouch has asked for, it's the least I can do for him right now, given his condition. You'll have read that he is ill and taking some time off? I'm sure that the results of your project will affect his mood while he's recuperating." Moody's face was suddenly lit with an insane smile.

Draco couldn't think of anything to say to this, and tried to smile in response, hoping that Moody would send him on his way soon, but his expression froze as Moody continued talking. "There will be a few conditions accompanying this pass. First, I want a twelve inch long progress report every week, and second, when it's complete, you will bring an exact copy to me before you send it to your father." Draco's eyes were wide, he couldn't understand why Moody was letting him off so easily. He nodded and reached out his hand for the parchment, which Moody had rolled and sealed, so he could bring it to Madame Pince and get started. Even though Moody hadn't been horrible so far, he still felt very uncomfortable in that office, and wanted to get back to the familiar parts of the school.

Instead of handing him the scroll, Moody's grizzled hand shot out and gripped Draco's wrist. In a low, fierce voice he said, "I can see what you're thinking, Malfoy. Don't think that just because I'm giving you this pass to the library, that I'm going to give you a pass in the classroom. You're playing a very important part these days, and it is up to me to make sure that you fulfill your role." Draco tried to pull away, but Moody was too strong, so all he could do was brace himself against the desk to keep himself from falling forward. He could make neither head nor tail of Moody's blatherings - what was the teacher going on about?

He hadn't seen how it happened, but Moody suddenly had his own wand in his hand, and was holding it on Draco, pointing it right between his eyes. Draco struggled to get away; they weren't in class now, there weren't any other students around whose presence might be enough to dissuade Moody from doing something excruciating, something he truly couldn't recover from. A flash of wonder at his own stupidity in coming to Moody's office without another student or at least an owl bubbled through his mind. Moody was clearly thinking about what he could do to Draco, and for a moment Draco's grey eyes met Moody's glaring human one. Draco drew a deep breath, trying to prepare for the worst, when a knock on the door made both of them jump.

Within a instant, Moody called "One moment!" to the visitor at the door and pushed Draco back off the desk so he fell to the floor. He pulled himself together quickly as Moody shoved the scroll into his hand, hissed that Draco should leave a sealed scroll in his Owlbox every Monday, then kicked him out the door. Draco tore past the Ravenclaw outside Moody's door and ran out of there as fast as he could go, to put as many feet as possible between himself and Moody's office.

It wasn't until he got to the library and was handing Moody's parchment to Madame Pince that he could meditate on his luck at getting away from Moody. Why hadn't the wish he'd made on New Year's worked? His classes hadn't been any better this term so far, but they hadn't been worse either, and Draco was simply used to miserable Thursdays and regular trips to the infirmary in search of cures and curse reversals. He could tolerate that, but it should have been easier to get the library access slip from the teacher; what was wrong with his wishing abilities?

---

Draco started in on the books he'd taken out under Moody's pass immediately. On the morning of the second task, he was so engrossed in a description of a recently discovered cache of twenty two hundred year old Greek wands that he brought the book to the lake. He'd heard that this task would be pretty boring, although nobody really knew what was going to happen, except that it involved the lake; he didn't really want to sit out in the cold for two hours with nothing much to do. Pansy already said she didn't plan to go, as the wind would ruin her hair and skin, and it was bad enough that they had to be outside for Magical Creatures class. Why she minded that, but wasn't troubled by walking around in Hogsmeade during windstorms was a mystery that he didn't feel like devoting much time to solving.

He joined a number of Slytherins who did want to go, at least to see what the task was going to be, for the chilly walk to the stands, where they sat in the last row. At least the seats were comfortable, thanks to cushioning and warmth charms, so he leaned back against the barrier and tucked his head into the book, until his concentration was interrupted by a whisper through the crowd. It started in the Ravenclaw section and spread from there to Gryffindor, then to Hufflepuff, and through Eloise, to Slytherin.

Roger Davies had arrived, and he knew what the task was, and who, other than the champions, was involved. The champions had to go into the lake and recover something that had been taken from them, but as it turned out, the "somethings" were really "someones", and right now, three Hogwarts students and Fleur's little sister were in the lake. It wasn't until Chris Kratt teased Roger about not being Fleur's "someone" that it dawned on Draco exactly what they were talking about.

A disturbing thought occurred to him, and he looked through the crowd to the Gryffindor section. He couldn't see Hermione anywhere, and she should be, as one of Potter's friends and all. "Roger," he asked, "do you know who the other competitors are going to rescue?"

"Of course, Cedric is set to save Cho, given that they've been together for years, and he doesn't have any siblings. Potter, being an orphan, is going after that surrogate brother of his, the youngest Weasley boy, and I think that since Krum's hometown is too far away, they couldn't bring anyone over easily, unlike Fleur's sister, so they decided that he should rescue the girl he took to the Yule Ball. I don't remember what her name is, the one with the pretty hair."

Viktor was supposed to rescue Hermione? How could the judges do that? The tasks were to test the champions, not to put other students in danger! Viktor was nothing but a useless prat, too famous for his own good, who didn't have enough brains to fill an eggcup - he'd be no use at rescuing Hermione during the allotted time. Draco jumped to his feet, knocking his book to the ground, grabbed Greg's Omnioculars, and began scanning the water, as if he could see beneath it to where Hermione was being held. Of course, he didn't know what he could do to save her, if Viktor screwed this up. Could he find somewhere to hide, then Project into the lake and at least find her? He'd never tried to go underwater in a Projection before, and Lucius' admonition to not try anything until the cold weather was gone was ringing in his ears, but it might be the only option.

As he looked through his Omnioculars, he wondered why Hermione had agreed to do this, and for Viktor of all people. They certainly were spending time together in the library these days, that was true, but she spent time there with Draco too, and that didn't mean that she should be considered Draco's "someone." Maybe she volunteered - it would be just like Hermione to offer to be the subject of a trial spell, she'd probably think she could learn something from the experience or get extra class points or something.

He turned his Omnioculars to the judge's table, hoping the zoomed lenses would let him see some notes about where the hostages were being held, in case he had to go in himself. All of a sudden, when he saw Dumbledore at the judge's table, he realized with a rush of relief that Hermione would of course be fine. Dumbledore wouldn't send three students and a little girl into the freezing cold water without some terrific protection - he knew that. Draco didn't really like Dumbledore, personally, but he had enough admiration for the headmaster's transfiguration and charm skills to trust that whatever they had done to Hermione, it couldn't go too awry. It was enough reassurance for Draco to put the Omnioculars aside, find his book, and watch, probably more intently than he would have if Hermione wasn't involved.

Finally, the champions lined up along the bank of the lake - all but Potter, who, people said, had gone missing. With only seconds to spare, though, he did show up, and the buzz in the audience about what would happen to his hostage, Weasley, if he never showed up stopped within a single breath. They watched as Viktor, Diggory and Fleur worked their charms and transfigurations and disappeared under the water, and sniggered in disbelief as Potter didn't do much of anything, then suddenly disappeared under the waves.

Now, Draco thought, the boring part was set to begin, so he turned back to his book. Every few minutes, a Plimpy would bob to the surface with a report from one of the underwater guardians - three officials from the Ministry's Games Department were stationed in the lake with Marinoculars, and their messages let the crowd know how the competitors were doing at getting past certain of the early obstacles, like the Grindylows and the Strangling Seaweed.

Ludo Bagman, who was commentating, read the dispatches to the crowd, there would be cheers and groans and sometimes boos, and then the audience would start chatting amongst each other again. After he made mention of Fleur getting stuck in one of the early stages, the Beauxbatons contingent was miserable and the Ravenclaw section much less jovial. Draco watched Davies scan the lake with his own Omnioculars, as he watched for a sign that Fleur had returned to the surface, with or without Gabrielle.

If he hadn't brought his book, and if Hermione hadn't been down there, Draco reasoned, he'd've gone back to the castle long before. Finally, about an hour after Bagman had blown his whistle, the Hufflepuffs began to cheer and the Ravenclaws perked up a little, when Diggory, his girlfriend riding on his back, appeared about twenty yards from the shore. A few minutes later, something that looked vaguely like Viktor appeared, pulling a still sleepy Hermione onto the shore, and the Durmstrang and most of the Gryffindor students celebrated, although not as fiercely as the Hufflepuffs had. Draco didn't try to mask his relief at seeing Hermione safe on land again, because he could explain it as a reaction to Viktor's return to safety. There were so many people around, he didn't even try to talk to her that day. Now that she was out of the water, there was no reason for him to stay around, so Draco didn't bother to wait for the task to officially finish, but went back up to the castle just as Fleur was brought out of the lake, and spent the rest of the day with his books.

The next morning at breakfast, Kira brought dropped a letter and package from Lucius and a scroll sent from the Prophet. After he finished Lucius' notes, he broke its seal, wondering who at the paper was sending him something; occasionally, his secretary sent things to him at Lucius' request, but she closed them with his seal. This was not so marked.

As he scanned the contents, his entire body felt like ice was running through his veins. He was frozen in his chair, only able to move his eyes back and forth across the page. He couldn't believe what he was reading. The first paragraph would be troubling for some, but if any editor at the paper saw the second paragraph, the consequences could be fatal. He read:

Miss Granger, a plain but ambitious girl, seems to have a taste for famous wizards that Harry alone cannot satisfy. For two years, she has enjoyed the undiverted attentions of Draco Malfoy, heir to one of the largest publishing companies in the world, but it seems that Miss Granger covets more than Harry's fame and Draco's fortune.

Since the arrival at Hogwarts of Viktor Krum, Bulgarian Seeker and hero of the last World Quidditch Cup, Miss Granger has been playing all three of the boys against each other. Krum, who is openly smitten with the devious Miss Granger, has already invited her to visit him in Bulgaria over the summer holidays, and insists that he has "never felt this way about any other girl."

However, at Hogwarts' recent Yule Ball, Miss Granger left Krum, her date, to wander around the Great Hall on his own while she danced and canoodled with Draco Malfoy outside the castle walls, heedless of the misery of Pansy Parkinson, a pretty and vivacious girl who had no idea that her date was in the arms of another woman.

The letter accompanying the draft of the article read like a ransom note. "If you want to keep this away from the red quills at the paper and the eyes of its readers, skip lunch on Sunday and meet me under the Quidditch stands, Slytherin side," and it was signed, unsurprisingly, Rita Skeeter.

Even though he didn't like to admit it, even to himself, Draco knew about fear. He breathed it every time he walked into Moody's classroom. It pulsed through his veins when he passed a Dementor. And while in the presence of Lucius Malfoy, it took all the strength in his body and mind to hold it at bay. He knew, though, that if Lucius ever saw this article, he'd never even bother to listen to Draco's excuses or explanations. Lucius would simply kill him.

Of course, that was assuming that Pansy didn't kill him first. He'd watched a few of the Slytherin girls working out one day, practicing Muggle fighting techniques because they said they were "good for the figure", and Pansy could kick hard enough to knock a Hairy MacBoon into the North Sea.

Either way, he would be dead.

Draco spent the rest of the day almost oblivious to everyone and everything. He went through his regular weekend routine, although he skipped their study group Sunday afternoon, playing Snap and Pixie in the common room with Pansy, sitting with Vin and Greg at meals, and burrowing into his books over a desk in the common room until the wee hours of the morning. He couldn't actually work, but he knew he wouldn't be able to go to sleep if he went upstairs either. He tried to figure out what Rita was going to ask him, what could he do or say that would convince her to edit the article before deadline.

Somewhere around five o'clock in the morning, he slipped upstairs and crawled into bed, pulling the curtains tight. He sat there all morning, ignoring his roommates when they went to breakfast, and when they came back from a broom race around the lake. Half an hour before lunch, he went outside for the first time in over a day to meet Rita. The sky was blue and the air was crisp and clear. He didn't really notice.

Rita was already waiting for him, a look of triumph on her face. Once he was within talking distance, she said, "So you have a reasonable and practical streak. What a pleasant surprise, Malfoys don't usually develop those until they're in their forties."

During his hours of thinking about Rita and about the article and about Lucius, Draco had resolved to act strong and put together, a seeker of information. He wanted her to explain herself. "Cut to the chase, Rita, you didn't bring me out here for a lesson in family history. What do you need?"

"I should think that's obvious. You gave me glimmers of information back the first time we talked, nothing very useful. Dumbledore has such a hold over Hagrid and the rest of the staff that the dozen letters from parents demanding his dismissal mysteriously disappeared. We need some solid information about about Hogwarts, and we need it soon.

"My readers want another article on Potter, but your father doesn't want another puff piece. He wants something that'll really get under the skin of the boy wonder and his friends and sycophants too, and maybe make readers a little angry, but he doesn't want this story to be too hard hitting. I can't get Potter directly yet. The higher ups say they have their reasons, and if I want this thing published, I'll have to abide by them.

"You're still not answering my question," Draco retorted. "Tell me what you want or I'll...I'll..."

"You won't do anything, because you don't want the draft I sent you to see the light of day. What I want is a good source of information. Here are the rules. Listen up. I want you and your friends to pass any newsworthy information you find onto me, and I want you, especially, to seek out new topics for me to pitch. I can't exactly fly up to any of these kids and say, 'Buzz buzz tell me your news so I can put it into the paper.' I need an introduction, and it's going to come through you. You will let a few select people know about my status as an Animagus, you will talk to me every day, unless it's raining or it's a Hogsmeade visit day, at a meeting place that we will mutually agree on, and you will bring another student with you who can also give me newsworthy tips. Your girlfriend Pansy's got a great ear for gossip, so you can let her know, and if you think those thugs who follow you around will keep their mouths shut, you can tell them too. Anyone else that you bring to our meetings will simply see a little beetle flying around. Just make sure none of them swat me, or I'll change back and break bones."

This was less than Draco expected she'd ask for. "Is that it? You'll pull the article if I do this?"

"Almost," she replied in a steely voice. "I won't pull the article, but I will take you out of it. If it's a love triangle, she looks malicious. Throw you into the mix and she just looks like a slut - less sympathy for anyone that way. Also, I may have more favors to ask from time to time. It's not like I couldn't do a follow up story at some point, if I had to," she added. It was clear to Draco that she had seen him with Hermione at the Yule Ball, and he knew that she could use the information she'd gathered that night at any time. It's not as if Lucius would be any less upset if he found out in six months or six years.

Realistically, what were his options? If the Prophet published any article which claimed that Hermione was dating Potter and cheating on him with Viktor, Hermione would be furious with him, but she wasn't murderous. She might yell and even throw things, but she wouldn't actually hurt him. It wouldn't be pleasant, but it wouldn't be painful either. He said as much to Rita. "You're not giving me a real choice, I have to do it."

Her smile grew, stretching from ear to ear. She looked sickening, as she stretched one of her clawed hands out, offering it to Draco to shake, as if they'd actually made a bargain. He looked at it as if it were a blast ended skrewt and drew back against the underside wall. "Is this a deal or not?" Rita asked, the smile shrinking into a sneer. He knew he had to touch her; the magic needed to seal the bargain came from a handshake and she wouldn't be obligated to hold to her offer if they didn't, but he wanted to put it off as many seconds as he could. Rita tapped her foot impatiently as Draco forced himself to pull his arm up and put his hand in hers. Her fingernails left marks on his fingers, along the bitten knuckles and in his palm, and they didn't fade for the rest of the day.

The next morning, a schedule of meetings arrived with the morning mail, and from then on, he spent a few minutes every day giving Rita Skeeter the scoop on Hogwarts issues, major and minor. Some days, Pansy joined him for a stroll around the grounds and whispered nasty things about different girls in other houses. After a few weeks, it became known around Slytherin House that Draco Malfoy held court on the lawn every day (times were different from day to day, but consistent from week to week) for gossip sessions about students in the other houses. Sometimes the talk was malicious, sometimes it was trite and petty, and Draco didn't like much of it, but he saw every word a Slytherin said as putting another brick between himself and Rita, and if he made the wall strong enough, he'd be able to keep her away.

In the middle of all this, the article about Hermione ran in the Prophet. She didn't realize that Draco had a hand in its publication, given the changes Rita had made to the text, and he was determined that she not find out. Both of them were kept so busy all through the spring, as she helped Potter practice for the third task and he worked on the Alexandria project and spent one evening a week working on his Pensieve.

By late Spring, he had filled fifty inches of parchment with notes, diagrams and explanations of various spells that were derivatives of the ones originally described in the Alexandria scrolls. Even though Moody had asked that he deliver them to him directly, Draco flat out refused to risk being alone with the Professor.

All year, he complained in study sessions about Dark Arts classes and Moody's unusual behaviour. Even though she acted sympathetic, Hermione didn't really believe Moody was as bad as Draco made him out to be, and she didn't see anything incongruous about the way he taught the Slytherin class, versus the way he taught his other classes, especially once he started giving all the fourth years practical lessons in blocking and throwing off jinxes and hexes. Hermione herself had been unable to block a Jelly Legs hex one day, but Draco knew that the curses Moody was throwing at him were worse than what any other student confronted in the Dark Arts classroom.

Still, at Draco's request, Hermione signed Moody's Office Hours schedule, and while she was asking Moody about obscure jinxes that were designed to repel invisible flying objects, he knocked on the door, took less than a minute to hand the scrolls and books over, made an excuse about having to turn the library books in to Madame Pince in less than ten minutes and scurried back out before Moody could stop him.

---

He'd been so caught up with exams that he almost forgot the Summer Solstice on June 21. It wasn't until Professor Snape asked him at breakfast whether he planned to pick his Ginkou flower at a few minutes after two that afternoon. "Oh no, of course I can't. I have to be at an exam then. I can't exactly ask Vector for a few moments off during the test, can I?"

"Are you feeling all right about your exams, Draco?" Professor Snape asked. "Confident?"

"I'm okay," said Draco. It was sort of true; he was nervous, especially about the Dark Arts test, but he kept running over all the hexes and spells he had been practicing in his mind as they walked, and the knowledge that he could remember them all made him feel better.

"This is the one part of the Pensieve that you don't have to do for yourself, you know. I could pick it for you, and leave it in my office. It'll be safer there for the last week you're at school anyway - I'm sure you don't want your roommates accidentally eating it."

Draco laughed at the image of Vin or Greg nibbling a flower. "They probably would, too, if they got hungry during the night. If you don't mind, I can get it from you the day before we leave, and put it right into my suitcase."

They agreed that it was a practical plan, and Draco returned to hex and jinx defenses. The mental picture of his roommates going after the pungent Ginkou flower was just funny enough to make him smile when he thought about it. A good break from stressing about the Dark Arts exam, Draco thought.

He certainly wasn't planning to take a break from stress or anything else when Hermione dashed into the library ten minutes before his exam, an odd, dreamy expression on her face. She kept running her fingers through her hair as she flipped through books in the Transfiguration section with the speed of Atlantis. He wanted to use these last minutes wisely, and Hermione probably wouldn't want to talk to him anyway after this morning's article, but she kept making little gasps and jumping up and down and it distracted him so he had to see what she was going on about.

"I knew it! I knew it!" As he drew closer, he could hear her giggling, which was odd, in and of itself. Hermione never giggled. Pansy did, Eloise did, even Millicent did, sometimes, but even though Hermione had a nice laugh, he'd never heard her make this kind of noise before.

When he was close enough to whisper, he said jokingly, "You know everything, why does this little bit of knowledge come as such a surprise?"

Her shining eyes looked up from the page and she answered, "I know how Rita Skeeter's been getting information about people, and I know that you're involved."

His heart dropped. The whole year, he thought she'd never noticed that he and the other Slytherins had been feeding information to Rita. He should've known that seeing him quoted that morning would anger her, even though he hadn't said anything that wasn't true. Of course, the words "we" and "power" could be interpreted in lots of different ways. He should never have come over, and should've given her a few days to calm down about it.

What could he do now, but explain. "Hermione, I had to do it. She didn't give me any real choice."

"What are you talking about, Draco? You didn't make her into an Animagus this year!" She looked at him quizzically, and asked, her voice getting colder with every word, "What to you mean, you didn't have a choice? What did you do, Draco?"

Realization hit him like a pike. She didn't know that he'd been giving Rita information, she just knew that Rita was a beetle Animagus. He tried to backtrack and minimize, and said, "I told her about classes and stuff, nothing very important."

She didn't believe him. Her eyes narrowed. "No, there's more than that," she said, her voice chilly and piercing. He felt like she could see right through him. "Draco. What did you do?" He didn't answer. "You know we have to get to our exams. Tell me what you did or I'll kiss you here in front of everyone and leave you to explain that to your father."

What kind of a threat was that? the voice in the back of his head asked. One that she knows I'll give in to, he responded silently.

"Remember that article back in March? The one about you?"

"How could I forget? If I'd saved all the hate mail and Howlers, I'd need an extra trunk to take them home."

Draco took a deep breath. "Well, originally, it was a little bit longer. She saw us at the Yule Ball, and wrote about it in the article. She sent me her first draft and said that if I didn't help her get information about the school, she'd send it to the publisher, and I couldn't let that happen."

Hermione's eyes flashed fire. "Draco! Why the hell not? Nothing happened between us at the Yule Ball -- or any other time. If she'd showed it to your father, he would've sent you a Howler demanding it never happen again, we would've told him the truth about the Ball, and it would've been over. Instead, you've..."

"It wouldn't have been over. He would never have listened to any explanation, not from me, and certainly not from you." Draco was emphatic on this point. "He would've killed me. And I wouldn't be surprised if he went after you too."

He had never seen Hermione look so disgusted with him. "It wouldn't be the first time Lucius Malfoy tried to kill me, and I survived his last attempt. And I can't really believe that he really wouldn't listen to you, or that he'd actually kill you."

"First time?" Draco was incredibly confused. "I know he hates you, but what makes you think he tried to kill you?"

Hermione looked shocked and pulled him back to the table where his books were spread and said, "Get your things, we're going to take a walk."

"We only have five more minutes!"

"I'll walk you to class. I'll even carry your books, if you'd like," she said, still not smiling.

They were outside the library now, but he could tell from her expression that this would not be an easy conversation to have while walking. They leaned against the wall and Hermione launched into her story. She accused Lucius of being behind the attacks on Mudbloods second year, said he had planted a spell on Ginny Weasley which made her carry out the Dark Lord's instructions and release a petrifying monster, claimed that she thought Lucius had given specific instructions for Weasley to set the beast on her, and said that he had been sacked from the Hogwarts Governors for it.

By the time she was done, they had barely two minutes to get to their exams, and Draco didn't have any chance to show her all the holes in her story. It was obvious to him that somebody, most likely Potter, had planted this story in her mind. She'd been Petrified for most of second year, and even when they revived her, she must've been in a strange state of mind, easy to convince of the most outlandish tales. Lucius had been asked to resign from the Board because his accusation of Hagrid was unfounded and based on inaccurate sources - there was no other reason! He'd have to find Hermione the next day and explain the whole story to her.

There wasn't time now. He had to go deal with the Dark Arts.

The class assembled in Moody's classroom, quills at the ready, and waited for their teacher to arrive. Draco's stomach was in knots - he had a terrible feeling that it didn't matter how much he'd studied, Moody would still find a way to ruin his marks.

They heard him before they saw him, the dull clunk of his wooden leg echoing through the hallway and into the classroom. When he entered, he was carrying a Muggle top hat which was filled with tiny scrolls of parchment. He rested it on his desk, sat in his chair and said, "Class, put away your quills. I know that last year, your exam in this class was a practical one, with an obstacle course. As you can see, my leg makes that sort of thing rather difficult for me, so we'll be having an in-class practical exam.

"First, for eight per cent of your mark, you will choose a curse from this hat by selecting a scroll and handing it to me without looking at it. To get full marks, you will have to block it. If you cannot, you can try to overcome it; your mark will be reduced by one point for each second it takes you to throw off the curse. If you do neither within one hundred seconds, I will end the curse, and you will get a naught as your mark.

"Second, each of you will attempt to throw off the Imperius curse. If you can do so within a minute, you will get full marks for this portion of the test. If not, you will have another minute for half marks. If you still fail, you will fail that section of the exam.

He looked directly at Draco and said, "Malfoy, we begin with you."

Draco stood up and walked towards Moody's desk as if he were walking to the gallows. At least all his practice at fighting Moody's curses throughout the year would pay off now. He knew every hex in the book, and if there was a countercurse or block that might work, he knew it. There was no reason to be nervous. He forced his hand to stop quivering before reaching into the hat and drawing a scroll out. He handed it to Moody, who had that terrifying, insane smile on his face, the same one he had borne when Draco had first gone to him for the library pass.

Moody stood and Draco moved to the side of the classroom, the place he usually stood when he was cursed during class. He knew that he looked pale and frightened, but he had pushed up the sleeves of his robes and was holding his wand ready.

"Crucio!" said Mad-Eye Moody.

Agony shot through Draco like black fire. He was grasped by pain beyond anything he had ever experienced; his bones were melting; his head was surely splitting open, and he could feel his brain dripping onto the floor; his eyes were rolling madly in his head; he wanted it to end ... to black out... to die ..

And then it was gone.

He was lying on the floor, completely limp, a boneless heap. He could feel the eyes of his classmates on him but they were completely silent. All he could hear was Moody's leg clomping over to him. He felt his gnarled hand on his shoulder, pulling him to his feet. He struggled to stand, to focus. Then Moody leaned over and spoke directly into his ear, "You've failed, Malfoy. Just as I expected."

He was moving through a tunnel as he felt his way back to his desk and collapsed into his seat. He knew Moody was saying something to the class, but it was impossible for him to understand the individual words. The fiery pain that had wracked his body minutes ago had diminished, to be sure, but each of his muscles ached worse than they did after a five hour long Quidditch practice. While he watched Moody subject his classmates to little jinxes like Jelly Legs and Twitchy Ears, a boiling hate erupted in Draco's chest, leaving no place for any other thought. For the first time in his life, he wanted to use his wand to satisfy this burning anger, not to defend himself, but to attack... to kill.

If he'd had the energy to do it, he mused, he probably would. He was so decimated, all he could do was rest his head and try to muster enough willpower to fight the Imperius curse, although he wondered why it mattered. His final mark was already eighty per cent of nothing, so even if he fought the curse, he couldn't get more than twenty per cent. That would still mean failure for the term, even with all the points he should've accumulated by attending class and handing in his essays. What was the point? The Pensieve would be finished in a few weeks. Maybe it would be better to fail the whole thing and let Dumbledore sort it out next month.

For some reason, Moody didn't make Draco go first this time, but ran through the rest of the class instead. After each of them received their marks, Draco walked slowly to the front of the room. His head was high and his back was straight, even though the effort to stay upright was making his vision swim. He left his wand on his desk; his force of will would get him through this test, not his sleight of hand.

Moody raised his wand, pointed it at Draco, and said, "1mperio!"

It was the same as he remembered from the class in the fall, the most wonderful feeling. Draco felt a floating sensation as every thought and worry in his head was wiped gently away, leaving nothing but a vague, untraceable happiness. He stood there feeling immensely relaxed, only dimly aware of everyone watching him. Then he heard Mad-Eye Moody's voice, echoing in some distant chamber of his empty brain: Declare your support . . .

Draco opened his mouth obediently, preparing to speak.

Admit that you support the Dark Lord

...

Why, though? Another voice had awoken in the back of his brain. Stupid thing to do, really, said the voice.

Give in to your Master

...

No, I don't think I will, thanks, said the other voice, a little more firmly. . . no, I don't really want to.

Kneel before He Who Must Not Be Named

...

"I WON'T!"

And these words burst from Draco's mouth; they echoed through the classroom, and the dream state was lifted as suddenly as though cold water had been thrown over him - back rushed the aches that the Cruciatus Curse had left all over his body - back rushed the realization of where he was. He looked at Moody, and through the pain, he smiled. Moody's mouth was a flat line, and both his eyes looked right into Draco's face, as if they were staring into his mind.

Draco spoke almost without thinking, looking directly at Moody as he did so, his head held high. "You thought you could break me, but you haven't and you can't and you won't. You've thrown everything you could at me, every week, all year, inside and outside the classroom and I am still standing here in front of you. I have not complained, I have not begged you to stop, and I never will, because I'm stronger than you. And this proves it. You can fail me in class, but you and I both know that in this battle you've waged - against a teenager, at that - you have failed."

Moody took a deep breath; his hands were trembling, as if he was trying to suppress some urge to throw his arms around Draco's neck and squeeze. He expected some sort of reaction from Moody, another curse, a shout, anything, but this complete silence was chilling. They watched each other for what felt like an hour, but couldn't've been more than a few moments. His eyes were still fixed on Draco's face as he said in a low, cold voice, "Oh, no I haven't, son. You will break, and sooner than you think. All of you will.

"Class dismissed."

With some help from Vin and Pansy, Draco made it up to the infirmary, where Madame Pomfrey gave him a draught of something peppery, which brushed away the cobwebs that were still floating around in his head. Pansy chattered as they walked back to the dorm, "Are you still planning on going to the third task tonight? You really should, it should be a great show!"

He made a few choice comments about certain competitors, primarily Potter, then said, "I'm only going to see if Viktor wins. Otherwise, it won't be fun. I don't want to sit there and watch all that glory go to that git with the big, scarred head, and see all these damned Gryffindor celebrations. If I feel the same way I do now, it's not worth my time."

By dinner, the muscle aches were less, but he still wasn't very hungry, and he couldn't whip up much enthusiasm for watching the task. The plan he'd told Pansy earlier still held true.

As the enchanted ceiling overhead began to fade from blue to a dusky purple, Dumbledore rose to his feet at the staff table, and silence fell. "Ladies and gentlemen, in five minutes' time, I will be asking you to make your way down to the Quidditch field for the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament."

They walked towards the Quidditch field, which was now completely unrecognizable. A twenty-foot-high hedge ran all the way around the edge of it. There was a gap right in front of them: the entrance to the vast maze. The passage beyond it looked dark and eerie. The sky was a deep, clear blue now, and the first stars were starting to appear.

Draco watched as Ludo Bagman pointed his wand at his throat and muttered, "Sonorus," causing his magically magnified voice to echo into the stands. "Ladies and gentlemen, the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament is about to begin! Let me remind you how the points currently stand! Tied in first place, with eighty-five points each - Mr. Cedric Diggory and Mr. Harry Potter, both of Hogwarts School!" The cheers and applause sent birds from the Forbidden Forest fluttering into the darkening sky. "In second place, with eighty points - Mr. Viktor Krum, of Durmstrang Institute!" More applause. "And in third place - Miss Fleur Delacour, of Beauxbatons Academy! So ... on my whistle, Harry and Cedric!" said Bagman. "Three - two - one -" He gave a short blast on his whistle, and Harry and Cedric hurried forward into the maze.

All the heads of the spectators swiveled to look at the ten foot high images that had appeared over portions of the hedgetops. It was possible to see the competitors at certain places in the outermost row, but as they moved further into the maze, the crowd could only see what was going on at preselected locations, where Herbal Monitors had been planted among the hedges.

The seventh year students in Advanced Herbology had been working all year on the charms that would permit clumps of leaves, flowers and stems to record the goings on. Bagman's whistle bleated two more times, then his voice rang out over the stadium. "As you can see above the maze, strategically placed Herbal Monitors will allow you to see the School Champions as they complete their dangerous tasks. We in the field booth will be recording certain challenges as they occur and play them back to you as the evening progresses. However, to keep a little suspense going tonight, we will not be monitoring any of the tasks on the two innermost zones. The most dangerous and exciting of the tasks are spread out through the entire maze, so don't think you will be missing all the good parts.

"On a related note, many of you may know there is a ban on Portkeys and Apparating and Disapparating at Hogwarts. Some of you have even been splinched when you tried during your sixth or seventh years. However, Professor Dumbledore has removed the ban in the perimeter of the Quidditch pitch itself. If any of the Champions send up red sparks, indicating that they are in trouble and want to quit the competition, one of the Monitors will be able to Apparate to their side and bring them out. Furthermore, the Triwizard Cup is actually a Portkey. When the Champion himself - or herself," he corrected quickly, "touches the Triwizard Cup in the center of the maze, he or she will be transported instantaneously to the Winner's Circle, right here." He used his wand to light an area near the entrance to the maze as the crowd applauded.

Overhead, they watched each of the competitors move through the tasks accompanied by Bagman's commentary. Each in turn defeated a Boggart; Draco was dimly aware that Lucius would be very interested to know that Potter's worst fear was not the Dark Lord, as he'd suspected, but a Dementor. The crowd cheered as Diggory defeated one of Hagrid's Blast-Ended Skrewts, when Viktor escaped the Devil's Snare, and when Fleur defeated three Cornish Pixies. Potter was seen less often than the others, and Draco muttered to some of the other Slytherins that it was just like Potter to pick the route with no Monitors and no monsters.

Diggory and Viktor both had to deal with Pogrebins; Diggory made it past a lot more quickly, which was surprising, given that Russia had exported the nasty little demons to many of its former supporters, and it was assumed that Viktor had dealt with them before, in Bulgaria. A few minutes later, when Fleur walked through a golden mist and turned upside down, many of the wizards in the crowd gave off wolf calls, but less than thirty seconds later, a shower of red sparks fountained into the air not ten feet from where she had last been. Professor McGonagal Apparated in to rescue her, and within two minutes she was sobbing in Madame Maxime's arms.

Draco wasn't sure how much more time passed before Viktor too shot up red sparks. At about the same time, the spectators watched as Potter blasted a Skrewt and Diggory knocked out a troll that Bagman said was almost six months old, and already taller than he was. Everyone suspected that Potter and Diggory were in the innermost part of the maze by now; they were guessing all the difficult tasks they would have to get past before reaching the Cup.

He almost wanted to stay and watch the end, but who knew how much longer it was going to be? The cold night air was doing nothing for his aching body, and he mused, who knew the effects of the Crucio curse would be so long lasting. He suspected Moody of putting an extra charm on him, to make the pain stay, and knew that he's have no way of proving it, just like he had no way of proving that Moody fixed the draw so he would get that particular curse.

He was tired, he was in pain, and now that he knew that a Hogwarts student would win the Cup, he didn't really care to stay and watch it. He didn't need to see Hermione run onto the field in glee, straight into Potter's arms, if he won, and he didn't need to see her throw herself onto the field in misery, straight into Potter's arms, if he lost.

So he went back to the castle, walked through the almost deserted halls to the Slytherin dungeon, trudged up the stairs to his dorm room, pulled two of his patented AntiWhatAilsYou ampoules out of his trunk, took them and fell into a stuporous sleep. In his dreams, he was back at the Manor. He thought he heard yelling, screaming, crying, but he told himself, as he usually did, that it was just a dream and he should put it aside.

It wasn't until the next morning, when he went into the common room before breakfast, that he learned that what he'd heard was real.

It was difficult, having missed the event itself, to know what to believe. In a speech at breakfast that morning, Dumbledore said only that Diggory was dead, and that nobody should speak to Potter about what had happened in the maze.

The students did speak among themselves, though, circulating rumors and truth. Potter had been covered with blood when he appeared - that was widely accepted as having happened. Everything else was the subject of rumors. Sirius Black had been seen in the castle that night, leading to the suspicion that Death Eaters were somehow involved. Karkaroff was gone, and nobody, not even the Durmstrang students, knew where. Other, less believable stories, claimed that Moody had colluded with Potter to eliminate the competition. Some said that Hagrid and Madame Maxime were spending hours in his cabin together, but whether that was connected to the Cup, nobody knew.

As he did every day at Hogwarts, Draco sent a letter to Lucius each morning. He told him about exams generally, and did not describe the Dark Arts exam in detail. He told him what people were saying, and asked and eventually pleaded for Lucius to tell him some real news. There hadn't been anything in the Prophet apart from a tiny blurb that Potter had won, by hook or by crook. He decided that he could wait until he got back to the Manor to ask about Hermione's tale about the Chamber of Secrets.

Hermione herself was nowhere to be found, at least until the day of the Leaving Feast. Since classes and exams were over, she had no reason to be in the library, and he didn't see her in the Great Hall at all. He assumed she was off somewhere with Potter. Draco wasn't sure whether he should be worried about her spending time with someone who was most likely disturbed, but she had made it very clear that nothing he said would keep her from Potter's side.

Instead, he walked the grounds with his housemates and spent the days waiting for two wizards and a witch to respond to his letters.

He'd written to Rita the day after the third task, asking if they could suspend their meetings for the summer, since his schedule was a little mixed up now that classes were over. Draco felt like she owed him for his help with the Potter article, and was so bold as to say that if she didn't tell him otherwise, he'd assume that they were done with their gossip sessions until September.

Moody had never responded to his request for a review of his Potions exam, and wouldn't meet Draco's eye when they saw each other in the Great Hall at meals. It was as if he didn't even acknowledge Draco's existence. And Professor Snape wasn't around, hadn't been at his office hours since the third task either, so Draco couldn't ask him to act as a liaison to Moody, or petition him to overrule Draco's Dark Arts mark. It looked like the matter would have to be resolved over the summer, which meant that Draco would have to explain his mark to Lucius when he got home.

Assuming Lucius was home. He hadn't written in the past few days, and Draco was beginning to worry. It was unlike him to not send even a brief note without letting Draco know in advance. Of course, he had heard the rumors around school about Lucius, about Death Eaters, even about the Dark Lord, and that Potter was somehow involved. He was worried about Hermione as well, mostly because she wouldn't listen to reason and stay safely away from Potter. The stories some of the students were telling either credited him with more bravery than Draco could even imagine, or blamed him for murder.

Finally, a few hours before the Leaving Feast, Kira arrived bearing a long scroll marked with Lucius' confidentiality seal. If anyone but the intended recipient tried to unroll the parchment, it would spray Week Lasting Ink all over their hands and clothing. Draco took the letter onto his bed, and began to read...

I understand from your last letter that you were not at the Triwizard Cup at the end of the third task, and I am pleased about that. There was no reason for you to waste your time there when you had important things to do. I am sure, however, that you have heard tales of what transpired during the end of the Task, and may have even been told that I was somehow involved.

I insist that you do everything you can to end the spread of such lies. I had nothing to do with the boys' disappearance and death. In fact, I have been told by very highly placed sources that if it wasn't for Potter, Diggory needn't have died. Tell that to your classmates, let all of them know.

I am, however, about to tell you something that you are not to speak about to anyone but me.

The Dark Lord has returned. I was not present when he first arose from the incorporeal state in which he has existed since 1981, but I have been told by those who were there that with some assistance from Potter and another one of his followers, he managed to create a body, and now walks among wizards again, a more powerful sorcerer than any of them.

He is, however, still weak and having a difficult time adjusting to operating a body. It seems that during the reanimation procedure, things did not going according to plan. He hadn't used his wand in over a decade, and it manifested an unusual problem that ultimately caused injury to the Dark Lord and others. He plans to spend the summer relaxing at our beach house in Ibiza, and learning how to walk, eat and drink Campari again.

Despite these minor problems, our Master's return will enable many things to be put to rights for the first time in years. Certain reports that we are about to publish indicate that Minister Fudge has finally prevailed upon the Ministry to take action to prevent Mudbloods who have publicly demonstrated bias against Purebloods from being able to continue to do so or hold any position of power. As you know from your history studies, any Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers who violate such laws will suffer punishments ranging from public floggings as mandated in the 1643 Code, to imprisonment in Azkaban. Those who resisted will likely face the Dementor's Kiss.

Draco paused in his reading. Good, he thought. Moody would finally get what was coming to him. But if they were going after Mudbloods in general, then Hermione could be in danger. Hell, and he couldn't even tell her. Not lucidly, anyway. He returned to Lucius' insistence that this information remain closely held.

We will explain things to Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers who don't understand or appreciate the importance of blood. Things are about to change, and I am among those who will do the changing. You understand the consequences if you speak of any of this. Such defiance of the family, of me, and of our Master would not be tolerated.

Draco knew what that meant. It was Lucius' usual threat - that he would disown and discard Draco, as if he had never existed, just wipe the parchment clean and start anew, a different family and a different life. And of course, nobody could prevent Lucius from doing anything he wanted, other than perhaps He Who Must Not Be Named.

He'd think of something, some way to keep Lucius away from Hermione this time. Second year, he hadn't cared what happened to her. She was obnoxious, mean and unfriendly, and he probably hadn't been any nicer to her. He hadn't wanted to be. But circumstances being what they were, he had a little ache in his stomach when he thought about Lucius handing her over to the Ministry, sending her to Azkaban because she'd said mean things to his son in public. Of course, Lucius could never know how many times Draco and Hermione had conspired on public insults.

Then again, Draco thought, why bother? They hadn't spoken since they fought in the library about Rita and the Prophet articles, and she'd looked so preoccupied, spending all her time with Potter, since the third task. On the train home, he should be able to catch a few minutes alone with her.

He looked for her when he entered the Great Hall for the leaving feast, but became distracted by the decorations and mood. The usual decorations were missing. The Great Hall was normally decorated with the winning House's colors for the Leaving Feast. Tonight, however, there were black drapes on the wall behind the teachers' table. Draco knew instantly that they were there as a mark of respect to Cedric.

Moody sat in his usual chair, jumping at every clink of glass and china, but Professor Karkaroff s chair was empty. The Durmstrang students said he had gone back to the school for some meetings, but a lot of the Slytherins didn't believe this. They didn't really know what to believe.

Their conversations ended when Professor Dumbledore stood up at the staff table. The Great Hall, which in any case had been less noisy than it usually was at the Leaving Feast, became very quiet.

"The end," said Dumbledore, looking around at them all, "of another year."

He paused, and his eyes fell upon the Hufflepuff table. Theirs had been the most subdued table before he had gotten to his feet, and theirs were still the saddest and palest faces in the Hall.

"There is much that I would like to say to you all tonight," said Dumbledore, "but I must first acknowledge the loss of a very fine person, who should be sitting here," he gestured toward the Hufflepuffs, "enjoying our feast with us. I would like you all, please, to stand, and raise your glasses, to Cedric Diggory."

They did it, all of them; the benches scraped as everyone in the Hall stood, and raised their goblets, and echoed, in one loud, low, rumbling voice, "Cedric Diggory." Draco looked down at the table as they all sat down again.

"Cedric was a person who exemplified many of the qualities that distinguish Hufflepuff house," Dumbledore continued. "He was a good and loyal friend, a hard worker, he valued fair play. His death has affected you all, whether you knew him well or not. I think that you have the right, therefore, to know exactly how it came about." Draco raised his head and turned to Dumbledore, who looked perfectly calm as he said. "Cedric Diggory was murdered by Lord Voldemort." Draco felt, rather than heard, the rush of whispers that flew through the Hall at this. He could almost hear Lucius' voice in his head, speaking the words from his letter, saying over and over, "The Dark Lord has returned," but he couldn't really fathom what that meant. He wondered if any of the other students in the Hall truly could.

"The Ministry of Magic," Dumbledore said, "does not wish me to tell you this. It is possible that some of your parents will be horrified that I have done so." Draco knew that Lucius would be among those that felt so. Dumbledore continued, "Either because they will not believe that Lord Voldemort has returned, or because they think I should not tell you so, young as you are. It is my belief, however, that the truth is generally preferable to lies, and that any attempt to pretend that Cedric died as the result of an accident, or some sort of blunder of his own, is an insult to his memory."

Greg kicked Draco under the table and whispered, "Pansy's saying that it wasn't an accident, it wasn't Diggory's fault at all. Is that true?"

Draco wasn't sure how to reply. Should he repeat what Lucius wrote, what the rumors around school were saying? Greg must've heard them by now. He couldn't've paid so little attention to things. Vin leaned in as well to hear Draco's answer. "I think Lucius agrees with that. Some say that Potter had something to do with it, but I don't know exactly what." Finished with his brief response, Draco turned back to Dumbledore to hear the headmaster practically confirm Lucius' allegations.

"There is somebody else who must be mentioned in connection with Cedric's death," Dumbledore went on. "I am talking, of course, about Harry Potter."

A kind of ripple crossed the Great Hall as a few heads turned in Harry's direction before flicking back to face Dumbledore.

"Harry Potter managed to escape Lord Voldemort," said Dumbledore. "He risked his own life to return Cedric's body to Hogwarts. He showed, in every respect, the sort of bravery that few wizards have ever shown in facing Lord Voldemort, and for this, I honor him."

Dumbledore turned gravely to Harry and raised his goblet once more. Nearly everyone in the Great Hall followed suit. Draco watched from his seat. He could feel the eyes of almost every Slytherin turn to him. They knew, he had heard that they had been told, that Lucius knew something about You Know Who's return, and Draco had heard them wondering if he himself was privy to any Dark secrets.

His face was a mask as he watched students at the other tables stand, murmur Potter's name and tip their glasses in his direction. He could not bring himself to stand. Lucius had made it very clear in his letter that he did believed Potter to be a murderer, a danger to himself and any witch or wizard who was closely associated with him. Further, Draco knew that Lucius would question him the next day about Dumbledore's farewell speech, and standing now would mean that he would have to either lie to Lucius or admit to honoring Potter. Either option could have devastating consequences, and at this moment, all he wanted was a chance to take an easy way out for something.

---

The next morning, Draco slept later than he should have. The silent house elves were still in the bedrooms packing, but Draco took a few minutes to stash some of his personals into his bookbag, which he would carry on the journey himself. No need to put those books where the servants at home would see them, and likely report them to Lucius. He bit on his lip as he packed most of the books about Pensieves into a box which would be delivered to Professor Snape's office sometime that day. There was no reason to bring them home. Once he got the Ginkou from the professor, he could work on the soapstone and ivory components using his notes.

When he went down to the Great Hall, the Slytherin table was almost deserted. It seemed like over half the students were still sleeping off the effects of the private Slytherin Leaving Party the night before. Draco had only stayed for an hour, since he was still out of sorts from Moody's exam. The Durmstrang students sat in their usual miserable huddle towards the front of the Hall, whispering amongst each other; Viktor was nowhere to be found. He glanced across the room to the Gryffindor table, but Hermione was not there. He hadn't spoken to her since the day before the third task, but now he was desperate to speak with her about Luicus' letter.

He turned back to the table. A few pieces of toast and two mugs of chamomile tea were all his stomach was able to tolerate, and the bright light from the enchanted ceiling's sun was painful, so he dragged himself back downstairs to organize his things before the carriages left for the train.

By the time they got to the entrance of the school, most of the carriages had already left for the Hogsmeade station. The five of them crammed into one, and remained relatively quiet. Pansy kept rubbing her head and cursing her decision to pack her pain relief potions the night before, and Draco, who was the only one not suffering from a hangover, kept trying different stomach-quelling charms on his housemates. Unfortunately, Greg was so fat that the spells never managed to reach his aching stomach, and he got no relief.

On the train, they managed to get a compartment to themselves by sending three second years down the corridor. Draco pulled his copy of Fatherland out of his satchel, and sat in the forward-facing window seat, but he didn't read very much. Instead, he stared out the window. Pansy and Lavinia kept popping out of their seats to visit other students and track down pain relievers, and Vin and Greg talked about the Leaving Party while they amused themselves with the pastries they'd nicked on the way out the door, and Greg kept taking sips of the Tummy Bubble Tumbler he'd found in the bottom of Pansy's train case.

About half an hour into the trip back to London, Vin and Greg began planning ways to avoid lectures by their parents over another year's dismal marks. Vin then turned to Draco and asked, "Why wouldn't Moody speak to you when you asked him about your marks, Draco?"

"Because he's a malicious, inconsiderate Mudblood? Because he's an ill-mannered coward? Can you come up with any other explanation? If he wasn't so obsessed about Diggory getting himself killed, or Potter getting Diggory killed, or whatever it was that happened, he'd be willing to sit down with a student that had questions, during his office hours, the way he's required to by the Hogwarts Charter." Draco was ranting again, as he was wont to do when Moody's name came up in conversation. "I hope Dumbledore gets rid of him over the summer."

"Didn't he say in the beginning of the term that he'd be here only one year?" Greg asked.

"I heard from Arlan that he'll be teaching next fall too. But I don't know where he gets his information," Vin added.

"If he does, I'm dropping out of school. Or I'll go to Professor Snape and get an exemption, or get permission to take an Independent Study project instead."

"You can only get those if your marks are in the top percent of the class, and with your grade this year..." Vin began.

"I've still got to be up there," Draco said desperately. Everything other mark was excellent, as usual. They can't let Moody get away with this, he thought desperately.

Greg asked, "What about your big revenge plan?"

Draco fell silent. He hadn't told anyone about the Pensieve, and now that it wasn't going to be usable yet, it wouldn't work as proof to Lucius or Dumbledore of exactly what had happened in and after Moody's classes. But the Lucius' letter had given him some assurances that the anti-Pureblood prejudices of and certain Mudbloods would be made public, and all Draco could hope was that Moody would be among them. He wasn't sure, though, exactly what Lucius would be publicizing; he'd been very vague about details. He shouldn't tell anyone, not even his housemates, exactly what Lucius had said, but he had to let them know that he was in control of the situation. How could he hold any sway over them if they thought he was weak enough to be cowed by a Mudblood, even if he was a professor?

"I may not have to carry out my out my own plan. Lucius seems to have some ideas of his own." He changed the subject. "Do you fellows want to find the Candy Witch? I'm starving!"

Greg felt his stomach gingerly and said that he thought he could handle it. Vin, unfulfilled by the pastries, was always willing to hunt down more treats. As they wandered through the corridor, small explosions came from various compartments - Filibuster Fireworks or Exploding Snap, Draco concluded. A few of the compartment doors were closed and glowing with faint Abeo spells. The boys surmised, with grins, that some sixth and seventh years were really enjoying the ride home. They spoke to students from Slytherin and Ravenclaw on their way through the train and eavesdropped on a few boring Gryffindor conversations. They didn't pass any Hufflepuffs, but during the course of their travels learned that the whole house was sitting in the first car, having some sort of "encounter session", as Reilly's older brother, a Ravenclaw seventh year called it.

Whenever he walked past an open door, Draco felt the eyes of its occupants on him. Students from all different years and all three present houses seemed to know what had happened his Dark Arts exam, and various people, including some Draco barely knew, asked questions - mostly snide ones - about Moody, his marks and what he was going to do about it. He hadn't realized that his marks were such a topic of gossip, and it made him even more embarrassed about what had happened in Dark Arts classes, and more afraid of Lucius' reaction. If every student in school knew all the nasty little details, even if Draco didn't tell him anything, Lucius would know within two days, assuming he didn't know all already.

As they neared the back of the train, Draco heard familiar voices coming through an open door. A loud game of Popping Poker was going on among a bunch of sixth years. Tilda Upton called through the door, asking Draco to stop for a moment. "I heard you had some problems with Moody last week. Did you or your dad report it yet?"

That was the final straw. He was sick to death of the questions and the comments, and he wasn't going to put up with it anymore. His hands clasped into fists and his eyes were flaming as he yelled, "Yes, I'm going to Apparate to Hogwarts this summer, track Moody down, take his wand and curse him to my heart's content. Is anyone going to try and stop me?" he asked everyone in the compartment. "Why is everyone pestering me about this?" he yelled to nobody in particular.

Alexa Vale turned away from her cards and said, "Hey, relax, kid. We don't mean anything by it. Hey, do any of you want to join the game?"

Draco opened his mouth, and closed it without saying a word. They had insulted him, and now they wanted him to sit down and give up his Galleons in their (probably fixed) game? Not likely, he thought, as he heard Greg say, "Oh, yeah, I haven't played in a couple of weeks." He threw himself into one of the empty seats and pulled out his money bag, saying "Deal me in!"

Vin turned to Draco and said, "I'm not playing, but I do want to watch, maybe make a side bet or two on the players. You want to stay?"

"Not with these jerks," Draco said, shaking his head at the players. "I'm going for a walk," he added, gesturing down the corridor. He had realized that without Greg and Vin, he might be able to find Hermione and tell her about Lucius' letter. He hadn't tried to Project to her the night before because of the Slytherin House Leaving Party, and his assumption that Gryffindor was having something similar, and he certainly couldn't on the train. Leaving his body unattended in public on a moving vehicle, he had been told so many times, was the easiest way for it to get lost. There was a risk in talking to her on the train, but if anyone who saw them thought he was delivering a message to her from Professor Snape, it wouldn't be inexplicable.

So he went down the train, keeping an eye open for either Hermione or the Candy Witch, dropping "hello"s through some of the doors. Finally, he saw both of them, along with Weasley, at the end of a corridor. He held himself against the jolting door, hoping they wouldn't notice him. Even though he knew he was too far away for it to have a real effect, he thought "Go in Weasley, go in Weasley," over and over.

Luckily, Weasley did go back into the compartment, while Hermione stood in the corridor, finishing up with the Candy Witch. As soon as he did, Draco walked towards her as quickly as he could, gesturing for her to wait behind, but either she didn't see him, or she didn't want to wait, because before he was even halfway to her, she had gone back inside and closed the door.

At least the Candy Witch was there. If he couldn't talk to Hermione, at least he could get a snack. He selected an assortment of Burger Puffs, Chocolate Frogs and Flowering Nuts, and she pulled out a bottle of Pumpkin Juice for him, and put it all into a bag, so he could take it back to his seat easily. While he fished a Galleon out of his money bag, he heard voices from inside Hermione's compartment. Potter was in there too, telling another tall tale to his friends. How could Hermione stand to be around such a self-important prat? he wondered.

He could almost hear Luicus' words in his head. We will explain things to Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers who don't understand or appreciate the importance of blood. Things are about to change, and I am among those who will do the changing.

He had to talk to her, he might not have another chance before they reached London, and then his opportunity would be lost. Lucius would know if Draco sent an owl to a Mudblood's house, and there was no guarantee they'd see each other in Diagon Alley in the next week or so. As he'd walked through the train, he'd been thinking about what to tell her, writing, revising and rehearsing a little speech in his head, something like Hermione, it's probably best if you lie low for the summer, don't call attention to yourself, keep safe. Maybe she'd believe him, and he wouldn't have to explain why he was saying these things.

He heard Potter's voice through the door, asking "How washing doing fit?" and then Weasley mumbled something. Would they leave? Maybe they would go visit Weasley's hyper brothers, and he could talk to Hermione then. Maybe...maybe...maybe... Maybe this was the best chance he'd have. He didn't really care about letting Potter and Weasley know what was going on, but if he told Hermione anything, especially if it had to do with the Dark Lord, she'd probably tell those gits, thinking she owed it to them, even though they probably didn't know half the things about her that Draco did. He squared his shoulders, lifted his hand to knock on the door, and...

"Draco! Hey, what're you doing there?" The unmistakable voice of Greg Goyle ricocheted off the walls. Draco jumped; he was sure the occupants of the compartment had heard Greg, as they were silent for the next moment, which seemed to last an hour. Draco scrambled for an explanation for his housemates.

Then, he heard Weasley say his name - were they asking Hermione something about him? That could suffice for an explanation, almost. Draco gestured to Greg, and to Vin who was right behind, to be quiet, and used his wand to quickly draw one word in the air. "Eavesdropping," it said in drippy green letters. The Slytherins approached Draco with exaggerated quietness, as if even their heavy footsteps could be heard over the noise of the train.

Now that he had stated his excuse, he had to eavesdrop on the conversation. It sounded like they were talking about Rita Skeeter. Draco pressed one end of his wand to the wall and the other to his ear and whispered Thx. Now he could hear every word they were saying.

Hermione said, "That's how she's been getting all those nice little interviews with the Slytherins. They wouldn't care that she was doing something illegal, as long as they were giving her horrible stuff about us and Hagrid."

They were talking about Rita! Draco felt a shiver cross his back. What if they learned that Draco had told Hermione about Rita? Even worse, what if Lucius suspected Draco of telling Hermione about Rita? Calm down, he thought. How could he suspect that? Hardly anyone even knows we're talking.

He pulled away from the door and glanced at Greg and Vin. They looked completely uninterested in the discussion on the other side of the wall; Greg was poking through Draco's bag from the Candy Witch, and Vin was twirling his wand. He mouthed, "Can we go yet?"

Draco whispered, "Not yet, I need to hear this." He needed to know just how bad this was going to be, and hoped to learn exactly what Hermione had done to Rita. It might be the only way he could avoid Lucius' wrath, if and when he learned about some of the happenings of the past year.

He heard Hermione again, saying she'd put Rita in a jar. She must've found her while in her Animagus form, Draco realized. He heard Hermione say, "I've put an Unbreakable Charm on the jar, you see, so she can't transform. And I've told her she's to keep her quill to herself for a whole year. See if she can't break the habit of writing horrible lies about people."

No, Draco thought. That wouldn't do at all. That would infuriate Lucius more than learning his son was studying with a Mudblood would. He had to talk to her, to warn her, to trade his information for her jarred bug. But to do it with Weasley and Potter there would be unbearable. He couldn't explain it plainly, he'd have to be oblique. She would understand. She always did, even when he was being cryptic.

He pulled his wand from the door, ending the spell, as Greg and Vin surrounded him, asking what he was going to do. "I need to talk to them," Draco said. "It's a Prophet thing. Come in with me, or go back to your poker game."

Neither of them spoke as Draco slid the door open.

Draco spoke slowly, buying time to think as he moved a little ways into the compartment, a nervous smile, which he hoped was ingratiating, playing on his lips. If I underplay the Prophet and the things Rita quoted me as saying, maybe they'll be more likely to listen, he thought, as he said, "You caught some pathetic reporter, and Potter's Dumbledore's favorite boy again. Big deal." There are bigger deals, and you need to think about them.

He opened his eyes wide, trying to look as honest and open as he could. Vin and Greg just looked puzzled. Draco wished they'd left; he could've said more if they hadn't been there, but however dim they could be in classes, there was always a risk that they would repeat something he said - something poorly planned, ill-considered - and tell Lucius.

I have to get them to focus on the matter at hand, Draco thought.

"Trying not to think about it, are we?" said Draco softly, looking at Hermione, then glancing at Potter and Weasley. "Trying to pretend it hasn't happened?"

"Get out," shouted Potter.

I will not, Draco thought. You may not want to hear this, but I am going to make sure that Hermione knows what risk she's taking, being friends with you. If she had a lower profile, if she wasn't at your side all the damned time, nobody would notice her, she'd be just another Mudblood witch who gets good grades. And people could overlook that. They can't overlook her when she's with you.

He had not been this close to Hermione since the Leaving Feast the night before, and hadn't been able to talk to her then. This was the closest he'd come to speaking with her since he'd seen her in the stands during the Third Task. She didn't meet his eyes, but looked down at her cat, stretching in his sleep on her lap. There was a look of fear on her face - could she be afraid of him? Didn't she realize that he was warning her as best he could, the only way he could in front of so many people.

"You've picked the losing side, Potter! I warned you! I told you you ought to choose your company more carefully, remember? When we met on the train, first day at Hogwarts? I told you not to hang around with riffraff like this!" He jerked his head at Weasley and looked at Hermione with a sort of desperation in his eyes. Please understand what I'm saying, he thought, staring at Hermione. Just hear me out, make those annoying friends of your listen. "Too late now, Potter! They'll be the first to go, now the Dark Lord's back! And if you don't act more cautiously, you'll get your friends killed. Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers first! Well - second - Diggory was the f-"

Before he could finish his sentence, before he could say that what happened to Cedric could have happened to any other student, any student who was at Potter's side, a box of fireworks exploded in the compartment, and everything went black.

Have you ever woke to find the morning didn't come,

Undelivered with the paper, stolen by someone,

Found the milkman bound and gagged and shackles 'round the sun,

And the holder of the keys turns out to be the one,

The girl you had your heart set on?

Have you ever had it blue?

Draco could finally see Seezon Alley stretching ahead. While Diagon Alley was well respected around the wizarding world as an excellent shopping centre, Seezon Alley, which only dated back a century, and stretched along the Thames river, was famous for its luxury restaurants, amusement park, various resort hotels, and a zoo called the Massively Magical Menagerie. It's newest addition was Simon Branford's luxury spa, where witches Portkeyed in from around the globe to spend a day enjoying treatments like A Moment of Levity™, which was a massage performed on a witch three feet off the ground, MudBlood™, where one soaked in a tub of purified mud collected from the Stonehenge Source, and Branford's patented Horklump Scrubs. British Magizoologists had been thrilled when the spa announced their discovery that the bristly creatures were good for something.

Narcissa loved it there.

Luckily, Rita did too, because she had taken advantage of the instructions Draco sent in his note. When he arrived in the stark white lobby, feeling very uncomfortable among the witches in various pale coloured robes, relaxing on effervescent divans and chaises, and introduced himself as a representative of the Prophet who needed to speak with their ace reporter, the receptionist told him that Rita was enjoying a BubbleSkin Wrap. After his last Galleons landed on her desk, she opened the door into the hallway and directed him to the Amber Room, where Rita floated in a ten foot square tub filled with bubbles, while a Spa Elf performed a manicure on her frighteningly long nails. Simon Branford himself was giving her a foot massage.

It was certainly a disturbing scene, mitigated only by the fact that the candles in the room were set to such a dim level that he could make out little more than outlines of the shapes. Rita didn't notice him when he slipped into the room, and was so startled when he first spoke to her that the elf went flying into the wall.

"Hell, Draco," Rita said harshly, "What are you doing here? How did you get into this witches' sanctum? Bribery?"

"I didn't really have an option. I needed to find you."

Rita pulled her left foot under the bubbles and said, "Simon, I think you can take a break now." A quick Finite Incantatum sent him on his way, and she said to Draco, "Why bother? The school year's over and I'm heading over to my agent's to discuss the merits of becoming a travel writer. And it's all your fault, you know."

"My fault?" Draco asked, surprised. "What did I do?"

"You told your girlfriend that -"

"She's not my girlfriend," Draco interrupted.

"So you've said, and so she's said. I haven't believed either of you since March," Rita noted. "But that's besides the point right now. I don't really care about either of you, I just want to keep myself out of Azkaban. You know, she's a lot more savvy than you are, Draco. If you had an ounce of creativity, when I blackmailed you this spring, you'd've threatened me right back, the way she did."

Draco didn't rise to the bait. If he'd exposed her then, the paper could've been fined for knowingly harboring an Animagus, and Lucius would've found out and blamed Draco for ruining one of the Prophet's trade secrets, and it wasn't worth it.

Rita went on, saying, "I've resigned myself to a year traveling around the world. I just expect to get some pretty good assignments from the Prophet. How about a month in Ibiza? I hear things are getting exciting down there."

Draco looked at her quizzically and said, "Can I finish explaining why I'm here?"

"Most of me doesn't care two knuts, but if it's the only way I'll get rid of you, then go ahead."

"I need you to come back to the Prophet with me. My father expects to see you this afternoon, and he told me to find you and bring you in."

In the darkness of the room, Draco could see Rita's smile where the candles glinted off her golden teeth. "I don't think he did. I think you volunteered. Oh, don't sound surprised, I know the way the two of you work. I've been watching him long enough, and I think I've got a good sense of you, little boy. Would it be more accurate to say that you told Lucius as little as possible about Hermione Granger, but let him think that you could push her around and make her give me up to you? And you did it so he'd let you do something you wanted to do in exchange?" Draco blanched and knew that Rita saw it. "It's amazing how much time one has to think when one is trapped in an unbreakable jar with nothing to eat but sodding leaves!" she said fiercely. "Remind me, Draco - why should I help you?"

He scrambled for an answer, but couldn't imagine the success of any appeal to her sense of duty to the paper, loyalty to the Malfoys, or responsibility for completing her assignment, even if all she did was give another reporter enough information and quotes to do a bylined story. There were no other arguments to make, though, so all he said was, "Please." He didn't beg, he didn't even want to plead with her, but he was desperate. He couldn't go back to Lucius as a failure.

He'd made enough mistakes over the past school year. He couldn't start the summer with another one. "I'll owe you a favor. That's all I can offer."

He could feel Rita Skeeter watching him very intently. Frowning, he avoided her gaze and looked around the room, hunting for something else to focus on. Her gaze made him feel as if a Augurey had walked over his grave. The silence was only broken by the sounds of the preoccupied Spa Elf, until finally, Rita said, "When the time comes for you to pay, Draco, you'll wish you'd never made that offer. Someday, I'll need something that won't be easy for you to give."

He had a sudden memory of his first history tutor, Mr. Nim, telling him about a Gringotts goblin who made a deal with a Scandinavian farmgirl. "As long as you don't take my firstborn son..."

Rita laughed very bitterly. "I won't be the one who wants that particular treasure." She paused and looked at Draco as if she expected him to do something. "Why are you still standing there? Run back to the paper - I'm going to enjoy the rest of my treatment, then I'll fly there myself."

"You'll transform again? If I were you..."

"I am not planning on becoming a beetle again until at least the next millennium. I can Apparate too, you know. I'll probably get there before you do."

She was right. It would take him at least half an hour to fly to Diagon Alley. The Ministry's Transportation Department kept talking about opening a Floo Line between Seezon and Diagon Alleys but complaints from the environmentalist politicos kept derailing the project with requests for more studies on the impact of the additional fire power on the nearby Muggle communities.

Lucius, of course, had run editorials blasting the Muggles for not taking sufficient care of their environment, adding that they shouldn't now be heard to complain about things as simple as wizarding fires, which made such a small impact, especially when compared to their belching cars and airplanes. At least the cars that wizards drove had been magically modified so they didn't need petrol and other nasty, smelly things.

The flight to Diagon Alley was much more relaxing than any of his other trips that day. Rita had given him her most recent notebook and one of her acid green quills, in case Lucius asked him for proof that she was on her way. She'd even dictated a quick note to her boss on one of the empty pieces of parchment. Draco planned to simply drop his proof of Rita's freedom and imminent visit to Lucius' office with his secretary, but when he arrived there, she said, "Your father's expecting you. Go on in."

Lucius' DictaQuill was flying across a piece of parchment, taking down the Memo from the Publisher that was distributed to the staff on a weekly basis. It paused when Draco walked in, and laid itself down on the desk at Lucius' command.

Draco was astonished and pleased to see a smile on Lucius' face. Draco hadn't seen him much that year, of course, but this was the happiest he'd seen Lucius since before the school year started. And when Lucius came from behind his desk to envelop Draco in a crushing hug, Draco didn't know how to respond. It was obvious that Rita had already returned to the paper, and equally clear that Lucius didn't yet know about Rita's plans for a change in assignments. If he had, he wouldn't've been so chipper.

"I guess she's back?" Draco asked hesitantly.

"Back, working, writing, giving us the chance to finally do a piece about Potter's actions at the Third Task. Let's see how the wizard on the street reacts to that firsthand account!" Lucius replied excitedly. "You did well, son. I didn't expect it but ... well, you did, and that's enough for right now. What are you up to for the rest of the afternoon?"

"I'm supposed to be back by five for my first Quidditch practice, aren't I?" he asked in response.

By Lucius' reply, Draco knew that the afternoon's surprises were not over yet. "I'll cancel it. I want to have dinner with you tonight, here in Diagon Alley. You can tell me all about how you tracked Rita down and got Little Miss Perfect Mudblood to hand her over. I'll see you back here at seven thirty."

Draco wondered if he had actually walked into Lucius' office or into some alternative world when he entered the Prophet building, but if this was real, he was certainly going to take advantage of Lucius' moment of good humor. "Can I go to Flourish and Blott's until then?" he asked. Lucius nodded, so Draco went on. "I'll need a few Galleons then. I didn't bring any real money with me today." No need to mention that he didn't have much at the Manor either, since he'd spent everything at the last Hogsmeade weekend.

"I don't have much here - I didn't even bring enough for the kind of dinner we're going to have tonight. Why don't you go over to Gringott's and get some coins? It's too much trouble to give you access to mine, so if you take twenty out of your own vault, I'll make sure it gets replaced this week."

Draco had never gone to Gringott's without either Lucius or Narcissa in tow, but how difficult could it be to take a trip to his own vault? He realized, though, that he didn't have his key - that was at the Manor too, and he told Lucius so. "I'll give you an identification letter, then. Quill," Lucius said, pointing his wand at the DictaQuill, "A new ParchNote - to the Chief Goblin, Gringott's Bank. 'Please consider this letter as authorization to give my son access to his vault. The number will be in your records. I ask that you give him every consideration, as he is my representative to the bank today.'" Then, he rolled up the scroll and handed it to Draco. With a pat on his shoulder Lucius sent him out the door.

Draco grabbed his broom and practically bounced down the slope to the front doors. A successful verdict from Lucius! Cancelled practice! A chance to shop in the bookstore without Lucius looking over his shoulder! Even dinner that night shouldn't be too stressful, since Lucius was clearly pleased about Draco's day of adventures, and there was no way Draco could be blamed for Rita's assignment request, was there?

He hoped that he would see Cassandra the American intern on his way out, but when he caught sight of her in Mr McKenna's office, clearly trapped in a long editorial meeting, he didn't interrupt to speak to her. He'd have another chance to talk to her later in the summer, he hoped.

As soon as he got through the two story high doors that led right onto Diagon Alley, he saw a familiar figure cross the street a few yards ahead. He hadn't spoken to Professor Snape in almost a week, and he could spare a few minutes to say hello before his trip to the bank. Draco had a few questions for him about exams and the Ginkou flower, which he needed to continue working on the Pensieve.

Draco called out, "Professor, hi! Do you have a minute?" Professor Snape stopped in his tracks, turned and walked back to greet Draco. He looked pale and had dark circles under his eyes. Draco presumed this was the result of too many late nights grading final exams. After an exchange of pleasantries, Draco took the opportunity to ask Professor Snape's help with something.

"During the week between exams and the Leaving Feast, I tried at least three times to get an appointment with Moody so I could talk to him about my mark in Dark Arts class, but he never even responded. If I want my grade reevaluated, I need to ask him, and he's made it impossible. Could you talk to him for me?"

Professor Snape grew even paler. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, as if he couldn't make any words come out. "Let's sit down," he finally said, leaving Draco by the elbow over to an empty bench. "There's something you need to know about Moody. Two things, actually. The first part, I have to say, I thought you'd already heard. I understood that students all over the school were talking about it during the last week, but I was preoccupied and..." Professor Snape's voice trailed off, and he took a deep breath before going on in a voice that was barely more than a whisper. "Draco, Moody wasn't really Moody. You have never known Alastor Moody. This year's Dark Arts professor was a Dark wizard who kidnapped and impersonated Mad-Eye Moody to get close to Harry, on behalf of You Know Who. He was instrumental in Cedric Diggory's death, Potter's disappearance during the Triwizard task, and You Know Who's return. You do know about that, don't you?"

Draco let out a cry of amazement. How could this be? How could Moody not be Moody, but a Dark wizard? And if he was a Dark wizard, why had he treated Draco the way he had? Shouldn't he have been too afraid to mistreat a Malfoy, if he wasn't really an Auror, with all the protections accorded to them? A kind of numbness and a sense of complete unreality were upon him, as all sorts of questions swirled around his head. All he could think to say to Professor Snape in response to this earth shaking revelation was, "How?"

Professor Snape explained how the fake Moody used Polyjuice potion to take on Moody's appearance, put Potter's name into the Triwizard Cup, then performed spells during the tasks that would enable Potter to touch the cup first. "But Potter was just too noble to win the tournament flat out," the professor continued, grinding his teeth before going on, "and he arranged to share the title with Cedric Diggory. Cedric was killed almost immediately after, and You Know Who had a Death Eater assist in his own reanimation. And this is the second thing I have to tell you," the professor continued.

"Part of the reanimation procedure incorporated a spell involving a dead and decomposing body."

"Why is it so important to tell me..." Draco's eyes grew wide as realization swept over him. "You mean I ... how could I...? I didn't know! What did I...? Didn't the instructions come from Mr Crouch at the Ministry?"

"That's how we put all the pieces together," Professor Snape said. "They did indeed come from Mr Crouch, from a certain point of view, but they originated with You Know Who himself. The Dark Lord's been playing with you, Draco, and if I'm right, with your father as well. I can't believe that Lucius would've put you in this situation deliberately."

"You mean with the research? The research I did, which they used to...to..." Draco could hear his voice going up, octave by octave. He must sound hysterical. What would the people passing by be thinking? He had to calm down. He put his hands over his eyes and slumped down where he sat.

One question popped out of the mire in his mind, something fundamental that he had to know. "Who was he?"

"Moody? He was Mr Crouch's son. No, Mr Crouch himself wasn't in league with You Know Who, although he was doing his bidding while under the Imperius curse for a time, as we understand it." Professor Snape interrupted himself. "I shouldn't be telling you this. It could be dangerous for you to know. If your father found out..."

"How much more dangerous could it be for me, now that I've been directly involved in bringing the Dark Lord back, and in getting Diggory killed and..." He could barely breathe again, and felt himself gasping, even though it should've been easy to inhale on such a sunny afternoon.

"You can't blame yourself for this. Please, just listen to me. I'll tell you as much as I can, but first I want you to know that I told Dumbledore everything."

"Everything?" Draco asked. He didn't feel up to asking a complicated question at the moment.

"What Moody did to you, what your 'exam' was, everything you told me he said to you, and about the research you did."

"Am I going to be expelled?" he asked.

"No, Dumbledore knows it wasn't your fault. He was hoodwinked by the fake Moody himself, how could he blame you for not realizing Crouch was a fraud? He will talk with you about it in September, and he has already arranged for your mark in Dark Arts to be corrected."

That was a relief, Draco thought. At least everything wasn't collapsing - only some things. He listened as Professor Snape told him about Barty Crouch and his impersonation of Mad-Eye Moody. "It became clear to me, when I listened to his story, and when Dumbledore filled in some gaps later, that your father was not the one who decided you would do the research they required. Crouch didn't have certain books in his house, and his son was no scholar. You Know Who had a lot riding on the spell, and didn't trust Moody to get it right so..."

"They used me."

"I haven't seen a teenager with your reputation for thorough research since, well, since me, but that's a conversation for another time. I would guess that there were a few reasons that you were their perfect candidate for the task. You're discreet, you follow your father's orders. That's obvious to anyone who knows your family at all. You were also in the right location, being at Hogwarts, it meant that you could easily give the information you collected directly to Crouch, in his guise as Moody. We presume he sent the information to You Know Who."

Among all the things about this that were troubling Draco, one was at the forefront. "Does Lucius know? Did he know when he told me to do this, what it was for?"

"I don't know," Professor Snape said quickly. "I don't want to think so. It would make sense that he didn't, because if he did, why would you have to go through Moody, I mean Crouch, to get the results to his master? If Lucius was really involved, you could've simply sent everything to him. This time, I think your father was as much a dupe as the rest of us. I'm shattering all your illusions about him, aren't I?"

"Honestly, I don't know which is better, for him to have known this from the start, or for him to have been hoodwinked."

"What about you? It's clear that you're upset about your involvement in this, but why? Is it because someone got something past you, or because of Moody not being himself, or because you're truly displeased about You Know Who being back?"

Draco didn't know what to say. He didn't even know how his own thoughts on the subject fit together, how was he supposed to explain this to Professor Snape? He was a friend of Lucius', of course, and anything Draco said would probably be reported to Lucius anyway. Now that he thought about it, he was furious with himself for having been so candid in this conversation, but he could cover that when Lucius questioned him about it later. He really didn't want to answer Professor Snape's question at all, and certainly not now, when he had so many things to think through, and ... and he had to get to Gringotts before they closed at five o'clock, and it was already ... ten of!

"Oh, hinkypunks, Professor. Can we finish this conversation later?" Draco jumped to his feet and gathered his things. "I've got to get to the bank this afternoon, but I want you to tell me more about ... will you be here a little longer?" He was sputtering, he never lost track of time like this. What a catastrophe this day was becoming.

"I wasn't planning to stay, but I can. Why don't you run your errand, I'll go pick up some ingredients I need, and I'll meet you at Florean Fortescue's at five thirty. Will that give you enough time?

They were already walking towards the bank by now, and Draco nodded that it would be sufficient, then ran the last block to the snow-white building and up the steps.

"Sir, we are closing in five minutes," the doorgoblin said as he dashed through the doors to one of the attended counters.

He was gasping for breath by the time he reached the desk and explained that he needed to visit his vault. He showed Lucius' parchment to the goblin, who read the letter carefully and said, "Very well," handing it back to Draco. "I will have someone take you down. Movridus! Please take Lucius Malfoy's son down to his vault. You'll have to pull the map from the recording pile, we've already packed away the ones we keep up here."

They paused in an antechamber while Movridus sorted through stacks and files of parchment. After long minutes, he finally said, "Found it!" and led Draco into the familiar narrow stone passageway lit with flaming torches. Movridus whistled and a small cart came hurtling up the tracks toward them. They climbed in and were off, on what proved to be the shortest trip Draco could ever remember taking through Gringotts' maze of twisting passages, to an area he couldn't remember ever being in before.

"This isn't my vault," Draco said. He glared at the goblin, and added, "If this is the kind of security you give to all your customers, it's a wonder the firm is still in business."

"I am new to this division, sir. I've been downstairs in Antiquities for the past seventeen years," the goblin said as he flipped through a stack of papers attached to a clipboard, which had suddenly appeared in his hand. "Just one moment, please, Mr Malfoy. I forgot my glasses at my counter upstairs, and while I can read without them, my distance vision is a little troubling."

Draco said, "I'll just look occupy myself by looking through this tiny vault, then." The goblin didn't say anything, which Draco took as assent. He felt so jittery and out of sorts, and wanted to finish this transaction and go back home and lock himself into his room and do nothing but think about what Professor Snape said.

For the moment, though, he focused on the task at hand, and looked around the area where the cart had been stopped. Every time he'd visited one of the family vaults with Lucius or Narcissa, they'd gone to one of the walk ins in the high security section, and filled his father's case or his mother's purse with Galleons. This vault was at eye level, but barely a foot high, although it was deeper than his arm could reach. Instead of money, it was full of stacks of small, navy-bound leather books, file folders and what looked like a Muggle contraption, made of something Hermione had told him was called "platsic", with hundreds of holes, five little buttons, and the word "SONY" on the front. He pulled it out and began twisting the knobs and clicking the buttons.

"Mr Malfoy, the records I have here say this is your vault. Number 1154, a thirty year lease, paid for and signed November 15, 1978 by you, Alexander Malfoy, son of Lucius and Celeste Malfoy."

The device fell out of Draco's hands and smashed on the floor.

Have you ever watched the day, passing by your door,

Powerless to change its course, your feet fixed to the floor,

When all the people you thought you knew are changing more and more

Even the girl you thought would see, seems only to ignore

The only love worth fighting for?

Have you ever had it blue?