This Is War, After All

Part Two

It had taken him two and a half months to get to this point.

Two and a half months of stalking, breaking-and-entering, eavesdropping, bribing and Portkey-tracing.

The Dark Lord himself had given Draco the assignment to take out the Weasley girl. She was too well-connected, too versed in the ways of the black market. Unfortunately she was also too loyal to ever consider joining the Death Eaters. Her support for the Order of the Phoenix placed the Death Eaters at a distinct disadvantage, as they had no one nearly as adept as she. It was imperative that they get rid of her, but previous attempts on her life had failed. It was up to Draco to find a way to kill her without getting caught.

He had never imagined that his first mission would be such an important one. He was determined to pull it off perfectly; to show the Dark Lord (and anyone else who might be paying attention) that he was a force to be reckoned with, destined to rise in the Lord's ranks. So when September came, bringing with it cooler air and hooded cloaks, Draco began following Weasley.

Her routine was fairly consistent; he could stalk her around Diagon Alley from ten until mid-afternoon, when she would disappear either to some unknown location or into Granger's shop. After that he would wait a few hours until she began using Portkeys from her flat--which he could trace. Draco also peeped in on her floo travel, thanks to his connection in the Ministry Floo Network office. But while Weasley was predictable, she was also careful in her security measures. Her Portkeys were un-divertable and her floo gate always shut immediately after use. All the wards around her house were carefully maintained, and even when out of doors she was alert and stayed mostly in crowded areas.

Then, suddenly, all that began to change. At some point late in September, her actions grew more hurried and less cautious. As time passed she got worse, behaving almost as if she knew her end was near. This got Draco very nervous for a while, before he finally realized that she couldn't have found out about his mission, and so whatever caused her new distractedness only made his task easier.

Avenues of opportunity opened up before Draco's very eyes. Weasley would leave the wards down on her flat, for example, though never when she was inside. He could booby-trap the place and get her that way, but such traps failed too often and he didn't want to alert her to the fact that she was in danger. Besides, that had no finesse. For his first serious mission he wanted to best all the idiots who worked with his father, to prove to the Dark Lord that he was infinitely more capable than they.

Weasley made more mistakes, too. He kept his ears open and investigated the world she circulated in--the underground potion ingredients trade. It seemed Weasley was increasing her purchases of the magical herbs and secretions that she generally bought. Since Weasley supplied Severus Snape, who provided both the Ministry and the Order with potions, Draco guessed that one of the two entities was growing desperate.

Yet if the rumor mills were as accurate as ever, it seemed neither the Ministry nor the Order were increasing their demands after all. Weasley had to have some other reason for increasing her activity. Possibly she was falling apart under the stress of her job; he knew that lower-class workers generally could not handle tough jobs. Rough luck for her, then, but perfect for Draco, as she was getting sloppy.

His first move was to hire an older relative of Crabbe, a scruple-less fellow who took out anyone for the right amount of money. As unpleasant as the man was, he nevertheless lied fluently, so Draco paid him to infiltrate the underground magical substances trade, posing as a newly-arrived Australian peddler of Erumpent fluid. Then they simply waited for word of the new, well-stocked arrival to reach Weasley. It didn't take long; after two weeks of conducting superfluous trades, she contacted Crabbe through a mutual dealer to set up an exchange.

Malfoy directed Crabbe to meet with her a few times over the course of November, each time giving her just a portion of his Erumpent fluid stock, then contacting her again claiming he had received more. Crabbe always made sure to arrive late and take as long as possible, lulling Weasley into a state of complacency with his behavior. When the day arrived, she would not be suspicious.

Draco focused more of his own time on Granger's store. That discovery had been the first real gem of this mission. He had staked the store out for days at a time and saw various known Order members pass in and never come back out. No other Death Eater had ever noticed this, so he realized it must be a new front for some Order operation. Draco wanted to wait until he definitely knew what it was before bringing it to the attention of the Dark Lord.

He knew one thing for sure, however. He had prowled the street on which the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix was located day and night for an entire week. Snape had informed the Dark Lord long ago of where it was, approximately, but it remained impervious to attack as Snape was not the Secret-Keeper. But at least Draco could watch the street, and he knew where to look, since number 12 was the only house missing. He saw Snape, Dumbledore, some Aurors and some Weasleys all disappear in the general vicinity of houses 11 and 13, but never did he see the girl Weasley. For that reason, he suspected that in Granger's shop might lie an alternate entrance to the headquarters.

On a cold November day Draco set out to get inside that dress shop. He took his own Subtlety Potion, which did not make him invisible but prevented anyone nearby from noticing him, and Apparated right to the store at around two in the morning. He magically probed the wards and the protection spells on the store, quickly gathering that it was far beyond his own abilities to break in. So he called a professional curse-breaking friend of his.

They spent a week and a half of late night/early morning sessions figuring out the system. Once they did, they realized how simple the protection was. Though it had taken them a while to work out what the charms were, only a handful of incantations activated and de-activated it. Granger managed it in about one minute twice a day.

His next step was to actually explore the inside. It took him three trips to find the Portal, and when he did, his awe was marked. The Dark Lord's army had no such thing, but Draco knew instinctively what it was. They were hell to build; this one had almost certainly been done by Dumbledore. He had heard and read lots about the usefulness of Portals, as they were very private. No wonder Dumbledore hadn't told Snape about this. The Portal was a thing of beauty, and deserved the most careful protection.

Unfortunately it took him another two nights to garner the courage to go through it. There was no telling what was on the other side. It could be the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, and he might be falling into Dumbledore's waiting arms. Actually, it could lead anywhere and he might be falling into Dumbledore's waiting arms. Yet he had no alternative; Portals left nothing to trace and gave no hint of what was on the other side. Reluctantly, with wand ready, he jumped through on the third night.

It was with an enormous sense of relief that Draco found himself in an empty, altar-like clearing. At the same time, however, he was frustrated: what the hell was the point of this place? Probably an Apparition or Portkeying point, but to where?

Well, it was clear he was not going to find out anytime soon, so he went back the way he came and arranged, through his father, a meeting with the Dark Lord.

"Have you killed the Weasley daughter?" Lucius Malfoy asked, a trace of eagerness in his voice.

"No. This is another important matter."

"Hasn't it been nearly three months you've been following her?" Draco felt his excitement about finding the Portal dissipate.

"Yes, but I'm very close now, Father."

"You said that a month ago." He hadn't, in fact, but there was no arguing with his father when he was acting so disappointed.

"I mean it now. I am close." His father ignored him, a signal of his disbelief. Draco walked out of the large, marble-floored office in frustration.

But his father's doubts couldn't hold Draco back for long. He had crucial news, and a day later, when he met with the Dark Lord in the throne room of the abandoned castle he now inhabited, Draco regained the pride of his first accomplishment.

"My Lord," he said upon being allowed in, striding towards the tall, sickly thin figure of his master. He knelt down in front of the Dark Lord's throne, kissing the hem of his robes formally. He remained bent with face tilted down until the Lord instructed him to rise.

"What have you to tell me, Draco? Have you killed Ginny Weasley already?"

"N-no, my Lord--"

"Address me as Master, you know how I like it, Draco." He knew how Draco hated it, actually, which was why he demanded it. But Draco was hardly about to argue with a man who could kill him with a gentle flick of his wrist.

"Yes, Master. I was saying that I have not yet killed Weasley, but I expect to do so well before Christmas."

"Promises and expectations are all well and good, Draco, but I prefer bodies. Now, if you haven't come to tell me that you've completed your mission, why are you wasting my time?" Despite his impatient words, the Dark Lord was not angry. So Draco remained erect, as his father would have, unlike the pitiful Wormtail, who sniveled whenever he opened his mouth.

"I have found a Portal," Draco said calmly, hiding his anticipation. The Dark Lord's eyes widened.

"Indeed?"

"Yes, Master. It is in the basement of Hermione Granger's shop in Diagon Alley. The store is just a front, she almost never has customers. But I'd seen the Weasley girl go in and not come back out numerous times, and I'd seen other known Order of the Phoenix members do the same thing, so I broke through the wards and investigated. The Portal is there, and I went through it. Unfortunately it leads only to a clearing in some forest, so I assume it's an Apparition or Portkeying point to some protected site."

"Hogwarts, perhaps?" The Dark Lord gripped the sides of his throne tensely and spit a little in excitement as he spoke. A bit of saliva landed grotesquely on Draco's forehead, but he didn't dare wipe it off.

"Master, if I may, I believe it is an entrance point to the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix."

"Why do you say that?"

Draco explained his reasoning, adding, "It is only a guess of course, Master." The Lord nodded thoughtfully and Draco could tell he was impressed. He tried valiantly to hold in his pride at having done well.

"Don't bother masking your pleasure, Draco, do you think I can't tell? You have done well in your service." Draco grinned, and the Dark Lord looked at him approvingly. "I will consider the information you have given me. Leave my presence, now."

"Yes, Master." Draco turned and walked out of the chamber, nearly bouncing in his steps. As soon as he closed the doors behind him, he wiped the spittle off of his head, then turned to grin condescendingly at Goyle Sr., who was guarding the entrance. "Keep up the good work, old man," he leered. Mr. Goyle scowled and Draco Disapparated, laughing.

He never wanted to come down off of this high. If only that could have been his father--

No! What did he care what his father thought? Some day he would be closer to the Dark Lord than even Lucius, and then what would Lucius' approval matter? Not that it mattered now, anyway. His father would never be happy with him, and that was that. He had come to terms with the fact in his Hogwarts years, and had moved on.

Whatever Draco did not like he insulted and forgot about, so as soon as he finished mentally bashing his father, he returned to thoughts of his meeting with the Dark Lord. That had been one of the best moments of his life, one he wanted to repeat as soon as possible. He would deliver Weasley to the Dark Lord, be the cause of a huge setback to their enemies, and probably devastate Potter the bastard and all his Weasley and Mudblood followers. What could be better?

He set a deadline for himself, much sooner than the Christmas deadline given him. Two weeks--at some point within the next two weeks he would take the first opportunity given him to catch her alone and...take her out. He now knew her basic schedule, how to deactivate the wards on Granger's shop, and when she opened her floo gate to call Snape. That was everything he could need. He was ready.

But the first week passed and, despite her sloppiness, Draco was unable to ambush her. Either Weasley was having a good week or he really hadn't noticed how careful she remained despite her recent lax in security. Now Draco was nervous; he knew he would have to trip her up somehow. He was pretty sure she had an Order meeting coming up on that Thursday, so he arranged for Crabbe to make a trade with her early the same evening. Adrian Crabbe would have to stall her for as long as possible, perhaps by forgetting some of the Erumpent fluid. Hopefully Granger would close the shop and force Weasley to enter the Grimmauld Place house the normal way. He could catch up with her there, on the dark street. It was madness, perhaps, to attempt an attack right outside an Order meeting, but he would silence or stun her from behind before the ambush.

He tried to wipe away the thought of how skilled a dueler Weasley had proven herself to be. As it turned out, of course, he needn't have worried. Luck was apparently on his side.

Draco put that plan into action. At first it went perfectly: dressed in his Death Eater robes with a small helping of Subtlety Potion, he hid in his usual alcove across from Granger's shop and tried to ignore the rain. Crabbe was making the trade with Weasley at that moment, as the sun was setting. Draco waited and watched excitedly as, through the glass window, he could see Granger look at her pocket watch and peep down the street, clearly looking for Weasley. After a minute or so she turned off all the lights and put up the wards from inside. She disappeared into the back room, and that was it.

So far, so good. Crabbe had already been with Weasley for fifteen minutes, so she ought to be arriving soon. And she did. Rapid movement caught his attention by the corner of his eye and Draco stood up tall, his heart beginning to pound. This was it. He forgot about the cold, and the rain that had been irritating him though it now came down in earnest. He forgot to wonder how Crabbe managed to stall her for so long. All of his attention was riveted on her, his grey-robed, redheaded target. He pulled on his mask and drew his wand, ready to Apparate as soon as she did.

Only she didn't.

It took Draco a moment to register what she was doing--deactivating the wards on the shop--and only a moment more for panic to set in. If she kept moving at the rate she was going, even if he deactivated the wards after she had gone he would never reach her before she Apparated or Portkeyed out from the clearing! Since when did she know how to work those wards, anyway? He had never seen her do so before! Damned Weasels always kept things hidden.

But it didn't matter how impossible it seemed--he had to go in after her. She finished taking off the locking spells and hurried in through the door, and in that instant, Draco seized his advantage, and as quietly--which meant as calmly--as he could, he Apparated inside. He did make a soft "Pop" upon arriving, he couldn't help it, but it was masked by the noise of her shutting the door. He watched through the darkness as she put the wards back up and headed to the backroom, pulling her hood over her wet hair. For some reason she left the door open behind her--sloppy, Weasley, he thought gleefully, as his blood began pumping faster through his veins. This might really be it!

He waited for her to open the trapdoor and head down the stairs before scurrying quietly after her. He followed downstairs fairly closely, able to do so because she left everything open behind her. From across the room he watched her enter the Portal, and that's when he sprinted with all his might towards it and leapt through, nearly missing.

He landed on his feet inches from Weasley, and she stumbled hurriedly away from him.

"Accio wand!" he cried forcefully, immediately gaining the upper hand as her nine inch birch wand landed neatly in his palm. What would Weasley do now? He knew by hearsay that she was a fierce fighter. Not that it mattered; she was wandless and could do nothing. "Sorry about this," he said mockingly, and moved to raise his wand.

He was completely thrown off when, in a flash, she started running at him with a giant knife in her hand, hollering like a banshee--it was dark, but he could see the knife glint by the light of the Portal.

"Stupefy!" Draco hexed desperately before Weasley got too close. That was frightening, he admitted to himself once she had fallen. He drew a breath of relief, but at the same time he berated himself for stunning her instead of killing her. Draco stalked over and grabbed the knife from her limp hands and stood up, aiming the wand at her heart. He was about to cast the curse--the one he had been practicing on small animals and insects since his induction into the Death Eaters--when he realized that her eyes were open. What the hell? How? he wondered. She was tough--a warrior, indeed--but the look she had in her eyes now was, shockingly, one of terror.

He had to act before that terror became something else.

"Avada Kedavra." The green flash of light that emerged was brighter than any he'd produced when killing animals, and it lit up the forest around them. For a second he could see owls fluttering and some four-footed beast leaping, and then the light dimmed.

Draco stood stock-still, waiting for his vision to adjust again. Slowly, he became aware of all the things he hadn't had the spare attention to notice before: it was pouring, for one, harder than it had been in London. It was colder, too, and his mask was tight and clammy like damp plaster around his face. He looked down.

Weasley was definitely dead, but he bent to check her pulse and make sure. As he leaned over her, he saw that her eyes were still wide open, the expression on her face no longer of fear but of serenity. Something in her final moment had calmed her. Draco found himself glad that someone who had been so fierce in her last battle should not die with a frightened look on her face.

Her hood had slid off when she fell and in the dim light the pillow of hair looked eerily like blood. It was then he realized he had just killed a person, and probably ought to get out of there as soon as possible. He stood just a moment longer, looking down at her corpse. He wished he had a camera.

Draco Apparated out directly to the entrance gates of the Manor and tore off his mask, tilting his head back and letting the rain cool his sweaty face.

The first thing that occurred to him, as he righted his head and looked at Malfoy Manor, was how easy it had been to kill Weasley. Two words and a focus of intent, and the person who had successfully dueled so many Death Eaters was dead. Perhaps this was why the Avada Kedavra curse was so powerful; not for what it did to the victim but for the way it made the caster feel. He could do that to anyone, and they would be helpless against it. Of course, he couldn't imagine it was possible to do so to the Dark Lord. Or Lucius. But it was certainly a power he had over Potter and his idiot squad and even, Draco realized with a jolt, over Dumbledore.

The second thing he realized was that in his right hand he held Weasley's birch wand and sharp, silver knife. Startled, he dropped the reminders of who she had been onto the wet ground. A second later he scrambled to pick them up again and glanced around in a paranoid fashion. What if he had just left them there? Weasley's brother or Potter would probably be snooping around the Manor soon enough, and what more incriminating evidence could they ask for? Get a grip on yourself, he commanded internally. Stupid, panicky mistakes like that were how amateurs got caught. He might be new at this, but he was no damned amateur.

Reassured, he tucked the items into his pants pocket and marched proudly up to the Manor, pausing in the entrance hall to cast drying charms on himself and settle his hair neatly. Confident that he looked unshaken, exactly the way he felt, of course, Draco strutted to his father's office and knocked loudly on the wooden doors.

"Come!" His father's voice rang clearly, and Draco walked up to his desk, sitting without asking in a way he never had before. "What do you want?"

"I've just come from taking out the Weasley girl."

"What?" his father cried in an uncharacteristic display of surprise and, even better, leaped out of his seat. "Do you mean you've killed her?" Draco stood up respectfully and nodded.

"Yes, Father." For perhaps the first time in months his father smiled in response to something he had done.

"Can you prove it?" For one wild second Draco thought back to the picture he had wanted to take of her dead body, then remembered what he had in his pockets.

"I've got her things here," he said, and placed the wand and knife on the large, neat oak desk.

"Ah, well done," Lucius said, and Draco nearly burst with pride. Until he saw his father reach across the table and, with a smooth motion, sweep the items into his desk drawer. When he slammed the drawer shut, Draco felt an instantaneous, inexplicable sense of loss. Well, they were his prizes after all, weren't they? "Go tell your mother we're going to have a celebration tonight. In honor of you, naturally." Draco's bitter feeling vanished; for years he had dreamed of hearing his father say that. He felt himself grinning foolishly. But then Lucius went on, "I will take this time to inform the Dark Lord of your accomplishment."

"No!" The protest had slipped out of his mouth before he even thought it. He wanted to be the one to tell the Dark Lord; if his father did it, he would manage to take all the credit somehow--

"Don't worry, Draco," he said with a tolerant smile. "You'll get your praise. We're inviting the Dark Lord to the manor for your celebration."

"Really?"

"Of course, son! Everyone important will be invited. You didn't think your celebration would be a quiet dinner with mummy, did you?" Draco actually laughed, something he almost never did in private with his father. "Go on, then. Let me make the announcement." Draco nodded and strode out, wrapped up in his excitement. But as soon as he reached the cool quiet of the Manor's corridors, he remembered that he no longer had Weasley's wand and knife. He wanted them back so he could roll them around in his fingers, get to know the feel of them better. It was better, though, that his father had them, because he was probably going to destroy them after showing the Dark Lord. Draco wished he wouldn't destroy them, but they were, after all, evidence.

As he headed to see his mother he wondered whether Weasley's body had been found. It must be soaked to the core by now, he realized, with the way the rain had been coming down. What an inelegant way for her family to find her. Too bad he hadn't cast a Shielding Charm on her; quickly, he dismissed the idea entirely. Why on earth should he care what happened to her body?

An hour later the party was in full swing. His fellow Death Eaters had all Apparated over, drinks were set out in abundance, and Draco received congratulations after congratulations. He was tipsy and the center of attention, but all he really wanted to do was hide away in his room and think about how different he felt.

"Ho, Draco my boy," Theodore Nott, an old family friend, pounded him on the back. "Good to see you finally come into your own. It's about time, you know. We've been waiting. My boy completed his first mission a year ago!"

"Maybe." Draco's Aunt Bellatrix sidled over, black hair hanging thinly down her back, somehow managing to show lots of pale skin in her dark silver robe. She draped a long, slender arm around Draco's shoulders and tipped back a bit more champagne. "Maybe Teddy did get initiated a year ago, but what was his task? Raiding an Apothecary's shop, I believe." She laughed the high, slightly wild laugh that had always sent shivers up Draco's spine and didn't fail to do so now. "Draco here may have taken a bit longer, but it was worth the wait, no? He pulled off the murder of that bratty, over-protected Weasley bint, in just one go! When was your deadline, by the way, Draco?"

"Christmas," he said proudly, sneering at Nott.

"Christmas! How do you like that? He's almost a month early. When was the last time you ever did something important a month before you had to?" Nott shrugged icily. "No, wait, Teddy, when was the last time you did something important at all?" Scowling in disgust, Nott walked away. Draco snickered in enjoyment and turned to joke with his aunt, but she had withdrawn her arm and was stalking after Nott.

Feeling a bit lost and woozy, Draco meandered about the full hall, grabbing another flute of champagne as he went. He wondered whether he could slip off and go to his room now, but before he could decide, his father pulled him aside.

"The Dark Lord should be here any minute now, Draco. Are you ready?"

"Ayuh, yes Father."

"You're drunk," his father said disapprovingly, then shook his head and smiled. "No one can say you don't deserve it. Myrna Sayer is here, by the way, why don't you go say hello?"

"Really?" Myrna Sayer was a very attractive witch just a year older than he who had dropped out of Hogwarts a year early to pursue her professional modeling career. She was a Death Eater, but not a very active one; she served the role of recruiter more than anything else and did not wear a mark on her arm. Draco glanced around eagerly and saw her talking to Uncle Rodolphus. She caught his eye and smiled. "Father, where's Professor Snape?"

"You know Severus can't be informed of these things so soon. Go on now, Myrna's waving you over." Draco did so gladly, and twenty minutes and a brief conversation later found them lying on top of the dining room table, kissing heavily with their hands all over each other. Dimly he heard a loud noise and then the sound of silence, but it was drowned out by the rushing in his head.

"Draco," Myrna started saying, and he grabbed her appreciatively. "No, Draco, stop, you have to get up."

"No," he countered, pressing down on her harder and trying to kiss her again.

"Get up you drunken lump. I think He's here." That stopped Draco quite effectively, and he sat up to listen carefully. Indeed, the sounds from the hall had changed, and he could hear what sounded like a lone, very high voice speaking.

"Shit!" He jumped up and threw his top robe back on, trying to smooth out the wrinkles and his messy hair. Myrna had jumped up, too, and was busily re-arranging herself in a similar manner. As soon as they looked decent, they hurried back to where the party was taking place.

Draco, feeling quite sober now, slid inside to find everyone bowing on their knees to the Dark Lord, who stood at the head of the hall on a raised dais.

"You may rise, now," he said pleasantly, and his worshippers gratefully stood up. "Where is the Malfoy boy?"

"Here I am, my Lord," Draco called, and hurried forward to give the customary greeting. When he was permitted to stand, he noticed with a slight panic that the Lord was giving him a level, not-pleased look.

"I believe I told you before what to call me, Draco," he said plainly, and Draco paled a bit. "But," he went on with a complete change in mood, "this is your night, so I will let it go." Draco tried not to show his relief.

"Thank you, Master."

"Much better," the Dark Lord smiled, which was frightening in and of itself. "Now, Draco, what is this I hear about you completing your mission a month early?"

"Yes, Master, I've...I've killed the Weasley girl."

"Bravo!" he said in response, and at that the Death Eaters began cheering. The Dark Lord held out a hand and they all silenced. "Regale us with the story of how you did it, then, Draco." As crazy as it was, Draco almost told the Dark Lord no; he didn't want to share the story. He wanted to yell at everyone to bugger off and quit being nosy. It had been his mission, and he almost felt intimate about it.

"Go on!" people encouraged him, and he knew he had no choice. So, albeit unenthusiastically, he described what went on that night. He did feel rather gratified when they cheered him and hurrah-ed at all the most exciting moments, but he wasn't sure he ought to feel that way. His thoughts and emotions were all confused, but at least he knew one thing--everyone was proud of and impressed by him, and that carried him through the night.

Around one in the morning he had sex with Myrna in the first-floor bathroom; afterwards she led him back to the party and disappeared. By now all Draco wanted to do was sleep, but no one wanted him to go, and anyway his parents, who were both still around, expected him to stay.

It was nearly three when the party broke up and the last guest had gone. Without another word to his parents he stumbled wearily up to his bedroom an collapsed on his blue silk bedding, tugging the folded down comforter over his head. Too exhausted and uncoordinated to take off his shoes or his clothes, Draco was asleep within seconds.

When he woke up in the morning, all he could remember of his dreams were images of a white wand and a large, glittering knife.

"Ohh," he groaned upon opening his eyes. The meager light that shone through his heavy curtains was too painful to bear. "Tippy," he yelled hoarsely, knowing his house-elf would hear him wherever she was, as long as she was awake. There was a soft pop and Tippy was in the room.

"Is you needing something, Master Draco?"

"Hangover Cure. NOW."

"Yessir, it is on your table." But the nightstand was on the other side of his bed.

"Well give it to me, then!"

"Yes, Master." The sound of little feet scurrying around his bed was quickly followed by the sensation of a cool, damp glass being placed in his hand. Draco managed to pull himself into a sitting position and opened his eyes into little slits to examine what he held. It was a cup of barf-like orange-colored beverage that had a greenish, filmy rim right at the surface.

"Thank goodness," Draco hissed gratefully, gulping it down. He was in too much pain to really register the abhorrent flavor; all he noticed was that in the next two minutes his headache had abated and he could open his eyes without dying. "Go away," he said to Tippy, and she vanished. That was when Draco began to feel a pressure on his feet--his shoes were still on. For that matter, so were his dress robes.

Memories of the previous night's events washed over him like a flood. Well, most of them, anyhow. He tried to work back in reverse chronological order in his mind--party ending, spending about five minutes peeing in a plant in the corridor, joking around with Marcus Flint, doing Myrna Sayer against the wall of the bathroom--

He paused in his thoughts to grin at that one and recall as much as he could. Moving on...

The Dark Lord having him re-tell--oh. With an awful tug in his chest his memories took a huge leap backwards in time: to Weasley's murder.

Despite having taken the hangover cure, Draco flew to his bathroom and vomited uncontrollably, fleetingly grateful that most of it landed in the toilet. His own words were replaying over and over in his head, blocking out any other conscious though: Avada Kedavra.

Cleaning out his mouth and wiping the tears from his face, Draco tried to reclaim the feeling of awesome power he had felt after using that curse the night before, but he couldn't quite.

He needed a shower.

A half hour later he stood freshly dressed in front of his bedroom mirror, carefully and methodically combing his hair. Doing this always helped to settle his nerves; he picked at every strand and settled the part evenly, combing his overlong fringe out of his face. He would need a haircut in a couple of weeks, he could tell.

He smoothed down invisible wrinkles on his plain grey robe, then. He preferred to wear grey most of the time, unlike the myriads of wizards and even witches who stuck with the black they were accustomed to wearing after seven years of Hogwarts uniform. His black leather boots were neatly polished and shone down to the silver buckles, and the silver and emerald family crest pin he wore at his chest glimmered expensively. There. Now he could go down to breakfast. Now he was in control of himself again.

He turned from the mirror and joined his parents in the small dining room (not the one in which he had been feeling up Myrna Sayer). Draco joined the silent meal, commanding the butler to bring him eggs and toast. He was secretly gratified to note that his voice, along with his appearance, had reverted to normal.

"Did you sleep well, Draco?" his mother asked politely, her adoring gaze more telling than her bland tone.

"Not really," Draco shrugged. "I was completely pissed so I woke up with a hangover and had to drink some of Great Uncle Gunter's disgusting cure." He smirked as Narcissa turned back to her food with a sour frown. She didn't approve of drunkenness, the word 'pissed,' or even Great Uncle Gunter, which was why Draco had said it. Since he had learned an appreciation for all three things from his father, he could get away with mentioning them and she couldn't complain.

His father spoke up then. "Meet me in my office at noon, today. I'm taking you to the Dark Lord's castle again." Draco nodded and tried to hide his anxiety. The Dark Lord wanted to see him again? Already? "Oh, and you might take a look at the Prophet, too. There's an article in it that might interest you."

"Thanks," Draco said, as he knew he was meant to, and the rest of the small meal was taken in habitual silence. When his parents had finished eating, Draco found the butler and instructed him to bring the Daily Prophet. He sat himself down on a bench in the gardens, overlooking a small pond teeming with fish and lily pads and leaned back relaxed, enjoying the cool late-morning air on his skin.

"Sir," his butler said as he arrived, bearing the paper on a silver tray. Draco took the paper and waved the man away, preparing to search for whatever his father had hinted at.

He didn't have to look for long.

Upon flipping the folded newspaper open, Draco promptly and violently threw it away from himself with a cry of horror, half-leaping out of his seat. The butler came running back.

"Master Malfoy, what--"

"Go away! Go away!" And without another thought Draco raced after the pages that had scattered and reassembled them in the proper order. Then he slowly, forcefully, turned to the front page again.

A giant close-up of Ginny Weasley's smiling face greeted him again.

"Ministry Daughter Murdered in Cold Blood" the headline above her photograph read in bold letters. Beneath it was an in-depth article about Ginny Weasley, her Ministry-loyal family, the circumstances of her murder ("found lying in the streets of Diagon Alley by brother Ronald Weasley, a Ministry Auror, and family friend Hermione Granger"), and the investigation that was now underway. Death Eaters were suspected to be the perpetrators, especially since she was a member of such an important family, though she was not directly involved with the fighting.

The article also mentioned that her wand had been missing--that sent shivers right down Draco's spine. What if they tracked it somehow? But Father surely would have taken care of it--it was probably why he took the wand from Draco in the first place.

He read the article again, and again, three times before realizing what he was doing and setting fire to it. But many of the sentences he had memorized, and they ran uncontrollably through his head.

Noon was a long time in coming.

Draco arrived in front of his father's office a little early but was allowed in. Whatever the Dark Lord had planned would be a better use of his time than endlessly going over that haunting article in his mind.

"Come. He won't mind if you show up a minute early." Lucius tossed a handful of Floo powder into his fireplace and gestured for Draco to go ahead.

"Are you not coming, Father?" He hadn't managed to keep the edge of fear from his voice.

"Of course not," Lucius said severely. "You are a full member of this society, now. There is no need for an intermediary." Draco gulped, knowing better than to complain.

A few minutes later he was struggling to hide his shock a second time.

"A-another assignment, Master?"

"Yes, Draco, do you have a problem with that?"

"No, of course not Sir. Master." Draco worked furiously to rein in his expressive emotions, taking deep breaths to do so.

"Good. You have today to rest, then tomorrow I want you to begin investigating a certain building in Hogsmeade. I believe it to be housing supplies for the Ministry's mediwizards. I would like to use those supplies for the good of our own movement--there's no reason the Muggle-lovers should hoard such goods for themselves. Do you not agree?"

"Absolutely, Master."

"Excellent. I have sent specific information regarding the warehouse and your task to your father's manor by owl." Draco refrained from even wondering whether that was a smart thing to do, and simply nodded. "Now go."

Alone again, Draco examined the parchments the Dark Lord had sent and thought about his new role. He had never really considered what he would do after proving himself--that act, killing Weasley, was to be the culmination of everything he had worked for his entire life. He should be finished, now. But instead the Dark Lord had given him another task. After that, he knew, would come another and another. It would never end.

Draco tossed the papers aside--he didn't have to bother until tomorrow anyway. Instead he found his cloak again and Apparated to Diagon Alley.

A stop in Madam Malkin's to order another cloak, a stroll down the aisles at the Scrivener's, a hearty lunch at Quizzean's; he tried to find some way to pass the long day. He didn't want to talk to anyone because if he did he might say something that betrayed the hopeless feeling he felt growing inside of him.

That night Draco lay in bed for an hour and a half, tossing and turning and glaring at the moon-lit clock on his bedstand. His soft sheets made him sweat so he threw them off, but the night air chilled him so he tugged them back over his body. Then an owl on a tree outside began to hoot and he called for Tippy, but she didn't hear him so he had to get up and close the window himself.

Now that he was up, he realized he was wide-awake. There was no point in getting back in bed, then, so Draco walked towards the lantern to turn up the light--

In a sudden motion, Draco felt something on the ground roll beneath his foot, sending him flying into the air and landing on the floor with a hard thump to his butt. Swearing loudly, he felt around to see what round object he had stepped on and realized it was his wand.

"How the hell did it get there?" he wondered aloud. In the dim light of his bedroom, the light brown wand looked white--and Draco dropped it as soon as he had picked it up. There was one white wand whose image he could not get out of his head. It was horrible to be reminded of it in the dark silence of night, when unfriendly creatures moved unseen and ghosts reigned supreme.

Suddenly he felt very uneasy not knowing exactly where that white wand was.

Draco climbed off the floor with his wand in hand once again, and glanced at the clock. His parents were undoubtedly in their rooms by now; he could slip downstairs unnoticed.

He did so, heading purposefully to his father's study. The doors were closed but unlocked, as usually no one ever dared to enter the room when Lucius had left. But tonight, driven by fear and a sub-conscious sense of desperation, Draco dared.

"Alohomora," Draco whispered, not wanting to turn the creaky antique door handle. The study door swung open slowly and he slipped into darkness even more profound than that of the corridor. The curtains in this room were always drawn, so not even a single ray of moon or starlight illuminated Draco's surroundings. "Lumos," he said shakily, and a beam of light emerged from his wand. But the light only reached a few feet in front of him, leaving the rest of the room in eerie shadow. Anything could be hiding in here. Making sure to shut the door behind him, he muttered "Lumos Maxima" and lit up the entire room. He whirled around 360 degrees to make sure no one was there with him, and let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

Comfortable he was safe now, Draco hurried over to Lucius' desk and, with a few well-placed spells, opened the top drawer. There they were--the white wand and the big knife Weasley had been carrying; all that was left of her now. Thankfully his father hadn't destroyed them. Draco snatched them greedily and stuffed them in his pocket, prepared to go.

But that was no good. His father would notice right away that they were missing. Draco would have to find something to replace them. Carefully tearing two sheets off of a notepad on the top of the desk, he transfigured them into replicas of Weasley's belongings. The wand was simple enough; he just made a birch stick with no magical properties. The knife was not nearly as easy--it had an intricate design in the hilt that he couldn't even begin to emulate. Since he didn't care that much about the knife anyway, Draco destroyed his copy and placed the original back in the drawer with the fake wand. Then he hurried out.

He took the white wand back to bed with him. Under the cover of his sheets, where no one, not even an errant house-elf, could see him, he brought the wand to his face and smelled it. It smelled like sweat and body oils and coconut. He slid it under his pillow and was able to fall asleep, finally. But when he woke up in the morning, his fist was under the pillow, too, clenched around the wand.