Bad Faith

Chapter Three

Pop Go the Weasels

You are so lame

You always disappoint me

It's kind of like our running joke

But it's really not funny

* * *

Ronald Weasley liked to think he was a very faithful companion.

Ever since that fateful day on the Hogwarts Express ten years prior, he and Harry had been the best of mates. Adolescent scuffles and ephemeral misunderstandings aside, they were inseparable; Harry had always been there for Ron, Ron had always been there for Harry, and when the two of them were acting too childish to get over themselves, Hermione had always managed to hold them together.

It was nice to have friends you never had to hide things from; ever since Harry had supported Ron in playing Keeper for Gryffindor, Ron had decided that there was nothing he couldn't tell Harry. He would tell Harry things he couldn't even trust Hermione with -- things like how much he absolutely adored her, even when she was being an unbearable know-it-all, or how much he both admired and hated that sod Viktor Krum, or about the Complete Accident with that Ravenclaw girl during their seventh year.

He liked to think that Harry did the same; of course, Ron knew there were some things that Harry would always keep to himself. Things that he saw in his dreams that were too disturbing to recite, or anything to do with Sirius (whom Harry never spoke about to anyone anymore), or things that only Harry had experienced with Voldemort, and which were too painful to talk about. Ron knew there were things like that, but Ron also understood why Harry would never speak of these things -- because doing so would only make Harry feel worse - and Ron respected his decision to let them go unmentioned.

Besides, Harry would tell Ron about anything that was important -- Harry wouldn't hide something from Ron that Ron needed to know.

Deserved to know.

The Daily Prophet that had arrived minutes previously lay in shreds on the floor. The delivery owl hooted woefully, leg still held out, waiting for Ron to pay for the newspaper. The charge for such a long flight was about triple that of getting the Prophet owled to him in London, and he grudgingly tucked a Sickle into the leather pouch.

Ron was still in Russia, on his very first assignment as a fully-qualified Auror. He was far northeast of Moscow, very close to Murmansk, in a small wizarding village called Norgradina. A local had told him that the name meant 'garden of the north', but that was hardly appropriate, in Ron's opinion; even though it was July, it had been dark-grey overcast for weeks, and the place was so cold that when it rained it left him freezing, as if he'd just taken a dunk in a frozen-over lake.

Today was no exception. A thunderstorm of spectacular proportions was raging outside his window, slapping the glass with sheet after sheet of heavy rain. Occasionally, a bolt of lightning would strike the horizon, briefly illuminating a backdrop of the small, one-story buildings that composed the town.

It was four o'clock in the afternoon but, considering how dark it was, you would have been forgiven for thinking it was later. Ron knew exactly what time it was because it took the post owl the same amount of time every day to deliver the Prophet all the way out here.

The thunderstorms were part of the reason Aurors had been sent to the location. With the sun out of commission for weeks on end, vampire attacks in the area had sky-rocketed, on wizards and Muggles alike. Vampires had become more of a problem since Voldemort's return - they seemed to be growing stronger now that they had the Dark Lord's support, and were openly feeding on human blood.

Before Headquarters had sent him out here, Ron had been given a three-week intensive course on vampire biology and behaviour, in order to prepare him to help lead the operation. He had learned a lot of things they didn't teach you at Hogwarts, things that would have been bound to make him pay more attention in History of Magic, because they were so sinister and disturbing and, in a twisted sort of way, extremely cool.

Like how vampires were in fact not allergic to silver, or crosses, and that the only reason they detested garlic was because of the smell, and that if you presented any of these things to a vampire that was determined to kill you, it would likely laugh in your face before draining you dry.

Vampires could be killed in two ways, and only two ways: sunlight and beheading. A stake through the heart, although a popular Muggle theory, was ineffective; vampires were technically undead, just a step up from Inferi. Their bodily organs were useless, and a stake through the heart might be unpleasant and a bit disorientating, but nowhere near deadly.

Their nervous system was the only part of the body that was technically alive; it was what kept them thinking, feeling, craving and killing, and also why beheading was an effective mode of killing them.

For, unlike Inferi, vampires could still utilise the basic senses -- hearing, sight, smell, taste and touch.

Taste was important -- a vampire could taste the quality of blood more precisely than any other creature alive, so expertly that in Medieval times they were used to test the purity of blood of wealthy wizarding families before any commitment was made regarding the betrothal of important heirs. Touch, too, played a large part in their internal social behaviour. Pain and pleasure were taken to extremes - though they often did not distinguish between the two. Coming across a group of feeding vampires tended to look like a very sadomasochistic orgy.

For decades, vampires had been viewed as very weak, stupid creatures that weren't to be feared by wizards; they were easy to fend off, and were content to feed on the blood of small, non-magical animals, which by wizarding law was the only blood allowed them if they wished to avoid execution.

Human blood, since it was so similar to the blood that once ran through their bodies, made vampires strong; magical human blood made them incredibly powerful. The vampires of legend, the ones from which the fear and terror of the species had originally stemmed, were those that had fed on the blood of wizards. If they fed on magical blood long enough, it made them extremely aggressive, and nearly invincible.

Since the Ministry had set down the laws, however, these vampires had slowly vanished or diminished, and vampire-hunting had died out, as vampires were no longer a threat. Without the numbers or the strength, they had no power to stand against the wizarding world.

Voldemort had changed all of that dramatically.

Ron grimaced at the file on his desk. There was a picture attached to it of a very pretty girl, with long, dark hair and hazel eyes. She was playing shyly with her hair, blushing whenever he stared, and hiding behind the picture frame. Her name had been Margaret, and she was the daughter of the wizard mayor of the town.

She had gone missing three days ago; yesterday, Ron had found her body, bound by the wrists and ankles to a bed in an abandoned shack in the woods. She had been stripped nude, her skin was ghostly white, and she'd had pairs of bite marks scattered around her neck and the insides of her thighs and elbows.

Ron had vomited after departing the premises, and it was not the first time this assignment had made him sick. It was disgusting and disturbing and he could barely sleep at night, because he was afraid of what he'd remember when he closed his eyes. He wanted to just get it over with, and get the hell home. He did not belong here. He belonged with Harry and Hermione, fighting Dark wizards, who were nasty in their own right but at least were human.

He had been looking forward to going home that afternoon. He was supposed to leave at five, just after the last shift was over. After that, he was free to Apparate back to his home and take a well-deserved weekend off.

Ron left a note that apologised for leaving an hour early, explaining that something at the Ministry had required his immediate attention.

*

'Sign here.'

Draco grimaced, dipping his quill in the ink once more, and scrawled his signature across the bottom of the parchment, which was quickly replaced with another.

'And here.'

If there was any possibility of paperwork being lethal, Draco was sure his life was in immediate danger. He was up to his neck in it and felt like he was slowly suffocating.

'And here...'

Death by bureaucracy. What a horrible way to go.

'Isn't there someone I can pay to do this for me?' Draco asked desperately. One of his lawyers weakly rolled his eyes as he handed Draco another roll of parchment to autograph.

The ends of his fingers were red and raw from holding the quill for so long. It would be easier to relax his fingers and just scribble his name, but he did not want to see the look on his mother's face when she saw the deeds of their estate returned with sloppy signatures on them.

And unfortunately for Draco, charmed copies of a single signature were not an option. Official deeds and contracts were often designed to only accept a written signature, in order to make the contracts legally as well as magically binding. Why they had to have so many different versions of the same bond for him to sign, however, was a mystery to him. He was beginning to think his lawyers had sadistic tendencies.

Finished with another signature, Draco dropped his quill and sucked mournfully on his index finger, which was throbbing painfully now. He could have cried with happiness as he saw his attorneys, instead of handing him another stack, begin packing away the rolls of parchment.

'We'll have the originals stored in your Gringotts vault,' Ricardo told him, standing. He then turned to Arthur, who had spent the entire ordeal seated on a sofa in the back of the office, reading through the Daily Prophet. 'All right, Weasley, that's it for today. I'll owl if we require anything else.'

Arthur nodded as Draco muttered, 'Thank Merlin. What time is it?'

Arthur glanced at his wrist. This must have had some significance unbeknownst to Draco, because he looked up and said, 'Four thirty; we should go. Harry will be back soon.'

Draco felt as if someone had stolen his entire afternoon. Had he really been mucking about with red tape for five hours? He hadn't even eaten since breakfast!

'I'm hungry,' he moaned.

'Yes, me too,' Arthur agreed. 'Would you like to get something before we -- '

Draco cut him short with a deliberately loud clearing-of-the-throat.

'Seen in public with a Weasley? Are you mad?' he drawled melodramatically. 'If my father were alive, he'd have a stroke. The last thing I need is him putting in a word for me with the Devil. Thanks, but I think I'll starve a bit longer.'

Arthur gave Draco a rather reproachful look, but prudently chose not to argue.

Taking the lift back to Level Two was uneventful aside from the occasional glare or wary look thrown Draco's way. Arthur led him back into Auror Headquarters, down the same aisle to the cubicle Draco had been in that morning.

Draco had hardly taken a step into the space when something hard connected with his jaw, knocking him backwards into Arthur.

It might have been intelligent to take into account that Ron Weasley had grown to nearly a foot taller than Draco had. It also may have been wise to consider that he was on thin ice as it was, treading just outside of Azkaban. It probably would have been common sense to realise he was still in Auror Headquarters, unarmed, and about to attack an Auror under the nose of his father.

But Draco was not feeling very intelligent or wise or sensible at the moment, as most of his mind was concerned with sinking his fist as far as it could go into said Auror's face.

As luck would have it, Kingsley was close enough to hear the commotion and come to Arthur's aid as he tried to pry the two boys apart.

'I am going to kill you,' Ron snarled through his teeth, wrestling his father, who seemed to be having a difficult time restraining his arms. 'You slimy, good-for-nothing bastard, I swear -- '

Whatever Ron was about to swear, Draco never found out, for Hermione and Harry chose that exact moment to enter the cubicle. They were whispering furiously about something or other, but stopped dead when they saw the scene before them.

Arthur had managed to get hold of Ron's arms and pull him back towards the desks, and Kingsley likewise had one arm around Draco's shoulders and his free hand on his wand, which he held poised under Draco's neck. Draco was looking mutinous and sporting a fresh bloody lip; Ron, glaring at Draco, was as furiously red as his hair and had a large bruise forming under his right eye.

Ron's glare turned away from Draco and fixed itself on Harry instead, as he finished, ' -- right after I kill you.'

'Er,' said Harry.

'Oh, bugger,' said Hermione.

* * *

A positive attitude may not solve all your problems,

but it will annoy enough people to make it worth the effort.

- Herm Albright

* * *

Draco was examining his reflection in the glass, grimacing at the bright red split in his bottom lip.

Not for the first time, Harry offered, 'I can fix that, if you want.'

'If I had my wand, I could fix it myself,' Draco snapped.

Harry shrugged and said, 'Just trying to help.'

'And as your ability to help anything is about as proficient as your aptitude at making potions,' replied Draco sharply, 'kindly don't.'

'All right,' Hermione proclaimed, suddenly coming through the door and swinging it closed behind her. 'I think he'll be okay. It's a good thing Kingsley was nearby; nobody else is quite sure what happened, so there were no awkward questions to deal with. Malfoy, I can fix that if you -- '

'Piss off.'

'Fine, be stubborn,' she said dismissively, turning back to Harry. 'Anyway, Ron's a bit calmer, but I think he still needs some time to settle down. He's really angry with you, Harry. I told you to write to him.'

'I meant to,' Harry lied, looking guilty. Hermione raised an eyebrow. 'Oh, come on, Hermione, what was I supposed to say? "Hi, Ron, we miss you heaps and can't wait till you get back. Oh, and by the way, remember Malfoy? Yeah, he's back, and guess what? Even though he's a complete prat, I'm going to help keep his ungrateful, pure-blood arse out of Azkaban."'

'I am right here, you know!' Draco snarled, shooting Harry a filthy look.

'Do me a favour and don't remind me,' Harry snapped back.

'I'll do you a bloody favour -- '

'If you both are quite finished,' Hermione snapped in such a good impression of McGonagall that both boys winced. 'Really, have either of you grown up at all? You're both adults, try to act like it for at least five consecutive minutes!'

A small silence enveloped the room, during which Draco continued to favour his lip, licking it and prodding it mournfully with his index finger. Hermione moved to sit beside Harry, who was glaring past Draco at the opaque glass.

'They've called a meeting tonight,' she said quietly after a moment.

Harry lowered his voice and asked, 'Tonight? Why?'

'Oh, you know why,' she said, shooting Draco a look. 'I told Minerva we should wait until the weekend, but she insisted on tonight... Ron isn't the only one who wants answers, Harry.'

Harry sighed heavily. 'Yeah, all right. I'll ask Lupin if he can take Malfoy tonight, then.'

'Actually...' Hermione trailed off, biting her lip. 'Minerva thinks it'd be a good idea for Malfoy to come.'

'What? You want to bring him?'

'Well, Marius and Remus think you should, and I -- '

'Let a possible spy into a meeting, great idea,' Harry hissed.

'Could you two speak up?' Draco said loudly. Both Hermione and Harry looked up suddenly to find him leaning against the glass, arms folded, and watching them with a cold stare. 'It's rather hard to hear you when you lower your voices like that.'

Hermione's mouth set into a thin line before she turned back to Harry. 'Anyway, I think it's a good idea, too. Marius has something he wants to test and I know Moody wants to ask Malfoy a few questions, so I promised them we'd bring him along.'

Harry looked like he wanted to argue further, but instead nodded heavily. 'Fine, whatever, as long as -- '

Harry stopped speaking with an abrupt yelp, so loud and sudden that both Hermione and Draco jumped at the noise. Harry had fallen to the floor on his knees, then doubled-over, and was holding himself up with one hand, clutching his forehead with the other.

'Harry!' Hermione gasped in alarm. She knelt by his side, one hand on his back and her eyes wide with worry. 'Oh, gosh, Harry.'

Draco watched the scene quietly. He had heard a lot about Potter's random spaz attacks, but had never personally witnessed one before; Potter had sometimes collapsed in public, but by the time Draco or anyone else figured out what had caused the commotion, it'd already been over. For quite some time, Draco had believed that Potter had fabricated these stories to get himself more attention, or sympathy, or possibly both.

But watching Harry on the ground, with every muscle in his body drawn taut, eyes screwed shut and jaw set to keep himself from crying out again, clawing at his forehead, Draco was finding it very hard to convince himself that it was just an act.

Not that he'd ever admit to thinking that.

Harry swore quietly, letting out a large gasp and rubbing his scar. Hermione was still kneeling beside him, and brushed his hair away from his forehead with her left hand, then, holding up the middle and index fingers of her right, she muttered a spell softly; her fingertips glowed a faint, pale yellow and she applied the light to the scar on Harry's forehead, tracing it. The effect was immediate; Harry's shoulders relaxed, and he sat back weakly, looking rather pale. He looked feverish, too, as if someone had just awoken him from some horrible nightmare.

'He's furious,' Harry said hoarsely. 'I haven't -- not for -- bloody hell, he's angry...'

Draco felt something sharp slice at his chest, leaving a long streak of discomfort there. He rubbed at it unconsciously.

'I guess Ron isn't the only one who's mad you're back,' Hermione said matter-of-factly, lifting her eyes to Draco.

Harry was watching him too, but differently than before; if it didn't seem so utterly daft to imagine so, he would have thought Harry actually looked worried.

When in doubt, be sarcastic.

'So, is it always this dramatic?' Draco asked snidely, relaxing against the glass. 'Or was that just for my benefit?'

*

Narrowed, infinitely dark eyes stared fixedly at the newspaper. A dark circle appeared in the middle of the paper, slowly smouldering -- the longer the eyes glared, the larger the burn became, until there was a sizeable, charcoal-lined hole in the centre of the paper and the smell of burning permeated the room.

The paper eventually burned away, fluttering to the floor in small, black flakes. Voldemort took a very slow, steady breath, closing his eyes briefly and returning his hands to his sides. His servant remained kneeling before him, practically cowering.

The Dark Lord did not have to voice his discontent. The rage was literally pouring off him in waves, suffocating the small room with his fury.

'Rookwood.'

'Yes, my Lord?' the kneeling man offered shakily.

Voldemort had never taken bad news very well, and he had received a monumental amount of it over the past two decades. And unfortunately for Rookwood, he had already had a very, very long day that, although slightly rewarding, had also been extremely aggravating.

The Cruciatus Curse had evidently not completely worked its way out of Rookwood's system, as there was still a slight twitch to his movements. The sight of his discomfort somewhat abated Voldemort's irritation.

'Find Severus,' Voldemort commanded. 'Quickly, and send him to me.'

'Yes, my Lord. I will bring him to you immediately.' The relief in Rookwood's voice was clear as he stood up, nearly tripping over himself in his haste as he fled the room.

Voldemort felt an unusual urge to sigh. Why did he still have so many cowards under his command?'

Not two minutes later, the door opened again.

'My Lord,' Severus said from the doorway, his head inclined respectfully. 'You wished to see me?'

'You know why I have called you,' Voldemort said, taking an idle step forward. The charcoal remnants of the article crunched under his boot. 'Come here, and close the door.'

Severus obeyed quietly. He did not have to confirm or deny the Dark Lord's presumption; it was quite obvious why he had been summoned so suddenly.

'You were correct about the boy, as usual,' Voldemort continued as the door closed, 'although it seems we have both underestimated the depths of his cowardice.'

Severus stopped several feet from Voldemort, hands clasped behind his back, and waited for his cue to speak. Voldemort folded his arms and twisted the sole of his boot, effectively turning the remains of the paper below it into a black smudge on the floor.

Since Voldemort did not continue speaking, Severus said, 'He did not have any connections within the Order. There was no indication that he would seek sanctuary with them.' He paused, and added carefully, 'From Potter, of all people.'

'Potter.' Voldemort spat the word, his lips forming a snarl. His eyes, always so dark, flared with his anger, glowing red for the briefest of moments, illuminating snake-like pupils.

It was a testament to Severus' character that even in the face of his master's anger he did not flinch. Instead, he produced a small book from his robes, and placed it on the table beside them. Voldemort eyed it without moving to pick it up. It was a very simple leather-bound book, brown, ageing, and covered in soot. The cover was blank save for a single, elaborate 'M' that had been embossed centrally at the top.

'Perhaps it is not such bad news after all,' Severus offered knowingly.

It was a sure sign of confidence on his part, to presume to know anything in front of the Dark Lord; a confidence that had proven him to be the most loyal and worthy of Voldemort's subjects so far. In any other case, such confidence would be punished -- after all, how dare anyone assume they knew what pleased the Dark Lord and what did not? Voldemort would not let himself be addressed as an equal so carelessly.

Still, it was somewhat comforting to Voldemort to know that at least one of the men that had earned his trust wasn't a complete coward. And for that reason, Severus' self-assurance was excused.

'So it can be done?' Voldemort asked.

'Yes,' Severus answered. 'But the charm is a difficult one... the magic is much older than I first believed... it will take quite some time to prepare.'

'How long?'

'A full lunar cycle, at least,' Severus answered. He carefully added, 'Give or take an extra week, depending on... availability.'

'Whatever you require is at your disposal,' Voldemort said, unconcerned. 'You know this.'

'Yes, my Lord. There is one thing, and it is the most important,' he admitted. 'I need the boy.'

After a moment, Severus added, 'Alive.'

Voldemort did not answer immediately. He was contemplating the words, eyes still staring at the book on the table.

'Very well,' he said finally. 'You would require the key, of course.'

'More than that. The boy not only has the key, but I also require his... permission.'

Voldemort finally moved his gaze away from the book to look at Severus, who was studying the Dark Lord with vigilant eyes. He was choosing his words very carefully, although he did it in a much subtler fashion than the other degenerates that Voldemort was used to.

'The ceremony was never meant to be conducted by enemies. The charm will only work if the boy is willing.'

'Willing,' repeated Voldemort, impatience colouring his tone.

'Genuinely so,' Severus reiterated.

This time, Voldemort gave into the urge to sigh, at which Severus looked up with slight surprise.

'Fortunately for us, however, the will of a coward is never a strong one,' Voldemort said.

His eyes left Severus, drifting over the old book again. He reached out and picked it up, running his fingers carefully across the embossed letter on the cover. He stood there in thoughtful silence for several long moments.

Finally, he looked up and said curtly, 'Alert the others. They are to find the boy and bring him to me. His being so close to Potter complicates the situation,' he added thoughtfully, 'but perhaps this will work to our advantage. Potter has always had a weakness for others, even those he loathes....'

'Felling two Basilisks with one rooster,' Severus acknowledged with a slight nod. 'If we use the boy well, it could compromise Potter's protection quite effectively. And the others are bound to be suspicious of the boy, even if Potter trusts him.'

Voldemort handed the book back to Severus, who tucked it back inside the pocket of his robes. 'Go. I will not tolerate tardiness in this matter. Send Wormtail in on your way out.'

'Yes, my Lord.' Severus inclined his head again, turning to leave.

'And, Severus,' Voldemort said suddenly just as Severus opened the door, 'if anything were to happen to the boy before his due time, those responsible would suffer my... displeasure.'

Severus stood poised in the doorway for several moments, contemplating these words. Then, without so much as an acknowledgement or a backward glance, he left.

*

'Ohmygod,' squealed Ginny.

'Oh, my God,' whispered Hermione.

'Oh. My. God,' stuttered Ron.

'Ohmygod!' Ginny squealed again.

'Told you so,' Luna said smartly.

Ginny looked ready to explode. She was practically buzzing, a look of complete euphoria on her face. The sight made Remus smile inwardly.

McGonagall had suggested holding an optional meeting that night for those in the Order who wanted to know details about the Malfoy situation. Although, most of the senior members had already been aware of what had been going on, whether it was from word of mouth or personal involvement in his case, and the older witches and wizards had accepted his deal with Harry, albeit with some trepidation. After all, they all trusted Harry's judgement, just as they had all trusted Dumbledore's; however young he was, Harry had remarkable intuition, whether he was aware of it or not.

The younger members of the Order, however -- namely, those who had known Draco at Hogwarts -- had been largely unaware of the situation until the Prophet's article that morning. Naturally, there had been a little bit of an uproar.

And so it was that they found themselves with such an unbalanced group tonight; aside from McGonagall, Arthur, Moody, Hagrid, Marius, Tonks and himself, there wasn't anyone older than twenty-three at the table. The adults had migrated from the sofas by the hearth as the younger members had arrived, and now they were all sat at the long, oak table near the window.

It was surprising how the club that began as Dumbledore's Army had influenced the students into becoming more involved with the war. Although not everyone had continued to be involved after leaving Hogwarts, many of its former members were present. Down the side of the table opposite Remus sat Luna Lovegood, Terry Boot, Hermione, Susan Bones, Zacharias Smith, Ron, Tonks, and Ginny; beside him was Ernie Macmillan, followed by Justin Finch-Fletchley, Dean Thomas, Neville, Lee Jordan, the twins, Angelina Johnson, Arthur and finally, Moody.

Marius sat just opposite Remus, where he was involved in a polite debate about the potential aggressiveness of Hippogriffs with Hagrid, who was beside him. McGonagall sat at the head of the table, an empty seat on either side for the two people they were waiting for.

'My little girl,' Arthur exclaimed, 'playing for Puddlemere!'

'Big deal,' said Zacharias. 'Puddlemere isn't that impressive, you know. And she isn't even on the team yet.'

Everyone ignored him.

'I can't believe she made it into the official tryouts,' Fred said, shaking his head.

'Oliver put in a good word, no doubt,' George agreed, mirroring his twin.

'Oh, you two, you should be proud of her,' Tonks said reprovingly.

Ginny was still bouncing excitedly in place next to Tonks, the letter clasped in her hand.

'Plus, it's nice to have some good news at last,' Tonks added as Ginny hugged her for the fifth time in two minutes.

The mood in the room sobered considerably at these words; they all knew what she was referring to - after all, it was the reason they were all here tonight.

'I hope Harry throttled him good,' Ernie said menacingly from beside Remus.

'I still can't believe that creep isn't in Azkaban,' Lee added. 'After what he's done.'

'I just wish they'd caught his dear old dad, too,' Ginny said viciously. The brilliant smile she'd worn only moments before had dissolved into a formidable snarl.

'Lucius already got what was coming to him,' Marius said in a commanding voice. 'The true horror of his crimes lies far beyond what any of you know.'

Lee glanced uncertainly at the twins, who shrugged. Ginny, however, turned in her seat to look down the table at him.

'I know enough,' she replied curtly. 'I know enough to say that he hardly got what he deserved.'

'It is not Lucius' fate in question,' Marius reminded her. 'You all must realise that it is Draco, not his father, at our mercy tonight.'

'He tried to kill Dumbledore,' Ron argued. 'More than once. He almost killed Katie. He almost killed me. And the Death Eaters -- '

'Mr Malfoy has already been acquitted by the Wizengamot of these charges, Mr Weasley,' Marius said sternly. 'I know that many of you have personal feelings that contradict this verdict, but unfortunately for you, it is the verdict that matters.'

'I just want to know why he did it,' Dean said quietly. 'I mean, Harry hated Malfoy. Why would he help him? Why would Malfoy even go to him?'

'It's too dodgy,' Justin agreed, shaking his head. 'Potter never would have helped Malfoy.'

'I witnessed the testimony myself,' Marius said. 'Perhaps you do not know Harry as well as you think.'

'He could have Harry under the Imperius Curse,' Ernie suggested. 'Like the Prophet says; it's the only thing that makes sense.'

Hermione opened her mouth to object.

'No,' said a quiet voice before she could. 'That isn't it.'

All eyes turned to Neville, who up until this point had just been listening quietly.

'Harry was the only one who could ever throw off the Imperius Curse,' he said, glancing up and down the table. 'You remember that, in fourth year? Nobody could but him, and he did it on his first try. And have any of you ever seen Harry bested in a duel? If he can survive a duel with You-Know-Who, do you really think Malfoy would have had any chance at putting him under the Imperius Curse?'

'Well,' said Ernie, looking uncomfortable. 'When you put it that way...'

'Okay, just supposing Potter is doing it of his own free will,' Justin pressed. 'I can't think of one bloody rational reason why he would help Malfoy.'

'It's quite obvious,' Luna said suddenly.

She held up the latest edition of the Daily Prophet, which read, MALFOY ANNOUNCES ENGAGEMENT TO HARRY POTTER!

'Says it all, really. A bit of a shock, but it certainly explains a lot.'

'I always did think that that pretty boy was a bit of a poof,' Zacharias agreed reasonably.

'It was the hair,' Luna said vaguely, and Zacharias nodded in agreement.

Once again, the voices of reason went ignored.

'Oh, honestly,' said Hermione. 'Harry has his reasons. I trust him; we all do. He wouldn't be doing this unless he truly thought it was the right decision.'

'What I don't understand,' Ginny said, turning her gaze back to Marius, 'is why you, of all people, agreed to help him.'

Marius seemed to consider her words carefully before sitting forward and saying, 'Because if Iain had come home, I would have been the last person to turn him away.'

The table fell quiet again. Iain, Marius' son, had run away from home two years ago and joined the Death Eaters. It had been a rebellious move against his father more than anything; Iain was convinced that Marius, the overprotective parent, was trying to run his life.

And, like many young recruits, Iain had been executed when he tried to pull out of service to the Dark Lord -- but it hadn't ended there. Death Eaters came for Marius' wife and daughter, too, to set an example to the rest of the recruits.

Aurors had made it to Marius' home in time to save his daughter -- just barely. She was a pretty girl, recently sixteen at the time, and the two Death Eaters had taken it upon themselves to use her for some 'entertainment' before disposing of her. From what Remus understood, the first Aurors at the site had wanted to wait for reinforcements before entering, but Harry had gone in alone, refusing to wait; because of that, the girl had survived.

Harry maintained that Marius did not owe him anything; he said that he would have done it for anyone, and Remus knew this was true. Nevertheless, Marius seemed to feel indebted to Harry and, as a result, trusted Harry's judgement more than most. And fortunately for Draco, Marius was the current Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, which had made swaying the trial much easier on the Order.

Remus understood that Ginny had good reason to be angry. Because of Lucius, Voldemort had possessed her and used her to do some truly terrible things. But Marius was correct -- it was Draco, not his father, that would stand before them tonight, and they needed to remember that.

Remus decided it appropriate to take advantage of the temporary silence and say something before things got out of hand.

'Many of you harbour ill feelings towards Draco -- some with better reasons than others -- but Harry, I think you all agree, has more reason than any of us,' he said slowly. 'And if he can find the willpower to push that part of himself aside and give Draco a chance, then the rest of you should be more than capable.'

'What the bloody hell is keeping them, anyway?' Ron asked. 'Shouldn't they be here by now?'

'Probably making out,' Zacharias suggested. Luna nodded, concurring.

Everyone ignored them.

* * *

Apparently, I was misinformed.

- Calvin and Hobbes

* * *

'Is that my wand?'

'No, that's my wand. Hands off.'

'I can't see a bloody thing.'

'Well, if you'd let go of my wand for two ruddy seconds --'

' -- well, if you'd kindly return mine -- '

' -- over my dead body -- '

' -- that can be arranged!'

Harry yanked his arm away, finally freeing his wand from Draco's grip, and said, 'Lumos.'

'I thought you said we were done for the night,' Draco complained, very loudly so that his voice echoed off the tall, stone walls that were now visible. 'I'm cold, I'm hungry, and this place smells like mould.'

'I said we were done at the Ministry,' Harry corrected him. 'Stop moaning, it won't take that long.'

'But I'm tired and Dobby has a hot dinner waiting with my name on it,' Draco moaned, glowering at Harry. 'Meeting with your Do-Gooders Elite wasn't in the contract.'

It was already getting dark, and Draco was indeed exhausted, hungry, and in dire need of a shower. If dealing with Boy Wonder and his sidekick, Bushy Beaver, all morning hadn't been enough, he had also suffered through several mountain ranges of parchment to acquire what his father had bequeathed to him.

After such an ordeal, his extremely spoiled Inner Child demanded rest and relaxation. He deserved a plate full of food and a bed with fluffed pillows - he'd earned it!

But no, Potter had to drag him to a meeting full of people out for his blood; and they had to go all the way to Hogwarts for it, because due to Dumbledore's untimely demise, not enough of the new members had access to Grimmauld Place.

'This place looks smaller,' Draco observed, staring up at the ceiling of the entrance hall.

'That's because you're used to seeing it from a ferret's point of view,' Harry remarked absently. 'Come on, before Peeves finds us.'

Draco scowled and followed him, a few paces behind, eyes scanning the dark, empty halls. Hogwarts during the summer felt extremely creepy; drapes rustled suspiciously as they passed, all of the doors creaked unnecessarily loudly, and odd noises kept occurring in dark, hidden corners. Still, the layout was familiar, and the two of them hardly had to pay attention to their route, as their feet carried them along well-memorised paths. They had just passed the sinking step in the staircase when a familiar sharp cackle broke the silence.

'Ooh, look who it is! Potty Wee Potter!'

Draco noticed Harry's upper lip twitch slightly. 'Piss off, Peeves.'

'Ooh, Crackpot's still cranky, is he?' Peeves enquired cheerfully from above their heads, floating upside down. 'But I suppose I'd be cranky too, with little voices tittering away in my head all day! Shall I sing you a song to cheer your mood?'

'Peeves, I swear to Merlin - '

Peeves ignored him and began to sing:

'Potty lad's hearin' voices in his head,

and ol' Peevesy knows what goes unsaid,

that Crackpot here still wets his bed -'

'Peeves, if you continue that I will have to request that the Bloody Baron have words with you at once,' came a stern voice from the top of the stairwell. Draco and Harry both looked up to see McGonagall watching them, her hawk-like gaze glaring daggers at the poltergeist. Peeves stopped in his tracks and hissed at her before blowing Harry a raspberry, and zooming off humming his song.

Very softly, Draco began to hum along, too, ignoring Harry's glower in his direction as they walked up the stairs.

'Thanks, Professor,' Harry said as they reached the top. Draco had stopped humming, but he was still wearing a smug smirk.

'How many times must I remind you that you need no longer call me "Professor"?' McGonagall asked, peering at Harry over her glasses.

'Sorry,' Harry said, grinning crookedly. 'Old habit.'

She turned her sharp gaze to Draco, her eyes giving him a sweeping once-over.

'Mr Malfoy, I daresay I should expect neither thanks nor due appreciation on your part for all that the Order has done on your behalf. However, as Headmistress of this school, I do expect you to be on your best behaviour tonight. I will not tolerate vulgarity or unnecessary provocation. Do we have an agreement?'

Draco's smirk disappeared. He didn't waste any energy on a verbal response, simply nodding. McGonagall seemed satisfied, and returned the nod before shifting her focus back to Harry. Draco fell into step behind the two, and was surprised to find himself led to the very same room he had spent so much time in during his last year at Hogwarts: the Room of Requirement.

McGonagall opened the door and stood aside. Harry went in and, after a brief hesitation, Draco followed.

Echoes of hushed, urgent conversations quickly died away as Draco found himself the target of nearly two dozen hard, scrutinising gazes. The stares of the Weasley children were particularly brutal; the twins and Ron were all glaring at him with identical cold, blue eyes, and their younger sister had her arms folded, and narrowed her eyes at his approach.

Draco made sure to smirk triumphantly in their general direction.

Turning his attention to the rest of the group, he realised that virtually everyone there was familiar to him - most of them Draco recognised, with varying degrees of clarity, as having been in or around his year at school. Hagrid and Moody were instantly recognisable, and Arthur Weasley and Lupin were both present. The only person he couldn't put a name to was a young, happy-looking witch with a small nose and very short, shockingly pink hair, who sat between two of the Weasley children.

And there, next to Lupin, sat a man Draco recognised instantly, and he suddenly understood why his trial had gone as smoothly as it had.

'Evening, Mr Malfoy,' Marius said, acknowledging the recognition in Draco's eyes. 'Glad you could join us.'

Draco raised an eyebrow, nodded, and surveyed the length of the table; very few seats were available.

McGonagall was sitting at the far end, and Harry took a seat at her left side. She caught Draco's gaze and nodded sharply to the seat on her right, indicating that he should take it. Draco ignored her, took a seat between Lupin and Marius at the opposite end of the table from Harry and McGonagall, and smirked as her lips tightened into a thin line.

'Mr Malfoy, before we commence with any questions, we wish to submit your wand to a test,' McGonagall began.

There was a small uproar of protests from many of the younger people at the table, who seemed to believe that they needed to hear why Draco was even being allowed to breathe before doing anything else. McGonagall quieted the room with a look that would have done Snape proud.

'Marius can perform the charm,' Lupin explained from beside Draco, 'but it requires the cooperation of the wand's owner.'

Draco leaned back in his chair and shrugged. 'Whatever.'

McGonagall gave Harry a sideways look, and he retrieved Draco's wand from his robes and placed it on the table. Marius Summoned the wand with a quick flick of his own, and Draco made a mental note that this man, like Snape, seemed to have silent spell casting mastered.

Marius examined Draco's wand carefully, running his fingers along the length and curling them experimentally around the handle. His deeply tanned skin was highly contrasted against the milky colour of the wood.

'Is this Hornbeam?' he asked, flicking his eyes up to Draco.

Draco nodded. The wood of his wand was not massively unusual, but not that common either. Draco had been surprised to see that Viktor Krum had one of the same grain when he had attended Hogwarts for the Triwizard Tournament. Draco's wand was different, however, in that the wood was unaltered - the pasty, off-white colour of the Hornbeam remained, making the wand strangely unique, as most were stained darker colours as a precaution against imperfections that may occur throughout the wand's life.

'A Gregorovitch, I presume?' When Draco nodded, Marius turned his gaze back to the wand and twirled it. It glowed briefly, and faint sparks were emitted from the end. 'And the core?'

'Nundu whisker.'

Someone gasped. Hagrid sat forward, looking extremely interested. 'Nundu? Really?'

Draco glanced at him without turning his head. 'Yes.'

Hagrid still looked incredulous. 'Blimey, how'd you manage tha'?'

Marius seemed equally surprised. 'These are rare. Very impressive, Mr Malfoy, this must have cost a fortune.'

Draco shrugged noncommittally. 'Probably. I received it for my coming of age.'

Marius took his time examining the wand, muttering simple charms and spells occasionally, and seemed satisfied with its performance. Then, surprisingly, he handed the wand to Draco. Several people at the table made noises of protest, and Ron and the twins began to stand up, but Lupin raised a hand and shook his head, silently instructing them to relax.

With a smirk, Draco took the wand, his fingers curving over the smooth, familiar contours. Marius produced a very small, silver device that looked remarkably like a candlestick holder, and placed it on the table. There was a hole where the candle would go that looked to be made of some sort of pliable material, roughly designed to fit the shape of an average wand handle.

'Place your wand inside, handle first,' Marius explained. 'Touch the tip with the forefinger of your wand hand, and recite the incantation, ostendo obsideus.'

Draco raised an eyebrow. He knew that ostendo obsideus, roughly translated, was Latin for 'reveal' and 'frequent'. He assumed this was just like Prior Incantato, only it probably would reveal the most frequent spells cast by the wand instead of just the most recent.

Placing his wand in the device, Draco touched the tip with the forefinger of his left hand and repeated the incantation perfectly. The effect was not immediate; the mass at the table held their breath as the wand began to hum softly, and slowly began to emit a soft white glow, the light growing stronger and spreading outwards in evenly paced, spherical pulses that formed large, shimmering bubbles of light.

The bubbles grew larger, expanding to encase Draco and those others close by, each continuing to grow until it faded away into the darkness of the room, soon followed by the next bubble, until finally, the bubbles were large enough to engulf half the table before they disappeared.

Very suddenly, there was a bright flash, and the wand expelled a sound like rushing wind, and images were swirling and flowing along the inside and outside of the globular waves of light, as if someone had taken them directly from a Pensieve and projected them in the air. Draco watched, entranced, with the rest of the table, as fragmented, greyscale memories flickered on the bubbles of light around them, like some sort of magical theatre.

The Manor, looming bright and large against a dark backdrop of trees, accompanied by the echoing sound of slowly beating wings; his mother, seated at their grand piano by candlelight, the wing beats dissolving into the beat of a familiar melody echoing through the room; the melody melted into words, soft-spoken and nearly inaudible -- his own voice, just above a whisper -- and his hand, running through the grass.

The grass melded from long, dark strands to short, white fur that rose and fell under his hand, and the sound of his heart beating became distinguishable; heartbeats integrated into the sound of approaching hooves thundering across hard soil, and a sharp whinny penetrated the resounding thuds as a blur of four dark legs swept by.

It was dizzying; Draco could feel the power branching out from his forefinger, and it felt as if the wand were sucking the memories straight from his mind, forcing him to watch them, relive them, and reveal them as he had seen them. He felt like he couldn't breathe, and nor could he pull his finger away -- how long would he be stuck like this?

The hoof beats echoed and died away, replaced by an ominous silence, and flashes of dark bookshelves spinning around them; a roaring crackle broke the eerie quiet as flames erupted around the library and moulded into a large hearth, framed by smooth stone walls and a hardwood floor. The fireplace shifted, bloated, and flexed as the crackling noise melted into a fuzzy, rumbling thunder, shaping itself into a transparent sphere containing a single, tiny flame that flickered sharply and, with a sudden hiss as loud as a shout, went out.

The display ended much faster than it began, the sound and images gathering in a furious cyclone of light, spiralling neatly back into the wand. Draco let go as if he'd been released from a tight hold, feeling extremely light-headed and disorientated. He was breathless, his chest heaving in short, uneven gasps for several long moments before he was able to swallow and synchronise his inhalation properly.

'Interesting,' Marius said mildly, removing the wand and looking at Draco. 'Was that a Valaetas, Mr. Malfoy?'

Draco nodded, still taking long, deep breaths, staring at his wand as if he couldn't believe that it had actually just produced such an effect. 'What were you looking for?'

'Evidence,' Lupin answered for him. 'An idea of what you've spent the last four years doing, and any trace of Unforgivables.'

'Of which there seems to be none,' Marius commented, and then held the wand up. 'I'm assuming Harry will be having this back?'

'Yes,' Harry said from the other end of the table, calling the wand back to himself with a quick Accio.

'That was cool,' Ernie said suddenly.

Several people murmured in agreement. Luna, who was sitting close by, had her chin propped up with both hands and was staring at Draco with wide, silvery eyes.

'Was that your mum?' she asked. When Draco nodded, she smiled and said, 'She's very pretty.'

Draco, who had not been prepared for a compliment, involuntarily favoured her with a small smile. 'Thank you.'

'So... wait...' Susan Bones was idly toying with her plaited hair as she spoke. 'What exactly did we learn from that?'

Marius tucked the silver instrument back into the pocket of his robes. 'Well, if Mr. Malfoy had been doing anything with the Dark Lord or his Death Eaters, they would more than likely have been frequent, well-documented memories. The Ostendus device is meant to show us the prominent images in one's mind, through the magic they perform on a regular basis.'

'And you didn't see any memories of Death Eater masks, Dark Marks or Voldemort in there, did you?' Lupin asked the table at large.

Everyone except Harry, Hermione, and McGonagall flinched at the use of the Dark Lord's name, and Hagrid slopped tea down his front. Draco hissed and felt his favour for his old Professor drop slightly.

'Do you mind?' he snapped darkly, shuddering.

Lupin gave Draco a look that he could not quite identify before turning back to the table. 'My point is, the majority of his activities weren't of a suspicious nature.'

'So what?' Fred said suddenly. 'Who gives a damn what he's been doing recently?'

'He still killed Dumbledore!' said George.

Fred, Ron, Ginny, Lee and Justin all chimed in with identical 'Yeah!'s at this proclamation.

'Snape killed Dumbledore,' Lupin said sternly. 'And as most of you were fortunate enough not to be present during the incident, may I suggest that you do not make assumptions about what transpired there.'

The tone in Lupin's voice was a lot harsher than Draco could ever remember it being in classes, even when students had been misbehaving. The rest of the room seemed to be taken aback as well, and quieted. The majority took, instead, to fixing Draco with suspicious stares as a silent form of excoriating him.

Ron, however, ignored Lupin. 'Why'd you do it, Harry?' he asked, looking up to the other end of the table.

Gazes shifted from Draco to Harry, who was looking at his hands as they spun his wand in small circles over the table's surface. He did not answer immediately, but picked up his wand and started tapping the tabletop with it.

Mad-Eye Moody, who had been silently observing the meeting up until now, leaned forward and said gruffly, 'Potter, you owe them an explanation.'

'Yeah, I know,' Harry said finally, sitting back, eyes sweeping the table. His gaze stopped when it met Draco's, and Draco titled his head slightly. He was, after all, just as curious as the rest of them -- as much as he had hoped, deep down Draco had never actually believed Harry would help him after everything he'd put him through in school.

Harry seemed to be considering his words carefully, and when he finally began, he spoke very slowly.

'Three reasons, really,' he said, looking away from Draco. 'First, because Dumbledore would have given him a chance, and second, because he may be a nasty, snobbish git, but he isn't his father, and we can't blame him for Lucius' actions any more than we could blame Sirius for his family's.'

'He might as well be,' Lee Jordan muttered.

'And third?' Hermione prompted, ignoring the twins' and Ron's verbal agreements with Lee.

Harry's eyes flickered back to Draco's. He wasn't smiling, but there was a curious light dancing amongst the green behind his glasses as he answered, 'Because he apologised.'

'He apologised,' Ron repeated dully, as if he wasn't sure he'd heard Harry properly.

Harry nodded. 'While he was under Veritaserum.'

This seemed to hit home, as many of the Order turned their gazes, some with appraisal, others simply looking dumbfounded. Ginny, however, was glaring at Draco from her seat beside Harry. If only looks could kill.

'So you're telling me if You-Know-Who comes around one day and begs for forgiveness, you're going to give it?' Ginny snapped, not taking her eyes off Draco. 'What if Lucius wasn't dead, Harry? Would you expect us to forgive him, too? After the -- after he -- '

'That's different, Ginny,' Harry said sharply.

She finally released Draco from her gaze and turned around in her seat to look at Harry. 'Tell me, how? How is it different, Harry? Do you really believe he wasn't aware of what his father was doing? Lucius stood by and laughed while You-Know-Who had you, and killed Cedric, and - '

'You think I don't know that?' Harry snapped back. 'I was the one who was there, if you remember!'

'If you would kindly leave my father out of this,' Draco said savagely.

'Why?' Ginny snapped, rounding on him. 'Because he's already dead? He deserved worse; you should count him lucky that he got off so easy -- '

She stopped as the hard scraping of wood on stone announced Draco getting to his feet.

'One more word, Weasley, and I swear to Merlin that no amount of Dementors or Azkaban will be enough to deter me from what I'll do to you.'

'Is that a threat, Malfoy?'

'It's a promise, witch.'

'Malfoy, Weasley, that is really quite enough!' McGonagall cut in sharply. 'Lucius is not the topic tonight, nor is he our concern anymore. Sit down, Mr Malfoy.'

Ginny opened her mouth to shout again, but stopped when the witch with pink hair placed a hand on her shoulder, shaking her head.

'Fine,' Ginny said quietly. 'Fine,' she repeated, louder. 'Do what you want. Trust the creep. But I'll be damned if I have to sit here and listen to his bullshit.'

'Ginny -- ' Harry started.

'Don't,' she snapped, standing up and pulling her cloak about her shoulders. 'Don't you even try.'

After that, no one attempted to stop her as she walked around the table and left the room, slamming the door behind her.

Draco was personally glad to see her go. He wished her brothers would join her.

'One down, three to go,' Draco said cheerfully, eyes flickering between the twins and Ron. Fred started to rise.

'That's enough, all of you,' snapped Moody, standing up himself. 'Enough of the bickering. I got a few questions for the boy.'

He walked down the length of the table, taking the empty seat between Lupin and Ernie. Draco eyed him warily; even though he knew it hadn't been the real Moody who had turned him into a ferret, the man still made him extremely uneasy.

'So, boy,' Moody growled. 'Now, Potter tells me you don't know where Snape is.'

'He's right. I don't.'

'Yeah? And what about your mother?'

'I -- what? What about her?'

'Don't think I don't know about her and Snape,' Moody went on, his magical eye spinning wildly. 'If anyone knows where that bastard is, it'd be her.'

Draco narrowed his eyes. He knew his mother and Snape were close friends; they had been since before he was born -- what Moody was implying, however, seemed much more sinister than that. 'I don't know what you mean.'

'What I mean is that Snape's a man like the rest of us,' Moody said gruffly. 'He's been doing her favours left and right for years, and it don't take too much thinking to figure out why he'd risk so much on a woman -- he wouldn't, unless she was something of an inamorata.'

'Well, you thought wrong,' Draco snarled, insulted. 'Snape's always been a close friend of the family, and nothing more than that.'

Moody seemed unperturbed by Draco's indignation. 'Either way, the most likely person to know how to find him would be your mother.'

'That's too bad, because even if she did know, she wouldn't bloody tell you,' Draco said. 'So don't ask.'

'You can't expect us not to,' the pink-haired witch said abruptly. 'If she knows anything -- '

'You'll leave my mother out of this,' Draco snapped. 'If you want something, you get it from me.'

'Why?' Ron asked. 'If she knows where he is then we deserve to know, after what he did -- '

'No,' Harry said. 'No, leave Narcissa out of it. It was part of the deal.'

'I don't give a damn, Harry! How can you -- you want to catch Snape as much as any of us!'

'Leave it, Ron,' Harry said, burying his head in his hands.

'Yes, Weasley, do shut up,' Draco added unhelpfully. 'My mother has been granted amnesty. You can take it up with my lawyers if you have a problem with that.'

'Very convenient,' Moody growled, glancing at Harry before turning back to Draco. 'How about the Manor, boy? Your mother's pardon coverin' that, too?'

'It would, if it belonged to her,' Draco said, still glaring at Ron. 'But the Manor is passed down by blood. Possession is transferred to the next Malfoy in line.'

Hermione, who had been quiet up until this point, suddenly perked up. 'Wait... the next in the bloodline? Not the family line?'

'So it's yours, not your mother's?' Arthur asked, looking interested.

Draco nodded. 'It's a Malfoy estate, has been for centuries.'

Justin raised an eyebrow. 'Wait, so -- what? What do you mean, it's passed down by blood?'

'A lot of old wizarding homes are bound by blood,' Hermione said. 'The older the family, the more likely that to be the case. The tradition was put in place to keep the property and acquired fortunes connected with the pure-blood lines.'

'And since my mother is a Black by blood, she holds no official rights to the Manor or the possessions contained therein,' Draco finished.

'That sounds stupid,' Ron said, shaking his head. 'She was married to Lucius, she's entitled -- '

'This, Weasley, is why your family does not command any respect,' Draco snapped. 'My mother is entitled, by my father's, or my, discretion, and that only. The bonds were put in place to prevent the property from ever passing into unsuitable hands.'

'Like if someone in the family married a Muggle, and then passed away,' Terry Boot suddenly suggested.

'Precisely,' Draco affirmed. From what Draco could remember, the Boots were primarily a pure-blood line, so it did not surprise Draco that he was able to discern the reasons behind the method. 'And if and when this became the case, the someone in question was usually disinherited or disposed of before they could produce any offspring to claim patrimony.'

'That's disgusting,' said Ron.

'So is your face,' Draco told him cheerfully.

'Isn't there a way around that, though?' Harry asked no one in particular, ignoring Ron's snarling.

'Marriage is a legally binding ceremony, but has nothing to do with the family bloodline,' Hermione said with a meaningful look at Draco. 'Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm assuming the enchantments are as old as the Manor itself, and so integrated by now that trying to remove them would be like waging war on the estate.'

Draco was slightly surprised by the extent of her knowledge of the subject, but didn't let it show. 'Indeed, with a good possibility of destroying it if you attempted to. And trust me when I say that war on the Manor is not something you want to do.'

'But if the Manor belongs to you now, then you should have access to everything,' Hermione said.

'Things only Lucius had the right of entry to before...' Arthur added, catching on.

'So, wait, we have full access to the Manor?' Terry asked. 'All of it?'

'That was the agreement,' Harry said, his gaze daring Draco to argue.

Arthur and Moody exchanged significant looks, and Moody nodded.

'We need to arrange a time to explore it,' Moody said.

'We're going tomorrow,' Harry told him. 'We have to install the Ministry wards, and then start watch shifts in the afternoon.'

'Sounds good,' Arthur said. 'I don't care if I have to give up every weekend for the next three months, we've been wanting in there for years.'

Draco scowled -- he had agreed to granting access to the Manor in exchange for his mother's immunity, but the eager tone in the Weasley's voice made him uneasy. It wasn't that he had any desire to keep the things his father had hidden, but he did not want his home torn apart by the Ministry, either.

'Alastor, you should come along, as well,' Arthur said. 'We should try and keep those directly involved to Order members, if possible.'

'Mm,' Moody agreed. 'Should probably bring a curse breaker, too - your boy, Bill, if he's available -- '

'Still in Egypt,' Arthur said regrettably. 'Terry should be well-coursed enough to suffice, though.'

'Yeah, I'm down,' Terry said. 'Sitting at a desk is getting old.'

'Wait, wait,' Ernie said, looking alarmed. 'Why would you need a curse breaker at Malfoy's house?'

Moody and Arthur exchanged looks again.

Draco smirked.

'You obviously don't know much about my father, Macmillan.'

*

With most of the questions out of the way, people slowly began to file out of the room; it was already quite late, and many of them seemed as eager as Draco had been to get home for dinner. Ten minutes later, only McGonagall, Arthur, Hagrid, Lupin, Hermione, Ron and Harry remained, still talking amongst themselves about their plans for the following day.

Eventually, Arthur yawned and said, 'Well, I think I'll be going, I don't want Molly up all night waiting.'

Harry nodded. 'Yeah, I'm knackered.'

Finally, Draco thought miserably.

'Wait,' Lupin said suddenly, and focused his gaze on Draco. 'One more thing.'

Harry looked surprised, but shrugged and said, 'Go ahead.'

'Are you an Animagus, Draco?' Lupin asked.

The others looked as taken off guard by the question as Draco felt, and his expression became stony. He thought about lying -- he wasn't on Veritaserum this time, after all -- but they were bound to find out the truth sooner or later, and it would probably be best to get it out of the way now.

'How did you know?' he asked. There was a murmur at this from the others, but Draco ignored them.

'Your memories,' Lupin explained. 'Your heartbeat is the predominant noise in your mind when undergoing a full-body transformation.'

Draco was impressed by the man's attention to detail. 'So it's the same for -- '

'Werewolves, yes,' Lupin said, smiling slightly.

'I was curious about that,' McGonagall said - her tone was matter-of-fact, and she didn't seem as shocked as the others. 'What form?'

'Probably a snake,' Harry muttered darkly.

'Or a ferret,' Ron suggested hopefully.

'Equestrian, actually,' Draco said, glaring at the pair of them.

A look around the table showed Draco that most of the others were still watching him with blank looks, and he sighed exasperatedly.

Morons.

'My form is equine. You know, a horse? The big, four legged beasts that people tend to ride around on -- '

'That's a bit unusual, isn't it?' Hermione asked McGonagall, interrupting him.

'An animal that size, yes,' McGonagall confirmed, her gaze still on Draco. She pursed her lips at him. 'I'll need to observe the shift and mark down your specifications. It may be to our advantage that you remain unregistered -- however, the Order will need to have access to the description.'

Draco closed his eyes and withheld a groan.

'Is there a problem?' McGonagall asked, reading his expression.

He opened his eyes, meeting hers across the width of the table. 'I'd rather not,' he said.

'I'll have to insist,' McGonagall pressed. 'You can complete the transformation, I assume?'

'Yes.' He paused, thinking of how best to phrase his words. 'But not with material items,' he said finally.

'Material items?' Ron asked, puzzled.

'He can only change his own body,' Hermione filled in, comprehension dawning in her eyes. 'He can't Transfigure anything else -- like clothes, or jewellery, or a wand.'

'He has to be naked?' Ron asked, now looking disgusted.

'Don't get so excited, Weasley,' drawled Draco.

'Do you still experience disorientation after your return to human form?' McGonagall asked, ignoring the retching noises Ron was making.

'A little,' he admitted. 'Shift-lag, mostly.'

'Shift-lag?' Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

'Yes,' McGonagall said. 'When learning your Animagus form, your body will begin developing traits of the animal you will become. The better developed the traits, the easier it is to discover what your form is, so one can finally begin the physical part of the transformation. But after reverting to their human bodies, many amateur Animagi experience what is called "shift-lag"; they retain some of the incorporeal characteristics and instincts of their animal form.'

McGonagall pushed her glasses back up her nose and turned her attention back to Draco. 'How long does it last?'

Draco shrugged. 'Couple of hours, a day at worst.'

'That's not too bad, considering you had no professional training,' she admitted, giving him an assessing look. 'I must say, I'm impressed that you came to master the basics on your own, Mr Malfoy. Perhaps if you had spent more time during my lessons concentrating on the work instead of trying devise new ways to gain Mr Potter's attention, I would have noticed your talent for Transfiguration.'

Draco scowled at her. 'When do you want to see it?'

'Immediately,' she said.

'Right now?' he whined, drooping.

'Yes,' she confirmed, standing up, and then addressed the remainder of the group at the table. 'If the rest of you would kindly wait by the fire; I'd like to give Mr Malfoy as little reason to be distracted as possible, so as to enable a proper shift. Any diversions could affect the process.'

'Like we want to watch,' Ron muttered darkly, standing up with the others.

'Denial is unhealthy,' Draco advised.

As they all moved towards the other end of the room, squeezing together on the sofas and politely keeping their eyes averted, Draco slowly stood up. He waited until he could hear them talking amongst themselves before shrugging off his cloak.

McGonagall stood several metres across from him, adjusting her square spectacles and folding her arms, looking impatient.

Draco grimaced at her.

'This is very unbecoming,' he told her, beginning to unbutton his shirt.

'Nothing I haven't seen before, I assure you,' she said coolly. 'The sooner I see what you're doing wrong, the sooner we can correct the issue.'

The room was extremely chilly against his bare skin, making him shudder. It was a very surreal scene, to be standing naked from the waist up in front of an old professor. 'I would normally charge for this,' he said loftily, disrobing. The sarcasm helped him retain some of his dignity, at least.

There was a short, uncomfortable pause as McGonagall's eyes raked over his chest, and he knew from the tight line her lips formed that she now understood why he had hesitated to agree to this. Surprisingly, however, she made no comment, and brought her eyes back to his face, eyebrows raised.

'I daren't ask what for,' she said mildly. 'That necklace needs to come off, as well.'

Draco grimaced at her again and removed the chain, tucking it into the pocket of his slacks, and carefully kicked off his boots, followed by his socks. The floor was so cold it hurt to stand on it, and he curled his toes against the rough texture of the stone while he unbuckled his belt.

'How long did it take you to complete the transformation?' McGonagall asked, distracting him from his actions.

'Three years.'

She nodded. 'And have you ever got stuck?'

'No,' he said, pausing. 'There were a few times when the process was slowed, but nothing serious.'

She nodded again. 'What are the most noticeable traits in the shift-lag?'

'Alertness,' he answered automatically, having felt the effects many times. 'Mostly sensitivity to sound and movement, extreme restlessness -- in other words, I won't be getting any sleep tonight,' he added grumpily.

'I'm sure you'll survive,' she said, tapping her foot idly. 'Now, do you plan on removing your trousers, Mr Malfoy, or would you like some assistance?'

*

'An Animagus,' Hermione said pensively, sitting herself between Harry and Ron on the sofa across from Lupin, Hagrid and Arthur. 'I can't believe it... well, actually, I suppose I can, but I certainly didn't expect it.'

'You can?' Harry asked. 'How?'

'Well, if you think about it, Malfoy was always rather good with charms and transfiguration,' Hermione began, looking thoughtful. 'Those badges he made during the Triwizard Tournament were way above his level, and -- oh, don't look at me like that,' she said defensively when she saw the indignant glare Harry cast at her. 'I'm not saying it's a good thing he made them, Harry, but you have to admit he was rather creative.'

'Creative?' Harry snapped. 'If by "creative" you mean a complete bastard, then sure, I'll acknowledge that.'

'I can't believe he apologised,' Ron muttered, oblivious to their conversation. He looked to Harry as if he would suddenly tell Ron it had all been a joke. Harry just frowned.

'I'm quite looking forward to tomorrow,' Arthur said brightly. 'Full access to the Manor...'

'What's it like?' Harry asked him.

'The Manor?' Arthur's brow furrowed. 'Not what you'd expect, I'd imagine.'

'What do you mean?'

'Well, for one, you wouldn't think it was the house of a Death Eater unless you already knew it. Lucius always loved to show it off at every opportunity, inviting important people to dinners left and right.... It's quite nice, to be honest,' he said, looking thoughtful.

Harry shrugged. 'I figured it'd be nice. I mean, the Malfoys are wealthy, aren't they?'

Arthur shifted in his seat, resting one hand on his knee. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully. 'Harry, you need to know that Draco's grown up quite differently from you and my children; he's had everything he's ever wanted. He takes comforts and luxuries for granted because it's what he's used to, and you need to understand that.'

Ron snorted. 'So what you're saying is that he's a spoiled brat.'

'Well, yes and no.' Arthur drummed his fingers on the table idly. 'We can't really hold it against him, that he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth.'

'Sure we can,' Harry and Ron said together.

Oh, honestly, Hermione thought, but knew better than to voice it. Arthur frowned.

'What?' Harry demanded of Arthur, reading the look. 'He's a nasty, arrogant snob every minute of every day. He doesn't have to act like that, I don't care how he was brought up, he's old enough now to be aware of how he treats people, and I am not going to just accept it because he happened to be born well-off.'

'We're not asking you to, Harry,' Lupin said suddenly. He sat forward in his seat, clasping his hands together in his lap. 'But old habits die hard, and he's not going to change overnight.'

'Overnight?!' Ron snapped. 'It's been four bloody years - '

'Four years o' being locked in a house with only his mum for company,' Hagrid reminded them. 'And it was 'er who raised him in the first place to be the way 'e is.'

'You must have known it would not be easy for someone in his position to approach you at all,' Lupin added, 'much less swallow his pride enough to ask for help.'

'Well, considering his only other choice was to go to You-Know-Who, I find it hard to be proud of him for taking the safer route,' Ron muttered darkly.

'But that's just it,' Lupin insisted. 'Neither route was safe for him. In fact, exposing himself was probably the riskier of the two -- what if Harry had turned him away? There's a good chance he'd be in Azkaban right now, and if you think he's safe from Voldemort there then you're fooling yourself. He went to Harry because he counted on the fact that Harry would still be the person he disliked so much at Hogwarts; someone who would do what was right, even if it meant disregarding their personal feelings -- something I'm afraid he probably hasn't had enough of in his life.'

Lupin's eyes flickered to Harry's. 'He had faith in you to be you, enough that he risked his exposure for it.'

'He only came to me because Snape told him to!' Harry folded his arms, looking sour. 'And look what Dumbledore got for trusting him. I just... I don't want it to end up like that again.'

Hermione took a long, slow breath in preparation to voice her opinion. She had to choose her words carefully, however; she knew Dumbledore's death was a touchy subject with Harry, and had no desire to set him off.

'What I think,' she said, 'is that there's more to all of this than meets the eye. I don't like Malfoy at all, but none of us really know him, do we? We don't know how long he knew Lucius was a Death Eater, or how involved Draco was with his father's activities.'

'You mean we don't know how long it is before he follows in his father's footsteps,' Ron said darkly.

'No, Ron,' Hermione said patiently. 'What I mean is if one of our parents turned out to be working for Voldemort, how would we handle it? Would you turn in your own father?'

'My father isn't a Death Eater!' Ron said, flinching. 'And he never would be!'

'That isn't her point, though,' Arthur said reasonably. 'You-Know-Who was dormant for most of Draco's young life. For all we know, Draco didn't grow up with a Death Eater for a father; it would probably have been in Lucius' best interests not to tell him until he had to.'

'So what?' Harry asked. 'He seemed pretty miffed when I named his father as Death Eater and got him landed in prison.'

'That's my point,' Hermione said, exasperated. 'Ron, Harry, just suppose that in fourth year, Arthur had resumed duty as a Death Eater -- your own father, your friend, someone you thought you knew and trusted and loved -- what would you do? Turn against him? Stop loving him? Would you want to see your own father in prison, Ron?'

Ron looked startled. 'Well, no, but that has nothing to do with this! My father would never - '

'It has everything to do with it,' Lupin said gently. 'Hermione's right. You need to look at it from Draco's perspective.'

'Draco worshipped his father, even you know that,' Hermione said, looking at Harry. 'Whenever anything went wrong, whenever he didn't get his way, what would he do?'

'Threaten to tell his father,' Harry said. He seemed to have finally caught on to her train of thought. 'It was always "My father will be hearing about this, blah blah blah...."'

'Exactly!' said Ron, who still seemed to be beyond understanding. 'Because he knew what his father was, and that he could scare people into getting his way!'

'Lucius was influential enough in his own right to do tha',' Hagrid said. 'His money 'n contacts were more'n enough to bribe and blackmail anybody he pleased without havin' to mention he was workin' fer You-Know-Who.'

'It's also probably why You-Know-Who gave him so much slack,' Arthur chimed in. 'Lucius was damned useful.'

Ron still didn't look convinced. 'I don't see how that helps Malfoy's case any. If anything, he should want to get back at Harry for getting his father on bad terms with You-Know-Who.'

Hermione was about to reprimand him for that statement, but a sharp clatter of hooves interrupted her. The three of them sat up and peered over the edge of the couch, while Hagrid, Lupin and Arthur all raised their heads to get a better look.

McGonagall was standing by the long table, her head tilted slightly to the side, right hand over her head and waving in a circular motion. Before her was a horse that was so startlingly white it seemed to glow in the darkness of the room; at first glance, Hermione was sure she could have mistaken it for a unicorn.

She stood up, slowly making her way towards McGonagall. After a moment, Hagrid and Harry followed her. McGonagall held up her palm and the horse stopped spinning, facing her, and McGonagall ran her hand along the long neck and down the chest. The horse stomped a front hoof in what seemed like agitation, but McGonagall ignored it. Removing her hand, she looked up at Harry and Hermione, eyebrows raised.

The horse wasn't as large as Hermione had been expecting, but it wasn't exactly small, either. As tall as McGonagall was, the professor's shoulders were just barely visible over its back as it slowly twirled around, following her directions. There was something almost dainty about the frame, though Hermione couldn't place it -- she had never been very fond of horses, so her knowledge of different types was somewhat limited, but she could tell from the aristocratic posture that it was the breed you'd expect of a show horse -- pure-bred to perfection, no doubt.

How typical of Malfoy, she thought.

'Wow,' Hagrid breathed. 'He's a beaut, ain't 'e?'

Hermione was surprised to find she agreed with that sentiment; the animal was certainly a sight to behold.

'What breed do you suppose this is, Hagrid?' McGonagall asked, eyes sweeping over Malfoy's form.

'Arabian, no doubt about tha',' Hagrid said, inspecting the head of the horse.

Harry squinted. 'How can you tell?'

'See the way the forehead dishes like tha', and the way the ears curve?' Hagrid explained, pointing as he did. 'All fancy-like, an' it makes 'em a unique breed -- but they're fast 'n sturdy like any good horse; pretty smart, too.'

The horse snorted, as if to say, of course I am, and stood up a little straighter. Hermione found herself feeling slightly bemused; leave it to Malfoy to have the gall to morph into a horse and then strike a pose.

On closer inspection, it was easy to see the resemblance between Draco and his Animagus form. The fur was a pale, milky colour that resembled his pallid skin tone; similarly, the mane and tail were the exact same white-blonde as his hair, and when the horse turned his head to look at them, she could see the eyes were the same, familiar stormy grey.

Draco turned his head back to McGonagall, snorting softly. His ears kept flicking backwards and forwards again, and his tail was twitching restlessly. McGonagall was studying him closely, tilting her head this way and that, muttering instructions for him to follow.

'Well, you seem to have the corporeal form down, at least,' McGonagall murmured with some relief. 'Hagrid?'

'Yea, he looks all righ',' Hagrid said with a heavy shrug of his shoulders. 'All his joints facin' the right way. Good form an' all, s'far as horses go....'

'Head up,' McGonagall said curtly. Draco obeyed, holding his head higher, and McGonagall's eyes flickered up and down the underside of his neck, checking for distinguishing markings.

Hermione followed her gaze, and seemed to notice it at the same time as McGonagall did; there was a straight, somewhat angled black line, as if someone had taken a piece of charcoal and drawn it on the skin just beneath the fur. It began at the base of the horse's neck and ran along the front of the chest, disappearing from view between its front legs. Hermione could guess that it continued for some way along the stomach.

With a bit of a start, Hermione realised that the marking wasn't a colouration oddity, or otherwise a characteristic of the animal -- it was a scar. It wasn't horribly noticeable unless you were actively looking for it; even Hagrid and Harry didn't seem to give it a second thought as they looked over Malfoy's form, blissfully unconcerned.

McGonagall nodded, finishing her inspection and allowing Draco to lower his head again.

Hermione searched Malfoy's horse eyes for some sort of explanation, but he seemed intent on ignoring everyone except McGonagall. Hermione wondered if he realised she'd noticed the mark.

'I'd like to make sure you've got the internal make-up correct, though,' McGonagall added. She conjured up a small bucket with a quick spell and filled it with water with another tap of her wand, placing it on the ground before the horse.

'Go on, Mr Malfoy,' she urged.

If it were possible for a horse to regard someone with contempt, Malfoy was doing it to McGonagall. He finally lowered his head, dipping his grey-toned muzzle into the bucket.

McGonagall muttered an incantation and ran the tip of her wand along the horse's neck to the shoulder, then in a circle around Malfoy's midsection. A faint, blue glow began to travel around a similar path as her wand had traced, pooling slowly in the vicinity of what must have been the horse's stomach. McGonagall removed her wand, and the blue glow vanished.

'All right,' she said, and the horse picked its head up. 'We'll need to work on your shift -- I think I know where you've gone wrong -- but as you have the finished process correct, we'll worry about it later.'

Turning back to Harry, Hagrid and Hermione, she escorted them back towards the fire, giving Draco privacy to shift back.

'Well, I must say it's a relief that he seems to have a decent grasp on the method. Self-studied Animagi frequently muck up the process so severely that the damage is irreversible, and they're never able to properly transform.'

She stopped by the small cluster of sofas, turning to Harry. 'And fortunately for us, his form is something highly conspicuous. I do hope you'd notice a fully grown horse trying to slip out of your residence unnoticed.'

'Yeah, me too,' Harry said heavily. 'Speaking of which, I think it's about time we got going, we've got a long day tomorrow...'

Hermione gradually lost track of what Harry was saying. She glanced over her shoulder, trying to be discreet; Draco had his back to her, and was already shrugging his shirt over his shoulders. He began buttoning it up with his chin bent low, seemingly unaware that he was being watched. She looked away, returning her gaze to the fire, dimly aware of Harry bidding Hagrid goodnight.

Harry hadn't noticed the scar... he probably didn't even know it was there... that was fine, though, wasn't it? It was Malfoy's concern, after all -- if he didn't want to tell Harry, it was his problem... even if it had been Harry who gave it to him.... Harry would probably have a hernia if he knew... it was probably for the best that he didn't know about it... it wasn't their business if Malfoy wanted to keep it to himself...

...right?

'Hermione?'

'Huh?' Hermione snapped back into the present, blinking. Ron and Harry were watching her, eyebrows raised. McGonagall, Hagrid, Arthur and Lupin were already gone. 'What?'

'Seven o'clock, tomorrow,' Harry said, sounding as if he was repeating it. 'Arthur wants to get a head start at the Manor, and we can't get a Portkey permit without the Ministry finding out we're leaving early, so we'll just have to Apparate to the nearest town...'

'Nearest town?'

Draco was fully-dressed again, draped in an expensive looking cloak and leaning on the edge of the table, watching the three of them by the fireplace with his arms folded insolently.

'It won't kill you to walk,' Harry snapped.

'You seem to be under the delusion that there's a town near the estate,' Draco said.

'There's bound to be something around -- '

'Apparently, you were misinformed,' Draco said. 'The closest wizarding village is about an hour's flight by broom, and unless you plan to Apparate at dawn only to arrive at the Manor on foot around mid-afternoon, you might want to reconsider your mode of transportation.'

Harry looked slightly taken aback by this piece of information, but he recovered quickly. 'Well, we can't fly, there's too many of us; we'd attract too much attention. And like I said, we can't get a Portkey, and unless you want to -- '

'No, we are not connecting the Manor to the Floo Network,' Draco said firmly before Harry could suggest it.

Harry rolled his eyes. 'Then what do you suggest?'

There was something in that feral grin on Malfoy's face that worried Hermione deeply.

'I've taken care of it,' Draco said simply, and attempted to take a step forward -- but the moment he took his weight off the edge of the table he wavered, as if he were drunk, and was forced to grab the edge again to keep from falling. He winced at the movement, shaking his head slightly.

'Are you all right?' Hermione asked, startled.

'Since when do you care?' Draco snapped, opening his eyes to glare at her. 'And for your information, it's not easy going from four legs to two. Shifting can be a bitch until you're used to having your entire centre of gravity reversed.'

'I was just -- forget it, fine,' she snapped back, giving up. And to think, a few minutes ago she had been worried about some stupid scar he had. 'Ron, Harry, have a good night, I'll see you in the morning,' she said briskly and, picking up her cloak, she made her way to the door.

'And you're right, Malfoy,' she said, pausing briefly in the threshold. 'I don't care.'

*