Vires Incomitatus

Chapter Three: Vires Incomitatus

Draco didn't quite know how he came to be standing where he was; he was surrounded by four cold, stone walls, standing in a small room that appeared to be bigger than it was due to the shadows. He was not the only person in the room, certainly. Three men stood in the centre, talking as if only moderately aware of him.

"The time has come to see if you have kept your word to me, Lucius." There was no mistaking that voice, the voice of the Great Lord. Except - Draco found that the title came into his head without the glory that used to come with it.

"I have fulfilled my vow to you, my Lord," his father said smoothly, bowing. "You will see how ready my son is."

Then all eyes in the room turned to stare at Draco.

"Come here," his father said sharply, and Draco approached the impressive trio, praying to whoever would listen to make him appear more confident than he felt. "Look into the eyes of your Lord, Draco," Lucius instructed. Draco turned and found himself caught up in the mighty gaze of his father's Master.

"Young Malfoy," the man who was no longer a man almost hissed. "You are here to serve me, so your father says. He claims that you are everything I could ever wish you to be, and more. Looking at you," the eyes became more silted as the Snake Lord scrutinised him, "looking at you I am inclined to believe him. However," he broke off with a crack. "I will not take your father's word on a matter of such importance. So, Young Malfoy. What have you to say to me? Am I your Master? Will you serve me, following in your father's footsteps? You are brave, I see that much. Not many could withstand my glare without shaking, though you are close. You may look away, Young Malfoy, gather your thoughts."

Freed, Draco blinked and looked down at the floor, casting a glance around the room. In the shadows behind him he thought he saw a figure. He didn't want to look again, not in front of the Lord of Dark, but he knew nonetheless who was there.

Potter. That do-no-wrong pest who made his life less than perfect. How dare he try to insinuate himself on this, the most sacred of gatherings? Collecting his courage Draco looked up again into the smouldering eyes.

"I live but to serve you, my Lord," he said fervently, kneeling at the feet of the imposing figure, keeping his gaze fixed.

"Then rise, Young Malfoy," the Dark Lord beckoned, two fingers under Draco's chin lifting him to his feet gently. Almost instinctively, as soon as he was on his feet again Draco slid the sleeve of his robe up past his left forearm and held it out.

"You are keen," the Lord of Serpents commented. He took his wand out from inside the billowing folds of his robes. "You will serve me well at Hogwarts." Then, slowly, he touched the tip of his wand to Draco's arm.

It was pain like he had never felt before, but Draco stood tall and watched as the wand moved, leaving an inky trail in its wake. Slowly he saw the serpent emerge. Then, suddenly, something turned into him. He pulled back.

Lord Voldemort looked up sharply, but the poisonous glare did not fall on him, but rather on his father.

"You promised me that he would be perfect, Lucius," the Dark Lord pronounced with a deadly severity. "And I told you then what would be the penalty of failure."

"Please, my Lord," Lucius pleaded, and Draco stood there watching as his father begged and grovelled for his life at the feet of the man Draco had, until that very moment, worshipped. "Spare my life! He is an unruly son, this is no fault of mine!" Any further exclamations were drawn short as Lucius's voice rose in a shriek of agony. Draco edged back, further towards the walls of the room, closer to the shadow of light also known as Potter. When his father's screams finally died, Voldemort turned to him.

"Will you disobey me, Young Malfoy?" he asked in an alarmingly compassionate tone. "Will you disobey your father? He attempted to disobey me, you know. He did not teach you all you should have; you are not ready. But you can serve me."

Draco just stared at the crumpled pile that was formerly his father. He hardly noticed the tall form slowly moving towards him. Then, suddenly, he realised that his left arm was stretched out once more.

"No!" He cried. "I am no pawn!" A blow to the side of the head sent him reeling.

"You are a pathetic excuse for a Malfoy," sneered a voice he knew well, and he saw Lucius Malfoy standing above him.

"Father?" he exclaimed, attempting to straighten, but was knocked down again by a sharp boot to the ribs.

"You are no son of mine," Lucius declared, jabbing him in the stomach. Draco groaned.

"But, you died," he gasped, and Lucius laughed deprecatingly.

"You truly believe that I would put myself there?" he asked haughtily, gesturing towards the body in the middle of the room. "That is where you belong, not me." And then he had stridden away, but another face hovered on the edge of Draco's sight.

"I'm sorry," Potter murmured, and then Draco was falling.

He opened his eyes, only to find that they were open already; the blackness around him was utterly and totally all consuming. Fumbling in the dark, Draco hit his hand on the table beside his bed. He bit down a curse, found his wand, and lit it with a simple spell. Around him, everything was peaceful. His curtains were partially drawn, and through the opening he could faintly see another bed beside him, its curtains drawn. There were no noises in the room; all other occupants appeared to be sleeping soundly.

Something was missing, though. Draco couldn't understand his confusion at finding himself here; Hogwarts and the Slytherin dorms had been his home for the last six years. He had had many nightmares, but always woken up feeling safe. Then, he realised what it was; there was a sharp, burning pain in his left arm.

Draco dropped his wand and pulled up the sleeve of his pyjama top. Then he relocated his wand and shone the narrow beam of light onto the exposed skin. When he saw what was revealed there he nearly gasped aloud. Staring up at him, seeming almost to writhe, was a small black serpent.

"It was real," Draco breathed, releasing his sleeve. "It was all real." He hurriedly looked around for Potter but, of course, the dark-haired boy was nowhere in sight. Neither were his father, nor Wormtail, nor the Dark Lord. It must have been a dream, but if it was, then how did he find himself with this proof of the night's events? Was there any magic powerful enough to pass through dreams into the waking world?

Then Draco remembered hearing about Potter, passed down through the Houses until it reached his own; how Potter was a victim to prophetic dreams that had him waking with screams of fright as his scar burned, or so they said. If the Serpent Lord's power was great enough to reach Potter, it would be strong enough to reach him, wouldn't it? Him, a pureblood wizard in a line devoted to him, who had never tried to defy or block him. If he could reach Potter, someone who had a magical ward in his very blood enough to block the Dark Lord, he could certainly reach him.

These thoughts did little to comfort him, but Draco tried to settle down to sleep again; days were long and hard, and with the additional training required for Advanced Magics he found himself often drained. And, there was a match coming up against Gryffindor soon, that he would need to prepare for. One thought did cast a positive light on things, however. His father was not dead. He had seen him, felt him, after the shuck on the floor of the chamber had given up all hope of life.

And this thought was followed by another. The Great Lord of Darkness rarely forced unwilling wizards to join the ranks of his Death Eaters. Draco had shown his resistive streak, shown his unwillingness to conform to the Dark. Lord Voldemort would most likely not attempt to recruit him for a great time yet, if he ever did.

However, another part of him warned. Those who deserted the Lord almost never lived to brag about this. As far as he knew, the only two ever to break free were Severus Snape and Igor Karkaroff, the headmaster from Durmstrang, and Karkaroff did not appear to be living well in his desertion.

Still, he had a chance. If he started now, he would be ready when his father's Master tried again and, with help, he might just be able to defeat him. But whose help? Dumbledore? The old coot? As much as he hated to think of it, he realised that it was inevitable. But there was someone else ... someone whose help might save his life ... if he ever asked.

NO! It would not come to that. Draco tossed and turned, and finally fell into an uneasy sleep.

~

Harry sat in the Great Hall eating breakfast the next morning, watching the Slytherin table with bored interest, not enough to cause notice. He had dreamt the night before, but it was not his own dream. He had stood at the rear of a chamber and watched with fascination and horror as Voldemort had summoned Malfoy to become the newest member of his death-squad. But, to his greatest surprise, Malfoy had shown the only ounce of right Harry had ever seen him display, and defied the monster.

Even greater was the shock when Voldemort had spared him his wrath and inflicted it instead on his father. What did this mean? Was Malfoy - Malfoy - on their side?

And, Harry hadn't missed watching Voldemort mark the white-haired Slytherin. He knew the power his enemy had in dreams. Despite himself, part of him was worried about the boy he had dreamt about; the other, much larger part wanted to know if any damage that was done would hurt the rest of them, and if Malfoy would still be able to compete in Quidditch and other events.

As much as he hated to admit it, Harry had grown to relish those times on the pitch with Malfoy; the Slytherin was the only one in the school who could challenge him on a broomstick, and victories were worked for. The fact that he lost occasionally made it worthwhile, and the fact that he won the rest made up for everything else Malfoy could inflict on him.

When Malfoy entered the Great Hall it was clear that something was wrong. His normally impeccable hair was dishevelled, and only a few seconds into the room he tripped on his robes and lurched forward. He didn't actually fall, and Harry joined the rest of the Hall in snickering at him. Surprisingly, Malfoy looked straight at him as he pulled himself together, and Harry couldn't begin to guess what that gaze intended. There was malice, of course, Harry doubted if Malfoy would ever be able to look at him without either malice or a sneer. Beyond that, there was almost a personal resentment.

What did I do, Harry challenged back in a return glare. Malfoy scowled and moved on to his own table.

"Okay," Dean leaned towards Harry. "What was that?"

"What was what?" Harry countered innocently.

"I wasn't the only one who saw it?" Amie asked, sounding relieved. Her accent was still strange to most of the Hogwarts students but, like all of the elves, her voice had a strange, musical quality to it that made up for the harsh sounds.

"Noticed what?" Harry looked around.

"Come on," Hermione said in her 'I'm being reasonable with you because you're being stupid' voice. "If looks could kill, you and Malfoy would both be dead right now. What did you do to each other?"

"Nothing," Harry replied. "He just ... glared at me, and I didn't see why I should put up with it, is all."

"Have they always been like that?" Stephanie asked, tucking hair behind her ears and fingering the silver hoop in the upper, pointed lobe.

"Oh yeah," Ron answered with relish, eager to be involved in the conversation. "Right since the first day of our First Year. I think if we weren't in school, Malfoy would probably be dead right now."

"Hey," Harry protested. Ron hastened to explain to the Sixth Years.

"He would have tried to murder Harry who, in his own defence, would probably have had to kill him."

"Uh, right," Harry replied noncommittally, knowing anything else would have been turned in some strange direction. He noticed Malfoy getting up to leave and thought of something. "Hey, listen, I gotta go talk with someone ... I'll meet you for classes."

"Don't hurt him too much," Colin Creevey cheered as he left. No one else appeared to notice the fact that he sat up just after his arch-rival, fortunately, because Harry's leaving actually had very little to do with Malfoy.

They actually left the Great Hall at exactly the same time, and those in the doorway who had seen or been told about the 'killer glares' held their breaths. Malfoy spun around to glare at everyone at once and managed to trip again, falling, to both their horrors, into Harry's arms.

Harry shoved him away again quickly and looked at his opponent.

"Why Malfoy," he commented in what actually came out as a fair imitation of Malfoy's drawl. "I didn't know you cared." Sniggering followed, and the other students broke off into groups and left whispering.

"If you weren't a prefect," Malfoy growled to Harry's retreating back, and he turned innocently.

"You'd what, Malfoy? Take points off for not letting you crash to the floor? I'm sure McGonagall would accept that. Really, you're loosing your edge." With that Harry turned and headed off to the stone gargoyle.

He found it with ease, having been there many times in his Hogwarts career. He found it awake and glowering at him and the world, and so he politely nodded to it and said, "Peppermint Stick." One of the bonuses of being a prefect was that he now was technically permitted to know the Headmaster's password; though, that had never stopped him before.

Harry ascended the winding stairs and stopped at the closed door. He paused, and then knocked twice. There was a silence on the other side of the wood, then sounds of shuffling and a kind voice called,

"Do come in, Harry. Those stairs must be uncomfortable." Harry grinned and pushed open the heavy wooden door. The Headmaster's office seemed smaller than before, but there was still a chair for him to sit down in. He took it, and then looked nervously at his hands.

"Yes?" Dumbledore's voice was gentle and coaxing.

"Uh," Harry replied, looking up.

"I'm sure you didn't come up here to examine your fingernails," Dumbledore joked.

"Er no," Harry agreed. "Professor ... I had a dream." Dumbledore looked at him more intensely, setting aside the paper that was in front of him on the desk.

"Go on," he encouraged.

"It wasn't about me at all this time," Harry hastened to explain. "I was watching something else, and I don't think it had anything to do with me."

"How interesting," Dumbledore murmured. "You have managed to intrigue me, Harry. Do tell me, if you wish."

"I was in a room." Harry let himself drift back until he could see the dream again. It was a trick that Dumbledore had taught him in the past, when his dreams had held key information that might impact the war. "It wasn't big, it was stone. I was off to one side, and I don't think anyone saw me to begin with. Voldemort was there, of course. With Wormtail and Lucius Malfoy. And Malfoy - Draco - was off to one side, near me, in the shadows."

Dumbledore nodded, seeming to catalogue this information.

"Voldemort called Malfoy, er, Draco up and talked to him, asked if he was ready to join him. M - Draco said that he was, and Voldemort took out his wand and began to draw something on his left arm."

Dumbledore's breath came out in a sharp hiss, and he fixed an even sharper gaze on Harry, as if trying to see what he had seen for himself.

"I don't know what happened, Professor, but suddenly - can't I just say Malfoy, Professor? Thank you. Malfoy pulled back and broke away from Voldemort. But he wasn't angry, at least not with Malfoy. But then, he put the Cruciatus curse on Lucius until..." He broke off at that point, unsure of how to continue. Dumbledore seemed to understand, and motioned for him to continue.

"He said that it was Lucius's fault. Malfoy was his fault, I mean. Malfoy took it hard, obviously. And then suddenly he fell over, and he was looking at the empty air. I went over to see if he was all right, and then ..." He looked up. "The dream changed. I was flying. It had nothing to do with anything."

They both sat in silence for a while, looking at each other. Then, Dumbledore shifted.

"Why did you tell me this, Harry?" he asked. Harry frowned.

"Well, I ... I thought it might be important. What Voldemort drew on Malfoy's arm ... it was the Dark Mark, wasn't it?" Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. "Could something like that in a dream actually be real?" Harry continued.

"I think you're the best person to answer that, Harry," the old man replied. "Think about your dreams. Has he hurt you in them, and did you feel it when you awoke?" Harry nodded, more to himself, and the Headmaster's voice changed somewhat, grew more learned and less coaxing. "Voldemort is the master of Dark Magic. He doesn't work in the normal world, if possible. He prefers to live in the shadows and work his magic from where he cannot be directly confronted. In all probability, what you saw last night actually happened."

"But -" Harry began, confused, and Dumbledore interrupted with a hand.

"There is a spell; a very ancient spell that is lost to almost all wizards in any culture. When cast, which is in itself more difficult than would be believed, the caster can summon a sleeping soul to his or her gathering. Now, the soul that is summoned cannot be unwilling, but if the circumstances are right, it has the same effect on the world and the gathering as it would were it to be the actual person."

"So it could interact with the people there?" Harry supplied.

"Exactly. And anyone who wasn't the caster wouldn't be able to tell the difference between the soul and it's person, unless they saw it summoned or something like that. Once the soul is there it is the person, because the person directs it believing that they are it. It's quite complicated."

"So Malfoy dreamed that he was there with Voldemort and he thought he actually was, so he just acted normally under the circumstances." The Headmaster nodded. "Wow," Harry whistled. Then something occurred to him. "So ... how'd I get there?"

Dumbledore shook his head slightly. "I'm not entirely sure. You're very sensitive to Voldemort; that may have something to do with it. But you said Draco saw you at the end?"

"Definitely," Harry replied. "This morning at breakfast he glared at me like he thought it was all my fault."

"Yes," Dumbledore smiled. "I'd heard about that."

"Well, I just thought I should tell you. Does the fact that he pulled away mean that he's not a Death Eater?"

"Possibly," the Headmaster remarked. "It could also mean any number of other things, but that would be the preferable and logical conclusion to draw, yes."

"So ... does he have the Dark Mark? Can Voldemort get him?"

"That, Harry," Dumbledore said gently but sternly, "is a matter between Draco and myself. If he chooses to tell you, that will be up to him."

"Oh, great chances of that happening," Harry muttered to himself with something of a smile, and Dumbledore joined him in it.

"Yes, the two of you would not be what I would describe as close, are you. Well, I've detained you far long enough, Harry. Go on to classes now, I'll give you a note to whomever you happen to have ..." He paused.

"Professor Figg," Harry supplied.

"Ah yes, Arabella. Are you enjoying her class?"

"A lot," Harry replied, beaming.

"That's good, I'm glad." Dumbledore found a parchment and quill and scribbled a note down to Arabella explaining Harry's absence. Harry took the note and was turning to leave when Dumbledore's voice stopped him.

"Oh, Harry?"

"Yes," Harry replied, turning.

"Could you please tell Draco to see me next period - I believe he has it free. If he doesn't the next convenient free period today will do, or lunch if he has none."

"Of course, Professor," Harry replied, and then left the office.

He handed the Headmaster's not to Professor Figg who glanced it over and smiled at him.

"Today we've been working on the translocation ward," she told him. "I've got everyone in pairs and they've been laying wards around various classrooms."

"Didn't we do these last year?" Harry enquired.

"Yes," Professor Figg replied, "but there's a difference this time. The person stepping through the ward will fully understand what's happened to them. Do you already know this?"

"Kind of," Harry admitted. "I sort of skipped ahead last year, so yeah."

"That's what I thought," Arabella replied. "Well, you should still use today to practice. Let's see, you'll need a partner," she scanned the deserted room, and her eyes fell on one solitary figure. Harry turned to see who it was and his spirits dropped as he saw the back of a silver-blonde head turned towards him.

"Not Malfoy," he implored, but Professor Figg seemed determined.

"Why ever not," she replied breezily. "Mister Malfoy was excluded because he was the most well versed in the class and we had an odd number, but the two of you can certainly work together; you can use this classroom. Go on, now."

Resignedly Harry made his way over to Malfoy. The other boy looked up when he approached and turned a withering glare on him.

"What are you doing here, Potter?" he demanded.

"I'm supposed to be working on a ward for class, like you should be," Harry retorted. "I somehow managed to get stuck with you."

"You should be honoured," Malfoy suggested.

"I'm not."

"Ah, what a shame." They stared at each other for a moment, then both seemed to decide at the same time to just get it over with as quickly as possible so that they could go on their separate ways.

"I'll take this side," Malfoy declared indicating the area in which he already stood with his wand.

"I'll work over here," Harry agreed, taking another portion of the classroom. He took out his wand and began to mutter the spell for a simple translocation ward. Then he traced a line with his wand in the air starting at one wall. The tip left a misty silver trail that stayed in place after he had moved on. When he reached the other wall he stopped the line. Then, he tapped both walls that were connected to the line. Instantly the silver trail blazed and expanded vertically until a misty silver wall shielded the entire corner. Harry approached it and tapped the wall with his wand. Slowly it faded out until it was invisible, but still hummed under Harry's wand.

Slowly and clearly Harry spoke, identifying those who would be blocked by the ward. "Vir Draco Malfoy." Malfoy looked up at the mention of his name, and then went back to his own ward.

Finally, in the last step, Harry crossed the room and found the spot where Malfoy was to be translocated. He murmured, "Translocus finitus," and drew a circle with his wand in the air just above the ground. He chuckled slightly. The circle would be where Malfoy's feet ended up, and Harry didn't think that a slight bump would hurt him any.

Then, he went to the centre of the classroom, pocketed his wand, and cleared his throat.

"I'm ready when you are, Malfoy," he called. "Aren't you finished yet? I would have thought you'd have been done before I was, from what you said."

"Shut up, Potter," Malfoy replied, also moving to the centre of the room.

"So," Harry crossed his arms. "Who goes first?"

"I'm no chicken, I'll do it," Malfoy declared.

"Right this way," Harry offered, leading him towards his ward. "Professor?"

"All right," Professor Figg turned from her desk to watch. "Go ahead, one of you."

Harry went and stood at the very corner of the room, proving that his ward would not block him out. Arabella also came to join him, verifying that aspect of the ward.

"Well, Malfoy?" Harry invited. Malfoy moved to join them, somewhat warily, when suddenly there was a snapping noise as his foot crossed the line. For a moment he froze, then he flashed bright silver and appeared on the far side of the room. Arabella didn't seem to notice that he appeared a good foot off the ground, and landed in a heap on the floor.

"Well done, Harry," she said warmly. Harry, however, was looking at Malfoy. The blonde-haired boy didn't seem incredibly upset about where he landed; instead, his smile became positively malicious. Harry didn't look forward to his own trip through the ward.

Malfoy had got to his feet and turned to the other corner of the room. Professor Figg smiled and joined him as she had Harry. Harry forced himself to be calm and cool, but inside he steeled himself for something, anything. He would not have been surprised to find himself standing on top of a chair with one foot.

Because of this, when he stepped across the ward line he was prepared. He felt a great shiver pass through him and suddenly everything turned white as he heard a snap. Then, suddenly, he realised where he would be. By the time he had translocated, he was fumbling for his wand.

"Wingardium leviosa," he cried desperately, pointing the wand at himself. His rapid fall slowed and he drifted towards the ground. He had, he realised, been right below the ceiling; the highest Malfoy could reach without standing on a chair.

When his feet touched the floor he strode over to Malfoy, who was looking rather annoyed that his plan had been thwarted.

"Well," Professor Figg said briskly. "We know both of your wards worked. However, Mister Malfoy, you would agree with me when I say that that was somewhat unnecessary, wouldn't you? Ten points off of Slytherin. Now, both of you disable your wards."

Both Seventh-Years pointed their wands at their warded corners and muttered, "Finite incantatem." Their wards glowed silver again and then dissipated.

"Each of you go through the other's ward, now," Arabella instructed. They both did so without accident and she smiled.

"Despite both parties' inclination to have their ward deposit the victim some distance above the ground, I must congratulate you both on fine wards; they are the best I have seen so far, without a doubt. Five points to both Gryffindor and Slytherin."

Still smiling, she walked back to her desk, and Harry rounded on Malfoy.

"What the hell was that for, Malfoy?" He demanded. Malfoy smiled winningly and shrugged.

"I thought you would enjoy the scenic route, Potter," he replied. "Consider it payback, if you will."

"For what?" Harry retorted, and Malfoy's grey eyes grew steely.

"You know perfectly well, Potter. You were there, as much as I was. Ran off to tell Dumbledore, I see. Told him how the loyal Slytherin was rushing to join his Master, I suppose?"

"I did nothing of the sort," Harry said just as coldly. "You know what happened was important, but it would just kill you to do something decent, so I had to. Incidentally, Professor Dumbledore wants to see you next period, if it's a free one, or whenever your free period is today. If you don't have one, see him at lunch."

"Reduced to a messenger now, Potter?" Malfoy sneered.

"Better a messenger than a-"

"Don't even say it, Potter," Malfoy warned. "You don't know the slightest about me, don't pretend you do."

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of trying to understand a bit of that warped existence, Malfoy," Harry replied. "Don't you worry about that."

~

Draco watched as Potter turned away and left the classroom. Dumbledore had been right; his next period was, in fact, a spare one, so he headed obligingly to his office. He gave the gargoyle the password and mounted the stairs after it sprang aside. At the door he debated knocking, but was saved deciding when Dumbledore invited him in without prompting.

"Thank you for coming," the Headmaster said as Draco seated himself in the chair. "I have certain questions to ask you regarding occurrences last night"

"Potter told you everything, I'm sure," Draco sneered.

"That is quite enough," Dumbledore cut him off, and Draco cast him an apologetic look. "I wish to hear your version of the events."

So, Draco told him what had happened. When he reached the conclusion, with his father striking him down, Dumbledore's eyes widened.

"Are you positive?" He enquired.

"Of course I'm positive," Draco retorted, but more respectfully this time. "He was my father, and he hit me. I'm not likely to mistake either of those." He instantly wished he hadn't said that, but the old Headmaster appeared to not have noticed or, more likely, decided to let it slide in lieu of more important matters.

"I see," was his only comment. There was a pause, during which Draco began to feel more and more uncomfortable. Finally Dumbledore spoke again. "There is another matter of great importance concerning last night. I was informed by Harry that Voldemort-" Draco flinched. "There is no need to fear his name," Dumbledore said thoughtfully, then continued. "Harry informed me that Voldemort traced something on your left arm with his wand, which you confirmed. You pulled back; I wish to see what is there, if I may." The tone of his voice did not brook disagreement and so Draco sighed his acquiescence and pushed the sleeve of his robe up to the elbow. The snake was still there, and Dumbledore looked at it with no little interest, and then indicated that Draco could let his robes go.

"Do you feel it?" he enquired, and Draco nodded. "That is not likely enough to give Voldemort a pull on you, however you will bear that for the rest of your life." Draco nodded again; this was nothing he didn't suspect. However, the Headmaster had not yet finished, and his look grew intense.

"Does this mean, Draco, that you are not a supporter of Voldemort?" Draco paused, not quite knowing how to answer this question.

"My father was always a strong supporter of the Dark Lord," he began. "He said that I was going to be a general when I was older; that I was the perfect Death Eater. He began it when I was really young, training me. I had always thought -" he paused, awkward. "I thought that you were somewhat of a fool, weak against the power of the Dark Lord. I didn't even think, really. Father was insistent, and I didn't see any other way of life, didn't even consider not joining. Then, last night, they were talking. They were talking about what they had done and what they would do, and I realised that I didn't know if I wanted any part of it. The Dark Lord asked me if I was ready to join him, but he didn't need an answer. He already took it as a granted that I was, there was no chance in his mind of me rejecting him. I'm not a forgone conclusion, and I realised that that was all they saw me as, so I pulled away."

"I see," Dumbledore supplied, then he steepled his fingers and waited. Silence, Draco thought wryly, was one of the best ways to encourage talk, and he continued.

"I don't support him, no. His plans are too ... well, they don't make sense. They offer nothing as life once the conquering is completed, and I can't live that way. I need to see my life in front of me once this immediate battle is over and done with. But, I don't oppose him either. I don't want to get myself killed. I won't be one of his pawns, and I won't be one of yours. Sir," he added, unsure. To his surprise and pleasure, Dumbledore appeared to see to the root of what he was saying.

"I understand, Draco," he said gently. "It is everyone's choice to make, and only you can make yours. I am pleased to see that you haven't joined his ranks, though. You may go, but know that you may always come here if you have any questions or need support in your decisions."

"Thank you, sir," Draco replied. He stood and left the office. Halfway down the stairs he stopped. He had never thought, in a million lifetimes, that he would have conferred with Albus Dumbledore. Even less likely was the idea of not following in his father's footsteps.

I am not my father, he thought with determination. I won't be a pawn, to anyone. Whatever that takes.

~

A few days later the school gathered together for lunch. It was one of the rare times when every member of Hogwarts, staff and student, was in the Great Hall, at the request of the Headmaster. Food appeared on the plates, and when everyone finished eating, Dumbledore waved a hand and the leftovers vanished down to the kitchens. He then tapped his fork against his goblet and stood.

"I hope everyone enjoyed their meal," he began, and waited for the noises of agreement to die down. "It has been mentioned to me by a number of teachers and students that there is a distinct lack of organised recreation at Hogwarts, and it struck me that they are correct; besides the Quidditch matches, there is very little for students to do with others. So, I have decided to re-institute something that we tried, and failed, to maintain five years ago; a duelling club. It will be open to join for anyone in their Fourth Year or above, and students younger may watch if they wish. It will be headed by Professor Snape and Professor Black,"

"This should be interesting," Hermione murmured.

"And anyone who is interested in joining may remain in the Great Hall after this. There is no compulsion to join, of course. I just thought that it might be a way to have some fun and practice skills as well." Dumbledore smiled at the assembled students and then sat down and immediately buried himself in conversation with Professor McGonagall.

"Oh, I'm going to try," Colin instantly declared. "Who's going to come with me?" Harry, Ron, and Hermione all agreed, as well as Dean and Seamus, Lavender and Parvati, and Amie, Stephanie, and Robin.

"No thanks," Neville decided quickly when Dean asked if he wanted to join. "I'd rather live through this year, if you don't mind!" Slowly students began to leave the Great Hall, although a decent number of people remained. Snape and Sirius, glaring at each other, made their way to the centre of the Great Hall, where there was an open area.

"The purpose of this is simple," Sirius began, receiving a glare from Snape for having beaten him to explain. "Everyone's just here to practice their duelling skills as well as blocks, and improve both throughout the year."

"The rules are as follows," Snape broke in. "Duels will be one-on-one, and all spells are acceptable provided they do not cause any lasting damage on the victim." He sounded reluctant about this. "I need not say that the Unforgivable Curses are forbidden, as are all other dark spells. Aside from that, you may use any spell, charm, or hex at your disposal. A winner is declared when the other dueller looses his or her wand by means other than a disarming spell for a period of time greater than ten seconds, or is immobilised for the same length of time."

"At that point," Sirius added, "The winner may not attempt any further spells, due to the unfairness of the situation."

Many students still had blank looks on their faces, and so Sirius looked around and came to a decision.

"Perhaps we should have one duel just for clarification."

"If you insist," Snape replied grudgingly. "Who here is willing to take part in this demonstration match?" Everyone began to whisper with their neighbours, however it seemed that no one was willing to put themselves up for display in front of the rest of the students. Finally Malfoy looked around at the others, yawned, shrugged, and stepped forward.

"If everyone else is too scared to do it, I suppose I will," he drawled.

"Good," Snape smiled. "Now, who is willing to take on Mister Malfoy?" There was dead silence as everyone stared at the Slytherin. Smiling, Blaise began to step forward when Snape pointed a finger at Harry.

"Potter," he called. "Why don't you try?" The silence was instantly replaced with murmurs as people looked at the two boys. Harry heard someone near him whisper,

"Wow. This should be brilliant!" while another person replied,

"Yeah. They hate each other's guts. And they're both really good."

"I wonder who'll die?" the first speaker reflected thoughtfully.

Why did it always come down to a showdown between him and Malfoy, Harry wondered. Shrugging, he stepped to face Malfoy. The silver-haired Slytherin smirked at him.

"Not too scared, Potter?" he inquired. "I would have thought you'd be out of here as soon as you heard about it."

"What," Harry retorted. "Scared of you? Hah, in your dreams."

"Er -" Sirius stepped between them nervously. "So, you both know the rules ... no dark magic of any kind, and ... yeah. Whenever you're ready."

"Everyone watch closely," Snape instructed. "You'll get to see what happens when one side isn't prepared to face the other."

What's that supposed to mean, Harry wondered as he moved to the edge of the circle made of spectators, opposite Malfoy. They stared at each other for a moment, and then Malfoy's wand came up sharply, pointed at him.

"Dementorus," he recited and a black mist swirled quickly from the end of this wand. It sped towards Harry, and those near him felt a dread coming on as it approached. The spell created a fog that had the same effects on the victim as did a Dementor. "Not scared yet?" Malfoy jeered as Harry stepped back instinctively. He felt his throat close up, but knew the counter-curse.

"Pario patronus," he answered, and from his wand came a blazing light that met the dark mist and broke it up. Then, Harry decided he should take the offensive. "Petrificus totalus," he said calmly. I refuse to shout, he decided.

Malfoy threw up his wand and murmured something that Harry couldn't hear. He was instantly surrounded by an opalescent shield that flared and vanished when Harry's spell hit it.

"Serpensortia," he retaliated, and once again a large black snake burst from the end of his wand.

"Aren't you getting a little tired of snakes, Malfoy?" Harry inquired calmly. "Or had you just forgotten how hopelessly ineffective they are?" Turning to the snake, who was slithering maliciously towards him, he spoke.

"Just go curl up in a corner, please," he requested politely, not quite knowing how he switched languages but knowing that he did. The snake looked at him for a moment. "Come on," Harry added. "I wouldn't taste very good."

"Probably not," the snake replied and slithered off to one end of the Great Hall.

"Care to try something a little more effective?" Harry invited, turning back to Malfoy.

This time the incident did not bring the duel to a dramatic halt, although many of the younger students were staring wide-eyed and whispering hurriedly to older ones, asking for explanations, no doubt.

"Damn," Malfoy muttered. "Stupify!" Harry hastily threw up his own shield, but the force of the charm was still enough to knock him down.

"Expeliarmus," Malfoy continued, and Harry felt his wand fly away from him.

"That's not fair," he heard someone shout. Malfoy just smiled and pointed his wand at Harry again. Then, he noticed someone behind Harry and readjusted his aim. Harry spun around to see Ron talking with Hermione, completely unaware of what was going on. Hermione, however wasn't. She saw Malfoy, and cried,

"Watch out!" Too late, however, because by the time Ron had realised what was going on, a very small, very annoyed-looking red weasel was chattering at Malfoy.

"You," Harry couldn't think of anything to say. He watched Malfoy turn back to him. Desperately, without even thinking, he extended his right hand and shouted,

"Expeliarmus!" Malfoy's wand flew from his hand, and everyone stopped dead. Harry pulled himself to his feet and looked to Sirius for some explanation. It seemed, however, that his Godfather was just as clueless as he was. The answer came from the other side of the Great Hall, by the door.

"Well." Dumbledore was leaning casually against the doorframe, with a look of mild interest in his face. "It appears we have something of an enigma to deal with now."

~

The students below Sixth Year were dismissed, and all Sixth and Seventh Years were immediately summoned to the Great Hall. They all sat down whispering to themselves as Dumbledore decided what to say.

"What did you do?" Ron demanded as soon as he and Harry sat down.

"I don't know!" Harry replied. "I wasn't thinking ... I didn't have my wand ... I just said it and it worked?"

"Did you get your wand back?" Hermione enquired sensibly, and Harry nodded.

"That was brilliant," Neville declared.

"I thought you weren't staying," Harry realised.

"Well," Neville shrugged. "When I heard it was you and Malfoy I had to watch." Harry rolled his eyes. Then, they heard the sound of silver on glass as the Headmaster called for attention. He was standing beside a door behind the teachers' table; the same door, Harry realised, that the Champions had to go through for the Triwizard Tournament.

"May I have everyone's attention?" Dumbledore requested. "Will everyone, in an orderly fashion, please form a line in front of this door?"

Everyone hastened to oblige, still talking amongst themselves. Slowly the line moved up, most people dropping back to the tables to watch. Once or twice the door opened and the person at it went through. Finally Hermione reached the door.

"Will you please hand me your wand?" Harry heard Dumbledore request. Hermione obliged, and the Headmaster continued. "Now, Miss Granger, unlock the door."

"But, Professor -" Hermione began, but she was cut off gently by Dumbledore.

"Just try, Miss Granger," he repeated. She shrugged, paused, then put her right hand on the lock and whispered, "Alohamora." To her great surprise, there was a click and the door opened obligingly under her hand. She was shown through by Dumbledore, who returned her wand, and then the door closed and Harry heard it click locked again. Ron came next; however though he attempted it two times he had no luck.

"Don't worry, Mister Weasley," Dumbledore smiled kindly. "You might consider it fortunate."

Neville followed Ron, and he had no more luck than the redhead. Harry found himself next.

"Your wand, please," Dumbledore extended a hand, and Harry handed him his wand. "Now, unlock the door."

Harry already had some idea what he had to do, so he extended his hand towards the door and recited, "Alohamora." As with Hermione, the door clicked and opened. Dumbledore handed Harry back his wand and ushered him through.

When he entered the room he saw that there were only about seven people there, as well as Sirius.

"Lock the door, Harry," Sirius instructed, so Harry gestured and said, "Securus." The door clicked and he found himself locked in with the others.

He looked around him. Sitting quietly were Hermione, Aaron, Robin, Hannah Abbot, Susan Bones, Lisa Turpin, and Terry Brook. Harry joined them on a bench and watched the door. It remained closed for quite some time, and when it opened Harry and Hermione looked at each other. Grinning smugly, Malfoy locked the door and sat far away from the others. Blaise Zabini followed him in, and then after a pause Kasha Davies and Kaitlin Ronne, two of the Ravenclaw elves. After them came two elves that Harry didn't know, who identified themselves as Melissa Everest and Jaarod Connely, from Hufflepuff. They were followed by Ginny, who looked thrilled and terrified at the same time, and Justin. A tall, blonde elf from Hufflepuff, Ian Grandy, came in next and went to sit with his housemates. The last person to enter the room was Seamus. They waited for a bit longer, but it appeared that no one else was going to come in.

Then the door opened and Professor Dumbledore smiled at them. "We have a rather small group here," he said. "Well, that is just as well." He moved until he was facing all of the students gathered in the small room. Adjusting his robes he began to explain.

"You are here because you are unique," he commenced. "You have all just proven that you are capable of performing controlled wandless magic, which is something that very few witches or wizards would be able to boast.

"Well," he amended. "Many could boast it, few would be telling the truth." This earned him a laugh, and then he continued. "There is a name for people who can perform wandless magic; there is a name for everything nowadays."

"And that would be what?" a dark-haired elf - Kasha - enquired.

"A witch or wizard who can perform wandless magic is also known as a Virinus. It comes from two Latin words; vires meaning power and incomitatus meaning alone or without aid. There are very few Virini known today; there were once many who could practice magic without use of a wand. However, now only a small percentage of the wizarding population -maybe three percent - has this ability. This means that you must be trained."

"But sir," Hermione objected. "We have almost no time as it is." The Headmaster frowned in thought for a moment.

"The Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs take History of Magic together, I believe," he said questioningly, and received nods from both groups. "And at the same time Slytherins and Ravenclaws have a spare," he finished from his own memory. "Well, though I dislike depriving students of an educational experience, I believe that in this case it is necessary. All right, instead of that period, from now on you will all meet me in the spare classroom on the fourth floor."

"But sir," Malfoy objected, unconsciously echoing Hermione. "That's not fair! Why do the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs get to drop History of Magic and we don't?"

"You're right, Mister Malfoy," Dumbledore replied, unruffled. "Your standard History of Magic period will be replaced with the spare that I have taken up. However, if I see that students from any house are not making proper use of their time I will speak with Professor Binns and see about making a make-up class for just these students. Does that satisfy all needs?" He took the ensuing silence as an affirmative. "All right, continue with your regular schedules and I shall see you tomorrow."

~

"WHAT?" Ron bellowed when Harry and Hermione explained what had happened. Professor McGonagall had transfigured him back to normal, but his noise seemed to be slightly more pointed than it had been before. "That is so bloody unfair. What did I ever do?"

"It's really rare," Hermione said in an attempt to calm him down. "I've only ever come across references to a Virinus once or twice in my reading." However, despite the intention, this statement did little to soothe Ron.

"So how come my two best friends, not to mention my little sister - my own flesh and blood - get to be in this little group?"

"I ... I don't know," Ginny said in a small voice, trying to hide from her enraged older brother. "What were the chances of me, Hermione and Harry -"

"Well, of course it was Harry," Ron interrupted. "It's always Harry."

"Please, Ron," Harry begged. "Don't get mad at me, I didn't mean to do anything. I wish I hadn't done anything. Just don't get mad." Ron sighed.

"I know it's not your fault," he said generously, making the whole thing sound like some sort of disease. "But, why the hell does it always have to happen to you? Why doesn't it ever happen to me?"

"He has his share of the reverse, though," Hermione pointed out. "Would you like to be chased by a maniacal villain who happens to be the most powerful Dark Wizard since Salazar Slytherin?"

"No," Ron grumbled. "But still. I'm going to go to bed, now."

"Um ... isn't it a little bit early?" Ginny pointed out. "We still have dinner - in three minutes, actually. We should head down!"

"I'm not really all that hungry, Gin," Ron declined. His sister shrugged and rejoined her group of friends to leave the common room. Harry frowned, and Ron caught his look.

"Don't you dare think of going heroic on me and missing dinner just to stay. You're starving, you always are." Harry laughed in agreement.

"I wasn't planning to, Ron," he replied. "Look, I'm sorry you got left out of this - I really didn't mean -"

"Well, of course you didn't," Ron answered. "I'm not going to turn this into what happened in Fourth Year - or Fifth Year, actually - it was dumb. Just, let me skip dinner?"

"Want me to brink you up a roll or something?" Harry offered helpfully, and Ron laughed and nodded. "All right, see you after dinner."

Dinner was a momentous event, with everyone talking about the duelling club, about the students who got into the room, and mainly about Harry. He felt his face flush and tried to make his way inconspicuously to his table. By the time he had finished eating he was looking forward to a few moments without all the young, excitable kids pointing at him and staring. He grabbed two rolls and hurried out of the Great Hall as quickly as possible, leaving Hermione with the rest of the Gryffindors.

He found Ron in the dorm and hurled the rolls across the room onto his bed. One managed to hit the redhead, who sat up looking morally injured.

"Sorry," Harry replied somewhat sheepishly. Ron shrugged.

"So," he said cheerfully. "I hear you get to drop History of Magic?" Harry nodded. "Hey, can you help me with your homework, then?"

~

The next day the eighteen students who had made it into the locked classroom, including Malfoy, sat in the unused room on the fourth floor. Harry found himself squashed in between Hermione, who was talking to Ginny, and Seamus.

"Great," he laughed to his Irish friend. "Just what we need; another way for you to blow things up."

"It's not that bad," Seamus protested. Harry raised one eyebrow, an ability he was secretly quite proud of and had spent hours practising in front of a mirror at the Dursleys. "What? It's not?"

"Not that bad, no" Harry agreed somewhat maliciously. "You only blow things up once every fortnight now, which is a distinct improvement."

"Oh, shut up," Seamus retorted, unable to come up with a stronger comeback. Before he could try again, the classroom door opened and Professor Dumbledore entered.

"You're teaching us?" Susan Bones exclaimed, sounding happy.

"I feel that this is of great enough importance to warrant me teaching you," Dumbledore replied. "Yes." He sat down at the desk at the front of the classroom and adjusted his half-moon glasses.

"Yesterday I explained what exactly it was that made you different. Today I want you to read something that I think will help clarify matters somewhat more." He waved his wand and a textbook appeared on the desk in front of each student. "Yes, they actually make a textbook for this, though I fear it is somewhat outdated. Just look over the introduction, if you will."

Harry opened his book and found the introduction quickly.

The Will, the Word, and the Wand,

By Master David Eddings

In today's life and probably for many, many years to come, the wand has been the essential tool of the wizard. Most common wizards do not even know of the possibility of performing magic without a wand, and have been rendered helpless simply by confiscating the prop. However, the wand is not what creates the magic.

A wand is a highly magical item. Its purpose, however, is not to create magic, but rather to allow its user to do so without taxing himself. The actual purpose of a wand is to act as a filter for magic. When magic passes through a wand, the wand amplifies the effect of the magic and sends back all that is not necessary. Therefore, a wizard using a wand uses far less magic to perform a given charm than another wizard uses with simply himself. The precise amplification of a wand is 10.536 times.

It is for this reason that almost all wizards nowadays use wands. There are few wizards who actually possess enough magical ability to perform normal, everyday magical tasks without a wand, much less the more complicated spells that have become almost commonplace. There are references to a time thousands and thousands of years ago to a race of sorcerers, as they called themselves. The notorious Belgarath and his daughter Polgara are two examples of these people who practised magic without the use of wands and had power to rival all but their gods. However they now exist only in ancient texts.

The wand was originally created in Egypt approximately five thousand years ago as a focussing tool. It was created by fugitives who dreamed to have power equal to their gods. Wands dating back to the Egyptian era were not like the wands we know today; they resembled stout rods that were clasped in both hands by the user, and contained magical items such as basilisk scales or the famed powdered eyes of Horus, now lost forever. The magical centres of these wands were not designed for specific amplification purposes; they were simply inserted to give the rod a magical ability. Therefore, the amplification effect was much less, approximately 3.5 times.

Over the centuries and millennia, these simple rods have been refined into the wands we know today. They were adopted by more and more wizards who dreamed of having more power, and the result seems to be a form of natural evolution. In order to prevent wizards from having too much power and being unable to control it, the amount of magical ability in the average wizard has lessened considerably. We now possess approximately one third of the abilities that the Egyptians had, perhaps even less than that. Therefore it has become almost impossible to live without a wand.

Those who do have enough power to perform everyday activities seldom find this out, because it never occurs to them to attempt it. Generally the only instance in which wandless magic is performed is in a situation of extreme danger, and in that case the spell attempted is too difficult to be performed successfully.

However, there are still wizards who have power levels much above the standard, power to rival the Egyptians or even beyond. Though they are few, they are recognised as a section of the wizarding population, and have the ability to perform spells, in a wider range depending on the power level, without use of wand. No one knows why these individuals have as much power as they do however some - Merlin and Albus Dumbledore, to name two examples - have been proven to have power to rival the gods.

Harry heard a gasp as Hannah Abbot finished reading.

"You're in here, Professor!" she exclaimed excitedly. "You have power to rival a god?"

"I haven't always been a Headmaster, my dear," Dumbledore replied with a twinkle in his eye.

"I'd always heard that Professor Dumbledore was an extremely powerful wizard," Hermione whispered to Harry. "Maybe this is why You-know-who is so afraid of him."

"While I'm sure that you are saying nothing that isn't strictly complimentary," the Headmaster cut in kindly, "I would appreciate it, Miss Granger, if you withheld my praises until the end of the class." Hermione flushed.

"Ten points from Gryffindor," Blaise whispered shrilly behind them.

"What was that, Miss Zabini?" Dumbledore inquired.

"Er - nothing, sir," she replied.

"It would be a shame to be hypocritical," the Headmaster continued pensively. "Surely you wouldn't deduct points when your actions mimic hers?"

"Of course not," Blaise answered hastily, glaring daggers at Hermione who smiled back sweetly.

"What exactly will we be doing, Professor?" Malfoy drawled from his seat near Blaise.

"We must teach you how to practice wandless magic," Dumbledore replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world which, Harry supposed, it was. "You will all need to start with the basics, I think. Everyone please get into partners and work on a basic levitating charm, if you will."

Harry quickly partnered up with Seamus as Hermione went with Ginny. They both tried it, gesturing at each other and feeling quite silly until Seamus managed to pronounce the words right and Harry found himself flying upwards towards the ceiling.

"You can let me down now," he suggested down to his partner. Seamus was staring dumbfounded at him. "Seamus?"

"Oh, right." Seamus lowered his hand slowly and Harry drifted back towards the ground. It took him another two attempts before he managed to lift Seamus to where he had previously been. As a consolation, Harry noted that Malfoy seemed to be having even worse luck than he was. He was in the middle of this observation when Seamus muttered,

"Wingardium Leviosa," and Harry felt himself rise again. His partner was obviously enjoying himself. Getting an idea, Harry gestured down at him and recited the same incantation. Seamus soon rose to join him, and the two of them looked down on the classroom.

"Professor?" Lisa Turpin called, looking up and seeing them.

"Well, well," Dumbledore laughed, coming over. "I believe you two both have the hang of this. You can let each other down, now, and practice summoning spells."

Harry and Seamus looked at each other for a moment.

"How d'we do this?" Seamus asked, laughing.

"Uh ... same as normal?" Harry hazarded.

"You mean you brought me up here and you didn't know how to get me down?" Seamus tried to sound shocked, but didn't quite make it. "Ah well, we'd best just try."

They finally got themselves to ground level again, without injury, and tried working on the Summoning spell. Harry got it on his second try, due to his particular affinity with this spell, and spent the rest of the period summoning and banishing in turn various small objects, while talking to Seamus. The Irishman took longer to get the hang of this spell, but then the two just chatted while keeping up the pretence of working. This worked well until Seamus gestured to the right and said, "accio," without specifying a target, and managed to point directly at Malfoy.

The Slytherin was hovering a few feet above the ground as a result of Blaise's levitation charm, and found himself flying with some great force towards Harry and Seamus. Both boys ducked and Malfoy hurtled straight at a wall. He kicked off sharply and managed to get himself back where he had started.

"Perhaps a target would be in order next time, Mister Finnegan?" Dumbledore suggested mildly. Seamus ducked his head.

"Well, he didn't blow up," he said defensively as Harry raised his eyebrow again.

"True," Harry conceded. "That's next time, isn't it?"